The Life And Times of A Murdering Bastard

by Moneypenny1979

What was the life of Bill like? What events shaped him to become the Snake Charmer, head of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad, a murdering bastard and the kind of man who would shoot his lover in the head? Spans from childhood to his showdown with Bea.

6. Chap 1 Part 5: The Breaking Point

Author's Note - 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 would like to put in an advisory warning for this chapter, because I feel there are moments where the content might go a little beyond the limits of a "T" rating; although I think the majority of the chapter is still fine within the category.

Chapter 1

The Acuna Boys

Part 5

The Breaking Point

"Heaven help me, I know what I am.

Heaven help me, I know what I am.

Won't you lend a hand to this twisted little man?

The sweetest song, simple and plain.

The sweetest song, simple and plain.

Brought me to my knees, in fear and shame.

A song of forgiveness for those who believe.

A song of forgiveness for those who believe.

Sweet salvation, I have been deceived.

I know that this feeling is too good to last.

I know that this feeling is too good to last.

The music fades and the moments past.

So kick off your high heels, careful where you stand.

Kick off your high heels, and careful where you stand.

Don't you move too close, I'm a twisted little man.

Don't you move too close, I'm a twisted little man.

-Michael Sheehy - "Twisted Little man"

Ciudad Acuna, Mexico. 1964

"Run…….."

The word was barely audible, but the expression on Bill's face told the rest of the short, and now suddenly ended story of him and Mariana. She had betrayed him. She'd gone against her word and deceived him. He had no idea why at the moment, but she'd broken his trust, and at the risk of sounding too cliché, his heart.

Needless to say, Bill didn't take too well to the whole idea of being deceived, even at eighteen. He wasn't just angry; he was completely irate. He wasn't the type to take such a thing lightly. To him it was a black and white issue. She'd fucked him over, after he'd tried so hard to be compatible, and now it was time somebody pay the consequences. Those idealistic months of keeping his ferocious temper in check were so easily forgotten now. He was once again the spitting angry young man he'd been in that Austin bar. Nearly two years and four inches in height separated those two Bill's, but he hadn't changed all that much since then. He was still just as vicious and as he'd always been.

He was not only disgusted with Mariana, but with himself as well. How could he have let her take him so easily? How could he have nearly forgotten he was a bastard? If he wasn't' so damn angry at the moment, he would have relished in the thought of regaining back that cherished foresight.

He had to blink a few times just to force himself back into reality; a reality that he didn't really want to face. Nonetheless, that reality was still in front of him; waiting for him to respond to. There was Mariana, still in bed, still frozen in terror; the thin cover sheet now clutched to her chest; as if to hide from him what he'd already seen a hundred times before. And then there was the man of her recent…..affections, scrambling beside her to put on his clothing. He was short, thin, balding, a demure looking asshole, with seemingly no outward charm. Bill's disgust deepened. How she could choose to sleep with such a pathetic weasel was beyond him, and it only further wounded his pride.

Mariana continued to stare back at him; her dark eyes wide and devoid of any real emotion, save for a shallow sense of accomplishment, and a twinge of fear.

Shifting quietly, Bill backed out of the room. He had said he was going to get his gun, and he had no intention of making a liar out of himself now. He was getting his gun.

He turned away from the open door and stalked down the hallway to his own room; wearing an expression of frightening stoicism. He'd made up his mind, and there was no turning back now. He found his gun where he'd last stored it; under his bed in a small worn cedar box. His normally very steady hands shook slightly as he fumbled with the sliding lid and lifted the heavy Colt 45 from the box's confines. The smooth handle of the gun slid into his palm like the handshake of some long lost friend, and he nearly smiled at the familiar sensation. He'd almost forgotten that feeling….along with so much else over the last few months.

Hefting the weapon in his hand, he knew it was fully loaded; just as he'd left it. He'd never actually shot a man before, but at that moment….he had every intent of breaking that fast.

As he returned to the hallway, he could hear Mariana's frenzied voice as she tried to rush the man out of her room. There was some frantic scuffling, and Bill turned just in time to see the man dart out of her room and down the adjoining hallway that led to the back exit. Mariana did not follow him; likely she was hiding. No matter, he'd get to her soon enough; the man was his main concern at the moment.

Knowing the house like the back of his hand, Bill took a shortcut through the kitchen. A few of the loitering prostitutes spotted him, gun and all, as he strolled past with an eerily calm demeanor. They exchanged worried glances, but were too lethargic with their jaded view of life to care all that much. There was no sign of Estiban, whom had just gotten home earlier that morning.

Emerging onto the back porch, Bill found it was easy to spot the fleeing man in the bright mid-morning sunshine. He was sprinting across the abandoned asphalt lot in his socks. His jeans hung oddly on his hips; barely pulled on in the moment of haste. His button up shirt was thrown over his shoulder; a white undershirt adorning his thin torso. Thinking he was safe a good thirty feet from the house, he stupidly took a few precious seconds to try to pull on his boots.

"Fucker," he muttered; squinting against the sunlight as he swung the pistol up one handed to take aim at the man's stooped over form. He didn't need two hands to aim a revolver, and he certainly could hit this asshole dead on from here. Thirty feet away was a ridiculously easy shot. So, he let the man take his time as he peered down the barrel; ensuring an accurate and fatal shot.

Glancing over wide-eyed, the man suddenly caught sight of Bill and immediately abandoned his re-shoeing efforts. Leaving his boots on the ground, he took off….at a full sprint this time.

Smirking, Bill momentarily broke off his aim. Let the fucker run, it would be more of a challenge anyways. He gave the man a few seconds leeway, and then once again brandished the revolver. Steeling himself; he slowly raised the weapon up to eye level; taking his time aiming down the barrel. He had about thirty five feet between he and his target now; still an easy shot.

Forty feet; Bill cocked back the hammer with this thumb. He decided to make a slight adjustment in aim, from back to head.

Fifty-five feet, and he tensed his finger on the trigger. The man's bobbing black haired head was directly lined up on sight now.

He squeezed the trigger.

"Bill! No!"

The shriek belonged to Mariana. And as she did this, she literally threw herself onto his back with her entire weight. He fired of course, but it wasn't before she had completely fouled up his aim. The shot went wild; ending up going over the running man's head by at least a good ten feet.

"Fuck!" Bill snarled; attempting to throw her off his back with a vicious elbow. Mariana remained undaunted, as she attempted to reach over his shoulder to yank the gun from his hand. "Get away from me Mariana," he hissed darkly; eyes flashing. Then without hesitation, he pivoted and backhanded her across the face.

Crying out, she immediately let go of him and took a few stumbling steps backwards; her hands over her reddened cheek. She sat down bluntly on one of the steps to recover.

He gave her a quick fleeting glance, full of nothing but spite, and then spun back to face his rapidly disappearing target. The altercation between him and Mariana had only taken a few seconds, but they were costly ones. The man was a good seventy feet away now; a challenging distance with the older revolver that Bill possessed. Besides, she'd broken his goddamn concentration.

But he didn't have time to ponder the possibly unreachable distance, or his own mental state; instead, he quickly regained his aim, cocked the hammer and fired.

The shot rang out and made a direct route clean through the man's right shoulder; dropping him where he stood. Bill had intended for the shot to go through his heart. He'd missed, just barely…thanks to Mariana. The man was too far, and his focus had been interrupted. He hadn't killed the man after all. It was rather disappointing really.

Then again, that didn't' mean this man was going to ever see the light of day after this point. This thought in mind, Bill lowered his gun, and quickly strode across the lot to where the man lay. He stood over him, face set in a steely expression of indifference. The wounded man was lying on his side; clasping desperately to the bleeding bullet hole in his right shoulder. His white shirt was rapidly soaking to a dark crimson. He was sweating profusely under the hot sun, and the effects of his own physical state. A pool of his blood was slowly creeping out from under his body to stain the hot asphalt. He looked utterly pathetic.

Bill had the inclination to just shoot him in the head right then and there, but some sense of internal check system stopped him. Instead, he took a moment to observe the result of his action. Was the sight of a profusely bleeding human being a beautiful thing? No, not especially. But Bill couldn't deny it made him extremely happy to stand there and see the fruits of his own violent acts.

Reacting to the shadow cast over him, the man turned his pale sweaty face up to Bill, "I……," he gasped through weak dry lips, "….I'm sorry…..I didn't know….I… siento…."

Glowering, Bill frowned. He didn't want to hear any sort of explanation from this man, and he sure as hell wasn't about to stand there and listen to some pathetic driveling. He'd seen enough already.

Instead, he knelt down and yanked the man partially up by the collar of his shirt. There was little resistance, seeing as the man was quickly loosing blood. Besides, he was pretty small, and Bill was drawing upon more than a good dose of rage induced adrenaline.

Bill could easily have asked for some sort of explanation at that point; a 'Why?' or a 'Who are you?' could have sufficed. It probably would have been the rational thing to do. But, he found it easier to just back to what he'd always done, what he'd always known; violence.

Jabbing his gun between his belt and the hem of his jeans, he drew back a bare fist and began to mercilessly pummel the defenseless man's face in. It had always been so easy for Bill to do this; to shut off anything but his own actions. The man tried to call out, but to no avail, his attacker gave him no chance. It was a grisly task. Bill could feel teeth cutting at his knuckles, and warm blood on his skin, but he just kept on doing it; it felt too good to stop. He continued to have to take his aggressions out on somebody, and he beat this man for Mariana, he beat this man for every time he'd been beaten. Payback was a real bitch, and Bill had always seemingly been directly on one end or the other.

The bloodied man made no further protests; either verbally or physically. He was easily on his way to being beaten to death; most likely a fatal skull fracture or brain hemorrhage. But, luckily for him, Mariana had gone inside the house for help shortly after Bill had ruthlessly hit her on the back porch.

Bill was unaware of this as he continued to pummel the man; his blows becoming less passionate and more methodical and calculated. His hands and arms were now covered in blood, while a good smattering stood out on his emotionless face. He seemed fully unaware of nothing but what he was doing; highly concentrated and almost trancelike.

Then, the familiar hand of Estiban came down upon his shoulder and yanked him away with more strength than one would expect from a man well into middle age, ending the moment. The older Hispanic man snagged Bill around to face him by the collar of his shirt. The surprise and fury was evident in Estiban's expression; his dark skin flushed to a deep brown. "What the hell are you doing Bill?" he roared into his adopted son's bloody face, "You're going to kill this man!"

Bill just stared back at him blankly; still completely devoid of any emotion, "Exactly."

