Author's Notes - For effects sake, all dialogue in this chapter is intended to be spoken in Spanish, unless noted. I have included some smatterings of (possibly inaccurate) Spanish to give the overall atmosphere.

I also want to thank those who left such nice reviews for Part 1. I really appreciate the feedback guys! It's very encouraging and I promise I will get around to doing the same for those of you who have written some great KB stories as well.

I'm sorry it took me so long to update. I will try and make the updates a little more frequent from now on.

Chapter 1

The Acuna Boys

Part 2

Girls, Guns, Vice, And Everything Not So Nice

"What you go and do,

Go and give a boy a gun,

Now there ain't no place to run to,

Ain't no place to run.

When he hold it in his hand,

He feel mighty, he feel strong.

Now there ain't no place to run to,

Ain't no place to run.

Now we'll all be at his mercy,

If he decides to hunt us down.

Cause there ain't no place to run to,

Ain't no place to run.

He wants the chances that you took from him,

And nothing that you own.

Then there'll be no place to run to,

There'll be no place to run.

And if he finds himself to be,

A reflection of us all.

Bang, bang, bang,

He'll shoot us down.

Before you can raise your eyes to read,

The writing on the wall,

Bang, bang, bang,

He'll shoot you down.

Before you can bridge the gulf between,

And embrace him in your arms.

Bang, bang bang,

He'll shoot you down.

-Tracy Chapman "Bang, Bang, Bang."

Ciudad, Acuna Mexico. 1958

When Bill was ten years old, he first laid hands on an instrument that would forever change his life...and eventually, many years later, aid him considerably in making one hell of a living. It was a gun, a revolver, a Colt 38 Special in this case.

This seemingly trivial but unknowingly very important event in Bill's life occurred when he and Estiban had gone to a mid-summer street fair in Tijuana. Back then, it wasn't such a big deal to have a few gun sellers out amongst the typical craftsmen and artisans. These gun sellers were generally trying to sell off older guns or refurbished antiques to collectors, not to capture the young fancy of a future international murderer.

Walking side by side with Estiban in the midday heat, his hands stuffed in his trouser pockets, Bill had nearly missed the table of guns, as he was busy squinting at a display of bright piñatas a few aisles down. But by happenstance, he turned at the last minute and caught sight of the rows and rows of pistols laid on neatly on a stretch of brown felt that dominated a tall wood table.

Bill felt drawn to that table like a tiny sadistic moth to a dangerous flame.

Quickly and deftly sneaking away from Estiban, he approached the display and gazed lovingly across the array of polished firearms. He wasn't quite tall enough to look completely down on them, but looking across was more than good enough, His hand, on its own fruition, reached out and picked up one of the pistols. It was a Colt 38.

He held it tightly in his hand, his fingers laced neatly around the handle. It was exhilarating. Bill had seen lots of guns, and he knew quite a bit about them, but he'd never actually had held one...until now. He became completely fixated on the weapon; experiencing a tunnel vision of sorts, as everything around him vanished into the distance and the gun came forward with almost inhuman clarity and beauty. And, it was beautiful; there was the subtle glint of the bright sun casting off the barrel, the tension of the trigger under his forefinger, the smooth wood of the handle cradled in his palm, and the pure weight of the rounded metal weapon. Some kids he knew liked to hold their own dicks too much, but Bill knew right away that he'd never get tired of holding a gun. This was a powerful thing, and he knew right then and there, that he wanted a part of that power. He was in love with this object, as he'd always be in love with this object.

"Hey, you! Chico"

Bill looked up, snapped out of his daze by the rough voice of the gun seller, who'd apparently just now noticed the skinny brown haired boy handling his guns.

"That's not for you, muchacho" the seller continued, folding his meaty arms over a barrel chest. He was a large leather skinned Hispanic man with a wide unruly mustache, and he was regarding Bill with the utmost look of adult patronizing. "That's a grown up thing ok? Now, put it back...you're ruining my display."

Bill simply glared up at the man with a hard intensity that was already trademark in him; a look that went beyond his mere ten years. He didn't move to put the gun back; he simply kept cradling it in his palm. He didn't want to put it back, it felt too good, too natural in his hand.

It was then that Bill felt the familiar and not entirely welcome palm of Estiban fall on his shoulder. "My apologies señor" the Mexican pimp spoke to the seller in a genial tone, his fingers digging into Bill's shirt. "He is not from here, he does not know any better."

The gun seller regarded the Caucasian boy, his frowning mustache drooping further and after a few moments, he nodded heavily"Eh...ok...just get him away from my guns."

"Gladly" Estiban replied, and before Bill got a chance to do or say anything on his own behalf, Estiban had snatched the Colt out of his hand and replaced it on the brown felt. "Let's go Bill" he said darkly, leading the boy roughly away.

"I was just looking Estiban" Bill spoke up sullenly, grimacing under the pressure of the man's unforgiving fingertips in his shoulder"I didn"

"Enough from you" Estiban hissed, continuing to jostle Bill away from the gun table and out of the entire street fair. "You are not to get a gun at such a young age" he reiterated, thankfully letting go of Bill's throbbing shoulder to dig out a pack of cigarettes from his tweed jacket pocket.

Bill scowled, watching in sullen regret as the bright and festive fair was left behind for the dirty, hot, depressing streets. He didn't understand why Estiban thought him too young to have a gun. Estiban apparently didn't think he was too young to see women beaten, or hear swearing, or know what a whore did. It seemed ridiculous to Bill that he should then not be allowed to own a gun. But, he also knew it was useless to try to continue his protests to Estiban.. He was far smarter than that. He had learned years ago that his father figure, while a man of wordly charms and interests, was also not the kind of man you spoke back to.

"You're listening to me Bill, yes" Estiban said, peering down at the boy, smoke forming a sun brazened halo around his dark features. "No gun. Entender"

"Yes Estiban" Bill replied with the utmost learned tone of obedience. He bent his head down, regarding the brown toes of his boots as they kicked up dirt in his stride. He didn't do this out of defeat; he did it to hide the smirk that threatened to creep onto his face. Estiban was foolish if he thought he could keep him from what he wanted. Bill wanted a gun, and nothing Estiban would do or say could stop him. He was a willful child to say the least, he always had been.

It was only a matter of time, and Bill found himself to be patient when it came to things he knew he'd eventually get anyways. Besides, Estiban would soon learn that there was little he could do to control Bill. Within a few years, Bill's first adopted father would resign to find that nearly all parental attempts were futile and remain at a relatively authoritative distance when it came to matters with the boy.

This relationship seemed to work out just fine in Bill's favor, of course...that is depending on how you define, 'just fine.'

Now, at thirteen Bill had finally managed to get a gun of his own. It was a Colt 45, single action, a big gun, and not all that new, but it was in good condition and it was similar to the gun that he'd first 'fallen for.' It hadn't been all that hard to round up enough cash needed to buy it. He/d stolen some money from Estiban's wallet, shoplifted a few pairs of leather boots from the general store and sold them to a couple of idiotic tourists from Texas. Finally, he had managed to talk one of Estiban's whore's into giving him a percentage of her weekly earnings in exchange for a pack of cigarettes and a handful of dresses that he'd lifted out of an unlocked car the month before.

Needless to say, even then, Bill was a wheeler and a dealer.

Clutching the wad of dirty Paso's, Bill had sought out a local man downtown who was known for selling firearms to just about anybody who had the money to fund his growing alcohol addiction. The gristly old Hispanic bastard didn't give a second thought to selling a pistol to the quiet young Caucasian bastard and sent the boy on his way, armed with the Colt and an old box of bullets.

Bill would never forget that moment, when he finally held his own gun in his hand for the first time. It was nearly as good as that time at the street fair those three years prior, except this time there was nobody around to tell him to put it back. It was his now. He couldn't quite define his obsession with the gun, but he knew this obsession existed with an unchecked tenancy. The gun was a means of power; it was a means to play God with the simple twitch of a finger. Just the routine act of it; aiming down the barrel, the swing of ones arm, the snap back as the bullet fired, the heat that engulfed the weapon...it all spoke to him on some subconscious level, even if he had yet to fully experience it.

Until now, his only real weapon had been his mind. His wit and his cunning had served him well, but now he had another weapon, an exterior weapon. He thought that perhaps someday he would learn how to really use his body as a weapon, but until then, he felt assured at the ability of the gun.

After buying the gun, Bill had wanted desperately to admire it right there on the street corner, but he knew better. Instead, he wrapped the it up in one of his old t-shirts and stuffed it into his rarely used schoolbag as he quickly made his way back across town.

His first stop to show off his new gun was, naturally...Julio's.

Bill and Julio continued to remain close friends after their bonding those two years ago. They even joked now and again about the whole incident revolving around Bill's broken nose. It all seemed like such silly childish stuff to them now, because, of course, they had moved on beyond such petty things.

