Trouble

“I’m sure you’re wondering why it’s me,” Cristobal started, “instead of one of the newly jumped-in members.”

“I figured you’d send them to do your dirty work, yeah,” Alejo agreed cautiously. His hands were still in his pocket, but Cristobal knew that Alejo wasn’t dumb enough to do anything stupid.

My hands were gripped on my knees, the knuckles white, my knees shaking with anxiety. I hoped to God Cristobal wouldn’t do the whole, stereotypical supervillain thing where he went through a massive monologue that did nothing but leave everyone waiting and give the hero time to assemble a plan B.

“The truth is, Alejandro,” Cristobal mused, “is that I wouldn’t feel the same satisfaction in killing you if I had one of the other guys get you. Maybe they wouldn’t even do it. So many people nowadays are liberals, open to change, and all that other mierda. But not us. Los Monstruos Mexicanos son diferentes. We have pride, loyalty to our country, and we do our work like any good Mexican should.”

“Are you saying I’m not a good Mexican?” Alejo snapped. “I’ve done everything right. I don’t even know how you found out. I’ve never acted on it.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Cristobal growled in a voice so animal-like, it sent shudders down my spine. “I have spies everywhere. I know that you’ve been meeting that blonde gringo in the upper-class neighborhoods, thinking that you’re safe from my eye. But make this a lesson to everyone that nothing escapes my notice.”

My stomach constricted, thinking that his words carried more meaning than talking about Alejo’s secret gay life. If he knew I was behind the bush, he could call me out, have me stand next to Alejo, and execute us together. Or he could just turn and shoot, and I wouldn’t have a prayer of reacting in time.

Debating that option, I drew my gun out of my pocket, holding it loosely in my hand, the barrel pointed at the ground, as Alejo started to talk again.

“So I’m an example of what happens when Mexicans have the nerve to be gay?” Alejo questioned bitterly. “This is just sick.”

“No, what you’re doing is sick. You’re turning your back on your people, and you’re making a disgrace out of us.”

“I don’t represent the whole race. I’m one person. One, insignificant person, as opposed to millions of other people that don’t feel the same way.”

“You don’t seem to realize the leverage you have in this organization,” Cristobal laughed, but it was hollow and empty. “You’re my personal body guard. People would kill for your position, and yet, you seem to think it’s worth nothing.”

“I liked what I did,” Alejo argued. “And I had nothing but loyalty for you and everyone else in the family before you started this fucking bullshit. People are more loyal to me than they are to you, and they’ll turn against you.”

“Who? Like Soledad? She doesn’t scare me. She’s a good girl. She knows her place, and she knows the punishment if she’s bad.”

The words made my ears start ringing as I struggled to suppress the trigger. In the excitement of the moment, it was easier than usual, and I only missed a small snippet of the conversation.

“But there are others. Others that have gotten so close with me that they wouldn’t dare let my murder lie.”

“Once it gets out who gave the orders, no one’s going to question it.”

There was another noise from behind me, something that sounded more like the slipping of a sneaker against grass, and I felt myself start to panic. I was being watched. Someone had me covered, and they knew what I was planning. What I’d suggested to Alejo. Because Cristobal had ears everywhere.

It dawned on me that neither of us were going to make it through, with my asinine plan that I clearly hadn’t thought through well enough. Why didn’t I take into account that Cristobal would never show up somewhere alone? He always had guards to protect him, to take bullets for him.

Oh, right. Because I hadn’t realized that Cristobal would insist on killing Alejo himself.

“Where are all your people?” Alejo made a show of looking all around as he spoke. “Hidden in the shadows? Afraid I’ll kill them?”

“They’re around,” Cristobal assured my best friend. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Why don’t you just do it?” Alejo put his arms out wide and looked toward the sky. “I’m done talking to you. This isn’t a Batman movie, and there’s no need for us to keep talking. Just shoot me in the heart, or the head, or whatever, and let’s get this over with. Make an example out of me.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Cristobal hissed angrily, walking over and backfisting Alejo across the mouth. Black liquid poured from his mouth as he drew back into a standing position, wiping off his lip.

Gone was Cristobal’s somewhat composed demeanor, his class, his sense. He finally let the insanity take over, and he had a murderous gleam in his eye that I could see from where I was.

“Don’t you want to know what’s going to happen to Sol?” Cristobal laughed, his tone colored with morbid teasing.

“You said she’s going to be fine,” Alejo answered, and I could hear the scared tone in his voice.

No, I sent in a nonverbal message, don’t do that. Stay strong, just for a few more minutes.

“No, I said she wouldn’t turn against me. But I’ve already got people standing outside her house, waiting for orders. And everyone in there will be shot, just like you.”

It was a trick. I would have noticed the people as I was leaving the house. I had always been hyper-vigilant, and the plan had only made me more so. He was just saying that to get Alejo riled up and angry, to get him to draw his gun or do something else stupid.

And it worked. Alejo pulled into his back pocket and yanked out his piece, holding it up with two hands, his finger hooked around the trigger. “You fucking shit,” he screamed. “Leave Sol and her family alone. They haven’t done anything. They didn’t turn me gay. None of them even know about it.”

“I can’t take chances,” Cristobal explained calmly. “Now, Alejandro, put down the gun. You’re just making this harder than it has to be.”

“No, I’m not. I could kill you right now, and you wouldn’t be able to do anything. I’d walk, and no one would ever know.”

“My people would kill you,” Cristobal reminded him. “They’re stationed all around, like I said. Just waiting for you to screw up.”

And there it was. I’d missed it the first time he said it, but the second time, it was there. The twitch of his mouth. Something that I’d caught on Marisol and Claudia when they promised me they did their homework or cleaned under their bed.

He was lying. There was no one around to protect him, no one lurking in the shadows. And yet, he’d just figured that Alejo wouldn’t tell anyone about the set-up, that he wouldn’t be expecting it, and he didn’t plan accordingly.

Too bad Alejo was smart, and I was even smarter.

But Alejo didn’t pick up on the lie, and he dropped the gun to the ground, kicking it over to the side so neither of them could reach it.

“I knew you wouldn’t do it,” Cristobal laughed loudly, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “I don’t know why I ever picked you as a bodyguard. You’d never kill anyone. You’re far too good.”

And with that, he reached into his waistband and pulled at his gun, his eyes locked on Alejo. That was it. He was done with formalities, with conversation, and he was going to do it for real.

Life moved in slow motion as he brought his gun up to face my best friend, as I got to my feet, putting up my own weapon. But I'm not, I said to myself in my head as I aimed the piece at Crisotbal, right between his eyes.

“SOLEDAD! NO!” a voice screamed from behind me, but it was too late.

I pulled the trigger before Cristobal had the chance. The bullet shot through the air, implanting itself firmly in the front of our gang leader’s forehead, blood pooling to the surface like an awful horror movie.

I’d done it. I’d killed him.

And when I turned around, gun still positioned, to face the source of my name, I felt the breath leave my lungs all at once, leaving me gasping for air.

Because I’d never seen Liam so scared.