Page 91 of Guarded

“Fuck. I don’t want no more problems.” he surrenders.

“There won’t be any problems once you tell Ari you can no longer offer her services.”

I would personally find her someone else, even if I had to paint her nails my fucking self.

“She’s my bestselling-” I sigh and move the vest again, this time removing the gun from my waistband.

“Okay. Okay. I will tell her Alfonso can’t do business, no more.”

“Do it right now,” I say, crossing my arms.

Alfonso hesitates at first but then takes out his phone. He types out a message and shows me the departing text. I nod in approval.

“Good. I have some more questions for you,” I say.

“I don’t know anything about Ari. I know she talks a lot and has very nice feet.” Alfonso says through his thick Filipino accent.

“No. Not that. I want to know what you know about that house right there.” I point in the general direction, and he follows my finger.

“Information cost money.” he probes.

I pull out two hundred dollars from my wallet and hand it to him.

“Why do you need to know who lives in that house?” he asks, taking the money.

“I’m looking for someone who used to live there.”

“No one lives there. That’s where they hide people.”

“Hide who?”

“For $1,000, I’ll tell you.” he smiles. The guy was a natural-born hustler. I’ll give him that.

“$500 or nothing.” I bargain.

“Okay. But we have to go inside. It’s not safe to talk out here.”

I follow him to his house. Keeping a steady eye on him and holding my gun to the side. He looks around us again before opening his door.

“Listen, I don’t want problems with Barkada here.” He whispers.

“Barkada?”

“Barkada is like gang. Bad guys. Pew. Pew.” I watch as Alfonso turns his fingers into guns. “That house belongs to Kapre. His barkada owns these houses.”

“Kapre?” I ask.

It had been years since I heard that name. Kapre was one of the many stories my father would tell us about growing up. A pinoy folklore about a giant who sat in the trees smoking cigars.

“Kapre is the leader of the Santanas.”

“Santanas? Here in Houston?” I question.

Santanas were known to be the oldest Filipino American street gang, but as far as I knew, they only claimed territories throughout southern California.

“One of their founders, Benigo Dizon, expanded into Houston and started a triad here. When he died, Kapre, his oldest son, took over.”

The information doesn’t shock me. Several times, I thought my father had another family. It turns out we were the other family.

---