Julio never really had a permanent home. He drifted from his Aunt Blanca's, to his brother's liquor soaked apartment, to his mother's run down one bedroom home in town, to his father's ranch outside of town. It all depended on who was the least angry with him at the moment. Right now, it was his father who was letting the trouble making fifteen year old stay at his home.

It took Bill nearly an hour to get there, walking along the barren highway that cut across Acuna and out into the farming community under the hot sun. But, the assurance of the gun against his side and the cigarette hanging from his fingers kept him content and he didn't mind the walk so much.

Julio's father's ranch was small and overgrown with weeds. It housed a pair of old sagging horses, a couple of flighty chickens and a trio of scraggily goats. It was far from picturesque. Julio was paid, rather meagerly, by his father to tend to the animals and the grounds while he often was away, usually off gambling in Reno.

So, Bill found it easy to find his friend. Strolling into the welcome shadow of the barn, he spotted Julio sitting on a low stool, sifting through a metal bucket of feed. His wide back was turned away; a broad expanse of checkerboard shirt.

On a wicked whim, Bill quietly removed his newly acquired gun from his schoolbag and began a stealthy prowl across the dirty hey strew floor. He had always been good at sneaking up on people, and Julio was too lost in his work to hear him approach.

"Bang! Your dead" Bill announced, pulling the trigger of the gun; barrel pressed up against Julio's head. A loud, empty click followed.

Julio spun around, knocking the stool over and instinctively shoving Bill away. "Damnit Bill" He shouted, eyes the size of dinner plates. "Don't point that thing at me! Jesucristo! You could have blown my fucking head off" He paused, the reality that Bill was actually holding a gun sinking in, "Wait...where'd you get that"

Bill laughed, brandishing the weapon proudly"From that old boozer, Perez."

Julio threw his hands up, his freight renewed"You could have killed me"

"No, idiot" Bill retorted sharply, peering down the barrel with a smirk"...it's not even loaded."

"So" Julio didn't seem to share in the humor of Bill's amusement"You never know, it could have...that happens. I heard about Paulo's cousin"

"It's not going to become magically loaded Julio" Bill replied in a patronizing tone"Don't be stupid. And besides, I can tell it's not loaded just by picking it up."

"Yeah? Como"

Bill hefted the gun in his palm"By the weight...see" he flicked his wrist, flipping open the chamber. It revealed a honeycomb of six empty cylinders"...no bullets."

Julio didn't seem all that impressed"Well...still, you nearly made me shit myself," he turned a bulky shoulder towards his friend, glaring, "You ano."

"I bet" Bill continued, ignoring Julio's comments"That I could tell how many bullets were in here, just by picking it up."

Julio snorted, bending over to pick up the stool he'd kicked over"Yeah, so...I can drink a pint of tequila in five minutes, big deal Bill."

"You're full of shit Julio," Bill flicked the bullet chamber shut,"Anyways, I think my talent is more useful than yours."

"Shut up Bill. You're a fucking know it all."

"At least I know something."

"At least my mother isn't a whore" Julio's lip twisted"A real prostituta sucia barata"

Bill's expression turned acidic"Are you sure about that? I think I saw her last week, standing there with her b-"

"Stop," Julio jabbed a thick finger into Bill's chest, his eyes flashing with a real sense of anger, but as quickly as it had come on, the look died away and he glanced down at the gun in Bill's hand with curiosity. "Let's go out in the back field and shoot it."

Bill grinned widely, all else forgotten, "Good idea."

The rest of the hot day was spent in violent bliss, as the two boys took turns firing off bullets at random set up targets in the depleted vegetable fields. Bill was pleased that he was already proving to be a good shot.

A month later, on his fourteenth birthday, Bill bought his second gun, a Derringer. From then on, his gun collection would be in competition only to his skill with the weapons themselves.

As it was with most school going kids, Bill loathed the upcoming ending of the summer months, and he and his friends took this as a cue to do as much as they could, the most they could, in the shortest amount of time possible.

Bill's group of friends, seeing as they were not the square sort, had all started smoking and drinking a little, doing stuff the older kids did. Of course, most of it was just talk, and half of the time they pretended they were drunk when they'd only consumed enough alcohol to give them a little bit of a buzz. But, with the school year approaching, they all felt a 'real' state of drunkenness was needed.

Estiban never had kept too close of tabs on Bill, and it was easy for him, especially during the summer months, to sneak away most evenings and do whatever he wanted. Julio had managed to persuade Raul to let all of them hang out at his apartment. Raul complied, as long as he and his older friends could join in on the boozing festivities. This meant more alcohol and a generally more rowdy time. None of them protested to the arrangement.

This was the first time Bill got really drunk and then really regretted it. He found that alcohol affected him at a very quick rate, no matter how much he'd drink throughout his life. He wondered if perhaps, his father….whoever he was, had been an alcoholic of sorts. This thought first occurred to him, as he was keeled over outside of Raul's apartment, the last remnants of tequila and whiskey leaving his system. And he had thought it tasted bad going down, not to mention, he felt like utter shit.

"You alright Bill?" It was Julio, leaning against the building, lighting a cigarette.

"Yeah," Bill croaked, spitting, "Just peachy."

Julio laughed, "You got drunk way too quick, but you were pretty damn funny while it lasted."

"Really?" Bill finally stood up straight, glancing over his shoulder at his friend, "I don't remember much."

Julio laughed again, "Yeah, good thing too."

Bill groaned, not looking all too amused at this.

"Come on," Julio stepped forward and slapped him on the back, which made Bill grimace further, "You're gunna get a really bad hangover if you don't start drinking again soon."

Bill shot Julio a questionable look, not too sure about that concept, but he went along with it anyways. Well, he would quickly learn to never take Julio up on that one again. The party was apparently a success, but Bill honestly didn't retain too much of it, both mentally and physically. He swore he'd never drink again after that night, but as with most things he swore against during this time, it was a short lived resolution.

During the beginning of Bill's fourteenth year, he became an avid listener of the radio show, Have Gun, Will Travel. It was during those times that he once again found himself lying on the carpet like in his younger more innocent years. He'd bunker down next to the wooden faced radio, hands laced behind his head as he listened intently. Have Gun, Will Travel, about a gentleman turned gun fighter set in the old West, captured Bill's full attention, even at his jaded adolescent age. The show was also on the television, and there was a television set in the house. It was still black and white of course, but it was always being hogged by Estiban's whores and Bill never felt inclined to try and share it with them. Plus, there was something magical about the radio, in the way you could imagine what was going on, instead of having it shown to you. To him, the radio was much like the missing frames between the panels of a comic...the ones you had to make up for yourself. Besides, he figured the adventures in his own head were probably better anyways.

It was in the midst of one of Bill's radio listening nights that Julio showed up at the back door, in a frenzy of uncharacteristic excitement. "Come on, get up Bill" He shouted, spotting the younger boy through the many gaping holes in the now familiar screen door.

Bill lifted his chin from his vantage point on the carpet, spotting Julio"Not right now Julio" he grumbled loud enough to be heard"...it's radio night. I'll be out later."

Julio shook his head, fingers clutching onto the worn screen door"Forget that kiddie shit Bill. I've got something great worked out for us."

Bill glared, looking away dismissively, his attention back on the radio"Goddamnit Julio, I just missed a whole bunch of dialogue. Be quiet! I said, I'll come out later." Julio always had something 'cooked up' and most of the time it stunk. Bill was not about to miss his favorite show because of one of Julio's stupid dead end schemes.

"No way" Julio persisted. His voice dropped a little as he pressed his face further against the screen door"Look...I've found these two girls for us...I met them at the new bus station."

Bill quickly rolled onto his stomach to face the door straight on, his attention instantly switching"What"

Julio's trademark smug smile was apparent even the growing dark of the evening"Girls Bill" he crooned"…..lookers too..." he gave the screen door an instant shake"Get up, come on...I'll tell you more about it on the way. I don't know how long they're going to stick around. We've gotta hurry up."

It took Bill less than a minute to grab his shoes and join Julio on the back porch, where they both immediately lit up identical unfiltered cigarettes. Upon Julio's persistent prodding, Bill followed his friend around the side of the large house and up onto the main road.

"So, what's the big deal Julio" Bill muttered between long drags, purposefully downplaying his friend's obvious excitement. "You found some good looking girls, so what?"

Julio shook his head again, cigarette hanging between his mustached lip and newly growing goatee"Not just good looking girls" he exhaled a long stream of smoke"...but good looking girls, who will fuck us……for free."

Bill let out a short bitter laugh"Bullshit. No whores fuck for free." He knew more about prostitutes than probably any kid his age and he was damn sure of that fact.

