Last Summer of the Death Warriors Read Free Page A

you are, but pretty much anyone can leave at any time.”
    Pancho could not imagine why anyone would not leave for good if that were the case. He felt himself being studied. “Good,” he said.
    “I take it you have a place you’d rather be?”
    He pictured his trailer out in the desert. He remembered the screen porch his father had built, where he slept during the summer. He saw in his mind the flagpole out front and the tattered flag his father had brought back from Vietnam. “Yeah,” he answered.
    “This place isn’t so bad. The best thing is that, if you want, people let you be. I got a feeling that’s what you’d like, isn’t it?”
    Pancho forced himself to look steadily into D.Q.’s eyes. “Yeah, that suits me just fine,” he answered.
    “That’s all right. We all felt the same way when we first got here. Unfortunately for you, you’re stuck with me for thesummer.” D.Q. paused, waiting for the words to sink in. “I’m your summer job. You’re going to be my aide. You’ll come with me to my treatments. You’ll be my companion.”
    “I thought I was supposed to clean up the storage room.”
    “That’ll only take a day or two.”
    “This ‘companion’ job pay anything?”
    “You get to be around me.” D.Q. grinned.
    “I need to make me some money,” Pancho said.
    “What do you need money for?”
    “I just do. The kids here that have summer jobs working in construction and all—they earn any money?”
    “Sure, they get paid. Minimum wage, at least.”
    “Well, what happens to that money?”
    “One-third they give to St. Tony’s to help out. The other two-thirds they get to keep for school supplies, clothes, etcetera.”
    “Etcetera,” Pancho said, mimicking D.Q. Mrs. Olivares had told him he would have a summer job. He was counting on the money.
    “Oh, relax. It won’t be so bad. I’m the best thing that ever happened to you. You’ll see.” D.Q. made an effort to smile, but the smile turned into a grimace. “Oooo. That was a good one,” he said, grabbing his stomach. “Hey, can you wheel me over to my room? Talking to you has pooped me out, literally.”
    “Where is it?” He did not get up from the bed.
    “It’s at the other end.”
    “That’s no room. That’s one of these—I don’t know what you call it.”
    “We call them rooms. The name helps. Wheel me overthere. The other kids will show you respect if they see you pushing me.”
    Pancho stood up and walked behind the wheelchair. He turned it around and began to push it. “I can get my own respect,” he muttered.

CHAPTER 3
    T ake care of your sister. Those were the words his father said as he left for work that last morning, and those were the words that circled in his head whenever he allowed silence to enter. Then there were the questions. How was it possible that he didn’t know Rosa was dating someone—probably seeing him after work, getting rides home with him? He remembered the sound of a motor idling outside the trailer. How was it possible that he didn’t get up to see who was driving her home? How could he not notice the sound of that engine was different from the sound of Julieta’s four-cylinder Toyota?
    Then he remembered Rosa coming in. “Hi, Pancho,” she said loudly, beaming as she closed the door. He was lying on the sofa. “Whatcha watching?”
    “Nothing much. Some show.”
    “Hey, guess what?”
    He didn’t look away from the set when he answered. “What.”
    “I got a ten-dollar tip today. Wanna see it?”
    “Put it in the grocery jar.”
    “Okay.”
    She sat down in the upholstered brown chair and began to take off her blue sneakers. Her legs were thick and she had trouble lifting one on top of the other. “I’m getting fat,” she said, rubbing her feet. He looked at her briefly. He had never heard her say anything good or bad about her appearance before. “I wish I was thin and pretty like the other waitresses. Julieta says I should use some makeup.”
    “Julieta’s