Estiban had no immediate reply to that; he just stood there staring back at Bill; his knuckles white against the young man's throat. It was perhaps the first time Estiban realized just how far Bill was willing to go; that the young man he'd treated like a son all these years was in fact more than capable of killing another human being. Now, Estiban knew he was no saint in waiting, but there was no denying the shock in that moment of realization. Of course, in time, he'd learn to not really care all too much about Bill's inclination for murder; for after all, it brought his protégé excessive money and power, but at that moment…..it was truly frightening to witness.

Taking a deep breath, Estiban finally shoved the young man backwards; attempting to put some distance between Bill and the man he'd just shot and nearly beaten to death. "Get out of here…….," he grated, eyes flicking over Bill's bloody attire, "….go….go clean up……..and go…..cool off somewhere." He pointed a finger menacingly, "And put that damn gun away too." Estiban had never wanted Bill to get a gun to begin with. But he'd given up on that effort years ago, and now he was seeing the consequences of it. After a moment, he knelt beside the bloody heap of a man, his flinty eyes still on Bill. "We will speak later," he said with gloomy finality.

Brows knitted, Bill nodded silently. He took a few steps away; still seemingly in the trance of his own making. He glowered at the man he'd nearly killed, as a few of the prostitutes joined Estiban to help. A huddle of brown toned, used up bodies quickly obscured the view.

He then glanced down at his bloody hands, now growing stiff with the thick coating of drying blood that adorned them. He blinked a few times; lost in the deep reddish/brown color.

Yes, he'd go clean up, go cool off somewhere. He had to calm down. He had to snap out of whatever had possessed him. Then he'd talk to Mariana….but first he'd talk to Estiban.

---

And talk they certainly did.

Bill had never seen Estiban so angry with him in all of their years.

It happened the next morning, in the darkly draped living room. Bill knew this inevitable confrontation was coming, even before the events of the day before. Estiban had no doubt found out about what had been going on while he was gone. Likely Mariana had told him everything in the spiteful aftermath of seeing Bill shoot the man she'd been sleeping with. He could easily assume Estiban knew it all.

Bill did not welcome this confrontation with Estiban, but on the other hand, he felt ready to finally take on his father figure face to face. He'd spent years complying with Estiban's orders; bowing his head and allowing himself to fall prey to the man's power tactics. But it was time to end that, it was time to take power for himself. The era of the man ordering the boy around was over with. From then on, he was going to follow nobody but himself; at least……those were his thoughts at the time.

"Where do I even begin?" Estiban stated coolly from his usual reading corner in the living room. A thick and stately looking book had been lowered to reveal his dark be speckled eyes. He made no movement for a few long seconds; simply sitting there in his typical dominating couth manner.

Bill stood stock still at the other end of the living room in pair of jeans and a white undershirt He'd been hoping to avoid the other man for at least a few hours, and had made an attempt to reach the kitchen unnoticed. Apparently Estiban had predicted this maneuver, and had seated himself in the corner to do some early morning reading.

"Begin wherever you wish," Bill answered smartly.

Estiban replied to this by slamming his book down on the small wooden desk in front of him. The gesture made Bill flinch, much against his will. "Don't take that tone with me," Estiban retaliated, "…I'm not in the mood." He sat back, looking fully dangerous, as he produced his usual pack of cigarettes from his jacket packet. He then regarded Bill with a dour frown, as he tapped the edge of the pack on the table, "I leave for three months, giving much responsibly to you, and I come back to find that you've been sleeping with one of your prostitutes." He spoke calmly, which Bill knew was not always a good thing. "You tell this prostitute not to work, out of foolish jealousy I can only assume, and try making up for the loss of revenue out of your own pocket. In turn, you are forced to work the other two girls harder….one of whom seems to have a habit of running away."

"Valerie told you," Bill replied flatly; still standing at the other end of the room.

Estiban lit his cigarette; the match flickering off the lenses of his glasses momentarily, "It doesn't matter who told me, I could easily have figured it out on my own." Snubbing out the match, he then reached out and picked up the large black ledger book that he'd entitled to Bill during his absence. "You're deception is painfully obvious Bill. You may think you're pretty cunning my boy, but you've still got a thing or two to learn about cooking the books.' He tossed the ledger back onto the table. "A blind man could have figured out what you were doing. The whole thing was uneducated and sloppy….the work of an aficionado." He took a confident drag on his cigarette.

Bill's reply to this was silent neutrality. Estiban was baiting him. He knew this game, and he wasn't going to play along; not anymore. The pimp was just waiting for him to crumble, to fall to his knees and admit his mistakes. He wanted Bill to confess just how stupid he'd been, how irresponsible he was, how much he owed him, and how he'd promise never make those mistakes again. Estiban loved that, he'd eat it up; he always had. He'd lived off decades of women doing it in front of him. But Bill was through being treated like one of Estiban's whore's. So, instead he remained quiet to the other man's taunting; his face stoic.

Estiban's look soon grew intense under the weight of Bill's silence, and he eventually slammed his fist down on the table. "You foolish boy!" he roared. "Haven't' I taught you anything? Are you so stupid as to forget what we talked about? You, never, EVER sleep with your whores! Never care for them like that…..it will ruin you! You cannot mix business and love for a woman Bill! Not to mention, do you have so little respect for me, that you both ignore my advice and then proceed to deceive me?" Estiban's calm demeanor had dropped for that familiar fury that Bill remembered so well from the days of his youth. The veins in the older man's temples began to protrude as he hauled himself up to his feet. He viciously jabbed his newly lit cigarette into the ashtray; causing tobacco to spill out from the split paper.

Bill realized, still standing his ground, that for the first time in his life he was no longer afraid of this man. Something had changed. In response to this new feeling, he rose his chin fractionally as Estiban took a few threatening steps towards him.

"You'd better give me a fucking answer to my question boy!" The other man threatened with a finger, "When I ask you something, you reply!"

Bill watched him intensely; undaunted. "Then I reply to you with this Estiban," he began quietly, "Yes I ignored your advice, and yes I deceived you. But it was no less than what you would do to me, given the chance. I owe you nothing, because it was your choice to put me in your debt." His neutral frown turned into a smirk as Estiban's mask of fury flinched. "And don't act like you're surprised, you know just as well as I do the truth there." He leveled a slightly mocking glare at the other man, "I know how you work Estiban. I've been watching and learning from you for years. I'm your pet project after all. I know your little mind tricks and your intimidation tactics. They are mine now and I will use them to my own ends…I suppose I should thank you for that." He folded his arms over his chest, "Face it…. mi padre, you created the monster, you'd best well be prepared to fall into the monster's path."

Estiban reared back, a hand poised to strike the young man, "How dare you…..." he seethed; teeth clenched. Apparently he was too shocked with this revealed truth to fully appreciate the weight of it. Men like Estiban often didn't like to hear such truths, most particularly the news of their loss of power over an individual that they'd put so much work into.

Bill's eyes flashed at this threat. "If you hit me, I will hit you back," he murmured. He'd taken enough of Estiban's blows over the years; much like everything else, to know he was done taking it.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Estiban recoiled; some of the fire taken out of him. A flicker of real fear for his adopted son danced in his eyes, but it was quickly gone; replaced by age old superiority. "Yes, that's right……you're a real brute now Bill…a real… hombre grande! So, now you've gone and shot a man……right outside my house! Idiot! You're lucky he lived through that." He turned and paced back to the other end of the living room; lighting up another cigarette. He spun and waved the lit end at Bill. "Right when I think you've finally got a man's head on your shoulders, you turn around and do something so stupid. You nearly kill this man yesterday. You deceive me, while you……fuck this Mariana-"

At this Bill made a brief attempt to speak, but Estiban cut him off with a sharp motion.

"I see my mistake now," he sneered. "How can you be a pimp when your whores are falling in love with you? You were too nice to them, and you spoiled them."

"Bullshit," Bill snorted, "I was an asshole."

"No you weren't!" Estiban shot back, "You're too young, too inexperienced. You are………too charming."

Bill smirked widely; throwing his hands up in happy defeat, "Not my fault…" He slumped into a nearby chair with that satisfied smirk in place.

"There's more," Estiban interjected; moving onto a different topic as he turned to fully face him. "Julie tells me that………..you fornicated with her."

"What?" Bill immediately stood back up; eyes wide as his cool stoic demeanor began to crack.

Estiban nodded, regarding the glowing end of his cigarette. "She also had the audacity to tell me that…she loves you."

Bill gaped at Estiban for a few long seconds in shock as he processed that lie. Why had she told Estiban that? Mariana he could fess up to, but Julie? That was a lie, and it didn't make any sense to him at all. "I didn't know about Julie," he said earnestly. "God damnit I swear I didn't do anything with that girl Estiban. I had no fucking clue she had some stupid schoolgirl crush on me. I bought her a goddamn record……that was it. She ran away, I went and got her. I certainly don't care for her, let alone…….love her." The word escaped with disgust, as if he wasn't even sure he knew what it meant anymore.

Estiban exhaled a stream of smoke; seemingly not siding with Bill one way or another on that issue. "I am disappointed in you, and I'm disappointed to have to realize that you are not fit to be a pimp. Perhaps…..when you are more mature, but right now….you are too young, I'm putting you back in the Acuna Boys."

His mind reeling with this new information, Bill took a few seconds to reply. "That's just fine with me," he spat. "But don't expect me to come crawling back here in ten years to take over your little empire of whores Estiban, because I won't."

"Then what will you do Bill?" Estiban flashed a smart-ass smile, "Go out….and kill people for a living?"

Bill returned the haughty expression as he sat back down. "Perhaps."

Shaking his head, Estiban seated himself back in his reading chair. He regarded Bill for a moment; seemingly in deep thought. "You are an exceptional young man, I saw to that myself. Don't forget, I took you from the arms of a teenage whore and made you into something beyond your pitiful origins. Despite your foolish decision to not finish your schooling, I have given you wordly knowledge and sophistication beyond your age. I have taught you the things I know." He leaned forward, "You could be a great man Bill…..and here you want to……….waste it, by becoming a……a killer."

Bill leaned forward challengingly. "Whoever said a killer couldn't be a great man?"

"Without me," Estiban hissed; ignoring that reply, "…you would be nothing more than unwanted Caucasian trash begging to have been aborted."

