Ch. 44 - Rico
R ico trudged down the sidewalk of Chapparal Drive, the main street of Yucca Hills. Maybe he was still a little drunk.
Except not a little. And not maybe.
He’d killed at least an entire bottle’s worth of wine with Theo and the guys earlier in the morning. Probably more. Definitely more. All on an empty stomach with pretty much zero built-in tolerance for booze. So, yeah, that was most likely why the sidewalk swayed under his feet, and the letters on the building signs did little ballerina twirls in his vision.
Rico squinted in the sun. What the hell was he even doing here? Right. Theo had stolen his keys, and Elena was volunteering at some legal clinic for the next two hours. She had promised to pick him up afterward. Sure, he could have called an Uber or Lyft, but what was the difference between suffering in the fresh air of a summer day or on the sofa at his mom’s house?
Either way, he felt about as worthless as a turd in the community swimming pool. At least outside he had a few things to look at. Like a huge boat turned into an antique shop, dueling pizza shops across the street from each other, and a bustling knitting shop called Purls of Wisdom .
Why in the hell was that shop always filled with people? Was Yucca Hills home to a secret knitting insurgency or something? Rico laughed at the thought as he passed the Buzz + Brew Cafe, a coffee shop and brewery under the same roof.
If the line to the café weren’t out the door, Rico might be tempted to buy himself a muffin or scone. He’d never eaten a scone before. Empty carbs. But they looked so damn delicious. And seeing as he was currently in the mood to utterly wreck his body, why not give it a few more whacks with a calorie-laden pastry sledgehammer?
Rico continued moving forward, passing a little vet clinic, then a run-down art studio called The Looking Glass. Wasn’t his sister always talking about the community plays this place put on? From her description, you’d think they were somehow the best and worst thing ever unleashed unto the world.
Rico paused. In the distance, he heard the faint hum of a drill. His ears perked. Without thought, his feet began to move, taking him a few blocks east past the bustling downtown area. Off the main street, the buildings were less brightly colored, bigger, and more industrial. The cute little signs filled with cursive script were gone, replaced by signs in large, blocky letters.
And there it was—a square, gray building with navy-blue trim. The Auto Yard. From his angle on the corner of the street, Rico could see the garage doors were up. Sounds of drills, cranks, and the high whine of a car lift all flowed from inside the large mechanic shop.
Hector Chavez worked here. Because of course Rico often gave into the sick, irresistible urge to keep tabs on his old high school bully. Just staring at the building made Rico’s blood begin to heat. Why should Hector own a local business? Why should he, presumably, be happy and prosperous? The man had dedicated years to making Rico’s life a living hell .
And for what? Hector, of all people, should have understood how hard it was to grow up poor and brown in a majority white town. But instead of support and brotherhood, Hector had offered only unrelenting torture. Sure, he’d tormented a lot of kids at school, but he’d seemed to take a special pleasure in humiliating Rico.
All Rico had to do was close his eyes to be transported back within the suffocating walls of his high school. He could perfectly remember Hector, his wide, flat face twisted in a perpetual sneer, winding up and delivering a sucker punch to Rico’s gut. In his memory, Rico easily cataloged the multiple shoves down the stairs, the numerous trips in the hallway, and the several times Hector had picked him up and tossed him in the girls’ bathroom. Then there was the time Hector had tossed his lunch box, filled with his mother’s lovingly cooked food, out the window, or the day Hector had torn his backpack off his shoulder, unzipped it, and dumped everything into the hallway. Hector and his buddies had proceeded to play a freestyle game of soccer with Rico’s cell phone, cracking the screen. Rico hadn’t even bothered to ask his parents for a new phone. They’d barely been able to afford the first one.
Rico’s knuckles throbbed. He looked down, surprised to see his hands balled into tight, shaking fists. It hadn’t just been the beatings, either. Hector had constantly taunted him for his small stature. Twig. Fag. Limp Dick. Pussy. Little Bitch. Puta. They’d all been part of Hector’s brilliant repertoire.
Rico looked again at The Auto Yard. His feet began to move.
Ironically, Hector had reached out to Rico through social media several years ago. The guy had apologized, his message heartfelt, genuine, and all-around sweet.
At the time, Rico had felt touched. Now, Hector’s words of regret and reconciliation meant nothing. They couldn’t make up for years of torture and ridicule. Rico still burned with hurt and anger. He still needed revenge.
It seemed that just a moment passed before Rico yanked open the door to the garage’s small office and stomped inside. A woman with glossy chocolate hair looked up from the counter.
