Real Novel Chapter Five
From PenguinWiki
Chapter Five
He'll never see it coming, Jack mused. The rare .308 rifle, cut down to a "Mare's leg", gleaming in the raw sunlight as he worked the cleaning rod through the barrel with patient hands. The sound of blowing dust and the swish of dry grasses accompanying the mournful tune he whistled to himself. The grasses veiled a forest of petrified wooden crosses reaching from the edge of the neglected highway back to the tree-line.
"Got a thing comin', the both of ya." he muttered across the long miles and back through the creaking years. "Got payment to take for what you done." He looked up at faces only he could see with empty eyes full of fire and a grin full of teeth.
Jack lavished intense attention on the rifle, never realizing it to be a phony. A replica. Little more than a toy. A realistic toy, but Jack Leicester wasn't the smartest apple in the tree. The real rifle had been switched many years ago by his cousin Antonio. Antonio, who disappeared with Mockbell and Sandiego on some scheme summer of '95. Tony got banged up. Carlo came back smellin' sweeter than honey an' roses. Like shit won't stick. Jack hadn't heard from his cousin for the past twelve years. He thought him dead.
Antonio wasn't dead, though. He was very much alive. Alive, but barely living. The sun beat mercilessly down on him as he reluctantly ducked into the pawn shop.
He didn't know why, but being there was one of the most soul-besmirching experiences Antonio had ever been forced into, and Antonio had experienced many ... displeasurable things in his life.
Scattered before him in various glass cases were the remnants of wasted lives, drug deals, death, sorrow and other human frailties that did not bear mentioning. Why Carlo had contacted him after all this time he didn’t know. All that mattered is that the debt was finally going to be cleared. If he never spoke to that culero again, it would be too soon.
Gazing at these mementos of other people’s desperation, he experienced a searing reminder of his own fragility. This was an experience he wanted to keep short.
A small chime proclaimed the entrance of a large, bearded man whose immediate disposition was one of mistrust. In an instant, Antonio felt that he’d been more expertly appraised than he could be by any bank application form. From the scowl on the man’s face, he hadn't been rated as well as the average junk bond.
He placed his possessions on the counter. The last items of value which he owned. The man's eyes glinted, as if dollar signs had lit up in them, but Antonio didn't notice. The man's eyes were on the gun, the obvious value recognizable.
Born without abuelita's bartering gene, he accepted the man's first offer, signing away the last item of value he had and wondering if the desperation in his eyes shone like a beacon. He knew that the bearded man had the upper hand, but he needed the money, even if it was only a fourth of what it was worth. He did not have the energy to search for another pawn shop and he did not have the fortitude to walk away. As he walked out the door, he shivered and hesitated. The loss of his possessions meant that he could now be officially classed as life's 'flotsam'. He imagined himself as just another tin can, piece of polystyrene or cigarette butt floating on the ebb tide of humanity, and smiled at the absurdity of this mental image.
Looking over his shoulder, he saw the shop owner opening the safe and counting his cash and he knew he would be back.
As he sat sipping his coffee, he thought about the events leading up to this moment, and again started to feel as though the world was revolving around him. Not from an arrogant or conceited perspective, but more that he was merely a spectator. He felt sure he was a pivotal point, but without the capacity to interfere with the process. Antonio didn't like this feeling, and needed to do something about it. The money he'd received from the bearded man wasn't even close to what Carlo had demanded, but considering the circumstances it would have to do.
Church bells sounded in the distance. Antonio instinctively glanced at his watch. Eleven o'clock already. He stepped out onto the pavement, quickening his pace, and pushed forward through the throng of people enjoying a lazy Sunday. Their blitheness increased his anxiety, and it was with some relief that he reached the train station.
As Antonio approached the train schedule, his way was blocked by a large, angry-looking dog, which several other commuters were backing away from nervously. He moved cautiously towards the platform, but the dog seemed to have decided not to let him pass. As the train pulled up, he heard a low voice calling the dog over the creak of the brakes: "Techno, come on at once!"
Ignacio never knew why the German had called the dog 'Techno'. He would have asked him, but the German was dead. He wasn't sure why he had decided to take care of the dog either. Perhaps it was to reconcile himself with God. Perhaps it was the realization of a childhood dream. Perhaps he had been drunk at the time. Who knew? What mattered was that he was now spending valuable liquor money on keeping the damn beast alive in the hope that some day it might pass the two kilos of cocaine in its bowels. He wouldn't dream of cutting it open, gutting it like a fish. He had seen his fill of blood the night the German died. Besides, he didn't do things like that. Renounce his vows at the monastery, yes; murder a defenseless animal, no, certainly not.
"Techno!" He shouted again. The damn dog was sniffing a pretty dark haired boy. Lucky dog, he thought to himself, and licked his lips. He needed a drink. The boy looked nervous, and the dog was growling at him now. Ignacio hurried over, pushing commuters out of the way. "Sientate, Techno!" Shit, the dog only understood German, and the only German Ignacio knew was what he'd heard the German say that night.
Ignacio recognized the surprise on the boy's face when he saw a filthy, bearded monk drag the dog away. It was hardly his fault, the only other clothes he had besides his habit were the dress and lingerie Parn had left in the room the night the German had died. That was the last time he had seen Parn, or Lilly, as Ignacio had known him. Lilly, the reason Ignacio had left the monastery, and Europe, four years ago. Someday maybe they would meet again. It was all Ignacio ever prayed for these days. "Lo Siento, es Tonto el perro", he said to the wide-eyed boy.
To his surprise, the kid started jabbering in English. "Ah, Americano?" he asked.
"Si, brother, from New York."
"O, I see, what are you doing in Mexico City?" Ignacio asked, grabbing the still frantic dog by its collar. A crowd had started to watch them.
The boy looked fearful, hunted. "Look, brother," he said, "I need to get a train to Guanajuato today."
Ignacio, felt a plan forming. "Guanajuato, eh?" He said. "I'll tell you what, I can see you're a good son of the church. I happen to know the next train to Guanajuato isn't for two hours. Why don't you let me buy you a coffee and a sandwich. You sure look like you need it."
Helplessly, the boy allowed Ignacio to lead him to Starbucks, with the big dog running around them, wagging his tail.
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