Bill's chin rose fractionally in response to that low insult. His voice dropped to a deadly whisper as he leaned further forward; eyes flashing. "And without me…..Estiban, you would be nothing more a man forever seeking the son he'd never have the capacity to actually sire." His lip twisted. "Ain't we the pair now aren't we?" He suddenly stood up to his full height; a sense of finality in this action. "You can think what you will of me, but I'm not the boy you can push around anymore. I'm done putting up with your bullshit Estiban, and I'm done with this conversation." He turned away and made a hasty exit towards the hallway.

Bill wasn't sure why he'd chosen that moment to end this little 'chat', but he knew for sure he'd heard enough from Estiban. If they'd had anything to 'resolve', that was going to be the extent of it. He was done.

But Estiban seemingly wasn't, and he stood up once again, wielding his large book as if it was a brick meant to knock some sense into his protégé. 'Don't you walk away from me…."

Still making his exit, Bill turned around; brows raised, "Ah, but I am…..look, here I go…..," he turned back around; offering a snide, "Good day Estiban," over his shoulder.

Estiban stood in the middle of the living room; glaring at Bill's disappearing back in both fury and surprise. "For a young man so exceeding full of himself, you certainly make a foolish ass of yourself on a regular basis!" he shouted; the words sounding more comical than he'd intended.

"Have a pleasant day!" Bill shouted back with the utmost sarcasm before he disappeared around the hallway corner.

Turning away viciously, Estiban pushed over his reading table; sending the ashtray and a an array of paperwork scattering across the carpet.

"Shit," he growled; scowling at the spilled contents of his outrage. His outburst was understandable, on that account that he just realized that he'd lost any sort of control over his most prized Acuna Boy. He realized then that he'd lost Bill to the young man's own ambitions. There was no winning him back now.

---

Bill hadn't seen Mariana since he'd backhanded her the day before, and it wasn't until that following evening that he felt capable of even trying to talk to her. He was still angry with her, but he'd had time to cool off at that point. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to see her. He wasn't sure what he wanted from her, but a few answers would be a good start.

According to a few of the prostitutes, she'd apparently holed herself up in one of the back rooms; refusing to come out for any reason. They said she was packing up her things to leave.

With a renewed sense of urgency, Bill approached the faded blue door of the room Mariana was supposedly in. After taking a few moments to collect himself, he pressed his face up against the rough chipped paint of the door. He could just barely hear her moving about in the confines of the room. "Mariana, it's me……," he spoke as calmly as possible, "…let me in…" He tried the door handle, but it was firmly locked.

"No." Her response was quick and blunt.

He forced down a wave of anger, with little success. "Open this goddamn door Mariana. I will kick it open if you don't." He rattled the door handle again. Realizing this was perhaps not the best tactic, he took a deep breath; dropping his voice. "Just…..let me in. I want to see you."

"No, you'll just hurt me," she replied after a long pause. "I don't want you near me. You scare me Bill. You lied to me. You're not what you were pretending to be with me."

"Neither are you," he scoffed before fully checking himself.

"You're a cold…..bastard!" She shot back hotly; her voice obviously close to the door now.

"And you're a betraying whore," he replied with a sneer. "Look," he tried to regain his original intent, "….just let me in……I'm not going to hurt you……"

"I don't believe you," she said venomously. "You're a liar Bill. You're not a good person, you're not a sweet person……and you're not a loving person. I don't' believe you want to marry me or have a baby with me. You did….and said all of that, like all men do and say that."

"That's not true!" He pounded a palm against the door angrily. It wasn't. How dare she accuse him of that. He had to bite back on a myriad of suitable and accurate insults to throw back at her. He didn't want it to be like this. He rested his forehead against the door, taking a few deep breaths. He could still hear her, close to him; a mere few inches away. "Why?" He said finally. "Why did you do it? You know how I felt……about you, and you being with other men………why?"

This time she didn't reply for well over a minute, but he waited patiently; listening to her measured breath.

"Because……I wanted more," she finally responded; in quiet confidence.

"More what?" The answer baffled him, he'd given her everything. "More money? More clothes? More jewelry? More attention? More sex? More………dick? More what?" He pounded on the door again, this time more out of his own frustration than anything.

"I wanted more power."

He stepped a few inches away from the door, as if that information was more than a little threatening. "What?" he finally managed.

"You wouldn't understand Bill." The bitterness was evident in Mariana's voice, even through the door. "You haven't had to live like I have. You're a man. You can take what you want; you can have whatever you want. I have nothing, except for power over men. You took that power away from me, not wanting me to be with any other men. So, I took it back….for myself. I'm a whore…..that's what I always will be. You can't change me. You may think you can, but you can't."

Bill found himself gaping, despite his general distaste for the facial gesture. What she'd just told him was about the last thing he'd expected from her. He'd thought her wandering attentions had been because of some default of his own, but instead……it was Mariana's own thirst for her apparent "power" that had been the cause. And she was right; he had no idea what she meant. Why did she need more power? She had him. He'd give her anything she wanted.

What had happened to her? She'd shown up here so fresh faced and untainted. Had that just been an act? Had she been whoring herself out for years and only told Estiban she was new so he'd be more inclined to employ her? Or, had the jading life of a whore gotten to her so quickly? Likewise, had she been 'acting' with him all along as well? Bill supposed he'd never really know the full truth to any of that.

"I….," he faltered; attempting to respond to her confession, "…….I don't understand."

"Of course you don't Bill. You're a self centered, lying, son of a bitch. And most of all, you're a man. And like all men, you don't take women seriously."

"That's not true, I-"

"Don't try to explain." she cut him off, "You can't."

He blinked. Where in the fuck had all of this come from? Just a few days ago she was madly in love with him. Now, she seemingly hated him…along with all men. Again, he wondered if her 'sweet' act had been just that…..an act. It was then that he strangely realized they'd been having almost the entire conversation in English. "You know Mariana," he said bitterly,"…..your English has gotten so much better…."

"Go away Bill."

"No." He rattled the door handle again for good measure. "Don't leave, I-"

'I said, go away!"

"Listen to me, I-"

"NO! I've listened to you long enough!" She yelled loud enough to make the door boards vibrate "Talk, talk, talk….I've listened to you talk so much. I have to fuck you, just so you will stop talking to me! You see…..that's power. No more talk. I don't want to hear it anymore…….I…..." there was a long pause; "…..I don't love you. So, just….leave me alone…..please."

Subconsciously, he'd been waiting for those words. He had a feeling they were coming, and in the end that was all he needed to hear. That being said, no amount of preparation took away the pain those words caused.

He turned and leaned against the edge of the doorframe, eyes boring into the nearby corner of the hallway as he fought against the urge to lash out. Deciding it was better to get away from her before he did, he finally murmured a soft, "Very well…", and pushed away from the door. He left Mariana to pack up and went stormily into the living room. He didn't know what else to say to her. It was over.

He threw himself onto a vacant chair, glowering at nothing but the dark wall of the evening soaked room. His whole time with Mariana, from the moment he had met her until that final awful conversation kept running through his mind…..like some short and overly acted film. He simply didn't understand what had caused her change in attitude. He could understand her being upset about what he'd done the day before, but she'd barely even acknowledged the fact that he'd nearly killed a man she'd been sleeping with. She didn't seem to care. In fact, she didn't seem to care about anybody but herself. And here he loved her. That was a real shitty deal.

He was angry, but he was starting to get used to being constantly angry as of late. He could feel his pulse thudding against his skull, like some fury induced headache. His hands were beginning to ache from the constant tension in his fingers. He felt mostly in control at the moment, but he was still highly tempted to kick open that door and give Mariana a piece of his mind. Yet, he knew that would only reinforce her 'beliefs' in 'mankind'.

Looking up, he finally took in the rest of the living room. He'd been so self absorbed he hadn't even noticed the group of prostitutes huddled around the small black and white television. They were clinging to each other, dabbing at their eyes and nodding understanding grief to one another.

Frowning, he approached, easily seeing over their hands and observing the television. But it was hard to decipher what exactly was going on through the blurry quick shots of a crowd, seemingly in some sort of panic.

"What's going on?" He asked, turning to the woman on his left; who happened to be Layla, Estiban's 'number one'.

Layla sucked on a slim cigarette; her slightly saggy, heavily painted face severe in the light of the television. "Somebody shot John F. Kennedy," she rasped, "Shot him in the head…..in Texas." She seemed fairly unaffected by this event, unlike the other women.

"Ah," Bill replied, stepping away and returning to his chair mechanically. He thought about it for a moment, and came to the decision that he really didn't give a fuck that somebody had shot JFK. He was far more concerned with himself to care, and that's pretty much how it would always be with him.

Looking across the living room, he spotted his mother hunkered in a chair in the far corner next to the television. He couldn't exactly recall the last time he'd actually seen her. She was currently wrapped up tightly in an afghan and doing something Bill had never once in his life seen her do. She was weeping, like a lost child; her dark eyes gleaming with unabated tears as she watched the television with horrified fascination.

Bill dug his fingers into his kneecaps, utterly disgusted at the sight. Now she was fucking crying? She'd never shed a tear for him, not once……out of happiness, nor pity….not for anything, and now…she was crying over some dead president she'd never even known, while he, her only child, was a mere ten feet from her, emotionally distraught?

This realization caused Bill's barely checked temper to take a massive step up. He sat glaring at her for at least a good five minutes straight. She didn't look at him once, even though he knew she was fully aware of his look.

Finally, not able to stand it anymore, he stood up and went into the kitchen to absent mindedly rummage through the refrigerator. He thought about breaking into his small liquor stash, or perhaps smoking some weed, but for some reason he felt the need to be sober right now. Food would suffice.

He'd only been in the kitchen for about two minutes, when of all people, his mother strode in. No doubt, no accident on her part. To say the two of them had a distant relationship was something of an understatement, and Bill never had gotten used to being around her. It only seemed to get more uncomfortable as he got older. The thought of her being a whore made him uneasy, and she'd always treated him with an odd twinge of sexuality that caused him to want to avoid her as much as possible. The last time he'd been in close physical proximity with her was when she'd taken ill a good five years prior and had suddenly decided she talk to him while using his own bed to recover on. It had been a short conversation to say the least.

He'd loathed her then, and looking at her now, the loathing was only more intense. She watched him with those dark hallow eyes of hers as he smoothly moved to the other side of the kitchen; her narrow face a gaunt mask for a soul who no doubt held enough spite for the two of them. She was a tall woman, and even now approaching six feet, Bill was still just barely taller than her. Her long brown hair was growing dull with age, even though she wasn't really all that close to forty yet. Her normally pale skin was currently saturated in an unhealthy looking tan. She looked tired and wasted to him, just as she always had. Bill had consistently hated the fact that she'd ruined her beauty with her lifestyle.

