Page 37 of The Slayer
“How long have you been sick?” Marcos asked, his voice lower and concerned.
“A few days.”
“How sick are you?”
“Really sick.” Chuito swallowed hard and looked up at Alaine, making sure she really wasn’t understanding him. “I’ve been working hard since you went down. A lot harder than I was before.”
“You think you caught it from the snow girl?” he asked slowly. “Or somewhere else?”
“No, I probably caught it from the snow girl,” he said, knowing his cousin was asking him if he was doing something harder than cocaine.
“I told you to stay away from the snow girls,” Marcos snapped at him. “What the fuck is wrong with Latina pussy? I mean that literally. Latina pussy solves a lot of problems, and I never get sick because of it.”
Chuito cut him off with a groan. “Stop.”
“Okay, Chu.” Marcos took a deep breath. “Look, my father gets sick all the fucking time. He can’t always get help for a cold in here. You’ll live. Just stay hydrated.”
“Been drinking coffee.”
“No fucking caffeine,” Marcos growled at him. “You drink water. Lots of water. You drown a cold. Are you really going to be a professional fighter? You think you’re crashing from the stress of it?”
Chuito heard his unspoken question, if he was getting clean because of the fighter spot. “Yeah, they gave me a spot at their gym. They think I could get a UFC contract. That’s their goal. It seems crazy, but whatever. They’re all crazy here.”
“Holy shit,” Marcos whispered. “For real, Chu? Is that honest?”
“Yeah.” He knew his cousin was asking if they were still speaking in code. “That’s honest. They’re building this huge fucking gym. It’s got a real octagon in it. I trained yesterday with Clay Powers. I also kicked the shit out of the Deputy the other day.”
“The cop?” Marcos laughed. “You kicked the shit out of that big motherfucker the Deputy? The one who quit the UFC to be a sheriff?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“That makes me so happy.” Marcos took a breath as if he needed a moment to process that. “I wish I could’ve seen it.”
Chuito swallowed hard and looked at the table that became a watery blur. “I wish you could’ve too. I really do miss you.”
“You fucking cry, chica, and I’m hanging up on you,” Marcos growled at him. “If I can give up pussy for two years, you can live through the flu without cold medicine, especially if kicking the shit out of the Deputy is the fringe benefit.”
“That’s why I came, you know?” Chuito told his cousin. “I figured it’s the least I could do.”
“Yeah, it is the least you could do,” Marcos agreed with him. “And you know what, cabrón, you better fucking win. I’m not kidding about this. You get over your cold, and then you beat down anyone who stands in your way. I want to see your Boricua ass on television. Represent.”
“I’m still coming back when you’re out.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not getting out for a while,” Marcos said and then yelled, “¡Me cago en ná! Three minutes!”
Chuito sighed. “Just hang up.”
“No, that motherfucker can wait.” Marcos’s voice was low and threatening, making it obvious he was still speaking to the other inmate waiting for the phone. “Now I’m staying on the phone twice as long. Just ’cause I fucking feel like it.”
“You’re supposed to be on good behavior,” Chuito warned him, because he knew that sound in his cousin’s voice. “If you do something stupid, you’re never getting out.”
“No pussy,” Marcos reminded him. “I’m on good behavior. I promise you I’m the most well-behaved pendejo in here.”
“I doubt that.” Chuito sighed. “Are you okay, Marc?”
“Sure, I’m great. I love it here. It’s like fucking Club Med,” he said before he added, “Without the pussy.”
“At least you get to spend time with your father.”
