Zero Saints Read Free Page A

pressing against me like a solid object. The one on the left pulled out a red bandana from his pocket, tied it sloppily around my head. I kept my mouth shut. So did they. I did my best to hide in that silence.
    The ride seemed to go on forever. When they removed the bandanna, we were parked behind my car. The guy on my right opened his door, slid out. I waited, fearing they’d shoot me in the back the second I stepped out.
    “Pa’ fuera, marica,” he said.
    Somehow those words gave me the strength to get out. The guy outside threw my keys and my phone near my car, lifted a finger, looked ready to say something. He said nothing. I got the message. He got back in the car and they drove away. I stood there, scared, thankful.
    Nestor’s ghost was gonna be hard to shake.
    I walked up to my car, picked up the keys with a hand that shook like a palm tree in a hurricane. Then, a welcome touch of anger. Los hijos de puta nunca me devolvieron mi pistola y mi iPod.

 

    2
    La frontera
    Death in a bathroom – Amigos
    Bones in the desert – El Coyote
    Estados Desunidos
    Sleeping pills

 
     

    What happens when someone makes you look at the business end of a gun is that it stirs up everything you think you know. It breaks things, shifts ideas around that you’d previously considered unmovable.
    Todo deja de ser roca para convertirse en agua. Everything flows. Everything acquires the consistency of shadows seen in dreams.
    When someone shows you the perfectly round, pupil-less black eye of oblivion, you start thinking about what got you there. You start digging around your past looking for the decisions and mistakes that led to that point. Es lo mismo cuando te intentan romper el craneo. And what happens then, what happens when you get a lump the size of an egg on the back of your skull, whether you want it to or not, is that you start seeing these highlights in your head, something like a short movie of the most relevant moments of your immediate past. If you’re the kind of person who ends up with a gun in your face, chances are that movie sucks and you look like a fucking pendejo in it. All bloopers, no highlights.
    What happens if you’re me is that your little pelicula is a perfect mix of clichés and bad luck. You remember a lot, but none of it is worth remembering.
    Yeah, if you’re me, everything that has to do with being en los Estados Desunidos starts in a club in DF. El Colmillo. Seedy joint, but only if you go in deep and know the back of it. You know, like a girl with a pretty face y el culo sucio. Well, olvida eso because it actually starts elsewhere, a little earlier, at a house party on a night so hot the air feels and smells like a panting dog’s breath after a long run on the beach. You’re drunk and horny and craving tamales and high as a fucking seagull trying to get away from a storm. Your cell phone rings. It’s your sister. She’s in a club, as always. She’s your only sibling and you can’t help but love her, but she’s a slutty junkie who brings you more trouble than smiles. Al carajo eso de los picnics familiares.
    So, anyway, what happens is that your phone rings. You see ISA on the screen in blocky white letters. Short for Isabel. You pick up. She’s screaming something about a man grabbing her ass. It’s an old story. Her words bring back images of snot running down her face, ruined mascara, and blood on your hands. Many men have grabbed her ass, but this particular one, just like a few other pinches cabrones in the past who have regretted it, did so without her permission. That makes her angry and her anger makes you angry. It’s tu mamá in your head. Proteje a tu hermana, she says, her voice coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. A las chicas hay que cuidarlas, she repeats for the zillionth time. Familia es familia. You’re wired to react, to protect, to lash out and punish al atrevido. The horniness and highness fuel the anger. You tell Javi and Luis to come with you. It’s