The Painted Boy (23 page)

“So it seems like you really are a good guy, China Boy,” she says.

“I’m just a guy.”

“With a dragon inside you.”

I shrug. What am I supposed to say? I settle for, “You don’t seem surprised by any of this.”

Now it’s her turn to shrug.

“I’ve lived with Elena for a couple of years now,” she says. “I’ve seen buffalo men and crow boys. Deer girls and beings that walk like men but have the head of a coyote. I’ve seen the little lizard girls and roadrunner
brujos
, the javelina boys and the hawks that become men, or maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe they’re men who become hawks. All I know is it’s a big world out here—bigger than most people realize—and sooner or later, most of it seems to drop by and visit Elena.”

“I’ve only seen a jackalope girl and a woman who’s supposed to also be a rattlesnake. Oh, and that other desert.
El entre
. What did Señora Elena call it?”

“Aztlán.” She says the word with longing. “That I’d like to see.”

“It’s not much different from this world,” I tell her. “There’s just no buildings or roads or people. There’s nothing human.”

“Like I said, that I’d like to see.”

I almost say, “I could take you,” but I don’t know what the protocol is—or if there even are rules. Maybe that’s a place only for cousins. Maybe something bad happens to humans like in the old fairy tales where somebody goes into fairyland for a day and a hundred years pass by in the world they left. What I do know is I didn’t get that
ping
when I met Maria and I don’t want to take the chance.

“You never did tell me how you ended up joining the
bandas
,” I say instead.

She looks away.

“Look, I know you don’t have to tell me anything,” I say, “but it would really help me get a handle on how things work down here to know why someone like you, who obviously hates the gangs, still feels like she has to join up.”

She continues to look away, but she says, “I did it to protect someone.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The gangs are all about respect,” she explains, turning back to me. “I don’t mean they’ve got some kind of bullshit code of honor, because they’ll break their word in a minute if it suits them and they think they won’t get caught. It’s about who’s the toughest, who can take what they want without consequences.” She taps her upper arm, but I don’t really know what that’s supposed to mean. “That’s what they respect. The toughest, the meanest, the smartest. So when they have the chance to pull in somebody who’s against everything they stand for, man, they’ll jump at the chance.”

I remember Rosalie telling me how Maria’s mother worked for the probation department and her dad was a teacher. I can see how their daughter becoming a King would look good for the
bandas
. But when I say as much, Maria shakes her head.

“I made a good substitute, yeah, but I wasn’t the one they had their eyes on.”

I give her a blank look for a long moment and then it hits me.

“Rosalie,” I say. “They were after Rosalie because it would totally devastate her uncle.”

Maria nods. Then she pokes me in the chest, bunching up my T-shirt.

“You don’t talk to
anybody
about this, China Boy. Not ever.
Comprende?
You do and I don’t care how many dragons you’ve got living in your chest, I’ll still come looking for you.”

“But if Rosalie knew—”

“She can
never
know.”

“Why not?”

“Come on, use your head. It’d kill her. After what happened to her mother and Anna’s brother—and now Margarita—it’d push her right over the edge. She’d go loco and who knows what she’d do? She’d probably try to go after the
bandas
on her own and get killed for her trouble.”

“I guess. . . .”

Maria puts the palm of her hand on where she’d been poking me. She smooths my T-shirt.

“Besides,” she says, “you’re going to fix everything, right? There aren’t going to be any more
bandas
once you’re done with them. So she doesn’t ever have to know.”

“That’s the plan,” I tell her with more confidence than I actually feel.

She cocks her head and studies me for a long moment, reminding me of Lupita. Then she nods.

“You are so screwed, aren’t you?” she says.

“Yeah, pretty much. But someone’s got to do something, right?”

“You could walk away. This isn’t your problem.”

“I could, but I can’t. It’s . . . I guess it’s hardwired into the dragon part of me to see it through.”

“The dragon . . .” she repeats. “I see you cousins walking around like people so much that I keep forgetting what you really are.”

