Page 38 of The Slayer
“Yeah, lucky me. You could do something and go down, and we could have a family reunion.”
Chuito laughed, because it had come very close to happening. “I guess I’ll just stay here instead. It’s snowing, you know? That’s ironic.”
“I’ve never seen snow,” Marcos said and then added, “The cold kind. Not that I would ever look at the other kind. ’Cause I’m on good behavior.”
“An ideal prisoner.”
“Fucking ideal. I have to go, Chu.”
Chuito closed his eyes, because he didn’t want him to hang up, but he just said, “I know.”
“Shave your head,” Marcos added. “So no one pulls your hair when you’re fighting.”
Chuito looked at the table, wondering why he hadn’t thought of that. They did drug tests with hair follicles too. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”
“Okay. Bye, cabrón.”
He stared at the phone when it clicked off, feeling tears sting his eyes again.
“That was your cousin,” Alaine asked softly.
Chuito nodded as he kept staring at the receiver in his hand. “Yeah.”
“You miss him?”
He lifted his head, seeing that she was studying him from her spot at his stove. “I do. Very much.”
“How long is he in prison for?”
“Another year.” Chuito flinched even as he said, “If he gets out on good behavior. That’d be a fucking miracle.”
“You don’t think he can behave in prison?”
“Hehasn’t beenbehaving in prison.” He shook his head. “He’s been in solitary three times. At this point, I’m just hoping his sentence doesn’t end up extended.”
“Why’d he go to solitary? Drugs? I heard there’s drugs in prison.”
“Therearedrugs in prison,” Chuito promised her, unable to help the wince that he had ended up here in Garnet instead of down with his cousin in Miami. “But he doesn’t do drugs. Bud sometimes, but that doesn’t count. It’s been fighting mostly. He got into a lot of fights when he first got in.”
“But not now?”
“That’s the thing about fighting. If you’re good at it, motherfuckers stop fighting with you. It’s only another year. He’s okay,” he said more for his benefit than hers. “He’ll be okay. His father’s there with him. He can make it. I got to make sure Mamá gets him money. I’ve been doing it, but—”
“You’re talking in Spanish,” she reminded him softly.
“I’m sorry.” He lifted his head and stared at her. “It’s the crash. I have a fucking headache.”
“Coffee,” she suggested.
“Si, por favor. I don’t have any, though. I drank all mine.”
“I brought some over.”
“I’m gonna pay you back for this,” he said as he gestured to the stove. “My head feels like it’s gonna explode. I couldn’t cook right now to save my life, but Icancook. I’ll cook for you when I get better.”
“I don’t know too many fellas who cook,” she said as she worked at making coffee.
“I cook okay. I’ll get my mother to send me a care package from Miami. You ever havemofongo?”
