Chapter 12
RAUL
It's been three months since Dad and I finally got our own place.
It's a dingy old trailer, but it's ours.
It took a year and a half of running jobs, taking odd work, and scraping together every dollar we could, but we bought it outright.
At last, we have a place to call home. I even have my own room again.
Still, weirdly enough, I miss staring at the ceiling in Diego's room, talking about whatever came to mind.
Things have been tense with him ever since that kid died.
Turns out Marcelus had been given some shitty product by our main supplier, B.
The pill we passed along was laced with fentanyl and a cocktail of cheap chemicals.
We pushed the pills back after that. They threatened us for not holding up our end and selling them, but eventually they backed off.
I think they were more afraid of Diego turning them in than anything else. He was the one who took it the hardest.
I don't blame him.
Diego's heart has always been too big for this world. He carries that kid's death like it belongs to him, even though it doesn't.
But things are different now. Not just between us, now that we're no longer dealing or living together. Diego is different too. Quieter. More withdrawn. He keeps himself locked away from everyone, and I hate it.
I need to reach out.
I pull out my phone and type a text.
Hey man!
A few moments pass before it dings back.
?Qué bolá, cuz?
Unpacking. Come over? Wanna see the new place?
On my way.
I go back to putting together my new bed frame when Diego knocks on the metal door.
"Come in!"
He steps inside with a small bag in his hand.
"DJ, what's in the bag?" I ask.
His grin spreads wide, and he pulls out a box of brownie mix and a box of yellow cake mix.
"Oh, shit." I laugh before I can stop myself.
Diego and I used to scrounge up loose change just to buy both boxes from the dollar store for an after-school snack when we had the munchies too bad to ignore.
"I figured we could use this to christen the place."
He sets the boxes on the counter and jumps in to help me hoist the mattress onto the bed frame.
And just like that, it feels like no time has passed at all. We're two kids again, laughing over a messy cake-brownie hybrid, throwing clothes into drawers, and pretending the world outside doesn't exist. No drugs. No money. No guilt. Just us.
Dad walks in a while later while we're cutting into our sweet disaster from the past.
"Hey, boys."
"Hey, Uncle Ernie!" Diego calls, mouth full of cake and a spoon still in his hand.
"It smells good in here," Dad says.
"We've been baking." I cut him a slice and hand it over on a paper towel.
"Oh, hell yeah." He takes a huge bite, then swallows hard. His expression shifts, his voice going flat and serious. "Raul."
"Yeah?"
"We have another job offer." The room goes still. "But it's different from what we normally do."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"It would be to… take care of someone." He cracks his knuckles against the counter.
My eyebrows lift. "Like… gone?"
"Yeah," he says, lowering his voice to almost nothing. "And it's an amount we can't refuse."
"How much?" Diego asks, but even he sounds uneasy.
"Enough." Dad's face hardens. "But he's young, and I need you to do it."
His eyes lock on mine.
"Me?"
"You." He doesn't blink. Doesn't soften. "We can talk details later, but it has to be done before the weekend is over."
The air thickens around us.
It's Thursday. That leaves us only a few days to decide how bad this is going to get.
Dad grabs another slice of cake with his bare hand and takes a huge bite like he hasn't just dropped a blade in the middle of our kitchen.
"I gotta run. Love you boys."
He says it through a mouthful of cake, then walks out the front door like he hasn't just turned the whole room cold.
Diego and I stare at each other in silence.
And just like that, the weight of the world is back on our shoulders.
The next two days are a blur.
Diego offers to help. Dad offers to split the money with him. It'll be about $150,000 each when all is said and done. None of us has ever seen that kind of money before. Not even close.
The three of us sit around the trailer's tiny table, mapping out every possible way this could go. What could go wrong. What could go right. Every scenario, every exit plan, every contingency, until it feels like we're planning a war instead of a murder.
Dad gives me a mix of pills. And a gun, in case they don't work.
I don't like hurting people. I never have. The only time I can bring myself to do it is if someone threatens the people I love. I don't even know this man. I don't know his name. I don't know what he's done. I don't know why someone wants him gone.
I just know that they're willing to pay enough to make my father look at me like I'm finally worth something.
Diego and I pull up to the house with the lights off.
We sit in the dark and watch.
Wait.
Then I hear it.
A child's laugh, bright and careless, coming from inside.
My mind goes there immediately. Tomorrow morning. That same kid, bouncing into their father's room, excited to wake him up. Climbing onto the bed, shaking his shoulder. Calling his name.
And then nothing.
Just a body.
My stomach churns so hard I taste bile.
I turn to Diego, my face tight with panic.
"Yeah," he says, voice low. "I hear that too."
"I can't do this."
"What do you mean?"
"I can't." My voice cracks. "I can't. Please. Let's go."
Diego doesn't hesitate. He pulls away from the curb, slow and careful, like he's afraid the house itself might notice us leaving.
The relief hits me so fast it almost makes me dizzy.
But it doesn't last.
"You okay?" Diego asks. He looks through me.
"No."
The dread settles in, quickly overpowering the relief.
I know exactly what's waiting for me at home.
Dad's voice already echoes in my head. Telling me I'm weak. Telling me I'm a disappointment. For not being good enough. Again.