After a moment of stillness, she moved over to the sink. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she filled her empty glass with water; her bony wrists jutting out noticeably. But she only washed out the glass, filling it with vodka from a bottle in the overhead cabinet.

Bill felt the pulsing of his headache increase. Every time he saw his mother he got angry, and right now, she wasn't helping. Just her presence was enough to irritate him. He quickly made an attempt to leave the kitchen.

She turned around to face him right as he passed by her, "I hear that pretty little whore of yours, that one you were fucking, turned tail on ya boy." She spoke to him in English; drawling in that stupid fake Southern accent of hers. Fuck, how he hated that.

He froze, saying nothing, sending a glare over their two foot distance that could freeze an inferno.

The corner of her thin mouth turned up into a sneer," What happened boy? She find ya a little…..disappointing?"

That was it. He'd been just looking for an excuse to lash out at somebody for the last hour, and mother or not, she'd set him off.

He turned on her; slamming her bodily up against the cheap kitchen cupboards. His forearm instinctually rose to press up against her throat as he held her there. She stared back at him, wide-eyed. But her momentary shock quickly died down to a bemused squint. He realized in a sickening moment, that this was the most physical contact he'd ever had with his mother, most likely since she'd given birth to him. He'd never let her touch him when she'd tried and he certainly had never made no effort to touch her. Now, as he held her up against the cupboards, he could feel her bony frame. She indeed had a physical presence; she was apparently still a human being despite having ice water running in her veins.

"I swear to fucking God," he whispered, "…I'm going to kill you……" He was pretty sure he didn't actually mean that, but it sounded cold and brutal.

"Well now Bill…….," she drawled; looking him full in the face, a sly smile smearing her mouth. She didn't seem to be taking his threat all that seriously, instead she was looking at him with a disturbing amount of admiration. Her eyes flickered from his feet to the top of his head, "Ya ain't a boy no more……I can see it now……ya look like yer father……a real fuc-"

"Stop it!" He shouted, giving her a sharp shove, "Jesus Christ! Stop talking to me like that…….," he swallowed his disgust, "….don't ever talk to me like that again…and don't ever mention my father again……or…I will fucking kill you……"

Her lips slowly turned up into a well practiced smirk. "Ya wouldn't kill yer own mother….now would ya…..?"

"Don't underestimate me….." he hissed venomously; quickly reaching out and snatching up a knife from the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. It was a purely impulsive move.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Estiban's voice rang out solidly. The pimp was standing in the kitchen entrance; a leather belt folded up in one hand, a whore on either side of him like a pair of underdressed bodyguards. He glowered at the young man with pure distaste. "How dare you take your anger out on your own mother……that's low….even for you."

Bill turned a blazing dark eye over his shoulder. "I'm looking for new lows at the moment……"

"Then, I have one for you……" Estiban stepped forward and held the belt out.

Bill paused; gaze sliding back over to his mother.

"Put that knife away, and take your hands off your poor mother," Estiban growled. "Now….."

Complying, Bill quickly tossed the knife into the sink, moving away from his mother. She took a moment to rub her reddened neck, but overall she seemed pretty unfazed that her son had just held her at knifepoint; in fact, if anything she looked amused.

But Bill wasn't paying attention to her anymore; his focus was on Estiban, and the leather belt in his hand.

"Julie." The older man stated. "She was yours. It's your responsibility to punish her for her attempts to run off, as well as her supposed blatant lies " He continued to hold the belt out to the younger man; dark eyes shining like two chips of obsidian. "You want to be a man Bill…….then be a man and do it. She's in her room." It was obvious that Estiban was still pretty frosty over their conversation the day before, that and he'd just caught Bill threatening his own mother's life. Was Estiban offering him a chance to redeem himself? Then again, did he even want to redeem himself at this point?

No matter. With a dark scowl, Bill snatched the belt from Estiban's hand. He didn't give his mother another look, and quickly stalked out of the kitchen, down the hallway towards what had been the room that Julie and Mariana had been sharing. He was growing to truly hate the room.

Between Mariana and his mother, he was pretty pissed off at this point; he had to hurt somebody. If it couldn't be Mariana or even his own mother, than it could just as easily be Julie. Somebody had to be the pitfall for his aggressions. Truthfully, he didn't' want that person to be Julie, so he was going to do his best to stay calm and get this over with as quickly as possible. Maybe it would help.

Opening the door, he stood in the doorframe; lanky form framed in silhouette against the fading light as he paused there momentarily. The belt was clenched in his right hand.

Julie was huddled in the far corner; wearing her usual faded dress, her knees drawn up to her chest, long wavy hair covering her upper torso. As he entered, it was easy to see, even in the dark room, her bright blue eyes shine through her curtain of hair. She stirred. "Bill….."

Boots clomping on the floorboards, he paused in the middle of the room; pinning her down with a chilly gaze. "Why did you lie to Estiban about us?" He was going to get at least one truth tonight, from somebody. "And don't' tell me it wasn't, because we both know you lied."

She shifted; rocking backwards a little. "I dunno………maybe……maybe because….I wanted it ta be true….about us…"

He took a few more steps inside and shut the door behind him. "That's stupid and you know it."

"I know……," she muttered. "I'm real sorry Bill, 'bout causin' so much trouble and all."

He offered no response to her apology, but simply stood there looking at her coolly.

Julie's gaze flicked to the belt clenched in his hand. She licked her lips nervously. "What's that for?"

"I think you know," he replied quietly. Looking at her now, the thought of what he had to do became even more daunting. He didn't want to do this, yet he knew he had to. Life was full of shitty decisions; it was no use balking in their wake. Besides, he'd nearly beaten a man with his bare fists the day before without a second thought; he could surely hit a young woman with a belt.

"Turn around," he ordered her. He didn't want to hit her front side, and he didn't want to look at her face.

After a brief moment's hesitation, she silently complied; turning herself around…still sitting on the ground. Like a girl who was no stranger to this sort of thing, she covered the back of her head with her hands and bunched up her shoulders; protecting her neck.

That was just fine with him, and as he raised the belt up over his opposite shoulder, he made sure his hand was completely covering the metal buckle. Belt poised, he said flatly, "I'm real sorry Julie."

Then, taking in a sharp breath, he quickly brought the belt down hard across her back. He briefly shut his eyes; trying to think of specific others in her place. She made no noise, save for a small muffled sound.

The first one was the hardest, after that it was just a matter of mechanically getting through the rest. He didn't go easy on her though, and by the time he finished the twentieth, he could hear distinct sniffles underneath her curtain of hair.

Tossing the belt aside with disgust, he knelt beside her; slightly out of breath. But he didn't make any move to touch her. "Do you understand the consequences of your actions now?" He did his best to sound removed from the situation.

She took a minute or two to wipe at her tear stained face, nor relying to his question.

"Julie," he placed a hand on her shoulder, "….you have to understand. If you do something like that again, it will be a hell of allot worse."

Finally, she nodded. She turned and through her tears, she smiled at him; that dreamy smile of hers. "I don't care. You're still a sweetheart ta me Bill…….."

And for some reason, that set him off.

"What?" His look turned sharp.

Julie brushed her hair out of her face; still smiling. "I said….I don't care, yer still always a sweetheart Bill…ta me ya are…"

The hand he'd rested comfortingly on her arm, now turned brutal; his fingers digging in. "Goddamn you Julie!" He yanked her towards him. What was it about her reaction that made him so mad? Many things really: she was so earnest about life; still so wide eyed and optimistic. He couldn't stand to see her like that; not when he desperately wanted to be like that. It was more than that though. It was her lighthearted reaction to the beating he found so difficult to do. How dare she brush him off like that? He hated that she liked him. He hated that she found him to be 'sweet'. He hated that no matter how hard he tried, she still thought he was something he was not.

He had to break her of that.

With a growl of frustration he reared back and struck her across the face; still, he couldn't' bring himself to close his hand as he did so. "You're wrong about that," he growled. "Very wrong…."

Julie made a small noise as she was struck; apparently surprised at his sudden turn on her. She immediately clasped at her face; shrinking away from him.

But for Bill that wasn't' enough to get his point across, and a twisted idea sparked in his anger ridden mind. Moving over to her, he crawled on top of her; forcibly holding her shoulders down, knees pinning her thighs.

She fought him, but to little avail. He was far bigger and stronger than she was. Horrible realization sparked in her eyes as she quickly lost any sort of physical advantage of the situation. "What are you doing Bill? Stop it….."

He pressed down on her; face close to hers. "Is this what you wanted? Hrm?"

She struggled against him, turning a check against his smirking mouth.

"Ah, I see…..." he continued saucily. He then wrenched one of her hands free; yanking it down towards his belt buckle. He jammed her fingers underneath it, "….is that it then Julie? Huh?" He pressed her hand down further. "Is that it? Is that what you wanted?"

"No, stop….stop Bill! Please….STOP…."

In a moment of outstanding strength, she pulled her hand free from his grasp and smacked him hard across the face. He took it without as much as a flinch. Then, suddenly he let go and moved completely off of her.

Curling up into a ball, she pressed her face against the floor; fighting against a new and much more violent wave of tears. She was shaking.

He crouched over her fallen form; sadistically satisfied she'd gotten the point of that. "Do you understand now?" he seethed. "I'm not a sweetheart! I'm not good guy! I'm a fucking bastard who just beat the shit out of you and then forced myself on you. That's what I am Julie! It hurts doesn't it? I bet it does! That's what I do, I hurt people! I turn on people! I fuck people up!" He reached out and took hold of her round shoulders; shaking her. His voice rose to a shout as he berated her. "Do you understand me? Life is not about…..pretty ribbons and songs about holding hands! Life is about getting fucked over; life is about being a whore, about being a bastard. Life is knowing you have only yourself to depend on and trust in; that those you think you trust could easily beat you, rape you, and kill you. Life is knowing that your father was a fucking drunk and your mother is a cold rotting corpse of a whore. Life will fuck you up the ass if you don't fuck it first! You have to wake the hell up Julie! You're a goddamn fucking whore! You're nothing! You have to face reality, or reality is going to leave you for dead! You have to care for only yourself!" His voice suddenly cracked, and he forced himself to take in a shaky breath.

He wanted to keep yelling at her, but he couldn't find it in him to continue. He suddenly felt empty of words. Instead, he moved away from her and collapsed against the nearby wall; elbows resting on his knees, fingers digging into his scalp.

