10
Cold, sharp silence
La huesuda – Missing chingos – Blood
San Lázaro – Snake around my lungs
Pain
I drove to Guillermo’s house in a blur. I parked the car more or less in the same spot I’d parked the previous day and sat there, suddenly remembering the cracked egg and its nasty, slithering contents. I felt like I now had some of those worms crawling around my soul.
I shut the car off and stepped down. I was walking up to the door when I remembered to text Guillermo.
I’m here again. Need to talk.
Then I waited.
After five minutes or so, I decided to give him a call. It was too damn hot to be waiting on the sidewalk and my car was surely approaching sauna temperatures, so sitting and waiting in it was out of the question.
The damn phone rang until it went to voicemail. I tried again. Same result.
Guillermo’s car was in the driveway. I decided to knock and deal with the dogs then and Guillermo’s anger later.
I walked up to the door and knocked. Silence.
I knocked again. Silence again.
I knocked harder and faster, calling out Guillermo’s name.
Nothing.
I then repeated the process but called out to Consuelo instead.
Nada.
Sin pensarlo, I grabbed the doorknob and twisted. The door was open. I pushed it in slowly, expecting a dog to jump out at me at any moment, despite the silence. I peeked inside and saw an empty living room. No one stood in the kitchen. No barking and no music. El silencio tenía filo.
I pushed the door open un poco más and then stopped. There was a pool of blood coming from the kitchen and covering half of the hallway’s floor. Every muscle on my body wanted to jump back, slam the door, get in my car, and haul ass out of there.
Consuelo.
I pulled the nine and stepped in. Gun raised.
Something fast, invisible, and cold slammed against me and then went through me, taking the air in my lungs with it.
La huesuda.
El aire se escapó de mis pulmones tan rápido como si hubiése visto al diablo. I knew immediately that la huesuda had been in the house and had left, going through me on her way out. Se me puso la piel de gallina.
Por favor, mi querida Niña Blanca, mi Santísima Muerte, gran potectora, no me abandones ahora.
I took a few steps forward on wobbly legs, breathing as if I’d just ran a marathon in the mud while carrying someone on my back.
The blood coming from the kitchen hadn’t turned completely black yet. That meant la huesuda had stuck around, fed off whatever evil had been there.
I heard screams that weren’t there and felt a cold that was impossible given the heat I’d felt outside, but still I walked toward the blood.
Not wanting to step on the brownish puddle, I decided to walk up to the counter and lean over it to look into the kitchen. I lead with the pistol.
Mi corazón had already stopped beating a few seconds before I saw Consuelo’s lifeless body sitting on the floor, her back against the cabinet door under the kitchen sink. Algo me apretaba el pecho y no me dejaba respirar. Air and tears came simultaneously, my gulping for air drowning the scream that had built up in my throat and was threatening to come out and obliterate everything around me.
I forgot about the puddle and my own safety and jumped over the counter to reach Consuelo. I placed the pistol on the counter and kneeled next to her and touched her shoulder. Her head rolled to the left, exposing the gash on her neck. Someone had slashed her throat so viciously it had almost severed her head.
Something snapped inside of me, something untouchable that would never be put together again.
I wanted to grab Consuelo’s head and put her back together somehow. I wanted her to look up at me and tell me to call for help. I wanted to find the person who had done this. I wanted to scream, to burn something, to reach inside myself and pull out the cold stone that was sitting at the bottom of my stomach and the serpiente that had curled around my lungs. I wanted to murder and destroy and cry and turn to dust so I could forget everything, abandon the pain, and fly away.
Quería todo a la vez y no quería absolutamente nada.
My body was shaking and snot was coming out of my nose faster than the tears that came from my eyes. Consuelo was gone. Para siempre.
La huesuda se me antojó en ese momento una puta mala, una inútil, una pinche malnacida.
I stood up and picked up the gun and walked to the hallway, slipping for a second on the congealing blood. I reached out and touched the wall of that cursed house to catch myself. If whoever had done this was still in the house, I was going to rip their chest open with my hands and eat their fucking heart while they were still twitching on the floor.
I walked down the hallway and looked into the bathroom and the first room. The bathroom only had Consuelo’s collection of perpetually-burning candles in the tub and the room only housed her bed, an old rocking chair, and a gigantic statue of San Lázaro surrounded by a pack of dogs that were licking the wounds on his legs.