Marianna, Hector’s younger sister, smirked at him, her brown eyes alight with a joke only she seemed to ever know. Oh, Marianna Chavez. She’d been in his grade, the ungettable hot girl of the school with all the boys lapping at her feet but too afraid of her brother to make a move.
“Rico, didn’t know you were in town,” Marianna said now. “I read this amazing article about you in the East County Caller a while back. It was great. You see it?”
“Where’s Hector?” Rico demanded.
Marianna’s eyes narrowed. Possibly because Rico was swaying a little on his feet.
“You got a car problem?” she asked, the joviality gone from her voice.
“I’ve got . . . a person problem.” The retort sounded good to him, but Marianna didn’t look impressed.
“I think you should leave, Rico,” she said.
He spotted a door behind the counter and lunged for it.
“Hey!” Marianna snapped, but he swung open the door and marched into the garage . . . which, Rico now realized, he could have just as easily accessed from the outside.
No matter. He was here now, and it was time to finally give Hector exactly what he deserved.
The garage consisted of four separate bays, each containing a vehicle. Several men and a lone woman attended the autos .
Hector Chavez leaned over the open hood of a silver SUV, wrench in hand. Age hadn’t softened him one bit. Muscles corded up his tattooed arms as he yanked on the wrench, and his heavy brows pinched together in concentration.
“HECTOR!” Rico bellowed over the noise of the garage.
The large man startled, almost hitting the hood of the SUV before weaving out of the way. He turned and frowned.
“Rico?” he asked.
Rico stormed forward, stumbling on a tool bag as he awkwardly made his way past two bays.
“I’m here to fight you,” he announced, finally pulling up in front of Hector. “Get ready to throw hands.” Shit, now that Rico stood practically chin-to-chin with his enemy, he could see that Hector had at least three inches and a good 20 pounds on him.
Didn’t matter. Rico had a lifetime of injustice and burning vengeance on his side.
“Rico, get the hell out of here or I’ll call the cops,” Marianna said from the office doorway. Her voice carried easily across the garage. Probably because all the tools had stopped. Several pairs of eyes stared at them.
That was exactly when Rico noticed the massive black dog at Marianna’s side.
Shit. Was he about to get his balls ripped off by those powerful jaws?
“It’s all right, Marianna,” Hector spoke. He looked at Rico. “Sure, we can fight. But not here. We wouldn’t want to damage any of the cars. Let’s go out back.”
“Yeah. Good idea,” Rico said. “Wouldn’t want to damage the cars.” Truth was, his liquid courage was starting to desert him. It was dawning on him just how monumentally idiotic this was. After all, here he was surrounded by Hector’s crew, not to mention the gigantic beast at Marianna’s side or the large wrench in Hector’s hand.
Hector set down the wrench. “This way.” He gestured toward a door, then looked around. “Get back to work,” he barked to the others.
Faces turned to cars. Tools began to hum. Marianna gave her brother a searching look as she scratched the massive dog behind its ears. The dog broke into a wide, panting grin, and its stubby tail thumped against the concrete floor. Hector responded to his sister’s expression with a small nod. The two siblings seemed to hold an entire conversation with just their eyes and dark eyebrows.
Then Hector opened the back door, and Rico followed him out of the garage. The two men emerged onto a slab of cracked concrete surrounded by a chain fence. A few rusted cars stood at intervals in various stages of dismantling. Bright sunlight glanced off the ground, and Rico felt sweat gathering in his armpits.
Hector turned to Rico. He was just as big, just as strong as Rico remembered. Grease stained his shirt and the cuticles of his nails. His face was still wide and menacing, his eyes pools of black under his thick brows.
Hector Chavez may not have changed much, but Rico had. He wasn’t the small, scared weakling he’d been in high school. Every extra mile he’d forced his burning legs to run; every extra rep he’d pushed through at the gym as his muscles hollered in pain; every carefully planned meal designed to transform his body. It’d all been for this moment.
Rico raised his clenched knuckles. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”
Hector sighed. “I’m not going to fight you, Rico. ”
“Yes, you are!” Rico shoved Hector hard, his hands meeting a wall of heavy muscle.
The bigger man stumbled back with grunt but didn’t raise his fists. “You do what you gotta do,” he said as he straightened.
“You tortured me. You made my life hell!” Rico’s voice was rough, like his vocal cords had been dragged across the asphalt.
“I know.”
Rico swung. His knuckles exploded in pain as they connected to Hector’s face. The larger man slipped down to his knee, then carefully rose and waited patiently, hands at his sides.
“FIGHT!” Rico yelled, the word tearing from his wounded soul.