Julie lay there unmoving for sometime, save for momentary spasms in her shoulders as she rather unsuccessfully held back bouts of miserable tears. She looked so sad; so broken.

He watched her; his face softening. "Julie….I…..." he began, but he quickly trailed off.

Encouraged by this small ounce of sympathy, she crawled towards him and leaned her head against his shoulder. But, this action only caused Bill's momentarily lapse in fury to quickly fade.

"Get the fuck away from me," he spat and shoved her away. "Don't ever fucking look at me touch me again," he added harshly as she moved away from him and into the shadowy dark corner. 'Go back to whatever shithole you came from. You're better off there….."

She didn't make another sound after that. It was the last thing he ever said to her.

Overcome with a sudden urge to become sick, he stood up and quickly left the gloomy room; slamming the door behind him. Thankfully, nobody was hogging the bathroom when he reached it, and he locked himself inside.

Leaning over the sink, stared back at his own reflection; shoulders hunched over in rigid tension. He looked like a manic; long hair wild, lean face chiseled with anger. A pair of hard brown eyes stared back at him; pupils large and ominously black; so much so, he felt as if he could almost fall into his own intense glare.

What had he just done?

Bill would go on to do some truly horrible things in his life, but what he just did would always feel especially vile to him. Whenever he thought about it, it always left him with a bad taste in his mouth and a deep sense that he could have handled it far better than he'd done. But he was young and his ferocious temper had yet to be checked. He had no sense of control and he'd acted purely on his own emotion and physicality. What had just happened was the result of that combination.

Julie was perhaps the brightest soul he'd known, and he'd just ruthlessly squelched out that light. He'd broken the spirit of a apple eyed girl, because she'd liked him….nothing more really. He also realized he'd done it because he wasn't able to do it to Mariana. Julie had paid for the sins of another, far more devious girl. She'd basically been an innocent, and now….she was tainted. Wasn't it Julio's Aunt Blanca who'd accused him of being, 'a corruptor' after her nephew's death? Perhaps she'd been right after all.

But he didn't hit women for pleasure, did he? He was not a rapist, or a woman hater was he? Mariana had told him he'd never understand her, because he was a man. Maybe she was right. Maybe he didn't' understand, but her certainly didn't hate women. Yet, he'd done nothing short of doing just that for the past two days……

Yesterday, he'd come so close to killing a man; closer than he ever had. It had felt good, but he was disappointed that he'd failed. Yet he was not disappointed he'd failed to further harm that poor girl, and that had felt anything but good. It was an odd arrangement of feelings, and at the moment he wasn't sure which feeling went where.

Viciously twisting the handle creaky handle on the sink, he scooped up a handful of cold water and threw it on his face; relishing the welcome cool sensation on his flushed skin. He'd deal with this just as he'd dealt with everything else; with a good dose of stoicism, a smart-ass attitude, his healthy ego and perhaps a shot or two of whiskey.

---

The next day, Mariana left.

Estiban had let her go, due to the unorthodox circumstances. She'd not said where she was going to anybody, but it was rumored she was going to take the bus along the border route; apparently in search of further "employment". Once a whore, always a whore, Bill contemplated with bitter bemusement.

By noon of that same day, it appeared Julie had done the same. At least, she'd run away, this time for good. Nobody could find her out walking the town. And Bill spent a better part of the afternoon driving up and down the highway; to no avail. She seemingly hadn't taken the bus anywhere. It could only be assumed she'd hitchhiked out of town sometime in the early morning hours; to where…nobody knew.

Bill occupied himself the rest of the day, by milling around in a hollow, mostly aimless, silence. He eventually rounded up all of the things Mariana had left behind. Naturally they consisted mainly of things he'd bought her or made for her during those months. He ritualistically dumped them all in the large garbage can along the side of the house. Hesitating, he angrily sifted through the jewelry, the clothing, the handmade comb he'd made for her. He picked up the wooden comb, holding it up to inspect the uneven teeth he'd carved. He'd worked hours making this for her, and it still looked like shit; fittingly ironic really.

"Whore," he hissed, and suddenly threw the comb up against the siding of the house. It bounced off and landed somewhere in the nearby shrubbery.

Goddamnit, he loved her……and she just….left, left him like…..like the whore she was. Scowling, he rounded the house and went into her room to see if there was anything else to be disposed of. He didn't want a single reminder of her around. It had to be a clean sweep.

The room was empty. The beds were stripped. The whole scene looked even more depressing than that day he, Julie and Mariana had first stepped into it. Mariana's side was completely bare, but on Julie's bed one item sat alone. Bill approached the bed. It was The Beatles record he'd bought her; the corners slightly dog-eared with love. He picked it up slowly and stared blankly at the cover for a few long seconds.

He then broke it over his knee.

If he hadn't ended up some filthy rich in the years to come, he might have looked back on that moment and cringed at the eventual value of the record he'd just destroyed in a moment of juvenile drama.

Wanting nothing more than to never be in that room again, he wondered onto the back porch to smoke. A strange and potent emotional wave was washing over him, and he thought perhaps the immediate inhalation of nicotine would help.

While standing there, he noticed young Samuel making his way across the vacant lot; his skinny dark arms jammed into the pockets of his dirty jean shorts.

The boy's face split into a wide smile when he spotted Bill on the porch. He stopped a few feet away; kicking at the dusty ground. "Hey Bill, could we work on my punches today?"

"No, not today Samuel," Bill replied blankly. "I'm not……….in the mood."

Normally he rather enjoyed his little training sessions with Samuel. But today, he didn't feel right. And while he might be in the mood to punch something, he didn't' want Samuel around him right now. He'd already accosted three women in the last seventy-two hours, he wasn't sure it was out of his system. He didn't want a kid to be next.

"Another time, alright?" he suggested; tossing his partially empty pack of cigarettes over to the boy.

"Si…alright," Samuel nodded; happily snatching the pack of cigarettes out of the air.

"I'll see you later amigo," Bill turned away quickly; snubbing out his cigarette and going inside before Samuel could get a reply in. Bill realized he didn't want to be around anybody right now. He felt too hollow; too out of sorts to be with anybody but himself. He wasn't used to feeling upset over all that much; mad certainly, but upset…..no. Yet, he couldn't' deny he was upset, and he was doing his best to deal with it.

But there was only so much a person could take. Everybody has their breaking point, and Bill finally reached his that night. It had been building up since the moment he'd caught Mariana those three days prior, and it had only been getting worse since. He'd done his best to hold it back, but he couldn't do it anymore.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd actually cried. It must have been…..years, when he was far younger. And it most likely had resulted from some sort of physical pain. He simply did not cry over emotional matters, not since he'd seen Estiban cut those women as a small child; that had been it for emotional tear shedding. He never had seemed to have possessed enough of the appropriate emotion running through him to commit to the act. But at that moment, there, in the privacy of his own bedroom, he broke down….momentarily.

He sat there on the edge of his bed; face buried in his hands. He felt both simultaneously sick and empty. The anger came and went with the moment; but the hollow pit in his stomach refused to go away. It was the first time in the last three days he'd had a truly still moment to reflect. It all had happened so fast.

He'd loved Mariana, that much could not be denied. How could he have been so fucking stupid? What the hell had he been thinking? But that was it…..he hadn't been. He'd been acting purely on his own libido and some misplaced sense of connection to a girl he barely even knew. He'd even asked her to marry him. The mere thought of that only caused him to feel sicker on account of his own stupidity. He'd let her push him around and drag him around like some puppy dog eyed moron. He didn't even like most of the things Mariana did. They'd had little in common actually. And when he really thought about it, she was really quite shallow and lacking in any sort of real personality at all. But that was it; personality was not what he had been thinking about at the moment. Perhaps Estiban had been right after all; sex was the most important factor in life. He'd acted on lust alone, and he'd ended up getting betrayed by it. And of course there was their last odd conversation through the door. He was having a hard time connecting that Mariana to the one he'd been with for those months. They seemed like two different people, and he still partially refused to believe she'd been hiding that deviously cunning, man hating, side of her personality the whole time. But the worst part was….that no matter how much he realized his mistake, and no matter how much he loathed those things about her, he still loved her. He couldn't help it. Love was a real pain in the ass like that.

And then of course there was Julie. Perhaps if he had been a little older and wiser, he would have realized that he'd been truly charmed by Julie's personality. But he had not been physically attracted to her, and that's all that seemingly mattered to him. Yet, it was too late for her, he'd broken the spirit of that poor girl; he'd seen to that. And now, she'd run off…..likely hitchhiking somewhere on the highway. The feelings attached to Julie where, in some ways, worse than those of Mariana. If anything, he'd remember her allot longer.

Complicated interactions aside, he felt like complete shit.

He pulled his hands away and pressed his index fingers against his closed eyes. He had to gain back some emotional control of himself. He needn't care about any of that. He was beyond it. It wasn't his fault Julie had brought his wrath down upon her, and while Mariana may have escaped unscathed for the moment, she certainly would get what she deserved.

No. He had no room for this sullen, weak lamenting. He was cruel, he was a cold bastard. And none of that left room to be emotional; especially over something as petty as a momentarily wounded heart. Girls came and went, but he always had himself to rely upon.

With one last brushing of the fingertips; he wiped away the last remnants of tangible emotion. It would be the last time he'd shed a tear for anyone or anything for a long, long time.

---

Within the week, Bill was back to running with the Acuna Boys, just like he had before Mariana had shown up But this time around, he was even more violent and out of control then before. Every bit of sophistication and class that he possessed was temporarily thrown out the window. Despite being highly intelligent, he seemed to have this tendency to want to self destruct when in emotional turmoil; it was a defense mechanism and a lifelong habit.

He was unnecessarily cruel to all those around him, even his fellow Acuna Boys. Most nights he was usually fucked up out of his mind. He was rarely at home; either crashing at Carlos' place or out with some random girl. He slept with a number o girls in a short span of time, just because he could; out of nothing but pure spite. Two weeks into being back 'on the job' he put his hand through a car window because the man inside efused to get out of the vehicle and talk to him. That injury resulted in him nearly having to be driven to the one and only real medical clinic in town; but he flat out refused. Later that same week, he set fire to a small textile store on the edge of town; burning it completely down. All because the old woman who ran it had borrowed some money from Estiban over five years ago, and still owed him half. In short, he was nasty, vile, immature, and crude; a brute, the type who is he wasn't thinking with his dick, he was thinking with his fists. He was being just what Estiban didn't want him to be. He was fully aware of how stupid he was being, but at that point he simply did not care.

