Pete Hamill - Brooklyn Noir

They were poor and Carlos was their only child, not because of any birth-control choice but because of poverty. That made Carlos even more attractive to Rosa. He was the one. He was raising himself out of the ghetto and would take the strength he had to be a success in business. Rosa thought that no one could stop Carlos but Carlos. On that she was right.

She fell hard for him and he seemed to love her right back. He took her to every hot nightclub in the city and everyone seemed to know him and like him. He was always walking off meeting people and telling her he had to do a little business. Carlos told her he did computer-hacking for cash and some of the folks he worked for were a little seedy, so she would be better off not getting to know them.

Then today it all came down on her. After Rosa’s morning International Law class, Carlos met her in the hallway and told her to come with him. Said he had a little deal he had to make and then they would go over to Mama’s for lunch. They walked up Broadway to 14th Street and huddled to keep warm from the bitter winter chill. They took the L train to Bushwick and then walked down Knickerbocker Avenue. Carlos told her he had to pick up some serious money from an up-and-coming Latino rap star who Carlos had developed a website for. Carlos had Rosa wait outside Rico’s Bodega as he walked across the street to talk with two young Latino men.

Rosa saw that Carlos was getting angry at the men and then — as if Rosa was watching this in a dream — Carlos pulled out a gun. A gun? A gun! Why would a computer programmer need a gun? One man ducked and rolled on the sidewalk and then she heard a shot and Carlos fell to the ground. Carlos landed under a car as Rosa ran across the street screaming. A gypsy cab screeched to a stop, just missing her. As she reached the sidewalk she saw Carlos weakly stand and let off a round at one of the men running away. The man fell to the ground as the other man shot back. Carlos grabbed Rosa and threw her down to the ground.

As she pushed herself up from the cement, it went quiet. Carlos stood and grabbed her, saying, “Get me to Mama’s house.”

“Carlos, Carlos, what happened?”

Three schoolkids stood on the corner staring at her and Carlos as they staggered up the block.

“I’m hit. Damn, he shot me,” Carlos moaned.

“What was that?” Rosa was crying. “Why do you have a gun? Why were you shooting at that man?”

“Because he was going to shoot me, Rosa. This here is Bushwick, not Bay Ridge.”

“Why would he shoot you over a website?”

Carlos laughed as a clot of blood spilled out of his mouth, “Website. Oh, baby, I don’t do websites. I deal. You know, drugs. Perico and chiva, like that. It pays for college.”

“You deal coke and heroin?”

“I do. And now ain’t the time to judge me. Do that later. I got to get to Mama’s. Get me there. Help me.”

“Carlos, you’re shot! We got to get you to an emergency room.”

“Shut up and take me to Mama’s.”

How could she not have seen it coming? Everyone was giving him cash. He was always getting calls on his cellphone and having to grab cabs to take care of business. How could she be so stupid? Who needs a website at 2:30 in the morning?

As Rosa turned onto Harmon Street — Mama’s house was now 200 feet away — she realized she had believed Carlos because she wanted to. She wanted to believe he wanted out of the ghetto even though he kept going back to it.

“Hold on, Rosa. We’re almost there.”

Rosa reached the front stoop and rang Mama’s bell. Carlos’s eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow. Mama opened the door and looked at her son.

“Díos mío! Mi hijo, mi bebe!”

“Mama, he got shot.”

“Inside. Avanza!”

Mama grabbed Carlos’s other arm and the women led him down the hallway.

“See, it was meant to be that we live on the ground floor,” Mama said as she kicked the door open and then yelled, “Papa! Carlos has a balazo . Put all the towels down on the couch. Cover it. Your hijo is hurt.”

Papa walked up the narrow hallway and ignored Mama and Rosa. He gave his son a sour look and grabbed a stack of towels from a hall cabinet and piled them on the couch in the front room. Mama and Rosa gently let Carlos down, and he slumped on the couch.

“Mal hijo!” Papa hissed as he looked at his son.

“Go! Get out!” Mama yelled at him.

Papa scowled at her and turned and walked quickly down the hallway. He slammed the door as he left.

“Papa’s flojo … You know, a weak man. Carlos takes after his mama. Strong. Fuerte . Like steel.”

“What do we do now?” Rosa asked.

Carlos moved and pulled out his gun from his pants and groaned, “Mama, Mama, get rid of this.”

Mama nudged Rosa and said, “Grab the pistola and bring it to the kitchen.”

Mama waddled down the hallway and Rosa followed her, holding the gun like it was a wild animal. Mama held out a plastic bag and Rosa dropped it in.

“Rosa, we have to stop the bleeding. Go and hold the towels to his wound till I get out there.”

“Mama, we need to get him to a hospital.”

“Hospital? That is where people go to die. My bebe no die. Not today. I know his death day. I saw it in a dream when he was two. He stays here and we take care of him. Stop the sangre . His blood has to clot. He’ll be fine. Be a good novia and help him.”

Rosa watched Mama place the gun in a drawer and then reach into one of the pockets of her red house dress and pull out two small strips of tinfoil.

“Rosa, go. Carlos has a herida de bala Stop the bleeding. Avanza.”

Rosa turned and ran down the hallway. In the living room she saw that Carlos was leaning back on the couch holding his stomach. She moved his hand and put a towel on the wound and pressed.

Carlos grimaced and turned his head. Rosa held the towel and then pulled it off when it became full of blood. She put it on the floor and picked up a clean one. She jumped when Mama silently touched her shoulder.

“Let me look.”

For a little old woman, Mama was strong. She gently moved Carlos forward and looked at his back.

“This might not be so bad. The bala went right through him. First we take away his pain. Here, Carlos, sniff.” Mama patted Carlos on the face as she held a line of white powder on her thumb.

“What’s that?” Rosa asked as Carlos took a long snort.

“Chiva… for the pain. Here, bebe , take another.”

“Heroin? You’re giving him heroin?”

“Rosa, you know what you read in your school books. Chiva is the best thing for pain and this chico is going to have pain when I clean this wound.”

Carlos leaned back on the couch and looked like he was sleeping. Mama took out some more white powder, lifted the towel, and poured it on Carlos’s stomach, inside the small hole where the bullet had entered.

“Now this, Rosa, is perico, which will freeze the nerves.”

Rosa watched with her mouth open.

“Now hold him by the shoulder.”

Rosa moved behind the couch and held onto Carlos.

“Tighter. Strong. He’s going to jump like a fish on a line.”

Rosa grabbed Carlos’s shoulder as Mama poured peroxide into the wound. Carlos’s body jolted and he screamed. He collapsed back on the couch.

“Just sit with him,” Mama said as she went into the kitchen. She came back in a moment stirring a glass of cloudy water.

“Now we use this dropper and put penicillin down his throat for infection. Hold his head back and open his mouth.”

Rosa tilted his head back, and Mama squirted the mixture from the dropper into his mouth.