“Deal”

Que pasó, bro, Dru says, smiling. How you be, mister E?

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What up dude, E says on auto reply.

Not too much, not too much. Dru’s on the flyer crew, and right then the rigger and crane were moving a section, just cleared out, up to this floor. He was only half paying attention to what was around the jobsite. Dru wasn’t one of the men who landed the flyer and set it, only once it was ready for steel and forms.

Got some talk for ya, he says.

I’m here now, bro, E says. Make it later.

E is at the top of a column, he and his partner Doc are plumbing the column. The job’s right downtown LA, very close to the Harbor Freeway. They’re on nine, sixteen floors to go. The pour is the next day. E’s been on this job almost two months. He’d been out of work for longer.

At morning break Dru, alone at a distance, waves E over with his eyes and head motion. E was sitting between the Spanish-speaking laborers and a handful of carpenters, white guys except his partner MD, “Doc.” He’d been a Compton high school running back—that was about all he knew personally about his partner. Hungry, E was eating a chorizo and egg sandwich and didn’t feel like going over to him but if he didn’t….E doesn’t want Dru making noise his way, calling out for attention. He takes the sandwich he’s eating and leaves the other and makes it seem he’s going to the pisser.

What up? E says.

That were good shit, bro, Dru says.

His mouth full, it was easy to nod. Cool, glad, he says. I knew you come through, Dru says.

E nods his head.

No doubt, Dru says.

E nods a little less. He had maybe two bites left.

Some doubt, says E.

He makes it one bite, all in.

I knew you have them . . . mex connects, Dru says. He laughs. Shit were good. And good price.

I’m still hungry, bro, says E. He points to his watch. I need to get me another.

Yeah yeah, one second. What you say if I get fifty?

E doesn’t know what to say.

Fifty ain’t too big and not so little to be more good, says Dru. Lemme hear back.

After work, before he gets to his place, E stops at the corner store near his El Sereno home and buys a cold six and pops one. Parked he calls his cuñado Jimmy.

Are you crazy? Jimmy says.

Just thinking about it.

I thought you said that one was a favor.

I did.

What’s this about?

Money. You know that.

I thought you said unión feria was like, you know, wet.

I don’t gotta bank.

I shouldn’t feed you, man. You grow.

But you can get it? Same shit?

Jimmy doesn’t respond fast. Pretty sure, he finally says.

Pretty sure?

Seems to be going fast. But they’ll have better if anything.

I’m thinking it out.

Your dude’s good for it?

Pretty sure.

Pretty sure?

Yeah. But my worry, still thinking, we’ll see.

I dunno, E. I don’t want no trouble at our cribs. I know I know. I’ll get back at you.

Bueno pues, your deal.

*

E and Jimmy grew up together in El Paso since elementary school. E a small house on quiet Idalia, Jimmy’s room in a casita with his grandparents from this side, behind a rowdy bar near Copia and Pershing that his uncle owned. He was in Juárez a lot, a big messy family. They were closer than most brothers. When Jimmy did some business in LA way back, he met Ali. She went crazy for him like all girls and then women did. Jimmy stayed longer for Ali. E decided to see LA when he could easy while Jimmy was there. He fell in love with Ali’s sister Aurora. The two sisters were both pregnant the same month.

*

E got home with four of the six left.

Nayeli was by the stove. Hey baby, she says, seeing the beer. It was a good day?

It’s Friday, E says. He didn’t usually buy beer on the way home. You? You okay? He puts them in the fridge, takes one.

She leans against the sink opposite the old stove, watching a pot of beans simmer. You don’t work tomorrow? That’s what the beer usually meant.

Of course.

That seemed to make her sadder.

Maybe not all day, he says. We need the money, right?

That didn’t help.

What is it? He puts his arms around her. You keep being like this.

You stink!

He unhugs, begins to back off.

No, she says, pulling him close. Then she starts crying.

Tell me.

It’s nothing.

She holds him hard. They can feel each other.

Take a shower, she tells him quietly. Meet me in bed.

But . . . , he starts.

Bobby’s with Fausto. Suzy’s staying the night at Gabriela’s.

They both still looked good naked. They both wanted each other’s bodies like they were surprised. She liked his mouth on her breasts like a need she had. He liked feeling the curves from her waist to her hips as though that was where it happened. She liked having him inside from on top, eyes closed, surrounded by pulsing stars, and he loved watching her body writhe like it was so unexpected, too much pleasure.

My god I love you, she says. I wanted you all day.

Just think if we weren’t married.

Shut up. What’s that mean?

I’m joking.

Stupid. Stupid to say.

