“I need an update on the Brittany situation,” Lucky says while I’m hanging outside the ware house. “Guys are makin’ side bets, and most of them are bettin’ on you. They know somethin’ I don’t?”
I shrug, then look over at Julio, shiny from my wash earlier. If my motorcycle could talk, he’d beg me to save him from Lucky. But I’m not about to spill any info about Brittany. Not yet, at least.
Hector walks up to us and waves Lucky away. “We need to talk, Fuentes,” Hector says in a tone that means business, “about that favor we were talking about. On Halloween night, you’ll take a rental car, drive it to the drop-off, and exchange the goods for the green. Think you can handle that?”
My brother is right. I do have my papá’s blood running through my veins. By doing the drug deal, I’ll secure my future in the Blood, which is my birthright. Other kids inherit money or a family business from their parents. I inherited the Latino Blood.
“There’s nothin’ I can’t handle,” I tell Hector, even as I feel the pit of my stomach lurch. I knowingly lied to Brittany. Her face lit up when she talked about possibly going to college together. I couldn’t tell her the truth, that not only am I staying in the Latino Blood, I’m about to exchange goods for the green.
Hector pats me on the back. “That’s my loyal brother. I knew the Blood would come before your fear. Somos hermanos, c’no?”
“¡Seguro!” I answer so he knows I’m loyal to him and the Blood. It isn’t the drug deal I fear. It’s that the drug deal signifies the end of any dreams I had. By doing it, I’ll cross over the line. Like my papá.
“Yo, Alex.”
Paco is standing a few feet away. I hadn’t even noticed Hector left.
“Wha’s up?”
“I need your help, compa,” Paco says.
“You, too?”
He gives me that I-am-Paco-and-I-am-exasperated look. “Just take a ride with me.”
Three minutes later I’m in the passenger seat of a borrowed red Camaro.
I sigh. “You gonna tell me what you want help with or are you keepin’ me in suspense?”
“Actually, I’m gonna keep you in suspense.”
I read the WELCOME TO sign on the side of the road. “Winnetka?” What does Paco want in this wealthy suburban town?
“Trust,” Paco says.
“What?”
“Best friends need to trust each other.”
I lean back, totally aware I’m brooding like one of those guys in a bad Western movie. I agreed to do a drug deal and now I’m heading into upper-class suburbia for apparently no reason.
“Ah, here it is,” Paco says.
I look up at the sign. “You’ve got to be kiddin’.”
“Nope.”
“If you’re plannin’ to rob the place, I’ll stay in the car.”
Paco rolls his eyes. “We’re not here to rob a bunch of golfers.”
“Then why drag me all the way out here?”
“My golf swing. Come on, get off your ass and help.”
“It’s fifty-five degrees outside and the middle of October, Paco.”
“It’s all a matter of priority and perception.”
I sit in the car, contemplating how to get home. Walking will take too long. I don’t know where the closest bus stop is and . . . and . . . and I’m going to kick Paco’s ass for bringing me to a fuckin’ golf range.
I stalk over to where Paco is setting down a basket of balls. Man, there are probably a hundred of them.
“Where’d you get that club?” I ask.
Paco swings it in the air like a propeller. “From the guy who rents the balls. You want one so you can hit a few?”
“No.”
Paco points the end of the golf club at a green wooden bench situated behind him. “Then sit over there.”
As I sit, my gaze wanders to the other guys hitting balls in their little sections, warily eyeing us out of the corners of their eyes. I’m all too aware Paco and I look and dress drastically different from the rest of the guys at the range. Jeans, T-shirts, tattoos, and bandannas on our heads make us stick out while most of the golfers are wearing long-sleeve golf shirts, Dockers, and no distinguishing marks on their skin.
I don’t normally care, but after the talk with Hector, I want to go home, not be a spectacle. I rest my elbows on my knees, watching Paco make a complete fool of himself.
Paco takes a little white golf ball and places it on top of a rubber circle inserted into the fake grass. When he swings the golf club, I wince. The club misses the ball and connects with the fake grass instead. Paco swears. The guy next to Paco takes one look at him and moves to another section.
Paco tries again. This time the club connects, but his ball only rolls along the grass in front of him. He keeps trying, but each time Paco swings, he makes a complete ass out of himself. Does he think he’s hitting a hockey puck?
“You done?” I ask once he’s gone through half the basket.
“Alex,” Paco says, leaning on the golf club like it’s a cane. “Do ya think I was meant to play golf?”
Looking Paco straight in the eye, I answer, “No.”
“I heard you talkin’ to Hector. I don’t think you were meant to deal, either.”
“Is that why we’re here? You’re tryin’ to make a point?”
“Hear me out,” Paco insists. “I’ve got the keys to the car in my pocket and I’m not goin’ nowhere until I finish hittin’ all of these balls, so you might as well listen. I’m not smart like you. I don’t have choices in life, but you, you’re smart enough to go to college and be a doctor or computer geek or somethin’ like that. Just like I wasn’t meant to hit golf balls, you weren’t meant to deal drugs. Let me do the drop for you.”
“No way, man. I appreciate you makin’ an ass out of yourself to prove a point, but I know what I need to do,” I tell him.
Paco sets up a new ball, swings, and yet again the ball rolls away from him. “That Brittany sure is hot. She goin’ to college?”
I know what Paco is doing; unfortunately my best friend is nothing less than obvious. “Yep. In Colorado.” To be close to her sister, the person she cares for more than herself.
Paco whistles. “I’m sure she’ll meet a lot of guys in Colorado. You know, real guys with cowboy hats.”
My muscles tense. I don’t want to think about it. I ignore Paco until we’re back in the car. “When are you going to stop stickin’ your ass into my business?” I ask him.
He chuckles. “Never.”
“Then I guess you won’t mind me bargin’ into yours. What happened between you and Isa, huh?”
“We fooled around. It’s over.”
“You might think it’s over, but I don’t think she does.”
“Yeah, well, that’s her problem.” Paco turns the radio on and blasts the music loud.
He’s never dated anyone because he’s scared of getting close to someone. Even Isa isn’t aware of all the abuses he’s endured at home. Believe me, I understand the reasons behind his keeping a distance from a girl he cares about. Because the truth is, sometimes getting close to the fire does actually burn you.