"No, no...really they will." Julio seemed dead serious about this, and he stopped in his tracks, a hand falling on Bill's forearm, fixing his Caucasian friend with a piercing look"I swear on my father's grave, that's what they said."

Bill smirked at Julio through their shared haze of smoke"Since when is your father dead" He waved a hand with a haughty tilt of his head"You're so full of shit Julio, you always are" he laughed dismissively and resumed walking.

Julio had this way of selectively not hearing what Bill said when it came to matters of logical thought. He played that card at this moment, easily catching up to Bill and continuing on"So, I told them all about us...well the important stuff that is. I also told them that we'd fucked all sorts of women and that we'd fuck them real good too if that's what they wanted……turns out" he grinned, "that's exactly what they want."

This time it was Bill who stopped dead in his tracks"What" He gaped at the taller boy. At fourteen, Bill was quite aware that he hadn't fucked all sorts of women, let alone one woman. Sure, he thought about it allot, but his own hand didn't count. Julio prided himself on having fucked all sorts of girls, but like with many things, Bill did not feel inclined to believe him. "Wait a minute Julio……" he said slowly"….they're going to know I'm a cherry. They'll laugh at me, sure thing." His look turned sharp"I don't want some whore laughing at me." He had already had to deal with his mother, and a houseful of whores...like a pack of trashy sisters, and that was bad enough.

Julio dismissed this concern, obviously hell bent on getting laid that night"Nah, we'll both be fine. Just play it smooth. We'll just fuck 'em and be done with it. No talkin' to them or any shit like that. Just be suave, like that stuff in the dirty magazines." He cast a long look at Bill"There's nothing to worry about, and you always had this way with girls...just be like that."

"Oh sure" Bill replied sarcastically, tossing the bitter end of his cigarette onto the cracked concrete and snubbing it out with the heel of his boot. He had a brief thought of turning around and going back home to the radio. This whole thing sounded bad. He knew what whores were like and they found horny little virgin boys endlessly amusing. He'd seen them, over the years, cackling like hens in their tight little groups, while red eared young men quickly rushed out of the house…..ashamed. Bill didn't want to be like that. Then again, he couldn't deny that he did want to do this. He did want to get laid and here was the opportunity to do so. He knew Julio could be a real idiot, but at this point in his life, Bill was still often willing to play the role of the follower if desired...although, it would be a very short lived phase.

"Alright," he said finally, stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets and giving Julio a nod, "…where did you tell them to meet us?"

The two girls, it seemed, were waiting for them at the baseball field. Bill once again wondered why certain events in his life always seemed to center around the stupid baseball field. He was relieved to see that they looked to be about seventeen and from where he stood, pretty good looking, in that easy cheap sort of way. During the walk to the field, he'd had this horrible image of two jaded middle aged whores in his mind, and he sure as hell had no intention of becoming a kid imitating Oedipus.

The two girls stood there in corner of the dirt patched diamond, huddled in whispered conversation as Bill and Julio watched with hands in their pockets like two bashful schoolboys waiting for their first kiss on the cheek. Those days were long past.

Of course, Bill knew what they were doing; most likely they were having an argument over which one of the two young men each was going to fuck. It was a concept that was both humiliating and strangely exciting.

After another two minutes of debate, the two girls broke apart. Bill watched intensely as the darker haired and taller of the two girls approached him. He glared at her, more out of nervousness than anything.

Without preempt, she grabbed his hand and began leading him across the untrimmed dimly lit field. He frowned deeply, letting her drag him along. He didn't like her holding his hand, and he was tempted to snatch it out of her clammy grasp, but with some effort he willed away that desire and continued to let her lead him along. It seemed their destination was the rarely used dugout on the north side of the field; rarely used for what it was intended for at least.

They descended the few steps down into the concrete structure. There was trash everywhere; soda bottles, cigarette butts, yellowed newspapers, even a dingy old sock. Somebody had scrawled something so crude and heinous on the back wall, that even Bill, in his adolescent knowledge, was obligated to give it a momentary shocked stare. The air smelt of ash and stale hot summer dust.

"Come on, over here" the girl beckoned him over to the corner of the dugout, right where the wooden bench ended and a small two foot gap resided before the uneven meeting of the two walls.

With a dark glance, he moved over to the corner to face her. It was oddly lit, where he stood now, in partial shadow. Then, a foot away, the light across the girl's face was cast in a sharp diagonal, which was harshly brought to light by the few remaining stadium lamps dotted unevenly around the field.

The girl pivoted completely around to face him, tossing her purse aside and gave him a quick once over glance, like a burro at the weekend market.

"Your kinda cute...a little skinny and mean looking though" she spoke to him in heavily accented English"Americana boy, I can tell." Her pink painted lips spread to reveal a set of slightly crooked teeth"Haga usted dice español"

"Of course I speak Spanish," he snapped back in quick and fluent dialect"I live here don't I"

"Ok, ok" she sneered"No need to get all mad." She then placed her hands over her thighs, leaning back a little against the bench. "Well, what are waiting for? Take your pants off."

After a moment of hesitation, Bill mechanically bent down and removed his shoes, pausing a few seconds to stare awkwardly at his socked feet; he finally complied and tossed his trousers aside.

"Them too" she gestured to his briefs.

So far, everything had been fairly easy…..now he felt a strong sense of awkward fright. No girl had ever seen him….like this. But, after a drudging moment, adolescent lust won over bashfulness and he pulled off his briefs, throwing them over by his trousers.

He looked down at himself and quickly glanced away, trying to will away the sudden burning redness he felt on his ears.

The girl didn't really seem to notice this one way or another. She laid fully down on the edge of the bench and pulled her tight black skirt over her thick thighs, revealing...well, everything, since she obviously didn't seem to make a habit of wearing underwear.

Bill stood staring, not like he hadn't seen that before, but he never had seen it in person, like this...which was something of a surprise seeing where he'd grown up. There she was, lying there...like that, and she was willing. He took a deep breath, which had no affect whatsoever on his current state of arousal.

The girl lifted her head from the bench, glaring at him over the heap of her chest"Well? Come on and fuck me, and hurry up...I've got other things to do you know."

Licking his lips, Bill started towards her. He brought his hands up to unbutton the top button of his shirt. That seemed like the right thing to do.

"No, no" the girl flapped a hand impatiently, "just bottoms off, no tops. Apresirese! I don't have all night"

With another deep breath, he managed to climb on top of her, suddenly very uncharacteristically unsure of himself. She had willingly laid down on that bench and he really wanted to do this, to do her...but, this, right now...like this, just didn't seem right. This was not at all how he'd pictured it to be. The girl smelled like cheap perfume, the kind they sold at the corner market in that obnoxiously hot pink bottle. And now, looking at her closely, under the harsh stadium lights, she wasn't all that pretty. She had a plain face, disproportionate really. Her makeup was smearing away, revealing patches of uneven skin and dull eyes.

He decided to look at her body instead, which was much nicer. He had an urge to touch her, maybe that would help. But when he tried, she shoved his hand away. He then bent down to kiss her on the neck, but again, she pushed him away.

"No, no, auggh" She huffed out an exasperated breath that smelled like cheap alcohol"Are you stupid chico? Just the fuck"

He nodded silently. Just the fuck...ok, he could do that...couldn't he?

He fumbled for a few seconds, attempting to do just that, but with little success. The girl sat up in annoyance"What the hell are you doing" A knowing look crossed her painted face"Oh, shit." She fell back onto the bench dramatically"I knew it. I knew you were a cherry, you and your big stupid friend...cherries both of you. Just my fucking luck….. getting screwed by some skinny ass white boy, who can't even..." she rolled her eyes in full patronizing fashion and then grabbed him, rather roughly"Here"

Oh...now that seemed right.

It was all over in under a minute.

Gritting his teeth against one last gasp, he collapsed on top of her in elation and pleasure, but she didn't even allow him that, and shoved him completely off of her with a cruel hand.

Backing away from her, he squinted at her with a sudden fierce distaste.

"That was so bad" she said, yanking down her skirt and standing up quickly. "I shoulda charged you for that, so...corto." She gave him a scrutinizing pout of the lips"Go practice with yourself some more and see me again when you've got some muscles or some money...or something."

Turning away, angry, weak-kneed and ashamed, Bill retrieved his removed clothing and put it back on as fast as possible. He could hear the girl, behind him, rummaging through her large cheap looking purse.

He didn't want to look at her; in fact, he never wanted to look at her again. But, as he ascended the dugout steps, he glanced at her over his shoulder. She was holding a small black chipped plastic mirror in front of her face, and was applying a thick coating of pink lipstick on her puckered mouth. He'd never even kissed her, why did she have to put more lipstick on?

She peered at him over the rim of the mirror, "Go on," she chided snidely, "I'm sure your friend is all spent too…."