They say it’s not as good once you’re married. Just think what we must be missing.

Have you been talking to my sister’s . . . her perro mujeriego?

Come on, I’m playing with you. Be nice.

She cuddles. Don’t ever be like him. You’re mine, nobody else’s.

They get quiet, feeling each other again. At first came little tears, then she is crying.

What is it?

Nothing. I dunno. Nothing.

Gotta be something.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

You are being strange.

I know. It’s everything.

You keep saying that.

Ali’s going through the same thing. And I have you, not her man.

Stop. You always go there. I wish I could make half as much as Jimmy.

Until they lock him up again.

He’s not doing shit now.

You don’t know.

You do?

I know Ali worries.

Stop it.

It’s true though. How can he be . . .

. . . making more than us? E says.

For one, sure. That’s only one thing. He’s never here.

He owns three bars there, and they’re doing good. He’s doing it with what he got.

Liquor, drugs, girls, Juárez, and El Paso.

It’s where we’re from!

E gets out of the bed and collects his clothes.

Nayeli sits up. Don’t get so mad.

You just don’t get it. He’s doing what it takes. He’s got less than nothing here in LA. He had nothing much there and now it’s something. He wants better. He wants to be here all the time, wants his family here. We both want better.

He’s supposed to live here, where his wife and children are.

You think he should just work for some pendejo and say a sus ordenes all day?

*

It is early morning, crisp air blue skies, the whoosh of distant freeway traffic like a desert wind. E is waiting on the concrete trucks to start pouring.

Que pasó, bro, Dru says.

Hey, what up dude? E wasn’t expecting any talk by anyone.

Things happening, man?

E nodded. In a few days. I’ll let you know.

Can you make it seventy-five? Things is dry.

E seems like he’s listening more for concrete. I dunno. He isn’t sure he should.

Things is dry, Dru says again. Demand is high, man.

You can do it?

I can do more, brother man. Can you do it?

E has to think. What he doesn’t trust is the gaming. Dru’s way.

You still have to handle half up front. You got that?

No doubt, no doubt man. All be done in a week. You watch.

It was so hard to resist. He was doubling his money as it was. Seemed so easy. And this job would end in a few months. What was good was that he didn’t know this Dru, Dru didn’t know him. That was bad too and could be worse. It wasn’t that much, but a lot for him if it didn’t go smooth.

I still want half up front.

Come on, E. Not my first ride, brother. It’ll be good on both us.

I’ll get back.

You’ll see. Too little really. You don’t gotta believe, you gotta know.

E calls Jimmy at lunch break. Jimmy had to front it all to E.

I can, Jimmy says, and I will, but I don’t want to very much.

It’s not that much more.

It’s that these aren’t the . . . how d’ya say . . . people I know.

Gente decente . . . even if. They know me so todo’sta bien. . . .

It’ll go, I’ll get it. He’s okay.

E isn’t really comfortable either, little as it was.

I’m not liking it. Not my tight circle.

If you can’t . . .

You know I can.

. . . or if it’s too much…

For you. Now.

. . . I just don’t got any cash. Kinda why this.

I knew you when you were a baby. That was just a couple weeks ago.

E laughs.

All I need is something else for the A girls to hang on me.

They won’t know.

This is it though, right? I mean, I’m not easy. Not the money, only doing biz like this. Little chiles burn hotter.

It ain’t the money . . . well, course it is. But it’s not too.

I get it. I know. Kinda what I’m saying.

I like my work, Jimmy. When it’s good. But . . . I dunno. Fuck them. It’s there. They got their mansions and Mercedes. I never saw mansions or Mercedes before I was here. I need a little cash.

Yeah.

Fuck them.

Jimmy laughs at him.

I gotta do something.

*

E was hitting balls for infield practice.

Come on, Fausto. Don’t wait on it! Charge, throw it hard to first! He hit him another that took a hop on the dry, scarred field. Again! E says. He slapped it hard to Fausto’s right, near the bag, and he handled it well but was slow to turn and throw. E hits another and Fausto handles it smoothly, but threw to first like he didn’t give a shit. Then he gets a slower one, one he had to charge, and makes a lazy but okay throw.

Hit it to someone else, coach. He starts walking off the diamond.

What the hell you saying? says E.

That now you can hit it to short or second, to Bobby or Rene, not me. Fausto is already headed toward the dugout, to the water.

E, steaming, bangs a few at the other boys, then asks another dad, another coach who’d been hitting fly balls to outfielders, to take them all.

Fausto is in the stands.

What’s your problem? E said.

Nothing. Fausto isn’t backing down.

