Camila was lying on the floor, next to Juan Pablo. They had both been shot in the head. Juan Pablo’s face was contorted. His eyes were still open. His gun was half way out, lying by his side.
The stranger Esteban had seen earlier had a gun pointed straight at Cantina Man. He was resting it on the table, so it looked like the two men were having dinner, but his finger was on the trigger. Cantina Man’s knuckles were white as he clenched his walking stick.
Esteban knew he should back off, retrace his steps and run like hell. He knew he shouldn’t crawl into the dining area, pick up Juan Pablo’s gun, and wipe the blood off so it didn’t slip from his fingers. He knew he shouldn’t aim the gun at the back of the man’s head and try to keep his hands from shaking as he took aim.
Esteban knew all of that, but the only thing he could see was the stranger putting a bullet in Juan Pablo and Camila. He saw the man turn the same gun to Cantina Man. He saw the bullet rip into Cantina Man, spewing blood and death over Esteban’s only chance of seeing MaMaLu. Esteban saw fifteen pesos about to be splattered on the walls. He saw the prison guard asking him for lunch. He saw himself sitting in the shadow of the prison, day in and out, always short, always close, eating fucking peanuts like a fucking idiot.
He squeezed the trigger. The recoil sent him crashing into one of the tables.
Esteban wasn’t sure if he’d gotten the man, who was still sitting in the chair. Then he toppled over sideways and hit the floor. A stream of blood sprang out from the back of his head.
Cantina Man and Esteban looked at each other.
Holy fuck.
Esteban let go of the gun like it had just burned his hand. His ears were ringing from the deep boom of the shot.
Cantina Man walked over to him and kissed him on both cheeks.
“I just wanted to see my mother.” Esteban was shaking. He couldn’t believe he had just killed a man. “I just wanted to see my mother.”
Cantina Man picked up the gun and wiped it down. Then he put it back in Juan Pablo’s hand. “I will take you to your mother,” he said.
He made a couple of calls. A few minutes later, a dark car pulled up to the curb.
“Where is your mother, boy?” Cantina Man asked. He ushered Esteban into the back seat.
“Valdemoros. But they won’t let anyone in at this time.”
A police car screeched to a halt outside the cantina. Two uniformed officers got out.
Cantina Man rolled down his window. “Look after it.”
As the car pulled away, Esteban saw the police men line the back seat with garbage bags and throw three dead bodies in the car.
“Juan Pablo . . . Camila . . .” Esteban’s voice no longer sounded like his. He felt like his body and soul had been snatched. His friends were dead and he had just killed a man.
Cantina Man didn’t say anything. He tapped the glass partition between him and the driver with his cane. “Valdemoros. Vámonos!”
Valdemoros was even more imposing at night. Without the noise and activity of vendors and visitors, it was like a massive ghost ship stranded in the middle of nowhere. Spotlights were trained around the perimeter and someone from the tower beamed one straight at Cantina Man’s car.
The driver got out and summoned one of the guards. “Concha!”
She walked over to the car and greeted Cantina Man.
“Escort this young man inside. He’s here to see his mother,” he said.
“Si, Se?or. Please come with me.” She banged her baton on the heavy, metal gate. It lifted with a loud thunderous rasp.
And just like that, Esteban was in. No waiting in line, no lunch money, no logging in.
“What’s your mother’s name?”
“Maria Luisa Alvarez.” Esteban’s heart was racing. He wished he had a comb. He wanted to look good for MaMaLu.
“Is my shirt clean?” he asked the guard.