Chulito (15 page)

“What?” Carlos searched Chulito’s eyes to see if his heart was aligned with his words.

“You heard me right.” The urge to touch Carlos overcame Chulito reached out and gently ran his fingertips along the sleeve of Carlos’ crisp white shirt. Then, he dropped his hand and shoved it in his pocket. But all the while he held Carlos’ stare.

Carlos looked at where Chulito had just touched him. “What are you saying? What are you doing?” There was a tinge of anger in Carlos’ voice, as if he thought Chulito might be playing with him.

Chulito hoped he hadn’t made a mistake. He felt his heartbeat pulse in his ears. “Carlos, I been feeling you for a while. I just didn’t know what to do. What we’d do?” He continued to speak softly. “I don’t know what to do next, but I figure I say what I got to say. Let you know how I feel and then we can see wassup.”

Carlos sat down on the steps. “I never thought you would own up to how you felt.”

Chulito wanted to sit, too. But the reality that someone could catch them sitting made him choose to keep standing. “You knew?”

“I had a pretty good idea.” Carlos smiled and checked his watch. “Your timing sucks. I’m going to be late for my internship.” Carlos got up and dusted the seat of his pants.

“I been thinking of telling you for days. What do we do now?”

Carlos shrugged.

Chulito smiled. He felt light in his chest. “Can I pick you up when you get out?”

“Call me and we’ll work it out. I promise to take your calls now.”

Chulito held out his hand.

Carlos chuckled. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know.” Chulito wanted to do something, but a hug would be too much and a kiss was not right. Being caught talking on the steps was one thing but anything else was too much. So a handshake felt right. Not the kind you do when you greet your buddies, but the old fashioned, seal-a-deal kind.

Carlos shook his hand. “Sometimes you can be such a trip. Call me later?”

Chulito walked Carlos to the doorway. They both walked slowly side by side, prolonging the moment. Carlos stepped out of the building and paused. He shook his head. Chulito beamed and watched him cross Garrison Avenue. Carlos looked back, still shaking his head. Chulito’s heart was racing and his heavy breathing dried up his throat, making it hard for him to swallow. He wiped his moist palms on his shorts, then he grinned and whispered, “Holy shit.”

Kamikaze’s phone message was direct. “Be ready at ten A.M., nigga, ‘cause you been incognito and there’s a lot of work to catch up on.” It was ten A.M. am on the dot according to Chulito’s Fossil watch. Damian, who had already taken his post, waved to Chulito, who waved back, then looked away and snickered, remembering their dream encounter.

Chulito flipped open his cell, called Carlos and left a message. “Yo, Carlos. It’s Chulito. I know you probably still on your way to work, but I wanna just let you know that I’m thinking about you, bro.” He smiled because he’d always wanted to leave him a message exactly like that one. “Turns out I gotta be with Kaz today, but I should be back around the ’hood around six. Hit me back.” He sat on the stoop, pushed earphones on and bopped to Biggie. He couldn’t wait for Carlos to call him. How would he answer? “Wassup, beautiful.” Too corny. “Hey, babes.” Too soon. “Holla.” Too ghetto.

Chulito looked at the corner and recalled Carlos struggling with the wind and the grocery bags that day and the smile that wouldn’t leave his face broadened. Then he imagined the fellas on the same corner and knew that he would have to deal with them at some point.

Twenty minutes passed and Chulito got up and paced.

“Pssst, hey Chulito.”

Chulito pulled out his headphones, looked up and saw Puti in her window.

Puti snapped her fingers. “You got anything for me?”

“Nah,” Chulito said annoyed. “I don’t got anything,”

“Ah, c’mon. Not even a little something? I ain’t got no money but te lo chupo like nobody could, trust me. It’s top dollar.” Then she did the international gesture for a blow job, jerking her hand in front of her mouth and with each pump bulged out her cheek from the inside with her tongue.

“I told you I ain’t got nothing. I don’t carry shit on me. One of the neighborhood boys should be around soon.” Chulito got up and walked away from Puti.

“Is Kamikaze coming? Maybe you could get something for me? He won’t give me nothing. I owe him money from way back, but maybe you could help out.” Puti whispered, “Come up. I could perform CPR on your pee-pee now and you’ll see how good, then you could get me something from Kamikaze.”

