I was now crying too. The tears were silent, but I broke watching my mamma unable to move barely an inch. Broke at how much it took just to lift her fingers.
“I hate this, mio caro… I want to move… I can’t… I can’t…” She trailed off, sobbing once more. Gathering her in my arms, weighing no more than a feather, I pulled her to my chest and rocked her like a child.
“Hush, Mamma, it’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t cry. Be strong,” I whispered.
“But I… not strong… Hurt… in trouble… I am caged… I am no free.”
As I tried to swallow the lump in my throat at her incessant mumblings, my mamma slid her hand over mine and whispered in her thick accent, “I am ready… I want to go to God now… but can’t… My boys… no good… I worry… you are no… in good place…”
An absolute gutting pain sliced through my heart at her words. I didn’t want her to die, but I couldn’t stand seeing her like this… so broken… so weak… so confused but still thinking about us boys.
“I promise to make it all better, Mamma. Lo guiro,” I assured.
“He needs out… ti prego…”
“Who, Mamma?” I asked, my eyebrows pulled down tight as I tried to catch what she was saying.
Mamma fought to keep her eyes open, too tired from crying, fighting… worrying, and in seconds, her labored breathing evened out.
Making sure she was comfortable, I backed away from the bed, only to see Axel at the door, clutching a rosary, his fingers moving along each bead, his mouth uttering a prayer.
Without saying a word, he moved to Mamma’s closet and removed a scary-looking mask contraption. He moved to where she lay and, in moments, fixed it over her face. All the time, I watched him in silence.
With the flick of a switch, a low rumbling sounded and oxygen began pouring through to Mamma’s mouth and nose.
After kissing Mamma’s lifeless hand, Axel stood to face me. “Her mask came today to help her weak lungs. She ain’t breathing right no more.” He whistled low. “Dropped another couple ’a G’s on this mask alone. Ain’t got much left now, even for food, kid.”
Tipping my head back to the ceiling, I asked, “Where the fuck did all the blood come from? And why is she in such a state, talking about wanting to die and shit? What the hell’s happened?”
Axel flicked his thumb toward Levi’s room and immediately dropped his eyes. There was sadness there but a whole load of guilt too.
My stomach tightened in apprehension.
“Fuck, Axe, what’ve you done?” I asked, not wanting a reply, and pounded through to Levi’s tiny room, almost splintering the door on his wall as I pushed it open.
“Lev!” I shouted and flew to his side.
There, on his narrow bed, was Levi. Fourteen-year-old Levi—pale, battered, and bruised. His eyes were almost swollen shut and crusted with dried blood, his fair hair matted with sweat and dirt. But what got my attention more was a wide bandage across his stomach. A wide bandage seeping with blood.
Fuck. He’d been knifed.
“Lev,” I said and, dropping to my knees, gripped his hand. Levi moaned in pain in his sleep and tried to move, but his breathing soon calmed as he fell back asleep.
“We needed numbers last night for the drive-by. We knew if we didn’t act first, we’d be sitting ducks. After you took your bitch home, we decided to take two cars. Blitz the fuckers. Lev was needed, kid. You know the score. Every 9mm helps.”
My jaw clenched and my teeth gritted until I swore they were gonna crack. I couldn’t say shit in response for fear I’d lose control and end up attacking my own flesh and blood.
“When we got to the Kings’ turf, the fuckers were waiting. Well, six of them were; there was only five of us. It’d been a setup. False information. As soon as they saw us, they started shooting the rear car’s tires to hell until it rolled to the side of the road, where they dragged the guys out onto the street. Lev was in that car with Alberto, and Barton, the leader of the Kings, drew out his knife. I didn’t get there quick enough, and he sliced Lev across the stomach as the other guys wailed on him with feet and fists.”
Axel drew out a long breath. “I threw him in the car as quick as I could and split. I got him checked out at the ER. They patched him up, and I got the fuck outta there before the cops were called. Used the last of Mamma’s med money getting him stitched up.”
“And who stitched that shit show on your cheek?” I asked.
“Got old man Brown from trailer twenty-one to do it. Gave him a few rocks of crack as payment.”
I glanced down to my hand in Levi’s and pictured Pix here, soothing him, caring for him while my mamma wished she were dead in the other room for not being able to offer him her affection.