He thought about Mariana often, and found that despite all of his bitterness towards her, he still held a deep affection for her. He missed her. He wanted to see her again. So whenever he was traveling around to the nearby towns, he always kept an eye out for her….just in case. He swore to himself, that if he ever saw her again, he'd talk to her….rationally. They'd work it out, somehow. He'd try to see things from her point of view, and then perhaps…..it could work. He of course was being stupid and youthfully idealistic, but it seemed fate would indeed present him the chance to see Mariana again.

It occurred about four months after she'd left Acuna. Bill, Carlos, Juan and a couple of the other Acuna Boys had spent the day in the nearby town of Chihuahua. They'd gone there to talk to a former associate of Estiban's, who apparently had some documents he wanted to be taken back to Acuna so the pimp could look them over. Business concluded, the group of Acuna Boys made the unanimous decision to find the nearest bar as soon as possible. Successfully trashed within an hour, they then decided to go see a movie. Bill vaguely remembered the film was How The West Was Won. But about halfway through the picture they ended up getting kicked out of the theatre. Apparently they were being just a little too belligerent for the other movie goers tastes. It was a pity really; Bill always wanted to know how the West had been won.

Wandering the streets, they decided it was best to find another bar; seeing as it wasn't even midnight yet. They were downtown, making their way past rows of darkened closed businesses. A group of women; very obviously prostitutes, were loitering around out in front of a sagging boarded up restaurant.

One of them, a short plump woman with a head full of black hair, called out to the group of men; offering an assortment of vice for just a handful of Paso's.

Too drunk to care, or really even listen, they continued to move past the women. Exchanging a few laughs with Carlos on the subject of whoring, Bill glanced over his shoulder. He gave the group of prostitutes one last snide look.

It was then that he spotted Mariana.

If he hadn't memorized her face so well, he might never have recognized her in the dim light. She was leaning up against the building; slightly removed from the rest of the girls. She looked very little like the beautiful girl he'd known. Instead, she looked……awful; like a walking corpse…..a true whore. There were dark rings under her hollow eyes; which reminded him of his own mother's in their utter lack of zeal for life. Her skin was dull; her lips dry and tight. She used to wear a nice touch of makeup, but that was all gone. She'd lost weight. In place of one of her former bright sun dresses, she was now wearing a shapeless colorless piece of thin fabric. Her long feet were covered in a pair of dirty cracked pumps. Her posture was languid, like an old forgotten doll propped up in the dusty corner. She was wasted, lifeless….so unlike what he remembered. It was as if she'd aged ten years in only four months.

Bill had distinctly vowed that she would get what she deserved. And at that moment, that had been a comforting thought. But, seeing her now, like this, he felt nothing but pity for her. He wanted to take her away from that spot and make it all better. He wanted things to be the way they were. He wanted her to be beautiful and happy again.

Staring at her, he wandered away from Carlos and the others to approach the group of prostitutes. He was righteously drunk, and that only heightened the deep sense of emotion he was suddenly feeling. Ignoring the other women around her, he approached Mariana. He had no hostile intentions; he really just wanted to talk to her.

"Bill, what the hell are you doing?" Carlos called out loudly from behind him. "Those are some real dirty type of whores. We can get better, if that's what you want."

But Bill wasn't' even listening. He was completely focused on Mariana. He stopped a few feet from where she was vacantly standing; her glazed over look fixated on a streetlamp on the opposite side of the street.

"Mariana……," he began carefully. "I……." He thought about reaching out to her, but decided against it.

Her eyes slowly slid around to him; nothing short of creepy. There was a long moment where she looked back at him with absolutely no recollection. But then, something sparked in those dark orbs, and she offered a weak smile.

"Bill……"

He smiled back, taking a step towards her. "Jesus, Mariana…I-"

"You……..FUCK!" She suddenly lashed out at him with both sets of dirty fingernails, like some feral cat turning on a trusted hand.

Leaping back, Bill managed only to acquire a minor scrape on his cheek. But she might as well have shot him through the heart. He glared back her; his pride wounded. Once again, she'd taken him completely off guard with her viciousness and he wasn't entirely sure how to react.

She leered back at him with pure hatred. "Get the fuck away from me……usted ano de mierda…." she growled; possessing more fury than any woman Bill had ever seen at that point in his life. Was this the 'woman power' she'd left him for? Was she really that angry with him, or was she just fucked up on something? Whatever it was, he had to admit, she was quite frightening.

But he stood his ground. He wasn't going to walk away from her that easily, not after finding her so randomly like this. It was too good to be true. Wavering a little, he tired to focus back on her. "Just….calm down…….let's-"

This time, she just spat at him; literally.

There were a number of things that set Bill off, especially in those days, and getting spat on was one of them. It was a vile and disgusting gesture; especially from a woman. An angry flush crept up his neck as he took a long moment to wipe a hand over his wet face.

Throwing her head back, Mariana laughed.

At that moment Bill decided that women indeed could be purely evil. Being humiliated and then laughed at…..just two other things that set him off. He fixed her with a glare; at least the best he could muster being drunk. He desperately did not want to hit her. He'd hit enough women as of late; he had no intention to continue the trend. But she'd pushed him too far. He'd approached her with completely good intentions, and she'd done nothing but throw it back in his face. He could easily just walk away, or he could just as easily cause her pain.

"Afraid to hit me Bill?" Mariana goaded him on with a wolf-ish sneer as if she'd read his mind. "Doesn't seem like you to stand there and take it…..I thought you liked that sort of thing…hitting women…"

"I don't!" He shouted back; taking a stumbling step towards her. Then, without a second thought, he hit her in the face; making an instant liar out of himself. It wasn't' much of a strike though; halfhearted and thrown in an intoxicated state. But it did feel good, he had to admit that. She'd caused him a hell of allot of pain, it was nice to at least return a little of it.

She didn't seem to care all that much though, and she simply turned her wasted face back towards him; boldly daring him to do it again.

But when he drew his fist back for a second strike, he suddenly found himself under attack by the four other women who'd been standing there watching. He'd been so preoccupied with Mariana, he'd completely forgotten about the other prostitutes. Before he knew it, he was the focus of all five of their conjoined hostilities.

Whoever said women could not fight had never scrapped with a group of irate prostitutes.

Seeing that Bill was currently under attack, Carlos and the other four Acuna Boys quickly ran over to help. They'd been standing around deciding weather to ditch Bill for the nearest bar, when he'd suddenly been engulfed in a flurry of feminine fists and heels. They weren't even sure exactly what had happened, but they knew they had to protect their comrade from the group of raging women.

Bill, the center of the attack; drunk, dizzy, shocked, and a little confused; wasn't sure if he should really go full out on these women or just simply try and protect himself. But, after a few seconds of receiving a number of extremely potent punches to the face and gut, he decided he had to go full out if wanted to live. Spinning around he grabbed one woman and shoved her at Mariana.

Meanwhile, Carlos and the other men were doing their best to be simultaneously gentlemanly yet tough as they tried to help Bill out of his predicament. It was like some twisted version of West Side Story; except instead of 'The Jets' and 'The Sharks', it was 'The Whores' and 'The Acuna Boys.' If Bill hadn't been so angry and drunk, he probably would have found the situation pretty damn funny.

If Bill or any of the other Acuna Boys had been expecting the women to back off, they were quite wrong. The women stood their ground; fighting viciously, cheap, and without restraint.

Eventually, a good two minutes into the scuffle, a truce of sorts was achieved when Carlos picked up the short round prostitute and dumped her into a nearby dumpster. He sat down on the lid; refusing to let her out until the others stopped. He was a big guy, and no amount of screaming and ranting on the woman's part was going to open the lid.

The tactic worked, and the women soon backed off. Juan, who had a tall woman in a head lock, reluctantly let her go. Mariana had a bloody nose, and she stumbled away to slump back up against the wall she'd started out on; glaring. Bill had just been kicked in the crotch by another of the women, and fought to get up before she came at him again. Grimacing he changed his tactic and tried to approach Mariana once more; still undaunted under the influence of alcohol. She remained back against the wall; staring out vacantly. Was she looking at him? He lunged out towards her.

Carlos, who'd finally let the short prostitute out of the dumpster, grabbed him firmly by the arm. "Come on Bill, let's go….forget it. She's just a whore…not worth your time."

"Oh…she's much more than a whore," he grated; wiping a hand over his blood smeared face. He fought against Carlos for freedom; tearing his shirt with the effort. He had to talk to her; he had to tell her how he felt. They had to work things out.

But Carlos didn't let him go. And he was in too much pain and far too dizzy to put up much more of a fight against the bigger man. "Fuck…..let go of me you asshole," he muttered; still struggling in vain.

"No," Carlos replied harshly, "Face it Bill….she's a lost cause man." He looked his friend full in the face. "I think she pretty much hates you. You're drunk. She doesn't care. Let's go, let's get out of here. We don't want to get into any more fights with whores tonight."

After that, Bill fell silent, and he let Carlos lead him away. He glanced over his shoulder one last time at Mariana. She defiantly wasn't looking at him now, and after a moment she turned and disappeared around the corner of the restaurant with an expression of indifference. He realized then that he'd been stupid to even try the first time. She did hate him. Why did he even waste his time trying? It had been a terrible way to handle it anyways. And, to no surprise, his effort had ended in violence. Everything with him always seemed to end in violence; even love.

That night, Bill learned a few valuable lessons, a couple of them being: never try to make amends while drunk, it's foolish to try and work things out with a woman who left you, don't' provoke a bitter prostitute, and never….ever….underestimate the power of women in numbers.

They eventually made it back to the car. Bill didn't remember much of the walk, except for the part where he puked his guts out in front of burrito stand.

He spent the car ride back to Acuna, viciously insulting Carlos from the back seat and taking shots of straight tequila to kill the pain of what had just happened. Juan and the other guys found the whole thing highly humorous and even concocted an amazingly crude and badly rhymed song to mark the occasion. They sang it, in rounds, until Bill yelled at them to stop; threatening bodily harm if they continued a second longer. By the time they reached Acuna, Bill had passed out and had to be forcibly roused when they reached Estiban's place. He barely made it out of the car and inside the house without breaking something.

When he finally stumbled into the private sanctity his room, his torn shirt was covered in enough sweat, blood and vomit to make him immediately remove it and throw it away. Shirtless, he then laid down on the floor; partially because he wasn't sure he could make the extra ten steps to his bed, and partially because the hard floorboards were a welcome discomfort. The room was spinning at a nauseating rate and he kept trying to focus on one little discolored spot in the corner of the ceiling to keep himself from getting sick again.

