Thanks to CTB for not killing me when I mangled the Spanish language to death, and to babythunder for not killing me when I mangled the other language, English, to death. I appreciate it so much, guys.
Enjoy.
-
-
-
The midnight escapades continued on and on throughout the month, and eventually they wormed their way into his routine. He'd sneak out at twelve and make it back by three, drunk and spinning and utterly helpless. When he fell into bed Rafael keep snoring, the fresh puncture marks from the heroin's needles by his elbow guaranteeing he wouldn't wake up and notice Danny was gone during the night. And after a while things returned to their monotony, the robberies and drinking parties substituting for kicking cans down the street or games of baseball with Andres. And then after that, the ventures lost their thrill. His adrenaline never sped up when he broke a window or ransacked a store anymore, but he still recounted his stories to the others with a swagger and a boastful bravado.
They had been lying low for a week or two, trying not to alert the cops that lazily patrolled the town when shopkeepers started reporting more and more thefts. Vandalism and robbery wasn't anything new, though, and the police officers had long since given up on trying to bust a bunch of punk kids for petty crimes. But now the coast was clear, and they could return to their old ways.
"Cierre para arriba, hombre!" One of the boys Danny had come to know as Ramon turned around and warned the other boy, some new kid who had been whispering to Danny for the past ten minutes as they stood outside the liquor shop.
With skillful efficiency they crept into the dark store, trailed by the clumsier new boy. Danny smiled; was he that obnoxious when he first started? He had only been there for a month, he realized shortly afterwards -- maybe he was still that annoying. Pedro seemed to like him enough, and the other guys seemed to accept him, but you could never know. He decided to forget about it and keep his mind on the task at hand.
Ramon grabbed the cash from the register and motioned to the other two. "Come on. Let's go."
The new kid (something that started with an A, was it? Danny couldn't remember) still looked like he was stealing the Hope Diamond, his eyes wide with excitement and anxiety. "Hang on," said Danny, grabbing a bottle from the shelf in such a nonchalant manner that the kid's eyes only widened at what must have been his remarkable coolness.
"Look," Ramon said. "I'm outta here."
"Sheesh." Danny muttered. "I'm coming."
The two left the store, the new kid chattering excitedly all the while. Danny hung back for a minute and surveyed the rack before grabbing a fifth of rum from the middle shelf and turning back to the door.
Oh, shit.
The car that had just pulled up in front of the store had a Hialeah P.D. decal on the side, and the man stepping out of the driver's side of the vehicle wore a clean black uniform. "Stay where you are!" The cop shouted, and Danny raised his hands.
The officer was clean-shaven and, Danny guessed, new -- he acted more like he was a hotshot cop on Miami Vice than one of the other police officers that surveyed the streets wearily, those who had been demoted from better, more exciting jobs. Danny caught a glimpse of his accomplices standing on the far side of the street before the cop twisted him around and pressed him against the counter, taking the bottles from his hands. A minute later the cold steel of handcuffs wrapped around his wrists.
"Is this necessary?" Danny asked, trying not to sound too frantic. "All I did was take some stuff, 's not like I killed anyone."
The cop stared at him grimly. "As long as I have one more punk off the streets I'll be doin' my job, kid." He left to go radio his boss as Danny realized the last statement didn't answer his question at all. But he had learned long ago that it was futile to argue when the odds were overwhelmingly against you, and the cop had a gun while he was handcuffed.
Ten minutes later the rookie's partner showed up and helped shove Danny in the back of the car, heading back to the station as the night wore on.
--
"I don't know anything." He said to the cop across the table.
This cop was older, a little less eager to force any kind of confession out of Danny but still strict. "Pedro's been hitting these stores left and right, all summer long. We know he's behind them. If we can get something, we can get closer to busting him." He leaned closer, folded his hands on the tabletop. "He's head of a huge drug ring. And anything you tell us could really help you out, you know."
Danny was unconvinced, and he showed it. The cop continued, "We could get you into an after-school program instead of doing juvie. A few months of playing basketball sounds better than spending half a year in the slammer, doesn't it?"
"Half a year on one robbery?" He cried. "That's not fair."
"There was money missing from the register. And we could probably nail you on a couple of other robbery charges, from your other liquor store vandalisms."
Danny was silent, but his stomach felt queasy and the room was unbearably hot.
"Pedro would never know you told us." He promised.
Even for someone relatively new to the lifestyle of those on the streets, he knew that was a lie. When someone was detained in police custody for a day or two and then released for less time than originally scheduled for, it looked pretty shady -- even more so when the cops came to someone else's door with a "new eyewitness" in the case against them.
"I told you." Danny said stiffly. "I don't have anything to tell you."
