Page 37 of Faded Gray Lines
“You thinkIsacrificedyou? You immediately thought the worst and damned me without knowing the hell I went through. Get ready, little lamb. You’re about to find out the meaning of real sacrifice.”
Thirteen
Mateo
May – Four Years Ago
I paced outside Emilio’s office, the loud laughter of the departing drunks in the cantina adding to my anxiety. I wished he’d get the hell off the phone and let me get this over with. A few minutes later, the smell of a freshly lit Cuban cigar wafted into the hallway letting me know my chance had arrived.
“Cortes,” he yelled, my name garbled around the cigar clenched in between his teeth. “Trae tu culo aqui.” Get your ass in here.
Before he could change his mind, I pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped inside. “Sí, boss.”
His thick moustache circled the overstuffed cigar as he puffed and stared at me, his dark eyes narrowed in curiosity. “I need you to do a run for me tonight.”
Shit. Emilio’s runs either involved putting a bullet in some asshole’s head or unloading a new shipment and distributing it to our street dealers. Thankfully, in the last four months, I’d risen up the ranks and no longer sold on the street. Still, I didn’t have time to follow an order tonight.
Or any night from this point forward.
“Can’t one of the other guys handle it?” I asked, making sure to keep my voice even.
“You got somethin’ better to do?”
I shoved my hands in my pockets so I didn’t take a swing at him. “I have an appointment I can’t cancel.”
“Mateo, when I found you stealing change on the street, how old were you—thirteen?” Emilio’s scarred face was expressionless, although a hint of smugness glimmered in his coal black eyes.
“Fourteen, boss.”
“The cops had already picked you up three times by the time I took you in. You were dirty, starving, and such an uncontrollable piece of shit, you would’ve been dead within a month if I hadn’t offered you a way out. Am I right?”
“A way out?” I lifted an eyebrow. “You beat the shit out of me.”
“I taught you respect. You tried to steal from me, you ungratefulculero.”
I sighed. I wasn’t getting out of this. “So, where is this run, and who do I need to meet?”
The corner of Emilio’s lip curled up as he bit into the cigar. Scissoring it between two fingers, he pointed the burning end toward me and pulled out something from inside his desk. “Here,” he said, handing me a Ziploc gallon bag filled with what had to be at least twelve small baggies of cocaine.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with this? I don’t sell this shit anymore.”
“You do tonight,” he shot back. “My regular dealer got shot, and I have a guy willing to pay double for this.”
“After I do this, no more calls?”
“You think I don’t have better shit to do than light up your phone all night?”
“Fine. Just give me the fucking thing.” Tucking the bag inside my jacket, I turned my back on him and fought the urge to flip him off.
Asshole.
“Hey, Cortes.” I stopped at the door and glanced over my shoulder. Emilio kicked his scuffed black shoes up onto the edge of his desk and leaned back into his chair crossing both arms behind his head. “This is for your own good.”
“Yeah, whatever. I’ll bring you the money tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” he said, chuckling to himself. “Yeah, you do that.”
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