Once again turning away in disgust, he gladly left her there. Making his way quickly back across he field, he easily caught sight of the lumbering form of Julio emerging from the dark bushes that lined right field. Julio waved and smiled, obviously jubilant.

"How was it?" He grinned, slightly out of breath as he and Bill converged near second base.

"Terrible," Bill replied, but glancing at Julio, he quickly elaborated with a roll of his shoulders, "Eh, it was all right I suppose…." Bill didn't feel the need to tell Julio how he really felt, Julio wouldn't understand. "I've had a better time of it myself though…."

Julio just laughed, slapping Bill on the shoulder, lately very manly in all of his movements, "No way, you've gotta have the pussy Bill……always best that way. Don't worry, you'll get more soon enough…."

Remaining silent, Bill just glanced away, digging his pack of cigarettes of his pocket as they exited the field through a chain link fence and emerged onto the dark street.

"We have to find something to drink now," Julio prattled on amiably, lighting his own cigarette, "Raul tells me it's best to get drunk after you get laid……not before….ya know, that causes….problems sometimes. Know what I mean……..problems?" He laughed obnoxiously.

Nodding absent mindedly, Bill pretended to listen as the two of them strolled into the dusk and on their way to typical underage drinking. But, Bill's heart wasn't really in it and he was distracted the entire evening.

That night he swore he'd never have sex with a woman like that whore ever again. He wanted them all to be beautiful, and not that fake beautiful either. But like the real beautiful ladies in the movies; gorgeous and tall each and every one of them. It would be best if they were blonde too, like Marilyn Monroe, Veronica Lake and Lana Turner. And they would not talk to him like that whore did either, he didn't like that part at all, it made him angry. He wanted them to really want him, not because they were whores, but because he would just be so charming that they couldn't help themselves. He wouldn't even have to be handsome, or strong, or even have money…..although, that would be good too. That was the way things always were in his fantasies at least, and after tonight he knew he had to make his fantasies a reality or he'd never be able to have sex with another woman again.

Well, those were his fourteen year old thoughts at the time. Like most very young men, Bill had a tendency to over idealize what he wanted, and he was doing so even more now. But, throughout his life he would live far closer to that ideal than most men ever dreamed of. He would be a man of many women, a real charmer, a man who proved to live up to a true gentleman's standards, and the seed of that female ideal was naively planted that very night.

"Mierda, it keeps falling all over the place..." Julio muttered, his large fingers fumbling awkwardly with the rolling paper and the linear heap of marijuana in the middle of it.

"You're a fucking blockhead, that's why" Paulo interjected, his face close to the messy dissected joint laid out on the table in front of him.

Bill sat silently, watching in slightly irritated fascination at this new process of vice. Finally, after months of scheming, Julio had made good on one of his many exaggerated promises and had been able to get some weed from his brother Raul.

Along with Julio, Bill had soon gained Paulo as a friend, much to his disappointment. He had never liked Paulo, even those two years ago with his greasy Elvis hair, and he still didn't like him now, with his stupid Humphrey Bogart hat. Paulo was too much of a follower for Bill's liking, a weak stupid, silly kid who tried to emulate famous people just a little too much. But, Paulo was Julio's lapdog and Bill was forced to take them as a pair.

Sitting around the table there was also Alanzo, Bill's younger friend of many years, and the kid who he'd wrecked Raul's bike for those two years ago. Alanzo was a quiet kid, small and spineless, but he was smart and for that Bill liked him. Along with Alanzo, there was Hector, a tall skinny kid who had moved to Acuna from Guatemala last year and a rough looking boy named Martin, another newcomer who was from Mexico City. It was this group of boys that formed Bill's small gang of friends during these few years. Julio was the brute and Bill was the brains, the rest followed.

Now, they all sat in anticipation in Paulo's dining room, circled around the daisy printed plastic covered table in the afternoon lull of summertime. The small house was silent and still in its state of continuous disarray. Paulo's mother was never home, she worked at the textile mill. He had no siblings and a trucker father who showed up every few months to jump in the sack with his mother and then take off again.

In short, it was the perfect locale to find out once and for all what was so great about Miss Mary Jane. So far, Bill wasn't all too impressed. Smoking cigarettes was probably better, and they all did that anyways, but he was willing to see what all the hoopla was about...that is, if Julio didn't take all damn day to get it ready.

"Here" Bill spoke up in frustration, reaching across the table and snatching the rolling paper out of Julio's clumsy fingers. "Let me try." It couldn't be all that hard to roll a joint, and besides he remembered Estiban's lessons...in particular, the one on how to roll your own tobacco. How much different could this be?

Eyes turned down intensely at his task, Bill folded a small crease along the unglued side of the paper and then quickly sorted the dry green stuff into the crease. Licking the glued side of the paper, he deftly rolled it into a tight cylinder, remembering how John Wayne always rolled his cigarettes in the movies. Realizing this wasn't entirely the solution, he then twisted the whole thing a little, thus ensuring that the loose innards were packed together tightly.

Smiling proudly at the finished product, he held the joint out to Julio and Paulo"There" he announced. Both of them stared back at him with a newfound appreciation.

Julio snatched the joint out of Bill's fingers with a lopsided grin"Let's go light it."

They decided to smoke it behind a church, it was Paulo's idea and it was hardly a picture of smooth coolness.

Julio nearly threw up he choked so badly. Hector and Alanzo both did throw up. Bill fared a little better, but he spent a good two minutes hacking on the thick smoke, his lungs burning. This was no cigarette alright. Still, it all seemed like a waste of good breath…..that was until about fifteen or so minutes later.

All five boys found themselves slouched against the wall of the church, looking at their surroundings with glazed over and far away looks of detachment. Bill couldn't quite place how long they'd been there or exactly what had happened before. But, he felt good, really good, and he decided that he liked this stuff.

"Oh my god" Paulo spun around in slow dizzy circles, squinting at the tall bell of the church silhouetted against the bright blue sky, "...this is so crazy."

"Yeah," Hector mumbled, more interested in his shoelaces than anything else at the moment.

After sometime, Julio and Paulo started in with their "Big Bopper Act." They had been doing it ever since the Bopper's song "Chantilly Lace" started playing on all of the American radio stations. The act was nothing more than Julio breaking out in a rather loud, obnoxious, purposefully inaccurate version of the song, which was only made more obnoxious by his poor English and his tendency to make everything crude. Meanwhile, Paulo would dance around Julio, pretending to be a woman, squealing in glee and feeling up his scrawny chest as if he possessed a pair of knockout breasts. Paulo had always been something of a drama queen, a fact that Bill had pointed out to him on a number of occasions.

Bill hated the Bopper act; he thought it was inane and immature. But, for some reason, right now, it was really damn funny. Supporting himself against the rough wall of the church with a slightly numb arm, he doubled over in laughter as his two friends went into yet another stoned encore of the act.

But, the fun ended abruptly when the irate padre of the church rounded the corner and gave chase to the group of five boys.

Running away with peals of laughter, the group eventually slowed to an unsteady stumble when they were at a safe distance from the church. Bill couldn't quite remember the rest of that afternoon, but he chalked the experience up as a good one……one that he would certainly like to have again.

Bill had never liked school. It wasn't that he didn't like learning per se, he just didn't like going to school. He loathed having to sit there and be fed a load of information he already knew. Besides, it was always so hot in the school house, so stuffy and bland. There were only a couple rooms in the school building in use, due to the lack of money and teachers, so he was often stuck in classes with kids who were either younger or older than himself.

One thing was for sure though, school was the prime locale to cause trouble and Bill exploited this to his full advantage. Some kids were pranksters; guys like Julio or Paulo. But as Bill got older, he preferred to think of his brand of troublemaking as far more bold, devious and cunning; something that required a little more intellect.

It didn't take long for Bill's reputation as a 'sly no good trickster' to spread amongst the faculty as well as the students. His teachers never trusted him, even though his schoolwork was thorough and well thought out. His infamous list of offences ranged throughout the years, from the outrageous to the typical. This consisted of: forging notes from faculty members, to bringing alcohol to class, threatening other students with blackmail, leaving school in the middle of lectures, blatantly smoking in the hallway, impersonating the principal on the phone, breaking into the restroom supply closet and swapping it with the items from the records office, climbing onto the roof of the school, reading comics during class, organizing a bare knuckles boxing tournament between the 7th and 8th grade boys, kissing a girl on recess, making out with a girl after school but still on school grounds, trading stolen goods for cigarettes with the janitor, disobeying his teachers, talking back to his teachers and general overall extortion of the system. At least, these were the things he got caught doing. He went about all of this very amiably, never making an excuse for himself….taking whatever punishment was delivered upon him with a quiet smirk and no compliant. Somehow, he was never expelled. Perhaps it was because, despite everything, deep down his teachers still liked him.