It was lying there that a thought that had been nagging at him finally emerged in full clarity. He wasn't sure why he thought of it at that moment. Maybe it was the haze of alcohol, or maybe it was some strange clarity in the storm of his own violence. But it was something that had always been with him, it was only now that he could form the thought.

Was he, in fact, crazy?

Bill would never in his life be professionally filed or diagnosed in any sort of official capacity as a sociopath or as an individual prone to psychotic spells. But then again, 'crazy' is certainly relative. He was certainly not normal, at least that much could be said. Being young and angry was one thing, but being young and so violently angry to the capacity of what he was, was another thing. And this all went beyond anything to do with Mariana, or Julie, or even Estiban. This was something deeper; something more unsettling. It had to do more with how he'd felt while beating that man he'd shot. He couldn't quite place it, but it was so close to the surface that its nearness was driving him crazy.

He had no clear answer to any of that, except that he knew he couldn't go on like this; the ups and downs, the inconsistent spells of violence, the arguments with Estiban, the whores, his mother, the binge drinking, even the Acuna Boys. He was only eighteen and he'd done and seen more than most people did and saw in a lifetime. The world offered a banquet to those who were willing to take it. But instead of shying away from it, this early exposure made him want more; not more of what he'd already done, but something better; something…….more sophisticated.

There were demons in his head he simply could not satisfy on such a low scale; he had to find other ways to silence them. He knew he was destined for something bigger and it did not lie is spending the rest of his useful years running with the Acuna Boys. It had already been well established that he was not going to be succeed Estiban in his role as "señor de la casa", he'd seen to that with his own stupid actions. All that remained in Acuna was the life of a low end thug. He didn't' want to end up like these guys in the Acuna Boys. This was too small time for him.

Unlike the answer to his own sanity, the answer to this problem was clear; yet directly tied to the first. It had been there for sometime; burning in the back of his mind, hovering on the corner of his vision like so many things he'd come to realize; he just hadn't really seen it until now.

He had to get out of Acuna.

And it was more than that. He simply just had to get away on a base level. He was old enough. It was about time he move on. Nothing remained for him in Acuna; not unless he wanted to continue down the path of the Acuna Boys, and his opinion on that was already well established. Estiban knew how he felt, and Bill was beyond caring about what others thought anyways. It was time to leave for good.

That decision being made, he felt a little better. He managed to haul himself to his feet and make it to the comfort of his own bed. Yes, he'd start his planning tomorrow…..after the inevitable hell of a hangover that is.

---

"You're leaving."

Estiban's voice broke Bill out of his haze of packing. The older man's slightly faltered English words were delivered in a statement, not a question.

Glancing up momentarily, Bill went back to his task.' Yes," he replied firmly; folding up a shirt and pushing it inside his large duffel bag. He had no idea when he actually was leaving yet, but the physical act of packing had a satisfying finality to it. He felt just as sure about his decision as he had the night before, and he was glad it had not just been some pipe dream. If anything, he felt more determined to leave now that he was sober.

Estiban took a step into the room and leaned on the doorframe. He jabbed a thin black cigarette holder in-between his teeth; the smoldering top of a smoking butt perched at the end. Bill had noticed that Estiban had suddenly switched to these holders in the past month. He was never actually sure why.

"Where to?" the pimp quarried.

Still absorbed in his packing, Bill shrugged nonchalantly, "California….maybe….I don't' know…..I just need to leave."

"I understand." The other man nodded solemnly.

Bill looked up sharply "Do you really?" He snorted, "I find that hard to believe…." He shoved another shirt into the duffel bag with a scowl.

Estiban's eyes hooded over, "Hrm, why don't we forget about things past? Let's start anew…..like men, yes?" Ever since their conversation after Estiban's less than jovial return those four months prior things had been pretty edgy between the two of them.

Bill remained silent; moving onto to roll up a pair of jeans.

"I'm not a man who gives apologies," Estiban continued, "But….I have to think, that neither are you……"

Pausing; Bill thought about that for a second and came to the conclusion that Estiban was right about that. Likewise, he seemingly wasn't looking for an apology, and that was a refreshing change.

Bill looked up at the other man, some of his former hostility melting away. "No, I don't…"

"Good," Estiban retorted; looking pleased. ", than we have no apologies to make to another. Without the need for such a thing, we can now be equals, yes?"

Bill's lip twisted; finding that amusing. Estiban had never treated him quite as an equal, even when he was falsely trying to. But after a moment of looking at him, he realized that the older man was not joking this time, he was serious.

Estiban arched his brows, seeing the understanding on Bill's face. "Yes see….I was angry at first. But, I think now, I am happy to know that you are my equal. I am…..glad"

Bill stood up straight. That was, perhaps, the most genuine compliment Estiban had ever given him. He was pretty much past those moments of parental induced childish glre, but he felt a flicker of that old feeling for a brief moment….and it was nice.

Stepping forward, Estiban extended one of his weathered brown hands; dark eyes twinkling. "From now on…. los hombres como igualan……men as equals."

After a brief moment of hesitation, Bill clasped the man's hand in his own younger one; a wisp of a smile gracing his face. "Men as equals…."

---

In order to really leave Acuna, Bill needed a car; that much was obvious. But, the Morris Minor he'd been using was technically still Estiban's. Besides, Bill was pretty sure it wouldn't even make it to San Diego in that state it was in.

No, it was time he get a car of his own; something more along his tastes.

After about a week of looking, he somewhat unintentionally found just what he was looking for. Acuna always had a good amount of drifters coming in and out of town, most of them involved in some illegal activity or another. Many of these drifters, whom were usually men, often ended up at Estiban's place for a little action before they moved along to the next town. Bill was quite used to these strangers milling around the house, and had sometimes even swapped some good stories and contraband with them.

One evening, while smoking on the back porch, Bill was joined by another man. He was roughly middle aged, bearded, slightly haggard and obviously in a state of a panic. After some idle talk, the man revealed to Bill that he was on his way through Acuna and was looking to sell his car for some desperately needed cash, seeing as he'd sold everything else and had just spent his last bit of cash on a hooker. It seemed he had a debt to pay off that would have….unappealing consequences if not paid in full by the end of the week. Bill was pretty indifferent about the idea until the man informed him the car was a 1963 Ford Thunderbird Roadster, cherry red with a hardtop. It needed some small fixing up, but it was in good enough condition to drive.

Now that certainly held more appeal than the Morris Minor. Bill had spent most of his driving years wheeling around in his various friends pick up trucks, or the dumpy old Minor. A Thunderbird was a gem compared to those. He quickly told the man to wait as he disappeared into his room to retrieve his savings.

At the very least, Bill's unsuccessful endeavor into the world of pimping had earned him enough money to easily fulfill what the man was asking for the car. He paid the man entirely in cash, and the next morning he stood in front of the house surveying his first real car. He would have a lifetime passion for cars, and he knew it for sure the moment he sat behind the wheel of his very own car. The engine sounded like shit and the carburetor needed a replacement in the near future, but he could easily make 85 in ten seconds without the doors falling off……plus it looked incredibly cool. It was a nothing short of a muscle car, and the needed tune up would give him something to occupy himself with until he left; something that didn't involve violence.

He spent almost two weeks straight working on it; deciding to forgo all of his errands with the Acuna Boys to hide under a car, back flat on the pavement, covered in grease and sweating in the hot sun. He discovered the odd of appeal of this task, and finally understood its masculine draw.

"Is this car a 'she'?"

Bill didn't even have to crawl out from under the car to know Carlos when he heard him. Apparently his large friend had gotten curious over his absence from the usual regimen of extorting and binge drinking and had come to check in on him after a good week into his work.

"Of course she is," he replied with a sneer; picking up a screwdriver from the pile of tools at his side.

"Better under a car than a woman, eh?" Carlos was never short on a little wit.

Bill's bitter replying snort was unmistakable, even underneath the car. "Precisely." And that certainly was true. At the moment, cars were far sweeter than women.

"Shit Bill, you have some big ugly feet……," Carlos seated himself in front of the chrome bumper; avoiding Bill's protruding legs and bare feet.

"Better than a big ugly face mi amigo," came Bill's usual cruel brand of retort as he set down the screwdriver with a loud clank.

Typically ignoring that, Carlos peered underneath the bumper. "Need any help?"

"Mrm."

Carlos fiddled with a nearby socket wrench, taking that as a yes. "Estiban told me you're leaving?"

"That's right."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm not sure….somewhere in California probably…."

"When?"

Scowling down at his friend, Bill reached out and snatched the socket wrench from Carlos's big hand. "As soon as you stop pestering me with fucking stupid questions and I can finish what I'm trying to do."

Carlos fell silent; watching idly as Bill rolled over onto his side, and in turn nearly hit his head on a low pipe.

"You aren't going to get into fights with any prostitutes in California are you?" The big man grinned, "I hear those LA whores can easily kick a man's ass."

"You're really fucking funny Carlos," Bill scowled. "Hand me that rag over there…."

Happy to help, Carlos handed him a nearby grease stained rag. "Do you think you'll ever come back, to visit I mean?"

"I don't know…….maybe."

Carlos nodded silent understanding. If Bill hadn't been so intent on his car mechanics he might have noticed the brief touch of sadness in the other mans face. Then again, if he had, he most likely wouldn't have cared; or worse….mocked his friend for being stupidly sentimental.

The two of them spent the remainder of the afternoon working on the car. Well, Bill worked; Carlos did what he could….which was mostly to create conversation. Afterwards, they drank a few beers and played pool at their usual bar. Carlos won all three games, naturally; putting Bill out two hundred fifty dollars.

Then, they parted ways with a brief and fittingly masculine farewell. Perhaps they'd see one another again in the years to come, but they both knew that was probably unlikely. Many friendships, like relationships, never seemed to last all that long in Acuna, Mexico.

Besides, the life Bill was about to enter into had little room for such niceties.

---

Finally, three weeks after his decision to leave Acuna, Bill was ready to do just that. He'd fixed up the Thunderbird. It now ran like a real beast; sweet and smooth up until about 90 and then it began to loose it, but that was good enough to get him to California.

The few loose ends around town he had left to tie up had already been done so. No apologies or amends were given to those in Acuna whom he'd threatened and intimidated over the years. They were simply the few among the many who would serve to pave the path for Bill's rise to power as one of the world's biggest bastards and deadliest men in the world. Acuna had served its purpose for him. Whenever he returned in the years to come, he always felt detached to the town. It would still always be 'home' of course, but the day he left, he severed any real connection to it.