I almost say, “I’d like to,” but then I remember my conversation with Rita. She pulled the truth out of me. I don’t really want to be normal. But why couldn’t everything just be a little less complicated?

“Elena gave you the heads-up about cousins,” Maria goes on, “but there’s something else you should keep in mind before you step into the war zone.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s not just about Flores and the
bandas
. Santa del Vado Viejo’s a prime route for the Mexican drug cartels. If you take out El Tigre, they’re going to be looking to replace him.”

Great. I hadn’t even considered that.

“I don’t think they normally get a guy like Flores,” she said. “You know, a cousin. But they’ve got enough guns and crazy gangbangers that they don’t really need anything more.”

I give a slow nod.

“How do you even live in this world?” I ask.

“It was hard at first. I got beat up a lot and you don’t want to know about how I got jumped in. But I toughened up quick. It was that or die. And now—”

I don’t even see the flick knife appear in her hand, but suddenly it’s there, the blade out and pointed right at me.

“Now they just think I’m a little loco,” she says, “and they give me some space.” The knife disappears as magically as it had appeared. “But you know how it is. Bottom line, when they say spit, I say how far.”

“It must be hard—”

Her face goes dark. “Hard doesn’t begin to cover it, China Boy.”

“My name’s Jay.”

She nods. “Yeah, sorry. It’s just that’s what the ’bangers call you.”

She looks away for a moment. When she turns back the dark hardness is gone.

“Margarita’s funeral is today,” she says. “They’ ll be interring her in San Miguel Cemetery.”

And that’s like a bucket of cold water in my face. Yeah, I don’t want to be normal. But I don’t want people dying around me, either.

“Are you going?” she asks.

I shake my head. “No one there wants to see me.”

“No one wants to see me there, either, but I’m still going. I’ll just stay in the background, play it low-key.”

I shake my head again. “Look, thanks for all your help. I need to go figure out a few things.”

“If I can do anything . . .”

“It’s cool. I appreciate it, but this is something the dragon needs to—”

I break off, remembering one of the other things that Rita told me.

“I mean,” I say, “I’ve got to work out how this is going to go down.”

I hesitate a moment, then step away into the other desert. Into
el entre
. The Aztlán Maria wishes she could go to. I see her face as I leave and she doesn’t even blink. She’s probably seen people disappear a hundred times before.

 

 

I lied to Maria about the funeral. I do go to San Miguel Cemetery for the graveside part of the service. I stand half hidden by a tall cross near the front of the cemetery, too far away to hear what the priest is saying, but close enough that I can see how upset everybody is. I pick out Anna, standing stiff beside Rosalie. The other members of the band are there, too. Ramon. Luis. Hector and Gilbert. I see Margarita’s family. Tío. A lot of people I don’t know, though I recognize some of them from various Malo Malo gigs.

I think about Margarita as I watch the somber scene. She was so much fun, so full of life, but she didn’t take crap from anybody. Which is what got her killed.

I start to feel angry all over again. Her death was so pointless. All the camera crews parked along the road like vultures don’t help my mood. Maybe the dragon could toss their vans into a pile—how’d
that
be for some news? Then I realize Rosalie is looking in my direction, her eyes widening, and I know it’s time to go.

I don’t worry about anyone seeing me do this. Or maybe I don’t care right now. I just step away into the other desert. Once I’m there—with the cemetery, the cars, the crowds all gone—I stand amid the cacti and mesquite, my hands opening and closing at my sides. Finally, I sit cross-legged in the dirt and tell myself to breathe slowly, to calm down.

At least here I won’t hurt anyone.

That’s when a small hand falls on my shoulder and gives me a squeeze. Before I have time to react, Lupita sits down in front of me, her knees touching mine.

“Rough day?” she says.

I wait for my pulse to slow down again before I answer.

“I’ve had better,” I tell her. “Thanks for dropping off breakfast.”

She waves it off.

“How’d you know where I was?”

She touches her nose. “Jackalope superpowers. I followed your scent.”

“Nice trick.”