I finally reached the room that more or less acted as Guillermo’s office and found him on the floor. His body, which was between the sofa and the coffee table, was covered in blood and bloodied one-dollar bills. In the crook of his left arm sat the headless corpse of a brown chicken. Two blue candles had burned themselves out on the table, their wax mixing together to form a hard puddle. Guillermo’s head sat on the chair where the Niño Fidencio guayabera hung. The candle underneath the chair had been extinguished. The room smelled like death and shit.
I knew almost nothing about santería, vudú y palo mayombe, but I’d been around enough santeros and paleros to know that someone had performed a ritual to get money. Consuelo dead and Guillermo’s head sitting in a chair because of pinche lana. The anger inside me grew even more. It grew so much I thought it was going to rip my chest apart.
Indio.
“Ogún oko dara obaniché aguanile ichegún iré.”
Clear. Sharp.
“Ogún oko dara obaniché aguanile ichegún iré.”
I felt those words would come together and help some evil presence materialize.
The thought slithered its way into my brain, as full of venom as it was full of truth. This was my fault.
Indio had picked me to deliver a message. He knew what he’d done was not a matter that could be discussed over the phone. I led them here.
Ser marioneta es tan malo como ser un chivato.
The blood was already on the floor. Las almas ya habían partido.
Lo peor de la muerte es lo que le hace a los vivos.
Consuelo was dead because of me.
I vomited. Then, with the taste of bile and snot coating the inside of my mouth, a second thought came and made the guilt lose all its devastating sharpness. I was a witness. I knew who had done this. I could tell anyone. Guillermo’s brother could, and probably would, ask me if I knew anything. I’d served my purpose and was now a liability, a loose end, a small aggravation on two legs that would have to be taken care of.
Sometimes darkness gets so close you can feel it touching your skin, pushing against your innards like a brutal magnetic force. I felt it. Sentí una oscuridad tan absoluta, una maldad tan profunda acechándome, que caí de rodillas. There, brought to my knees like a beaten fighter, my head against the wall and my thoughts spinning out of control like a big rock rolling down a very steep hill, I heard a voice.
“Levántate, mijo.”
That was all I needed.
Consuelo was still around. Her strength was my strength. I walked back to her body.
Some people are pura luz.
The day I met her came back to me as I looked down at the deep, red wound splitting her neck.
On that first day, she gave me a hug before I left, told me I was un hijo de Changó.
“Mijo, tu eres hijo Chang
ó,
el hijo de Ibaíbo y Yemmú, el patrón de los guerreros y las tempestades.”
I told her I was a devout of Santa Muerte, but she told me it didn’t matter. She knew Shangó was both looking out for me and putting dangerous obstacles in my way. “Give me a few weeks, mijo, and I’ll figure out why.”
We never talked about that again.
Consuelo was an enmantillada, someone who was born inside the amniotic sac and thus possessed the gift of sight beyond all veils, trough all smoke, and into the minds of people.
Now her luz was gone. Bad death and bad vibes. The same things were inside me. I needed to change that. Someone needed to pray for Consuelo and Guillermo to make sure their almas didn’t turn into espíritus vagabundos.
I kneeled next to Consuelo and prayed a few Padre Nuestros for them and asked Santa Muerte to lead them to a better place quickly. Then I got up, placed the plug on the kitchen sink, and ran the faucet. I threw some water on the counter and used the sponge on the sink to wipe away any possible fingerprints. The water would take care of the mess I’d made up and down the hallway.
I kissed Consuelo’s grey head and went back to Guillermo. I stepped over him without looking and grabbed Niño Fidencio’s shirt and threw it over my shoulder. If el Niño Fidencio was really a milagrero, I was going to give him a chance to throw a milagro my way.
I went to Consuelo’s room and picked up her San Lázaro statue, heavy as an overpacked suitcase.
I walked into the kitchen again and realized I’d been crying since I before I started praying. I placed the San Lázaro statue on the counter so it wouldn’t get any blood on it and kneeled once more. I closed my eyes and placed one last kiss on Consuelo’s head. That kiss said thank you and have a safe journey and rest in peace and te amo with no words. Then, with my lips still buried in her gray hair, I made a promise out loud so that even the fantasmas that weren’t listening to my kiss could hear it.
“Te voy a vengar.”
I got up, picked up the statue, and left the house, already knowing what I’d do the second I got home.
11
Oración desesperada
Synov’ya sukin
Angry Russian – Bad ideas
The Dyatlov boys
The first thing I did when I got home was place my new statue next to Santa Muerte and pray.