Chulito looked at Puti. She’d seen him grow up. She and her mom even babysat for Chulito when he was little, and now Puti was offering to suck his dick for a fix. He hated seeing this part of the game. It was different going from club to club feeling like a top cat and seeing people partying and getting high. Seeing people in his neighborhood addicted to their drug of choice or of availability was another thing.

“Nah, Puti, it’s not gonna happen. Kaz and I never walk around with shit, you know that.”

“Fuck you!” she said in full voice.

Chulito walked toward the corner.

“Wait, Chulito, come back, I’m sorry,” Puti said, back to whispering.

Suddenly, Chulito could hear Fabolous’s “Keepin’ It Gangsta” vibrating from Kamikaze’s Lexus. He pulled up to the front of the building and rolled down his window. “Y’all know whoooo, keepin’ it gangsta. We come thruuuuu, keepin’ it gangsta. How we dooooo, keepin’ it gangsta. I’ll hol’ truuuuu, keepin’ it gangsta.” Now, Chulito knew that Kaz liked to make an entrance, so he probably just hit #2 on the CD as he rolled up the block. Chulito tapped his Fossil to signify that Kamikaze was late.

“I may come late, but I’s always cum on time, squirt.” Kamikaze tilted his Yves St. Laurent shades with the light blue lenses and shouted, “Yo, Chu! My little brother. Panito, what is up? Why you hiding from me?”

Chulito hesitated before getting into the car. “Nah, Kaz, I was really sick.” Chulito paused then confessed, “I also just got a lot of shit on my mind these days, but things are cool.”

Kamikaze slapped the passenger’s seat. “So why you ain’t call me? I thought if there was something on your mind you would call me. You know you the first person I would call if I had shit on my mind. Especially if it was you who I had beef with.”

Chulito climbed in and strapped on the seat belt. “Sorry, Kaz. But it was nothing like that. Where we off to?” The tinted window rolled up to create a cocoon of rap music and air-conditioning. He looked over to Puti who was staring at the parked car as if she could see through the dark windows. Her mother, who looked like a sixty-five-year-old version of Puti with the same wispy hair and gaunt face, appeared and shoved her aside to make room at the window.

Kamikaze reached over, put Chulito in a headlock and kissed his temple. He then leaned back. “Let that be the last time you do a disappearing act on me, understand?”

Chulito nodded. Kamikaze was smiling but the severity of the warning came through clearly.

Kamikaze nudged him with his elbow. “I thought you were pissed because of that shit with Brenda. It takes a lot for me to lose my cool, but we good, right? I missed you, nigga.”

Chulito wasn’t sure how to read Kamikaze, but chose to go with the jovial Kamikaze he knew and loved. “I missed you, too.”

“Really, nigga? Get outta here.” Kamikaze flashed his bright smile. “So why you didn’t call me? You had me all wondering like some bitch that something was up.” Then he laughed out loud.

Being the closest person to Kamikaze, Chulito knew just about everything there was to know about him, even his real name.

Kamikaze was born Roberto Jimenez, but after chasing him three times in one week when he was running corners the cops christened him Kamikaze. The first time he was chased he jumped from the roof of one building to the next and ran down into the apartment of one of his women to hide from the cops. One cop jumped and didn’t make it. The others didn’t even try. He got away.

The second time he was chased to the Bronx River, where he dove in and swam to the other bank. They fired warning shots at him, but he escaped again.

The third time he was being chased, he leaped like a gazelle onto the back of a truck that was heading up the ramp to the Sheridan Expressway. The cops followed but they couldn’t out run a truck and he got away. So whenever the cops wanted to bring Roberto Jimenez in for questioning they said they were going on a “kamikaze mission.”

“We headed to El Barrio, Chuly-chu, to pick up some good super hydro shit. Fuck, from the way they talkin’, I am going to have to charge more and shit.” He said that all proud, then he put an arm around Chulito and leaned in real close to his face. “And we’s gots to have a little sample to check it out, so we get to do a little partyin’, too.” He playfully kissed the tip of Chulito’s nose.

Chulito wiped it. “Yo, what’s up with that?”

“You know you love it. Besides nobody can see.”

“Chill, man, let’s just go do this.”