The cop pushed back his rusting metal folding chair and stood, gathering his papers in a professional manner. "Very well then." He cleared his throat and opened the door to let Danny out. "We'll be heading up to the juvenile court tomorrow morning. In the meantime, we'll have to contact your parents so we can have them pick you up."
--
The police officer filled them in as to what happened when they came. Consuela and Bobby looked alarmed, while Rafael looked hurt and betrayed. Danny didn't mind his foster parents' concern as much as he minded his brother's hatred towards him -- Pedro and Rafael had never been on good terms and for Danny to help Pedro out was the worst kind of backstabbing: betraying a family member for some extra cash.
The cops showed up the next morning around ten, and Danny spent the beginning of his day silently sitting in the back of the black car, awkward and stiff in the too-short suit he used to wear to church so long ago, when he still went.
He hadn't been scared of going to court until he saw the sign telling them that they were leaving Hialeah, and they should come back soon if they enjoyed their visit. To him the town was his whole world -- he knew every alley, every nook and cranny of that town as if it were engraved in his brain. The furthest he had been away from the town was on the way to Abuela's house, and the last time he had gone they only made it halfway before the car had begun to stray off the road . . .
He awoke to Consuela prodding his shoulder, unaware that he had even fallen asleep during the ride. Outside was a bustling yard and a small courthouse, but the men there were dressed in three-piece suits and there was a noticeable lack of graffiti and loitering teenagers.
The inside was much nicer than anything he had seen before; it was simple and clean and the wooden benches were polished and shining. The judge presided over the court and from Danny's point of view he looked so powerful he began to get nervous.
He was shaking when he reached the bench to testify, but his voice didn't waver when he swore on the Bible. Over the past few months it seemed God had better places to look after than Hialeah, and more important people to keep an eye on than him -- what would be the consequences of breaking his word to God?
Before he knew it, it was over and the judge had called for a five-minute recess to determine Danny's punishment. Outside of the courtroom there was a great commotion, but inside the few people there whispered quietly amongst themselves. When the judge re-appeared he seemed sterner than before as he fixed his eyes on Danny.
"While you have made a stupid decision and should be punished, your background is otherwise clear. This one count of shoplifting will go on your record, but I'm going to give you a chance."
Danny's hands stopped shaking, but his heart continued to pound.
"You have a choice. Either you can go to juvie for six months, or you can join St. Benedict's after-school program."
The choice was clear to him. "I'll take the after-school program." He said, nearly sighing with relief.
The judge nodded and dismissed the court.
--
Consuela and Bobby lectured him that night as Raffi refused to make eye contact, and when they finally left him alone the sun had long since gone down. The glowing hands of the clock told him it was midnight and he felt exhausted, wanting nothing more than to sleep and be alone, without any more judges or enemies or Pedro, when the knock at the window came.
"Hey, open up, Danny."
He could pretend to be asleep but Pedro wasn't that oblivious. His voice bitingly clear in the misty haze of night, he called out again. "Danny, come on."
Slowly he crawled out of bed and out of the window, where Pedro and two of his friends were standing. Something in his gut was telling him to go back to bed and forget all this; that one brush with jail had been enough and he wanted out.
"So," Pedro said, and Danny followed him as they began to walk, "I heard about your run-in with the cops."
"Yeah." Was all Danny could manage, mystified by this sudden visit and frightened by the eerie calmness of Pedro's voice. It was soothing, but underneath the soft tones he heard a harsh, accusatory voice.
"Did you hear Ricky got arrested, too?" He asked, and Danny's heart began to race, even more so than it had in the courtroom. "Yeah, it happened just after you talked with them."
"I didn't tell them anything." He hadn't, he wanted to scream, but even the truth sounded flimsy and unconvincing coming from him in such a wavering tone. "I didn't."
They were in an alley now, between two abandoned buildings in the less inhabited part of town.
The switchblade shimmered with the light of the streetlamp from above.
"It's pretty coincidental, though." Pedro mused, as Danny found himself backed into a corner. Behind Pedro were two other guys, too burly for Danny to even attempt to take on. "Right after you meet with the cops, Ricky gets arrested and he's serving six months for possession. And you get off without a hitch for stealing some liquor."
"I didn't do anything." He said, but it came out so softly that it sounded more like a prayer than a protest.
Somehow the two men behind Pedro got behind him and they were pinning his arms back, covering his mouth, and then he felt the cold metal brush against his skin before Pedro dragged it across his stomach.
Dark crimson spilled out from his abdomen as he struggled against the hands over his mouth and the knife on his skin. Then something connected with the back of his head and he found himself spinning into darkness; a feeling oddly familiar to him after all the nights of drinking, and he thought that someone must have been a rat or something and then he didn't think anything else.