Still, Bill found school to be tedious and his acting out was most likely a means to keep himself occupied. But, when Bill was fourteen, there became a real reason to enjoy school, in the perfect hourglass form of a girl named Rosalinda Ramos. She was two years older than him and knew Julio, even though Julio had dropped out of school last year. Because of the lack of students in her age group, she along with a handful of her peers had been grouped in with Bill's class that year.

Rosalinda Ramos. Her name alone, with its Spanish roll of the tongue was like a verbalized French kiss. She was breathtaking, with long dark chocolate brown hair that shimmered copper when the sunlight streamed through the school windows at just the right time of day. Her eyes were hazel and slightly slanted giving them an almost feline look. Bill had never seen eyes quite like that before. Her skin was a toned copper and she always seemed to wear her skirt just above regulation height and get away with it. This allowed her perfectly smooth legs to show nearly in full. She moved like a cat, mirroring her feline eyes, back arching, sleek hair rippling over her shoulders, her long fingers deftly running along the tops of the wooden desks as she sauntered down the aisles. Her eyes remaining both angelic and menacing during all of this, while her large lips often were turned up into an intelligent smirk or a bright confident smile, revealing a set of bright white teeth that looked like they could eat a man for breakfast. And her figure, well...she was nothing like the skinny knobby girls Bill's own age, oh no...she was all soft curves and perfectly placed hills of supple flesh. At sixteen, she was a real woman.

She was not only beautiful, but she was witty, cunning, intelligent, seductive, fully capable and sure of herself. Bill knew right away that he wanted her. Even at fourteen, he was completely perceptive to what 'his type' was, while the rest of his schoolmates shyly drooled in the corner over anything that had grabbable breasts. Likewise, he was not shy. Sure, he sat and pined over her for a few weeks, but that was mainly to get a perfectly mapped eyeful of her before he made his move.

It was after this spending of sometime watching her closely, admiring her from afar and having a few casual conversations with her within the limited confines of the classroom; Bill decided it was best to state his intentions. He liked to lie, but he found that some situations were suited better to tell the truth in.

He knew Rosalinda always waited to be picked up by her brother Roberto on the front curb after school. So one typical hot afternoon he went and sat down beside her as she quietly waited in her usual spot.

Settled beside her, she smiled at him out of polite expectancy. She had very good manners, and while she projected sexuality she was never crude or uncouth. Bill knew for sure that she had not been raised in Acuna, she was far too pristine, and he decided he'd ask her where she was from…..later on, when he got to know her better of course.

"Rosalinda" Bill began softly and carefully, letting the word hang in the hot air for a moment. He looked at her directly in those speckled hazel eyes of hers"I would like to tell you something."

Her polite smile froze a little, but she nodded"Of course Bill...we're friends, go ahead."

"You are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen" he said gently, getting right to the point, a hand idly falling on her wrist. It was funny how un-intimidated he felt in this situation. He couldn't say why that was exactly, but Estiban had raised him to be able to speak to women and he'd always been around beautiful women, it just seemed to come to him naturally. Most boys his age could only dream of walking up to Rosalinda Ramos and saying that, but Bill acted as if he was doing her a favor by doing so.

Rosalinda laughed lightly, giving him a playful little shove"And I'm sure you've seen a lot of girls Bill" she chided him sarcastically, obviously not taking his pass all that seriously.

"I have" Bill replied with the utmost stoicism"I've checked around town, a few times actually. I've even watched a few movies with very beautiful women in them, but none of them are as beautiful as you."

Rosalinda's smile faded away, replaced by a look that was far more introspective. Boys were always saying things to her, trying to go out with her, but it was obvious by her expression that she'd never had a fourteen year old boy talk to her in such a way. She blinked, a few times, saying nothing in response.

"So" Bill continued, smiling now...which, when he rarely chose to, was rather pleasant"...I have decided that you and I should go out together, be steady and everything."

"What" Rosalinda's automatic response was one of unexpected shock. She stared at Bill; with his pale Caucasian skin, untrimmed brown hair, serious dark eyes, prominent lower lip, and undeveloped skinny figure...and she started to laugh.

Bill's smile remained, completely unfazed by this reaction"You see, you are the most beautiful girl in Acuna, and so...I must be with you."

Rosilinda continued to laugh, a little mockingly"Bill, are you loco? I hate to be the girl to break this to you, but you aren't exactly the most handsome boy in Acuna. Besides, I don't date kids. No thanks, that was very sweet...but no," she shook her head, "I don't think so."

Bill's smile faded away, but he still appeared undaunted"I'm not a kid Rosilinda, not anymore. But" he shrugged"...that fine. I just wanted to be the one to ask you out, because I know eventually you'll ask me out anyways, I can tell. I was just saving you the time."

This time Rosilinda did not laugh.

She spun around to fully face him, and with a snarl, slapped him right across the face, going from warm to cold in an instant. "You little bastard!" She hissed, "Who do you think you are"

Clutching at his burning cheek, Bill quickly stood up, glaring down at her. He said nothing, but the smoldering look in his eyes said enough.

Rosilinda was likewise quickly up on her feet and in his face, "I would leave me alone if I were you Bill," her eyes narrowed threateningly, "My older brother will kill you if I tell him to, and he's going to be here any minute."

Again he said nothing, but he simply glared at her, face flushed.

"Go away," she snapped, nostrils flared, eyes ablaze. Even now Bill thought she was beautiful. "Please…..." she added in a far more gentle tone.

Nodding silently, he turned away, and re-shouldering his schoolbag he complied with her wish. But, even then….as he walked away across the hot asphalt, he felt confident that that was not the end of him and Rosilinda Ramos.

During that winter, Bill's mother became very ill. Estiban, as well as a number of the other prostitutes truly feared for her. It seemed that sometimes prostitutes would become really sick, with something that no doctor could determine and they would eventually die. Nobody spoke of what it was and Bill had no clue what was being alluded to anyways.

During all of this, Bill's mother had an odd request; she demanded that her sickbed be moved to Bill's room. Bill was horrified, his room was his domain, his private space, and the last thing he wanted was his possibly terminally ill, whore of a mother, residing there. But, she insisted, stating that his room, being the furthest back in the house and having the most open air would be the healthiest place for her.

So, she was brought in and settled in his bed, his bed, where he spent moments alone with himself. His bed...surrounded by a pinup of Marilyn Monroe, magazine clippings of guns and other weaponry, an old Gene Audrey movie poster, various tacked up comic books and a faded traditional Spanish painting of an Arabian horse that Estiban had given him years ago. Worse, she was lying on his mattress, his mattress...where underneath was stashed a good supply of valuable things he'd shoplifted over the last two years, a bag of marijuana, a stack of dirty magazines, many packs of cigarettes, and a wooden box containing his guns. In short, she was completely invading his space and his world of vice. Unlike many other children, he was utterly inexperienced with the breach of privacy between parent and child. He had always been given a great deal of freedom and this momentary infringement into his life was infuriating.

Estiban was all for this arrangement, siding completely with Bill's mother. After all, she worked hard for him and made him a good deal of money, so if she thought staying in Bill's room would make her better, than he would fully back her. No amount of pleading on Bill's part would change the pimp's mind.

"She will sleep there until she is well" he told Bill sternly"And I will not hear another word otherwise from you."

And that was that.

Now, faced with this exceedingly awkward situation, Bill did his best to avoid his mother...something of which he normally was very good at. He hadn't really talked to her in over six months and the first two days she was in his room he succeeded in his vow of silence. He would quickly stroll in and out to retrieve what he wanted. Many of the times she was asleep, her dark brown hair spread out over his pillow, fever glistening on her pale skin. But, on the third day, she pinned him down with that dark stare of hers as he rapidly shuffled through a pile of comics, hoping to escape before she took any real notice of him.

"Come over here and talk to me Bill" she spoke up softly, but with that unmistakable steel in her voice.

He froze, looking at her from across the expanse of his room. He didn't want to talk to her, and he sure as hell didn't want to come anywhere near her.

"Stop starin' at me boy" she patted the bedside"Come on over here" she drawled in that ridiculously misplaced Southern accent. Bill had always had the distinct feeling that his mother had seen Gone With The Wind one too many times. But, she was certainly no Scarlett O'Hara. He wanted to tell her that, tell her that no matter how charming her drawl, she was still a whore...but he didn't. Years later, Bill would realize that he would have made himself a hypocrite by saying that; finding that no matter how charming his drawl, he was still a killer.

With a constrained sigh, he joined her, sitting awkwardly on his normally very comfortable bed and enduring long seconds of her scrutinizing him under a pair of heavy eyelids.

She shifted against the pillow. "How old are ya now Bill"

"I'm fourteen," he replied blandly, disgusted that she didn't know her own son's age.

