“Some food at least,” said Marisa. “I can sneak you the extras from the restaurant, rice and beans at least—”
“I don’t want your help,” he said fiercely. “I’m not a beggar, and I can earn my own living. That’s not why I called, and that’s not why I showed you where I live. I called to tell you that I’m sorry, and I’ll do everything I can to keep them off you, but this is what you’re up against, okay?” He gestured at the poverty around him. “Sixty other guys, living just like me, with wives and girlfriends and kids of their own, and no way to feed them. You think we’re just diablos out here making trouble for no good reason? We’ve got to do something, whether we like it or not.”
Marisa saw the pain in his eyes, could hear the regret in his voice, and she felt her fingers curl involuntarily around the sheets on her bed, clutching them with tight, white knuckles. She didn’t want to ask, but she had to. “So . . . what are you doing?”
“Marisa . . .”
“You said you’ve got to do something, and I know you’re talking about more than just shaking down some shops and taco stands. I know you, Chuy, and there’s something you’re not telling me.”
He paused, then nodded. “Goyo started it last week.”
“Who’s Goyo?”
“The boss. If you think Calaca’s scary . . .” He paused again, gritting his teeth. “We’re selling, Marisa.”
Marisa closed her eyes, her worst fears confirmed. “Drugs? Is it Bluescreen?”
“What’s Bluescreen?”
“It’s a new digital drug,” she said quickly, “plugs right into your djinni. One of my friends did some tonight.”
“Here in Mirador?”
“No, it was . . .” She didn’t want to say Brentwood, feeling too guilty to even mention that she spent time with someone who has a home there. “The other side of town.”
“Never heard of it,” said Chuy. “Goyo’s got us selling Hoot.”
“Húluàn?”
“Exacto.”
“Chuy—”
“I know.”
“Hoot practically eats you alive! Have you seen the pictures? And it’s, like, twice as addictive as normal meth.”
“I know!” Chuy repeated. “I’m not saying I’m down with this, and that’s why I wanted to warn you. I tried to talk to Calaca, but do you know how much authority I have in La Sesenta? Just barely enough to not get shot when I say that maybe we don’t want to bring flesh-eating heroin into our neighborhood. So now I’m warning you that you need to be careful, and watch the little girls, and . . . be careful.”
“I will,” said Marisa, “but you’ve got to get out.”
“I’ve told you, I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“Go to Mexico,” said Marisa. “They have jobs there—”
“Mirador is my home,” he said. “I was born here; my son was born here. My family is here—not you and Dad, the family that kicked me out, but La Sesenta, mis carnales, true blood brothers united not by some hereditary accident, but by choice. By pride. I would take a bullet for them, and any one of them would take one from me. We put food on each other’s tables, and money in each other’s pockets, and I’m not going to leave that just because the food isn’t very much and the money doesn’t go very far.”
“So you’d rather sell Hoot on the playgrounds?”
“Why are you attacking me? I’m trying to help you.”
“Then stop dealing drugs.”
“Damn it, Marisa—”
“Then come home,” she said.
He shook his head, looking suddenly exhausted. “You know that’s not an option.”
“You can patch things up with Papi—he misses you, I know he’d take you back.”
“You were too young when I left,” he said. “You didn’t understand then, but I thought you’d have figured it out by now. He will never take me back, and I will never take him. I can’t live with him. I can’t be him. I have my own family now, my own woman, my own child, and I have to stand up and be the man they need me to be—if you don’t agree with my methods, that’s your problem and not mine.”
“Is a little pride worth more than their safety?”
“Their safety is why I’m here,” he said fiercely. “You think people just leave gangs, as easy as . . . logging out of a game? This is the real world. I swore an oath to Goyo, and to everyone else, and if I break that oath everything I have is in danger.” He laughed—a short, disbelieving bark. “How sheltered are you, Mari?”
“I love you, Chuy.” She faced one the computers on her desk and turned on the camera feed, wanting him to look her in the eyes. “I love you, and you know that, and I know you love us too. I’m glad you called, and I’m grateful for your help, but . . . for Junior’s sake at least, and for Adriana’s. For Mami’s sake, so she never has to hear about you getting shot somewhere. You’ve got to get out. If not here, then Mexico—they won’t chase you that far.”
Chuy took a deep breath, and the pause seemed to drag on forever. “I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you.”
“I love you, too, Mari. Be careful.”
“I will.”
She blinked, and ended the call.
FIVE