“I’m sorry,” Hector replied. His eye was already swelling. “For everything. I was a shit back then. I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”
Tears stung Rico’s eyes. It’d never been about the pain of the cheap shots. The broken phone screen. The hunger pains after a lost lunch. It’d only ever been about the humiliation. The echoing laughter. The derision. How Hector could make Rico feel like absolutely fucking nothing with just a single look.
Rico swung again. His bruised knuckles crashed into Hector’s face, and a stream of blood erupted from the bigger man’s nose.
“COME ON!” Rico shoved him. “FIGHT!”
Hector cupped his nose for a moment, then slowly straightened his shoulders. Once again, he stared at Rico, waiting. Rico grabbed two fistfuls of Hector’s shirt, dragged him close until the two men were face to face. Hector’s eyes were soft. Filled with apologies.
“Fuck,” Rico hissed, and released Hector’s shirt. Tears slid down his cheeks. This had been such an epic mistake.
“Feel better?” Hector asked.
“Not even a little.” Rico kicked at a tuft of grass .
“Yeah, punching things, including faces, usually doesn’t help.” Hector pulled a stained rag from his back pocket and held it up to his nose. His left eye was nearly swollen shut. “So, why are you really here?”
“Like you care.” Rico scrubbed at his face. How had he’d managed to humiliate himself in front of Hector . . . again?
“I know you won’t believe me, but I actually do.” Hector strolled over to an old Buick Grand National and leaned against it. “You could’ve come here and beat my ass any time over the last ten years. Why now?”
Rico needed to leave. He needed to dive headlong into the middle of the ocean, possibly after swallowing a few pounds of cement.
His mouth opened. “I fucked up.”
Hector chuckled. “Well, you’ve got good company. I’m the fuck-up master.” He checked the bloodied cloth under his nose and nodded in appreciation. “Wanna talk about it?”
All Rico could do was laugh. Hector Chavez, the phantom of his nightmares, wanted to play shrink?
“Fuck off,” he growled.
Hector shrugged. “Up to you. But I can nearly guarantee I’ve been where you are.”
“I hurt someone.” There went Rico’s mouth again, skipping right past his brain. “A girl.”
“Hurt her?” Danger glinted in Hector’s eyes.
“Not physically,” Rico said quickly.
“Good.” Hector’s hands relaxed against the car. “’Cause if you’d hit a woman, I’d reconsider my not-punching you stance right quick.”
“I hurt her emotionally . . . I think,” Rico tried to explain.
“Ah.” Hector patted the spot next to him on the car .
It was pure insanity, but Rico walked over and hopped onto the rusted hood. “It was going good. But then she got upset. I think she hates me now.”
Hector whistled. “I’ve been there.”
“Really?” Rico looked at the other man with curiosity. “How’d you fix it?”
“Gave away a gorgeous ’72 Camaro I’d been working on for five years.”
Rico’s face fell. “I don’t have a Camaro.”
Hector gave him a look that screamed, Idiot! “It wasn’t the car,” he clarified. “It was the gesture. The message.”
Rico nodded, but he didn’t really understand. Should he have gotten Jax an “I’m sorry for whatever I did” present? Giving her gifts hadn’t worked out so well in the past.
“So, what’d you do to get in the doghouse anyway?” Hector raised a skeptical eyebrow.
Rico gazed up at the wispy clouds overhead. “That’s the rub. I don’t even know, man.”
“Have you asked her?”
“’Course I have!” Rico snapped. “She won’t return my calls or texts.”
Hector gave a low whistle. He checked the rag again, then crossed his arms. “Give her space. Let her know you’re ready to listen when she’s ready to tell you how you fucked up.”
Rico looked at Hector sideways. “You’ve changed.”
The large mechanic nodded. “It wasn’t easy, but I had to. I’ve got a daughter.”
“Congrats, man.”
Hector nodded. “Hardest fucking job in the world. She drives me absolutely nuts, but I wouldn’t change a single thing. ”
Rico laughed and hopped down from the car. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m happy for you.” He held out his hand. “No hard feelings?”
Hector pushed off the car. His mangled face brightened with a smile. “No hard feelings.” He took Rico’s hand, and the two men shook.
Rico had turned to go when his phone rang in his pocket. It was probably Elena wanting to know where she should pick him up. Rico fished the phone from his pocket and froze as he read the name on the screen.
“It’s her,” he whispered.
Her as in Jacklyn. Jax was calling him. Finally.
He looked back at Hector, panic scrambling his brain. “What should I do?”
The larger man grinned and slapped Rico on the back. “Answering it would probably be a good start.”