"Fourteen" she mused, blinking a few times"Yes...that's right, I remember now." She reached up and stretched her fingertips out towards his cheek. He quickly pulled away, causing her touch to fall short of its mark. "Almost a man now" she continued, letting her hand fall to her side, "You know, I was a mother at your age."

Need she remind him? She used to scream at him when he was small about how he'd destroyed her childhood. "Yes" he said hollowly.

"I may die." She stated.

He stared blankly at the faded afghan lying across her legs. "I know."

"Do ya want me to die Bill? Do ya hate me all that much"

He didn't reply. He did not know what to say. She never talked to him like this, and he chalked it up to her high fever. There was a long silence between mother and son, broken finally by his mother's blunt request.

"You should burn these sheets when I'm done with 'em."

Bill, eyes still downcast, only said"I will."

And that was the extent of their conversation. Bill did not want to talk to his mother, and his mother seemed awkward, in her depleted state, to want to talk to him any further. She never liked to be weak, and even though she sold her body to make money, she always carried herself with a bold haughtiness. She was proud in her status and she seemed to not care one way or another about dying.

But she did not die, in fact, she proved to be a very hearty woman. And soon after her speedy recovery she was back to selling herself on a nightly basis. Everything went back to the way it was before she had gotten sick. Bill got his room back, burnt his sheets as promised, and entered a stretch of silence between him and his mother that, this time around, would last nearly two years.

As much as Bill would have liked to have thought it, he did not want his mother to die then...not there, not like that. The irony of her life was that she would end up outliving both of her sons, one of whom would not be conceived for many more years to come. If Bill had known that then, he would have probably changed his mind about the whole thing...no matter how much he was fond of irony.

Soon, in the restless wake of the spring months, Julio and Bill hatched their biggest plan to date.

About twenty miles outside of Acuna, up in the low rolling hills sat a landmark of a house owned by an elderly American couple. They were known as the Tanners, the house, not surprisingly, was known amongst the locals as The Tanner House. The house was massive and ornate, done up in true Southwestern style, with a large tiled patio dominated by large cactuses and expensive garden furniture. The rumor was that old man Tanner was a retired Texas oil baron and the house contained wealth beyond the scope of any typical person in Acuna could imagine.

Julio suggested it was time the Tanners were relieved of some of their burdening possessions. Actually, his description was more along the lines of"Let's rob it" as he and Bill were sitting around reading comics one evening in Bill's room.

Bill agreed without a second moral thought.

They spent a good two weeks planning it. After some discussion, they agreed that this would be for them only. Paulo would screw it up, he was too loud. Besides, after seeing some thing on the television about man being able to go into space, he had gotten it in his mind that he had to actually start studying if he wanted to do it as well. He'd had his nose in a book the last three times Bill and Julio had stopped by his house.

The others wouldn't work either. Alanzo was too weak, too nice to rob houses, and he'd most likely squeal. Hector wasn't all that trustworthy and Martin was too stupid.

No, Bill and Julio knew the Tanner house was a two man job. They had to be careful, but they knew the house was isolated enough that it was possible. When they were ready, Julio borrowed Raul's old pickup truck for the evening and he and Bill drove up to the Tanner's. They both had brought bandannas to wrap around their lower faces and baseball caps for their heads, all so they would not be recognized if they were spotted by anybody.

Bill carefully loaded his gun while Julio drove, looking thoughtful in the fading sunlight, "We're the cowboys with black hats now…..." he spoke up softly.

Julio shot him a quizzical look, "What?"

"The good cowboys always wear white hats," Bill elaborated, "…or light colored ones, the bad guys always wear black hats."

Julio laughed, missing the metaphor, "You and the cowboys Bill…..I just don't get it. It's almost the 60's mi amigo, that's old stuff….."

Bill replied with a shrug, not caring much about Julio's opinion on cowboys.

"Besides, I ain't no cowboy, I'm a charro," Julio snorted.

"Same difference," Bill mumbled sullenly, sliding another bullet into the chamber of his gun.

When they pulled up near the Tanner house, it was completely dark inside. That was a very good sign, since both Bill and Julio were hoping that nobody was home; it would be so much easier that way. Julio parked the truck behind a partially standing horse barn that was a good fifty feet from the main house.

Once they had put on their hats and bandanas, the two boys crept stealthily up the slight hillside, keeping low and avoiding the multitude of small cacti dotting the ground. Bill had stuffed his gun into a makeshift holster at his side; he didn't have the real thing yet. Once they'd reached the house, which was even larger than they had first thought, Julio crouched underneath a wide window along the far side, while Bill went around to the front. They'd already worked out the whole plan ahead of time of course.

Julio was an expert at removing windows, and with the help of a small Swiss Army knife, he had the entire window frame removed in less than two minutes. After that, it was just a matter of taking out the screen and the glass. He did all of this very quietly and with a scary amount of professionalism.

As Julio was doing this, Bill posted himself by the front door, peering through the living room curtains of a nearby window, keeping watch for any movement inside. Soon, he spotted Julio inside the house, and as planned, Julio opened the front door from inside, letting Bill in. This provided them with two escape routes if needed.

Once they were both inside, without a spoken word, they began to scour the house for anything that looked valuable. They had both stuffed pillow cases in their back pockets earlier, which would now be used to carry their loot in. Julio took the downstairs, while Bill ascended the steep staircase to see what the upstairs had to offer.

Even though it was now quite dark outside, the moonlight creeping in through the house's many large windows revealed an interior that was very nicely furnished and far from short on items worth tossing into a pillow case. Bill was pretty sure that the old couple's bedroom was upstairs, and he made an extra effort to be quiet as he inched down the framed picture lined hallway. He was still convinced that nobody was home, and upon entering a bedroom with a partially opened door, he headed straight for the rich wood dresser. Glancing at the empty neatly made bed, he flipped open an ornate jewelry box, emptying its shiny contents into his bag. Moving on, he searched through the drawers, in the closet and around the bottom of the bed, finding much more to add to his collection. He hadn't heard a thing from downstairs and could only assume that Julio was having just as much luck as he.

That was, until he heard a loud creak from behind him.

Spinning around, a hand instinctively grabbing for the gun at his side, Bill came face to face with a robed elderly man; this had to be Old Man Tanner of course. In his gnarled hands, he was holding a broomstick. His deep set eyes, which had a slightly far sided myopic look to them, hovered onto Bill unsteadily. He looked tired and shaky.

Gun held out in front of him, Bill attempted to recover his composure. This man was old and nearly blind. There was nothing to be afraid of. He could handle this.

"Put down the broom," Bill croaked, swallowing heavily. As he had planned, he did his best to disguise his English with a bad Hispanic accent. With his hat and bandana in the dark, he could pass as Mexican, and he didn't want the man to know he was white…..he would be easer to point out later on.

After a moment of uncertainty, the old man bent over and tossed aside the broom. He seemed shocked to see a boy with a gun in his house, which was certainly understandable. "Take whatever you want," he said in English, with a voice like a hollow reed, full of wariness and laden with a Texas drawl.

Bill rattled his pillow case full of valuables as if to emphasize he'd already done that without the man's permission, as if he needed it anyways.

Behind the man, another figure quietly appeared….an old woman, in a long nightgown and a face as wary as her husband's. "What's going on Edward?" Her fingers clung to the man's arm, "Oh my god……," she breathed, eyes wide.

Bill's gaze flicked to the woman, and he adjusted the threatening end of his gun to include the couple. His mind was swirling. This was all totally new to him. He didn't know what to do, but he had to do something quick. If only Julio was with him, but no….to hell with Julio, Bill didn't need him and he didn't need help. He could do this.

He adjusted his grip on the gun, "I want both of you……to walk downstairs and sit down on the couch. Don't try to run, don't talk." He did his best to sound confident and in charge.

"Look," the old man began, wrapping a comforting arm around his wife's shoulders, "...take whatever you want boy, just don't-"

"I said, DON'T TALK!" Bill snapped, louder than he had intended, his Hispanic accent slipping momentarily.

Rattled, the old couple turned, and slowly began making their way down the hallway towards the stairs. Bill was closely behind them, gun at their backs. Now that they were turned away, he wiped a good amount of nervous sweat from around his eyes. He wanted to tell them to walk faster, but he felt a sudden sense of pity for their age and kept quiet as they descended the stairs into the living room.

Once the couple was seated, Bill called for Julio, who emerged a few moments later, his pillow case brimming with stolen goods.

He took one look at the old couple and Bill with the gun and swore viciously, "Joder!" He spun around, pivoting nervously, "Let's go……..we've got enough…."

"You won't get away with this," Old Man Tanner spoke up with firm resolve, huddled next to his wife, "I know everybody in Acuna, and everybody knows all the troublemaking boys…."

