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

Roachkiller had been looking for a bar, but all the old ones was closed. Too many dark places with rock music and shit. Roachkiller found this old social club called El Piterre on South 2nd. Woulda been nice to meet a mamita, you know what I’m saying. Good salsa music, some classics, on the jukebox. But nothing but old men in there. They wouldn’t even let you smoke in there. Roachkiller was outside busting an ace when this guy came up.
    He said, “Let me get a cigarette.”
    Roachkiller gave him a bone.
    “Let me get a light.”
    Roachkiller got out his silver lighter. But then the motherfucker kicked Roachkiller in the balls, grabbed the lighter, and ran.
    “Motherfuck,” Roachkiller said and started running after the guy.
    But a building stopped Roachkiller. It was Quique, Don Moncho’s man. He put his hand on Roachkiller’s shoulder and Roachkiller might as well have tried to move a mountain.
    “Let him go,” he said.
    “You know that guy?”
    “Juan de la Cruz. Steals little shit. A waste of your time.”
    “Don Moncho wants to see Roachkiller,” Roachkiller said.
    “Don Moncho wants to see you.”
     
    *  *  *
     
    Back in the day Don Moncho had his own club. He had a pool table in the back, and he played morning, noon, night. He coulda been a famous pool player, if he wanted to. If he asked you to play, you had to, even though you knew he would beat you every time.
    But there was no pool table this time. This time Quique went to an apartment on Roebling, above a laundromat. Each time you took a step it got hotter and hotter. Quique opened the door and it was like a fucking steam bath.
    Don Moncho was a great man in his day. But now he was on a couch, in sweatpants and a blanket. Little TV set on. Smelled like old pee in there.
    “Roberto,” Don Moncho said. Roachkiller could barely hear him.
    We caught up, about the old times and shit. But Roachkiller doesn’t want to waste his time or the time of a man like Don Moncho.
    “Listen, Don Moncho, no disrespect, but before we get into what I think you want to get into, I gotta say, Roachkiller ain’t doing time, again. Never.”
    “Fuck you,” he said. He was old but his balls still had hair. “I invited you here to give you something.”
    “My apologies, Don Moncho,” Roachkiller said. Roachkiller was trying to keep cool, but Don Moncho don’t give shit to nobody for nothing.
    “When you was away something very bad happen,” he said. “Your abuelita, she probably didn’t tell you. She was living all alone, and a man, he came in to take her money. You were not there to protect her. He broke in, she was there, and, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, he violated her.”
    “Madre de dios.” Roachkiller was crying like that stupid boy, crying, crazy, busting mad. I was gonna explode.
    “I have his name,” Don Moncho said. “I know where he lives.”
    “Tell me that motherfucker’s name,” I said. “Tell me that motherfucker’s name now!”
    I felt Quique’s big stone hand on my shoulder. Roachkiller had to calm down.
    “I will tell you all you need,” Don Moncho said. “But first I need a favor.”
     
    *  *  *
     
    Roachkiller went to his Abuelita’s house, just sat down at the kitchen and didn’t say shit. She was watching some game show and shit. She got right up, made café con leche and a buttered roll, put them right in front of me. We just sat there. Not talking. I looked at her. She looked at me.
    “Quieres jugar domino?” she said.
    “Muerto, quieres misa?” Roachkiller said. Of course. Roachkiller don’t back down from a dominoes game. See, that lady loves her dominoes. She kills in that game. Swear to god, that dead eye must give her X-ray vision.
    She got the dominoes out, the nice ivory ones with the PR flag on the back. She mixed them up on the table, and we each took our seven. Bam! Right away she started with the double six. It was on.
    “So, Abuelita,” Roachkiller said, after a while. “You