She shrugs. “Little cousins like me might be a joke but we’re not totally useless.”

“I keep telling you—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. And you’re very sweet. But in the big scheme of things, I’m way way down on the list.” She waits a beat, then asks, “So what’s been happening?”

So I tell her about Rita and meeting Señora Elena and Maria.

“That was very brave of Maria,” Lupita says.

I nod. Maria told me not to tell anyone, but who’s Lupita going to tell?

“Why isn’t Rita welcome at Elena’s?” I ask.

“That’s an old story,” Lupita says. “The way I heard it, Señora Elena blames Rita for her brother Enrico’s death. Supposedly, Rita filled his head up with how it was wrong that El Tigre was here and convinced him that he was much stronger because he had the weight of right on his side and, you know, he had the whole Gila monster thing going for him. But when Enrico went head-to-head with Flores—”

She breaks off as she realizes what she’s saying.

“That’s starting to sound familiar,” I say.

Then I have a thought. I look around.

“Can she hear us?” I ask.

“Can who hear us?”

“Rita.”

I feel nervous just saying her name.

“Why would she hear us?” Lupita asks.

“Well, when I wanted to talk to her, all I had to was say her name and poof, there she was.”

“Did you just say her name, or did you call her?”

I give Lupita a confused look.

“I mean,” she says, “did you put some intent into wanting to see her?”

I have to think about that for a moment.

“Yeah, I guess I did,” I say. “That makes a difference?”

Lupita nods. “Sure it does. It’s not like she’s one of the big thunders living back up in the mountains who knows what’s going on everywhere at the same time.”

There’s so much I don’t know.

“So could I call you to me if I put intent into it?” I ask.

She smiles and shakes her head. “Little cousin, remember? We don’t know those kinds of tricks.”

“God, I don’t know what to do.”

Lupita doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then she sighs and gives me a sad smile.

“Yeah, you do,” she says. “You just don’t want to.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Are you kidding? If it was me, I’d already be hiding out somewhere down in Mexico or Texas—anywhere far enough from here that still has some desert.”

“Except I don’t have that option because . . . you know . . .”

“It’s what you need to do,” she finishes.

I nod. “Pretty much.”

Lupita hesitates for a moment, then she says, “Well, if I were you, I guess I’d start with going into the mountains and practicing.”

“Practicing what?”

She smiles. “Being a dragon.”

I just look at her for a long moment.

“You know,” she goes on. “Out there you can get all big and scary and break stuff without anybody getting hurt.”

“That’s actually a pretty good idea.”

“What?” she says. “Like I couldn’t have one?”

“I don’t know about the big and scary part of it,” I go on as if she didn’t say anything, “because the last time none of that happened. I was just me. But there was definitely breaking stuff involved. I really do need some practice.”

“Which was my idea.”

I smile. “Totally.”

“And maybe you couldn’t see it,” she adds, “but I saw the dragon when you called it up in the dance hall and you definitely got big and scary.”

“Really?”

She nods. “Yeah, you weren’t all the way into its skin, but I could see it filling the hall, pushing up against the ceiling.”

“So maybe I could do this thing.”

“I’m guessing you could do anything you wanted.” She pauses at the look on my face, then grins. “Big cousin, you know?”

“I guess.”

It’s still hard to think of myself in that way.

“Let me know when you plan to go to El Tigre,” she goes on.

“It’ll be as soon as I can. Probably tomorrow morning, when the barrio’s quiet and there isn’t as much chance of people getting caught up in the crossfire.”

“Good thinking.”

I look at her, then I add, “You can’t come. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I wouldn’t go on my own.”

“Yeah, but still . . .”

“Look,” she says. “Little cousins like me, we’re not very powerful, but there are a lot of us and we’re stronger than regular people. Like Rita told you, when you get a bunch of us together we can be pretty formidable. And a lot of us hate El Tigre for how he’s stolen the medicine from Señora Elena and for everything he’s done to the barrio. Cousins are no safer there than five-fingered beings.”