Bill pulled the hammer back on the revolver without even thinking and aimed it right between the man's eyes, "You won't, if you're dead." His voice suddenly sounded odd to him and he could feel his heart slamming against his ribcage.

"Goddamnit," Julio hissed, already heading for the door, looking uncharacteristically scared, "Don't do it…."

The old woman let out a small sob, head buried in her hands, but her husband simply glared back at Bill. "You're just a boy……," he whispered.

Nostrils flared, Bill pushed the barrel of the gun against the man's wrinkled forehead, execution style.

Julio shook his head, his horrified expression cast in the moonlight, "Jesus….."

Bill said nothing, he just stood there, frozen, his gun pointed at the head of the old man, and at that moment, he was afraid. He was not afraid of the old couple or of what had happened or what could happen. No, he was afraid of himself, afraid that...while he realized could not pull the trigger at that moment, he knew...in a few short years that he could. It was then that he had a strange visual realization; he could see himself strolling into the dimly moonlit doorway behind the old couple. He was a man, he was the man he wanted to be...the man he knew he'd be. His older self was half cast in shadow; a figure of a soon to be reality; with a rake-like smirk and a confident swagger in his step. He swept into the room, and unlike the boy Bill, the man Bill rose up his gun hand in one smooth languid motion and shot both of the old people in the back of the head without an ounce of hesitation or feeling. The momentary flare of the bullet's ignition lit up his dark, hard eyes. He was a smooth shadow, a cold deliverer...he was a killer.

Bill blinked out of his revere, a pool of sweat having formed between his palm and the handle of the revolver. His older self was gone...having never really been there at all, and the old couple remained alive, still staring at the barrel of his gun in pitiful desperation.

Bill took a few slow steps backwards, nearly tripping over the pillow case swinging from his free hand. His gun hand had gone numb, and it took him a moment to fumble the weapon back into the holster at his side.

"Come on!" Julio yelled from behind him, his voice hollow in Bill's ears. "Let's get the fuck out of here!"

Bill nodded, eyes still riveted on the couple, and that now empty space behind him. With some effort, he turned away and bolted out of the house, close on the heels of Julio. They sprinted back to the truck, tossing their full pillow cases into the truck bed. The tires of the truck spun, as Julio frantically peeled out of their parking place. Bouncing numbly in the passenger's seat, Bill stared blankly out the window on his side of the truck, watching the Tanner house gradually disappear from sight.

"Holy shit!" Julio was exclaiming, as they sped away, "That was crazy! You almost killed those old people, Jesus Christ, you're loco Bill!" His voice was a mixture of shock and excitement, "You looked way cool with that gun though……hah, but holy shit! We've gotta check out our stuff right away…..I can't wait to see what we got! Wait until Paulo hears about this……"

Pretending to listen, like he often did with Julio, Bill leaned against the door, his hand wrapped lovingly around the handle of the gun at this side. He wasn't exactly sure what had just happened, it had all happened so quickly. But, what was clear was how he felt, and dawning upon that…..he was both more frightened and intrigued than he ever had been in his entire life.

A few days later, while in class, Rosilinda Ramos slipped into the desk behind him. She'd said little to him ever since she'd slapped him those couple months ago, reserving her conversations with him to what was required during class time. Bill remained undaunted and simply went back to admiring her as a thing of beauty until a new opportunity presented itself.

But now, she leaned forward, her lips brushing up against his right ear. Bill ceased his quick writing and froze in place, eyes sliding to the side.

"You robbed the Tanner house earlier this week, didn't you" She whispered, warm breath on his skin"I know all about it..." He could feel the amused smile on her face, and fought one of his own.

Of course, Julio had told her...that snitching son of a bitch. But, with Rosilinda Bill found it forgivable. She seemed…..excited over the idea.

He nodded slowly, turning his head just enough to the side to get a sidelong glance at her from under his eyelashes.

"I heard they had tons of nice things in there" she continued in that silky whisper"Do you still have some of it"

Again, Bill nodded slowly.

"Mm" she responded, and with one last hot breath, she leaned back and resumed her schoolwork, leaving still air in her seductive wake.

Facing forward, he took in a deep breath, staring wide eyed at the blackboard and suddenly having no idea what was on it. His schoolwork was entirely forgotten.

The next day, once Bill had pinpointed the desk Rosilinda had decided to use for the day's classes, he slipped a gift into the desk's storage compartment during lunch.

Brushing by her desk once class had resumed, dressed in his best button up shirt, he paused, fingertips splayed across the chipped wood. He smiled softly down at her, "Your pencil is dull" he said blandly"I think you should get another." He then continued nonchalantly down the aisle to where he was sitting.

Watching Rosilinda intensely over the top of his reader, he observed as she opened her desk and instantly paused, Bill knew then that he'd done he right thing. Glancing around, Rosilinda slowly pulled the beautiful silver and turquoise necklace from the confines of the desk and held it lovingly out in front of her chest. There was an audible gasp from her friend, Maria, who was sitting next to her. Casting a look over her shoulder, Rosilinda smiled coyly at him. Smiling in return, and without reservation, Bill then ducked his head back down and resumed his work, quite pleased with himself.

After school, Rosilinda thanked him with a bright grin and a quant kiss on the cheek. Well, it had fallen a little short of his desired response, but at least she was back on friendly terms with him...and for now, that was good enough.

Estiban had never really had an official"birds and bees" discussion with Bill. Maybe the pimp thought the point was somewhat mot after having raised the boy in a house of prostitution. But, as Bill neared the end of his fourteenth year, they did have a talk...of sorts.

Estiban liked to have his shoes shined at the end of every week and he often took Bill along with him. This was one of their pretend father/son rituals that continued on into Bill's adolescence. After Bill had felt he'd grown out of their 'adventure days' and had recently walked out on one of his dance lessons, the shoe shine time between and he and Estiban remained intact.

"You like girls, yes" Estiban spoke up in English as they sat in the shoe shine booth during a weekend afternoon, a cigarette perched suavely between two brown fingers.

Bill had been intently watching the young shoe shine boy work on his newly acquired brown cowboy boots and he looked up with a surprised laugh"Of course I like girls."

Estiban rolled his cigarette between his teeth, eyeing his quickly maturing protégé"You've...eh...been with a girl yet"

Like many parents, or parental figures, Estiban chose to have this discussion far past the point of poignancy. Bill of course had never told his father figure about being with the prostitute. He knew that Estiban would most likely have found Bill's choice for de-virginization far below his worth; and Bill felt inclined to agree at this point.

"No, not yet," Bill lied, which came as easily as breathing now.

Estiban raised a brow"But you want to? They...eh..." he searched for the right English word"...they excite you"

Bill shrugged, playing it off nonchalantly. "Sure."

Estiban nodded, relishing in a long drag on his cigarette, dark eyes narrowing at Bill"What kind of women do you like then"

"Pretty ones," Bill replied with a smirk.

The pimp chuckled"Of course, only pretty girls for you...yes, that's my Bill...ah" he held up a hand"...you like the blondes," His smile widened knowingly"You have always liked the blondes Bill."

"Yes" Bill couldn't help but return the smile this time"I do like the blondes, quite a bit."

"Not so many blondes in Acuna" Estiban said with obvious disappointment in his voice. "We must go to Texas to find the blondes Bill, lots of blondes in Texas." A shark-like smile split his face"Blondes with really big..." he made the universal large breasts gesture in front of his chest. "...titties and big ass...hrm" he winked at the young man.

Bill forced a perverse expression onto his face, for as fun as it was to talk about 'titties and big ass', he found it somewhat uncomfortable to do so with the man who had raised him...even if that man dealt in sex.

"Well," Estiban began, dismissing the shoe shine boy with a sharp nod. He then leaned back against the wooden bench, taking another long drag from his cigarette, "…since you have not been with a woman yet, I will……give you some advice." His dark eyes twinkled with an adult's forbidden knowledge as he suddenly leaned towards Bill, two cigarette holding fingers prodding into the boy's chest, "I will tell you…..five things….that women……all women," he emphasized with another prod, "…..love….," the word accompanied by a curling wisp of exhaled smoke. He held up a finger, which looked as if it was about to double for something else, "First thing……."

Ten minutes later, emerging from the shoe shine booth, his brown eyes glazed over and large, Estiban's arm wrapped around his shoulders in a very manly fashion, Bill stared straight ahead as he walked…jaw slightly unhinged….the things that had just been told him racing through his mind at a shocking and alluring rate.

Estiban roared with laughter, slapping Bill's shoulders, "Now you understand, yes?"

Bill nodded, still staring wide-eyed and silent.