Santisíma Muerte, hoy vengo a ti de rodillas y con lágrimas en los ojos para pedirte un gran favor con todo mi corazón: que me protejas de mis enemigos y de sus malas intenciones y que ayudes a Consuelo y a Guillermo a entrar para siempre en la gloria del Señor. Hoy te ruego que me mires con ojos de piedad y que perdones mis faltas y me ayudes a que las mismas sean perdonadas por el Dios Todopoderoso. Igualmente te pido que me sanes de toda enfermedad natural y sobrenatural, que me protejas del mentiroso, del envidioso, del malvado, del traidor y de las malas energías y los malos espíritus. Por favor concédeme tu justicia en todo momento y protégeme de aquellos que me desean sólo daños y mal. Concédeme tus bendiciones y tus milagros y otorgame las bendiciones de tu diestra poderosa hoy siempre.
Next up were some phone calls.
I thought about calling Raúl and asking him for help, but he was going to ask a lot of questions and, if I told him the real story, he would probably place the blame on me. And he’d be right. At least un poquito.
This was my problem, and I had enough anger and pain inside me to accept that.
And I had my gun.
With my eyes on my new statue, I pulled out my phone and dialed.
“Ved’ma Nursery, how may I help you?”
“Hey, man, it’s Fernando.”
The Russian waited a few seconds and then replied.
“Nando, it is good to hear from you. How can I help you now? I hope this is not about our last conversation.”
“It is about our last conversation, but I don’t want you to do anything for me other than tell me how you found the men.”
“Nyet, Nando. I told you to drop this, to ischezat’, to go somewhere else. No more business with these men for me. You should do the same.”
“They killed Guillermo and Consuelo.”
This time I was expecting the pause. It came accompanied by a sigh.
“Synov’ya sukin. I didn’t like the fat man much, he was lazy and expected too many favors from people, but he didn’t deserve to die, not at the hands of these sviney. And the mysterious woman who lived with him, I have heard stories. She was a true ved’ma, a providets. These people, they are special. My grandmother was one. Only fucking cowards kill women. I hope her prizrak moves into their bad dreams forever.”
“I need to know where I can find them.”
“My friend, Guillermo and the woman, they were not your sem’ya, not of your blood. I don’t think killing yourself is the way to deal with the pain. It won’t bring them back. I understand mest’. It is my business. Maybe you can find someone else to take care of it, but you are in much danger if you try to do it yourself. Trust me. I have seen these bad men with my own eyes, remember? They have evil inside.”
“I came to this country running from men like them, men who killed my friends and wanted me dead. I will have to run again if I don’t kill them. I don’t want to run. I’m tired of running. I’m sick of living like a coward, of feeling like a coward, of…”
“You are young, Nando, the anger, it bends you to its will. Going after these men is a bad idea, but I can see that my words will not stop you. I understand that. The fear, it is more powerful than the anger. You are feeling both. That is enough to make anyone bezumnyy.”
“So would you please let me know where I can find Indio?”
“Yes, this I will do. My hope is that your angel-khranitel’ is strong. Very, very strong. Your death, it is not something I want on my back. Carrying ghosts around is very bad for your dusha.
“My friend Igor Dyatlov, he has a small food store on the east side, near Rosewood Park. His wife Lyuda manages a few molodezh’ that sell weed and pills for them near the park. They are good people, chestnyy. They see thing clearly and do straight business with everyone. I always ask them whenever I have to find someone in the city. Most of the time they can’t help, but sometimes they have something for me because they have eyes many places in the east side. This time they were able to help me very much. The men you want to find have been pushing, nazhav, themselves into most of the business in the parks on the other side of I-35. They beat up two of the Dyatlov boys. Igor and Lyuda are angry, so they were very quick to share the information with me. After that, I only had to drive around for a few hours to find them. No trouble. I spotted them in a blue car leaving Webberville Road. I followed them for a while. They bought food from a truck on Airport Boulevard and then went back to a house in Webberville, a rushitsya place behind T.B.’s Lounge. They hung out outside and smoked. I drove by. That’s when I saw the man with the tattoos in the face. He looked back at me and his eyes, they turned black.”
I knew where T.B.’s Lounge was. I knew T.B., an old black man who ran the prostitution and gambling joints in a chunk of the east side. Was he helping out the mareros?
“Thank you for the information, man.”
I expected The Russian to hang up. Instead, he asked me a question.
“You will go after these men, yes?”
“I will. I’m really hoping I don’t have to do it alone, but going after them is the plan.”
“You will do me a favor?”
“Yes. I owe you that and more.”
“If you get to them and you survive, you will call me and let me know that men who have made deals with Tchort can bleed. Mozhet Gospod’s vami.”
The click I’d expected earlier now surprised me.