Friday, May 29, 2009

Score.

Sky is that bright Mexican blue and the air is simmering humid. Mario and I dodge into a filthy alley littered with broken beer bottles, syringes, and shit. Small barefoot children play with a grey mangy mongrel.
We cut into a two story hotel lobby at the dead end of the blind alley. Pass through French doors - fat naco sits behind the reception watching the flickering screen of a small portable television - antennae crooked and ending in aluminum.
The receptionist doesn’t move - head swerves with the look of a masturbating idiot as Mario approaches the counter.
They exchange greetings and the snobbish man mumbles something intelligible to Mario.
He looks at me and nods to the hotel proper, “C’mon, guero.”
Passing through the dusty lobby hung with old Spanish movie posters torn and riddled with graffiti, we walk into the middle of the hotel’s courtyard. The hotel is old - must’ve been built in the forties or fifties. Warped wood railings ring the second floor, white paint curled and pealing. Loud cocaphy of noises from banda music to crying babies permeate the stale air.
Mario and I stride over to a first floor room. The door is open and as we approach an old woman emerges.
“Oh, Mario, it is good to see you again.” She cackles, arms outstretched.
Mario gives her a quick embrace, “Hola, Bertha - is Abel around?”
She gives him a stern look then calls over her shoulder in Spanish, “Abel! You have visitors.”
The frumpy hag stands stern and cold glaring at me. An orange wig tops that shriveled head with arched eyebrows that look like they were put on with a black magic marker.
“This is my friend. He lives here in TJ.” Mario says solemnly.
The old woman smiles like a predatory animal and extends her hand, “Buenvenidos, guero.”
“Hi.” Is all I can say. The sun hurt my eyes and I was tired - I haven’t slept in six days.
A voice quacks out from the back something to the effect that Mario should go there. I stand in the doorway as Mario disappears into the murk of the room. My eyes adjusting, there is an overstuffed bed with ragged cover, clothes and knick-knacks are piled everywhere. A great deal of items are packed in large trash bags and brown paper bags. The old woman sits in a wooden chair - it creaks loudly as she settles in to her novellas. She completely ignores me - the hatred and distrust emitting from her like television waves.
“I’ll be out here smoking a cigarette.” I mutter. She says nothing, fixed on the television set.
I lit a cigarette and looked around. The cobblestone yard was cracked and pools of dirty incandescent water, rusting refrigerators, mop buckets filled with garbage - the air smelt like feces and urine.
“Hey!” Yelled a voice from the second floor in English.
I ignored it.
“Hey, white boy! What the fuck you doin’ here!” Hollered the voice.
I looked up to see a skinny, young Mexican guy leaning over the balcony of the second floor. In his eyes raged white hot hatred.
“What the fuck you doin’ here?!” He screeched again, making his way along the railing to the stairs keeping those ferocious eyes fixed on me. “Get the fuck outta here! Go back to your fucking country!”
“Yeah, I’m gonna do that just cause you told me to!” I yelled back, not flinching - returning his harsh glare.
“What?!” His face contorted in hate. “What?! What the fuck you say, mother fucker?!”
He quickened his decent - reaching into his tattered, stained jacket. My heart raced - this asshole had either a gun or a knife and had every intention of using it.
“I’m gonna kick your fucking ass, cracker!” He bellowed.
I stood, clenching my fists, and retorted, “I’m right here, naco - I’m waitin’!”
As his first step left the stairs and onto the cobblestone, Mario popped out of the hotel room and stood there. My assailant stopped in his tracks.
A tense pause, then Mario said to me glaring at the other guy, “Get inside. Abel wants to talk to you.”
Mario leads me past the unaffected old woman and into a back room. The pink colored walls were stained and flaking, a queen sized bed took up most of the room. The small area consisted of an end table and a dresser drawer - a naked bulb hung from a black cable jutting out of the yellow ceiling.
Sitting on the bed was a young Mexican with a shaved head, white tank top and dirty khakis. This was Abel - on the dresser drawers was an open compact mirror with three lines of crystal on it.
Abel stood up, “Heard Rudy outside, man - don’t worry ‘bout him. That tweeker is just the watchdog, nothing more.”
I croak yeah or it’s okay or some stupid comment.
Abel steps over to the drawer and fingers the compact mirror. “Mario says you wanna buy some crystal? How much?”
“A dime.” I said.
He goes into his pusher spiel, “well, this is some good shit. I don’t sell it to just anybody, you know. Just friends. Since you know Mario, I can cut you a good deal.” He pulls out a twenty peso note from his pant pocket and rolls it into a tube - pointing it at me. “You wanna try some?”
I took the rolled note and stepped up next to the drawer. The crystals were shiny and pure - looked like ground glass. I placed one end of the note to my nostril and vacuumed up a line. Habitually throwing my head back, snorting up the residue. Within seconds, that tingly feeling shot up my upper spine. I handed the note back to Abel.
“Nah.” He protested palms out. “Let Mario go next.”
As Mario snuffed, Abel smiled at me, “Yeaaah. Some good shit, huh?”
Mario gave me the rolled note, Abel continued, “My boy Mario gets all his shit from me.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a dime bag - handing it to me. I slapped the fifty peso note into his hand. “Right…right. Now, I need you only to buy from me, you hear? If you need any more - just get a hold of Mario and he’ll bring you over here.” He smiled. “Don’t come by yourself - these pendejos that live here will kill your white ass.”
I finished the line, cleaning up the residue on the compact mirror with my finger brushing it into my gums, “Hell yeah. This is some good shit. You got yourself a new client.”
Mario started to the door, “We done? Yeah? ‘Kay, let’s go.”
We said goodbye and walked through the other room to the exit. The old lady pleasantly said farewell to Mario - didn’t say shit to me. Outside, the asshole on the second floor glared silently as we left.
“Okay - now just keep your eyes peeled for cops when we leave.” Mario hissed as we passed through the lobby.
We cut into the dirty, dusty street under the keen eye of the old taco vendor...

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