"That is the key my boy," Estiban continued, "Remember, in knowing what women love, you have better control over them. You must be gentle with them when they are deserving and cruel when they are not." He glanced down at Bill thoughtfully, "I would say…that they are deserving…..most of the time….so you must give them what they love, what they want…..be generous with them and you will not be disappointed. It is in the times, when they are not deserving, that you must remind them of what you are……," his expression turned proud, a look that Bill still cherished, "...that you are a man………that you are the man."

"Bill, you're being such a fucking asshole!" Julio shouted, standing up from the wooden bench.

For the two years or so of their friendship, Julio had always been the dominant one over Bill; he was two years older, he was bigger and he simply had more clout when it came to the inner workings of juvenile male relationships. But, as Bill was nearing fifteen, the roles started to reverse; Julio was still bigger, still older, but Bill was getting bigger by the day and more importantly, he was far, far smarter than Julio, something which was becoming painfully obvious to everyone. He was far cleverer than Julio could grasp at and Bill began to take advantage of this. He'd trick Julio into things, make subtle insults and tell jokes that went way over his friend's towering head. In short, Bill began to treat Julio in a somewhat snide and patronizing manner. This was the beginning of a lifelong pattern for Bill, something he would repeat with his own brother many years later, and also sadly, the beginning of the end of he and Julio's friendship

This slowly building tension between the two friends culminated one night while hanging out with their friends at a picnic table outside a shabby hamburger diner downtown. It had all started 'innocently' enough; Bill poking fun at Julio, everybody laughing, Julio getting gradually more upset, Bill throwing insults at Julio and soon enough Julio throwing his glass soda bottle at Bill's head. Alanzo, Hector, and Martin had all scattered to a safe distance as the probability of violence rose between the two 'alpha males' of their group.

"I might be a fucking asshole," Bill replied, still seated and staring up haughtily at his friend, "But at least I'm not a moronic fucking asshole."

Julio clenched a fist, kicking the wooden bench backwards, "That's it Bill, I've had it with you," his broad face flushed with anger, "You're not so tough without your gun, and you ain't no vaquero, you never have been. You talk too much, you're crazy and you're nothing more than a muchacho de whie pretending to be one of us. You should just go back to Texas or wherever you came from. Maybe you should go find the bastardo who knocked up your slut mother or maybe you should just fuck her yourself…..I bet she'd like that."

Bill smirked at this, standing up and punting away the glass bottle of Julio's that had fallen to the concrete. Alanzo, Hector and Martin all exchanged glances.

"Do you want to fight?" Bill proposed bluntly.

Julio laughed bitterly, "You're too skinny and I'll whoop you, just like I did those couple years ago…and you cried you're eyes out. The only reason you think you can fight now, is because of what I taught you to do."

There was no missing the red flush in Bill's ears as he pretended to not care. "Show me then….," his voice was barely audible.

Within a split second, Julio had flung himself at Bill, and the two began swinging punches at one another, like two amateur pit fighters, boots scuffling along the asphalt. Alanzo, Hector and Martin began yelling, partially cheering them on, partially trying to convince them to stop.

There was a flurry of muttered curses and badly executed choke holds before Julio slammed Bill into the picnic table by the collar of his shirt, toppling it over in the process. His meaty fist pounded into Bill, but before long, the tables had turned…..literally, as Bill jutted a sharp kick up into Julio's crotch with the heel of his boot and rolling over, pushed the table the other direction right on top of the larger boy. After a moment, Julio kicked the table off of himself, getting up with a scowl and planting a right hook right across Bill's jaw.

Stumbling backwards, blood already smearing his face, Bill returned fire with a sucker punch to Julio's gut. This turned into another close range choke hold struggle that soon turned into a brutal ground struggle. Both boys seemed to be getting more than their share in, and it would be difficult to deem a winner. They were both equally bruised and bloody, and by the time they were both pummeling each other into the ground, it was obvious that neither one was going to 'win'.

At this point, more people had gathered around, consisting mostly of some boys near their age and a few men who'd been passing by. The owner of the hamburger place was there, standing with his arms crossed and looking none too pleased with the situation.

Eventually, a wide shouldered man…who looked like he was probably a migrant worker, reached in and yanked Bill off of Julio. "Ok, enough fighting….," the man stated, holding onto Bill with large hands as the younger man struggled vainly to get away.

Julio pushed himself up on his elbows, blood flowing freely from his nose, right eye partially shut. He glared up at Bill and spat viciously.

Chest heaving and a large split lip dominating his injuries, Bill glared back.

"Fight's over," the diner owner said and pushed the spectators away, "Go home now."

Eventually, the migrant worker let Bill go. Julio had long since limped away, Paulo loyally at his side. Bill sullenly pushed both Hector and Martin out of his way when they tried to talk to him, and he made his way home alone.

It would take a few weeks for Bill and Julio to make amends after that scuffle. But the damage had been done; things would never be the same between them. And, as it turned out, they would never really get much of a chance to anyways.

Bill's fifteenth birthday had come and gone, and now home from the party with his friends, he was sitting on the back porch of Estiban's place…his home, gradually coming down from being stoned out of his skull. When he'd walked in earlier that night, Estiban had presented him with a birthday gift. It was a knife, a traditional hunting knife, incrusted with various stones that surrounded an engraving of the Mayan God of death, Yum Camil on the bone handle. It was a beautiful weapon and Bill accepted the gift with gratitude, although he found it amusingly ironic coming from a man who had, only years before, been adamant about him not owning a gun. Apparently Estiban had already given up and was now just feeding the fire.

With the unsheathed knife in his hand, Bill had searched around the nearby back lot for something to carve up; a thick branch sufficed. He was aware of how unwise it was to wield a knife while still pretty stoned, but he figured it cut one of his own fingers off, he only had himself to blame.

It was sitting there, carving away on the back porch steps, when of all people, Rosalinda Ramos strolled up.

He glanced up from his work, bleary eyed and frowning, but at the sight of her a smile began to take its place. She stood there, watching him intently in an orange knee-length summer dress, sandals on her tanned feet, hands clasped over her lean torso in a gesture that was both alluringly timid and completely confident.

"Rosilinda" he breathed, setting his carving project aside. While remaining friendly with him after giving her the necklace, she'd said very little to him as the last few weeks of school had passed. He had been sure he wouldn't see her again for sometime.

"Julio told me it was your birthday today" she began, chocolate locks of hair blowing across her face in the soft evening wind, her cat-like hazel eyes peered at him from underneath her curtain of bangs.

Bill nodded, transfixed.

"Do anything special" She took a few steps towards him, her sandals crunching on the dirt.

"Not really" he replied, not bothering to try to recall if it had been special or not.

She sat down on the stairs next to him, dark arms resting on her knees. "What are you doing" She nodded towards the knife in his hand and the recently set aside branch.

"Oh, this" He stared down at the carving as it if had suddenly appeared there"Nothing...important" he said, completely forgetting what he was doing anyways. He was too focused on her to care.

"I see" she said softly, hand slowly reaching out and taking the knife from his hand. Her fingers brushed against his own for a brief moment. She examined the blade under the orange porch light, turning it over, running her fingers along the razor sharp edge. Bill watched her every move, completely intoxicated. "This is a beautiful knife" she spoke up, now holding the hilt firmly in her hand. She then deftly brought it up under his chin, the cool blade point resting against his warm skin.

He continued to watch her with a burning intensity, raising his chin only a fraction in response to her threatening but strangely seductive gesture.

She slowly slid the blade down his neckline, until it rested in the hollow of his throat. After a few long moments of delicious silence, she suddenly leaned over him and slipped the knife into its leather scabbard, almost violently. She then turned on him, face inches from his, "I just want to tell you, that you're a fucking bastard Bill. And I hate you." With that, she leaned in and kissed him with gusto. She tasted like oranges.

After a brief moment of surprise, he returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm, a hand instinctually sliding into her long hair as he pressed her against him. She kissed like every young man wanted a girl to kiss, without an ounce of hesitation or shyness…..like she was drowning and only the air he was breathing would keep her alive, or something dramatic like that. Bill's head spun. His entire body reacted instantly. He'd been waiting so long for this and so far it was worth every second of that wait.

He wasn't sure how long this making out had gone on, but eventually she pulled away, and he found his t-shirt partially rolled up his torso, the straps of her dress long having been pulled down, revealing the supple crease of her chest. She gazed at him, her dark eyes rich with devious intentions"I think you should show me your room."

He smirked a little, chest heaving slightly"I think your right."

Clasping onto her hand, he led her around the side of the house and through the alternate entrance that led into the foyer and ultimately his bedroom. They slipped easily past the dirty windows, past the prostitutes, past the selective eye of Estiban and the uncaring persona of his mother. Nobody would have cared anyways.

Throughout that quick lustful stroll, Bill had a bit of an epiphany and seemingly also the last clear thought he'd have for the next few hours:

Women loved the bad guys.