Charlie Huston - The Shotgun Rule

Timo screams and goes down.

Ramon cocks his fist, but Fernando has him by the neck. Ramon unclenches his fist.

Fernando nods.

– That’s right, bro, relax that shit.

Ramon points at Timo.

– What the fuck?

Fernando lets him go.

– Little shit talking about we all got the same bust. He’s a fucking minor. No priors. Nothing. Bust means shit to him. He’s talking jailhouse tough shit he gets from you. And you? Acting like it’s a fucking joke? Joint don’t mean nothing to you, bro? That your story now? What I remember when I went up there to visit, I remember I seen what you look like comin’ down that hall, sittin’ on the other side of that window. I remember you so lonely you were crying. Remember what I said that day?

Ramon touches the bandage around his thigh where the cops put a bullet in him.

– Yeah.

– Say it.

– Said. Said it was no good me being inside. Being away from my brothers. Said not to forget how it felt, not being with blood. Said outside we had each other. Inside we got nobody.

– That’s right. Inside we’re alone. And we’re not going inside. Not you, not any of us. You want to go against those charges with a public defender? Some whitey from the county gonna get you off that shit? The man is gonna get us off that shit. We do his thing, he’s gonna get us a real lawyer. That’s what I want. Till we got that settled, you’re right, I am the jefe. We all work together, but I am the boss and you gotta listen to me. Gotta follow what I say. Do that, stay together, stay on the outside. Stay family. Blood?

Ramon puts out his hand.

– Blood.

Fernando takes his brother’s hand.

– Blood.

Timo sits up, fingering his nose.

– Thit’s brothen again, futhcker.

Fernando helps him to his feet.

– Come on, blood, let’s clean that shit up.

He takes his brother back down the hall to the bathroom.

Ramon watches their backs.

– Jefe.

He smiles, takes a few steps and, leaning on his crutch, bends and picks up the snake of bloody chain. He looks at Hector, still folded and holding his face.

– Check you out, ese, you’re all fucked up. How’s shit like that happen, holmes? How’d you get into this shit?

He takes a seat on the couch, leaning forward to take the hacksaw from his belt and tuck it next to the armrest. He stretches his wounded leg.

– I don’t want to fuck with you while you’re down, but you gotta be told, you ain’t got it so bad.

He taps his thigh.

– This shit, taking a.38 in the leg? That hurts. No lie. Know what the bullet did? Skipped off the bone. Check that out. Doc said it could just as easily shattered the motherfucker. ’Stead, it skipped off the bone and went right out my leg. Told him I wanted to keep that bullet, good luck charm there ever was one. Said they can’t give it to me. Said it’s evidence. Evidence in the resisting arrest part of the case. Cops got a case against us, it’s so big it’s got fucking parts. Makes my head hurt as bad as my leg. Take it from me, little man, you ain’t got it so bad.

He leans back.

– Still, this shit is all fucked up. This brown on brown thing? Know what I’m talking about, holmes? Yeah you do. This ain’t right. Mean, here you are, three white dudes and one Chicano. And, whoa, stop the presses, who’s in here getting fucked up? Two white dudes in the back room sleeping it off, other white dude ditched this shit. Cue up the same sorryass story.

He wiggles the chain.

– And us, here we are, three brothers, hermanos, the real deal lowrider vatos. Who we waiting on? That’s right. White dude. In the meantime, how we spending our siesta? Beating on a fellow Chicano. That seem right? There something wrong with this picture? Know there is. Blanco Nortinos steal all of California from us, right? That’s how this shit started, that’s how far back. Still there’s places like this, towns where we got the numbers. Still we can’t seem to do shit any different than before. Ain’t right, ese. All us Chicos here and hardly any Mr. Browns in sight, and we’re still fucking each other up instead of taking it to them.

He levers himself up with the crutch.

– That’s some prison education for you. Lessons direct from the school of hard knocks. Santa Rita social studies.

He looks at Hector, still bent over, bleeding face still in his hands.

He looks at the chain, watches a drop of Hector’s blood slowly creep from link to link.

– Anyway, whatever. Let’s see how this shit works.

And he puts the chain to use.

– Andy. Andy.

– Leave me alone.

– Andy.

– I hurt. Leave me alone.

– Let me see your face.

– I donwanna.

– C’mon, man, just let me take a look.

– No. No.

– Andy, stop being a fag and let me see your face.

– Fuck you. Fuck you.

But he turns his head, letting his brother see his face.

– Shit, oh shit, little brother, oh shit.

Andy looks down.

– Your legs are bleeding.

– It’s OK, it’s just scrapes. How’s the inside of your mouth, did you bite your tongue?

Andy sticks his tongue out.

– I thon thing tho.

– It looks OK.

– Thor hed ith bleeing.

– Put your tongue back in your mouth.

Andy puts his tongue back in his mouth.

– Your head is bleeding.

– They hit me with something.

– Who did?

– I don’t know. I don’t remember too good. Fernando or Ramon, I think.

– You tore my favorite shirt.

– That was Paul, OK? It was Paul. I told him to stop and he just. Fuck! Andy, your eye?

– What?

– Can you see out of it?

Andy blinks.

– Which one?

– The left one, your left eye. It’s like, it looks like it’s full of blood, like there’s blood inside of it.

– Oh.

He closes his right eye.

– Yeah, I can see out of it.

– Good. OK.

– George?

– Yeah, bro?

– My stomach feels funny.

He tilts, eyes open, until he’s lying on his side, shivering, and then still.

Paul stops running.

He looks around to see where he is. Somewhere on Locust. Turning, he can see the swimming pools at May Nissen Park a few blocks away. He’s covered in sweat. Even with the sun down it’s still like eighty. He gets out a Marlboro and lights it. He starts to walk, heading toward the pools.

Too bad they close at dark. Be nice to jump in the water and cool off. If they didn’t have those security lights he could just hop the fence. Could do it anyway. Get over the fence and do a couple quick laps and get out. Still be plenty of time to meet up with the guys. They were lagging so hard, didn’t see any of them behind him when he took off. Fucking laggers. Gonna give them all kinds of shit when they catch up. Trouble starts, you gotta jet right away.

He crosses Rincon and walks up to the fence and stands there looking at the pools on the other side.

Lameass Andy fucking up inside the house. Getting George in there with him. Well, George’ll get them both out. Hector must have split around the other side of the house. Probably got his bike. Man, getting his bike back is gonna be a bitch. Maybe go back there right now and take a grab at it. No, that’s lame. Guys’ll be catching up soon. Gonna have to deal with those bikes together.

He hooks his fingers in the chainlink, closes his eyes.

And sees again his best friend’s legs, cut and bleeding, being pulled through the window. And hears the screams.

He opens his eyes.