Nothing. Right.

I just got tired of it.

Ground balls?

I guess, yeah.

Or me on you?

Fausto looks at E. Because it’s hot today.

I’m on you because you’re our best player. You’re the team, Fausto. All the others want to be you.

When did you get your tats, coach? How old were you?

Híquela. I was old, mijo. And I wasn’t even in LA like you. I’m from the sticks. Even here you probably gotta wait a while.

My mom says only cholos have them. Pintos. Like my dad.

He was a cholo? A pinto?

He’s a pinto.

That’s not so good.

I was thinking I want them. They’re showing up on everyone cool, güey.

E laughed. “Güey”?

Sorry, coach. They’re just badass.

A few years, tal vez a couple a championships, get any you want. Your moms won’t care so much then.

Maybe so.

Whadaya want? Where?

Right here on my arm first. A spider, maybe like a black widow. Or a scorpion, because I got bit by one once in México when I was little.

We got plenty of them in El Paso. One bit me on my face in bed.

Wow, reallys? Did it fuck you up, coach?

Nah, E says. I guess they do some people.

Badass.

Hey we should rename our team the Scorpions.

That would be badass, coach! The Lions kinda sucks.

I agree. Maybe I can next year.

That’d be really cool, lots better. That Lions name’s older than the uniforms.

I’m getting us new uniforms.

Yeah, coach? When?

Maybe in a week or so, I’ll see.

Fausto stood.

Mijo, you’re our best player. You’re really good, dude. You get after it, you push, you can be as good as they come. You’re really good, man. You got it all. Remember that.

Okay, coach. Thanks, coach.

*

Only four days later E gets to work even earlier to see Dru ride in.

Dru hands him an envelope folded. It’s shy, brother E, but you don’t got to worry.

Shy what?

All I got now.

Of what?

The half.

You mean it’s not half? E looks around for crew parking, walking, any eyes nearby. He hates having to count cash and fast, and pissed, but no choice. You’re saying it ain’t half?

Yeah. Not yet. But it will be, E.

Fuck dude. Fuck. Really?

It was hundreds less than a fourth.

You caught me at a bad time, brother. I didn’t expect it so fast.

The fuck man, you were in a mad rush.

I’ll get it quick, you’ll see. Fast. De valada, man. Serious.

Dru’s bad Spanish pisses E more. He wants to think faster than he can. He doesn’t want them talking too long, getting angry, seen and then talked about.

Fuck man, E says. I don’t know.

In a couple days it’ll look better. I couldn’t tie it up after work yesterday is all.

You mean if we wait until tomorrow, you’ll have all the half?

Dru is tongue-tied.

No is the answer to that, says E.

I gotta sell some to get you yours. It’ll go fast, brother. You watch and see. A couple few days.

You said that. About fifty, then seventy-five.

And it true. All done in a couple few weeks, tops. Sooner!

I went to a lotta trouble. I got a no return policy.

You worrying, brother. Come on.

I got my end for the worry.

All will be good.

You told me it was like three four dudes.

And it is, it is like that.

E shifts his brain. We’ll have to do whatever next at break. Too late now.

I’ll say I’m going to the liquor store.

Maybe I’m giving you fifty now.

Whatever be good man.

And you come up with what’s half that in a day or two?

Okay okay, you got it.

E steps out of his car, five minutes to start time. He’s thinking maybe it’ll have to be even less.

Lemme have that bread back then, Dru says.

What?

Til we do this, brother, that my bread.

E pulls the wad out and gives it to him.

They walk together for only a few yards.

Breaktime, E says as their space widens, separates.

Dru says not a word.

*

E opens the refri and takes out two beers.

Hey baby, Nayeli says.

He was drinking one.

Not a great day? Nayeli says.

Long pour day is all.

You hungry?

Not really. Not yet. He hears the TV. Bobby and Suzy are home.

I thought I’d get us pollo ranchero at that place we like.

E nods. He walks straight to the bedroom. So filthy, he knows he shouldn’t fall on the bed. He can’t stop or not shut his eyes. So sweet to lie down. It’s almost like sleep, though it seems better. And maybe it is because he can only catch up with Nayeli talking once she’s pushing at him. Take a shower! she’s saying. He hears her saying his name. He pulls up his head, rolls on his back.

Maybe you do need to sleep, stinky, she says.

E’s not ready to talk.

Nayeli holds him, almost snuggles. See, I love how you smell.

__________________________________

“Deal” from New Testaments by Dagoberto Gilb, © 2024 by Dagoberto Gilb. Reprinted with the permission of City Lights Books, www.citylights.com.