Roachkiller and Other Stories by R. Narvaez Read Free Book Online Page A

where Mami died.
    Abuelita must be like eighty. She got thick glasses, shaded and shit, which is good because she got one mean-as-hell-looking dead eye. But that lady is a tiger, and sharp as steel. She give Roachkiller a hug like Roachkiller never did nothing wrong, like I came back from a week at camp and shit. She started cooking right away. Roachkiller saw she was moving a little slower now, taking baby steps. But she didn’t want no help, screamed if Roachkiller moved.
    It was cool and dark in there. Roachkiller went to the window, to check outside. Old habit, see what I’m saying.
    “Cierra las cortinas,” Abuelita said. She got this phobia, thinking somebody’s gonna shoot through the window. It’s not funny because it happened once. So Roachkiller closed the curtains, walked away.
    “Adónde vas!?”
    “I gotta wash my hands, Abuela. I got prison dirt.”
    “Dios te bendiga. Go wash your hands!”
    She fed me chicharrones , arroz con gandules ,and more platanos than an army of Dominicans could eat. After Roachkiller ate, Roachkiller knew he was gonna fall asleep. So Roachkiller went to the couch, before Abuelita yelled at Roachkiller to take the good bed.
    It was a couple days later, after another one of Abuelita’s giant meals, when Roachkiller was outside busting myself down with an ace on the stoop. Abuelita didn’t let Roachkiller smoke inside. I mean, Roachkiller killed him some seventeen guys, eye to eye sometimes, but Abuelita, she just smacked that shit out of my face. So Roachkiller went out to the stoop.
    It was hot as hell outside, lots of people out, walking up and down. The garbage cans smelled bad, but better than Riker’s. That’s when the kid came up to me. He was carrying a bag.
    “Roachkiller,” he said.
    Not just anyone calls Roachkiller “Roachkiller.” This kid was about to get his ass kicked.
     “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said.
    “Whatchoo want?”
     “They said, they told me, well . . . I wanted to hire you.”
    “What the fuck?”
    Roachkiller stared at him, not mean or nothing, just “What the fuck?” The kid looked like he was about to cry.
    “My sister is in trouble,” he said. “There’s this bad man. Juan de la Cruz. He stays drunk on the stoop all the time. She’s going out with him. She’s smart, really. But he’s going to bring her down.”
    Again—“What the fuck?”
    “She was supposed to finish high school. But he stopped her. And she was going to join the army. But he made her quit. Now she keeps saying she’s going to get a job, but she don’t do nothing.”
    Old story. Same shit happened to my moms. People like that are like addicts. Can’t save them for shit.
    “Fuck.”
    Kid’s eyes got all wet. “It’s not just her. She steals money from my mother. She takes things. My mother can’t take it. She’s too old. I don’t want Mami to die.”
    “Damn, kid. Whatchoo want me to do about it?”
    “The old men on the street, they said you would kill a man for almost nothing, that you would do it for a six-pack.”
    Then the kid held out the bag. Damn.
    “Please,” he said. “I don’t have any money.”
    “Then how’d you get the beer, little man. And now I think of it—how’d you get the beer? You’re fucking twelve.”
    “I saved up. Then I got a man to buy it. I had to give him money to get himself a beer.”
    “Shit,” Roachkiller said. “Get the fuck outta here, kid. Go home. Watch cartoons.”
    “My sister—”
    “Fuck your sister. Leave Roachkiller alone.”
    Boy look like he was going to cry again, then he turned around and started walking. But not before putting the bag with the six-pack into the trash. Then he walked to the building across the way and went inside. Never looked back.
    Roachkiller knows what you’re thinking. But there was a time Roachkiller would have killed a man for a six-pack. Even just one beer, if it was cold.
     
    *  *  *
     
    It was only a matter of time before Don Moncho came calling.