“Yo, what’s with you? You all serious and shit. You gettin’ enough pussy? I could hook you up with Yolanda again.” He put his hand up to give Chulito a high-five. Chulito reluctantly responded. He knew Kamikaze loved him in his own way, but this morning, after being open with Carlos and spending those days away from his surroundings, being with Kamikaze felt like putting on a pair of his favorite sneakers that he had outgrown. Kamikaze laid out the day’s activities, his arms moving opening up wide to leave the steering wheel unattended for a few seconds, his head nodding and his talk non-stop.

Chulito felt different and stared at him trying to see if something had changed with Kamikaze, too. But it was all familiar. He knew how it would go down.

Noticing Chulito watching him, Kamikaze asked, “What’s up, Chulito?”

“Nothin’, I’m cool.”

“Ya mom alright? She had a good birthday?”

“We had a great weekend celebrating. Nothing’s up with her.”

“Well, my little bro, you know I got your back unconditionally, and whatever is up you’ll tell me when the time’s right, right?”

“I’m cool, Kaz. But chu right. I know we tight and I can share any shit with you,” he said but thought not really.

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Kaz said. He rocked back and forth singing along with both hands on the steering wheel.

For someone so straight up gangsta, Kamikaze pushed the limits when it came to clothes. He was dressed in a turquoise Adidas running suit and pale blue Timberlands. Chulito remembered last Easter when he dressed in all baby blue except for a pair of pink Timberlands with a pink suede fedora. Nobody said shit about his flamboyance when it came to dressing because he had the women and the babies to steer them away from taggin’ him a ‘mo.

Kamikaze cranked up the sound system. “You know whooooo, keepin’ it gangstaaaa,” Chulito, Kamikaze and Fabolous sang as they crossed the Third Avenue Bridge into Manhattan.

Chulito waited in Kamikaze’s car on the corner of 106th Street and Second Avenue. Kamikaze slipped his gun into the waistband of his briefs and went up to see El Papa, one of the local suppliers. They were supposed to pick up Friday night, but since Chulito was incognito, and Kamikaze never does a pick up alone, he put El Papa off.

As Chulito sat in the car, Carlos returned his call. “Hey, Chulito,” he whispered. “I’m not supposed to be on my cell phone when I’m at work, but I wanted to hear your voice.”

He liked hearing the hushed excitement in Carlos’ voice. Chulito whispered, too, as if somebody could hear him. “You being a tough boy, breaking rules to talk to me? I told you. You gangsta.”

“Stop playing. So can you meet me or not?” Carlos asked very matter-of-factly.

Suddenly, Chulito looked up and saw Kamikaze, a turquoise streak, running toward the car with his gun in hand.

“Oh shit!” Chulito dropped the phone, scooted over to the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. Chasing Kamikaze were two guys, a tall skinny Latino man with a pony tail wearing a black Adidas running suit and a buff, Black guy with a mohawk, dark shades and black tank top and dark gray jeans. Chulito shoved the car in gear as Kamikaze pulled the door open. The Latino guy pointed a gun at Kamikaze. “Gimme ya gun, motherfucker!”

Kamikaze froze and handed him the gun. The Black guy went over to the driver’s side and pointed his gun at Chulito. He never had a gun pointed at him and felt as if he was going to shit his pants.

“Get in Kamikaze and unlock the back door, now.”

Kamikaze sat in the passenger’s seat and the Latino guy got in the backseat and told the Black guy to get in beside him. He pressed the gun to the back of Kamikaze’s head and the Black guy had his gun on Chulito.

“You didn’t see shit, ya hear?” the Latino guy said.

“Nothin’ man, I didn’t see nothin’, Rey.”

Chulito realized that this wasn’t some random thug, but Rey himself. Whatever was going down was big for Rey to be chasing Kamikaze. Chulito wanted to get a better look at him, but thought it best to stay still.

“I’m serious Kamikaze. The only reason I ain’t poppin’ you and your boy is because it wouldn’t be good for business. ‘Cause I got zero love for you. That’s the difference between me and El Papa; I just focus on business and the numbers. That fat fuck got weak lettin’ small time niggas owe him money just ‘cause they had history. I knows you don’t have that problem, but effective immediately we under new management, ya hear.” He shoved the gun into the back of Kamikaze’s head. Chulito thought of the scene in a movie where the gun went off in the car by accident and splattered its victim’s brains all over the back window. He had trouble breathing and his eyes were moist.