He'd said his farewell to Carlos the week before. The rest of the Acuna Boys he could care less about. Then he had made his rounds to the prostitutes; embracing those few he'd actually gotten to know over the years of his childhood…..the ones that were still around that is. A couple of them gave him humble parting gifts. He didn't see his mother anywhere, but that didn't' matter much…seeing as he had no real inclination to see her before he left anyways. He saw Samuel earlier in the day, and gave him the Japanese self defense book he'd cherished. He'd already read it three times, it was now the boy's turn to learn. He made the typical hollow promise of coming back to visit.

And then, there was just Estiban left.

Standing behind the Thunderbird, Bill carefully placed a rolled up afghan inside the trunk. The brightly colored afghan had been given to him by one of the whores; wrapped inside were three pistols. He'd packed all that he could into the car, which was a rather small amount of his possessions. He'd simply gotten rid of the rest. This gun toting afghan was the last thing he had left to make room for.

It was well past the morning hours; and he'd been hoping to get at least to San Diego by the evening. He was running late…..he hated running late; even when he didn't know exactly where the hell he was going.

"It will…..not be….the same around here without you Bill," Estiban quipped in English; approaching the car at a smooth pace. He was dressed in one of his characteristic kaki suits; cigarillo in-between his teeth, shoes shined to a blinding gleam. The growing crop of silver in his mustache stood out against the bright midday sun.

"You mean a hell of allot less interesting," Bill replied with a fond squint in the other man's direction.

"Well yes," Estiban flashed a toothy smile as he waved the cigarillo,"…that and less expensive…."

"Hah," Bill offered dryly as he shut the trunk.

Empty handed now and fully set to go; he then turned and faced his first father figure. There was a long moment of awkward silence as they looked at one another. Neither of them were much for sentimentality and moments like this seemed to beg for it.

"Do you have anything else to do….before you go?" The older man asked suddenly.

"No." Bill had no desire to go back into the house.

"Well, then stop standing there….," Estiban scowled, "….you look stupid doing that…..and embrace the man who had to put up with you for nearly fifteen years. I think I deserve that at the very least."

'Yes sir." Bill replied with mock seriousness and stepped forward into the man's open arms. The two shared a brief but meaningful embrace within the bounds of male acceptance.

"You watch yourself boy," the pimp offered quietly. Slapping the younger man's back, he then took advantage of the brief close proximity to yank on Bill's long hair. "Gah! And cut this off!"

"Yeah, I'll be sure to do that," Bill smirked as he pulled away. Offering him a brief but genuine smile, he turned and climbed into the driver's side of the Thunderbird. Slamming the door, he leaned out the open window and shook the hand that Estiban was offering.

"Smokes for the road," Estiban slipped him a pack of cigarettes. "And a little extra," he pulled out a neatly rolled wad of American twenty dollar bills from his jacket pocket.

Bill jammed the keys in the ignition with a shake of his head, "No, I don't need it. I have enough money."

"Take it…..you foolish boy," the older man frowned. "You have no idea what it's like to live out on your own. In a few weeks you will be begging for this."

Looking resigned, Bill took the money; stuffing it into his jeans pocket. "Very well…." He started the car, but looked back to Estiban, "If you see my mother……"

The pimp squinted; inhaling on the cigarillo, "I'll tell her."

Bill nodded silently, and threw the car into gear. He flashed the older man a smile. "Adiós……"

Estiban returned the gesture, "Adiós……"

Kicking up a good deal of pavement, Bill pulled away from that house of prostitution for good. Leaving Acuna by downtown route, he barely gave the rundown storefronts, dingy bars, pick up trucks and abandoned lots more than a glance. They were the backdrop of his childhood, but he was no longer a child. He had already moved on in his mind. He was focused on one destination and one destination only at the moment: the Mexico/California border.

---

So, what of those who had played a part in Bill's life thus far? For the most part their futures weren't all that bright.

Raul, Julio's older and far angrier brother, continued to live in Acuna. His vendetta against Bill was far from acquitted. It seemed he and Bill would meet again, further down the road, with a far more bloody and violent result than any of their previous encounters. After all, the next time Raul would see Bill, the younger man would be a full fledged killer.

Martin and Paulo, Bill's childhood friends both completely disappeared. Bill could only assume that they both ended up first rate low lives in some Mexican city slum.

Alanzo, the quiet and intelligent friend of Bill's youth moved to Spain in his early 20's. He became a history professor in Madrid, happily married with two children.

Aunt Blanca never said another word to Bill. A few years after leaving, he saw her walking downtown during one of his brief visits to Acuna. She'd gained more weight and offered him nothing more than a fierce glare and a sharp Catholic crossing. He heard later that she'd had a stroke in the mid 70's and ended up in a Catholic convalescent home in Mexico City; only to disappear into dusty obscurity and most likely a slow lonely death.

Carlos moved away from Acuna a couple years after Bill did. He ended up marrying a Caucasian woman in Los Angeles. But, like many Hispanics in L.A., his life was a tough and hard working one. He worked three jobs: security at Dodger Stadium during the evenings, loading grocery trucks in the early morning hours, and apartment landscaping on the weekends. He had three children with his wife and eventually had a heart attack sometime in his 40's. But neither Bill nor Estiban could ever find out for sure if he'd survived it or not.

After moving to the U.S. and volunteering to join the Army in 1969, Juan ended up accidentally shooting himself in the face while on night patrol in Vietnam. Upon hearing the news, Bill was pleased to know he'd called it all along.

Bill never saw Mariana again. He heard a rumor, years later…from Estiban, that she'd survived the life of a whore and made it back to Mexico City to help her mother out at the family owned laundry mat. It was also said that she'd eventually gotten married to a man thirty years older than her. Bill really could have cared less at that point.

After disappearing from Estiban's for good, Julie's fate was completely unknown. Bill could only hope that she'd ended up back home in Idaho, safe. And that she'd found some nice farm boy to marry and settle down with. Then again, Julie had not been known for doing the smartest things.

Valerie contracted HIV many years later and finally fell prone to full blown AIDS in the mid 80's. She and Bill never spoke or saw one another again.

Valerie's son, Samuel continued to grow up in Acuna. He would meet Bill again as a grown man and have not forgotten what the older man had taught him in those formidable years. In fact, Samuel would become one of Bill's first employees when he finally decided to move up from assassin to one who employed assassins.

Bill's mother continued to whore into her 40's. She would of course have another son, Budd….quite unexpectedly in just a few years. She eventually was allowed to leave the employment of Estiban and 'retire' to Baja Mexico in the late 70's. She stayed close to Estiban throughout those years, but saw little of her sons. She seemed neither overly proud nor overly distraught to know of their career choices. She'd always been rather indifferent about life and the taking of it. She outlived both of them; well into her elderly years; known to be colder and more bitter than ever.

Estiban would continue his successful career of pimping until he was nearly 80 years old. Despite he and Bill's early differences, they would eventually come to see eye to eye, as corrupted men of the world. Estiban would also continue to play a part in Bill's life. His biggest contribution wouldn't take place for another good 40 years, when he finally got to meet face to face with the woman that Bill so desperately loved, and so ruthlessly betrayed; a tall stunning blonde known as Beatrix Kiddo.

---

But those were the things to come. At the moment, all that Bill was concerned with was getting past the Mexican/California border station in a car containing both unregistered guns and illegal drugs.

"Fuckers," he growled under his breath; scowling at the group brown uniformed men bustling around the small booth. There were three lines in service, and two cars in front of him in the line he was currently in. One of them was a long Ford station wagon containing what seemed like an entire circus worth of loud fat kids, three yapping dogs and a squabbling couple. The other was a wide Buick driven by a waspy elderly woman in a hat she could have only bought in Tijuana. She was currently arguing with the border patrol officers over an offending bag of oranges as if her very life depended on keeping them.

Bill hung his head out his car window; glaring death upon the whole scene.

'Welcome to The United States of America: Home Of Endless Opportunity and God Given Freedom!' a large sign just beyond the checkpoint read in big bold letters. He wasn't' sure if that was supposed to be funny or not.

Annoying American's aside, he still had to figure out how to get past the goddamn patrol station. They were going to search his car; that much was inevitable. His appearance alone would justify that.

Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he quickly devised a weak plan. He glanced over at the lane on his left; no good; it was stopped up with what appeared to be an extensive car search of a suspicious looking painted van. But the lane to his right was ideal. There was only one car there, and it seemed the occupant was being given the 'OK' to go on through.

Bill waited for the exact right moment. The guard rail lifted and the car, a rusty Mustang, slowly pulled through. Giving his rear view a brief check, he threw the Thunderbird into reverse and made such a smooth and ridiculously tight lane change that it would make even the most raging New York cabbie green with envy.

There was brief confusion amongst the state employees. Then, one of the border patrol officers, apparently catching onto what Bill was doing, foolishly tried to run over and wave him down. Riding the bumper of the Mustang, Bill gave the man nothing more than a glance before swiping him in the gut with his driver's side mirror. The guard rail came sliding back down, but it was too late. It simply nicked the bumper of the Thunderbird; leaving it free to squeal off onto the freeway.

More than pleased with himself, Bill smirked at the reflection of the quickly disappearing checkpoint in his mirror. He then flipped on the radio as he consciously ignored the first speed limit sign he saw. He dug the pack of cigarettes Estiban had given him out of his pocket and opened it with two hands; briefly leaving nothing for the steering wheel as the car picked up more speed.

And thus, that was how Bill left his childhood home and entered the United States to start a new life; going well over twenty miles over the legal speed limit, a smart-ass expression on his young face, a blazing cigarette hanging out of his smirking mouth, and The Animals "House of the Rising Sun" blaring on his car radio.

He really had no clue what he was about to enter in to. But whatever it was, he was prepared to take it on with his own unique brand of hard knocks and learned lessons. He figured the world had to have a place for a bastard like him, somewhere. It begged the question: while Bill may have been ready for the rest of the world, was the rest of the world ready for Bill?

He had made it to San Diego by the late afternoon; much thanks to his blatant ignoring of the speed limit. But after spending a few days in the city, he quickly decided it best to move on. He had no desire to live there, he'd been there before. It was too close to 'home', in both locale and feel.

His next stop was Los Angeles; "The City of Angels", more like "The City of Fucking Assholes" he promptly decided. Whoever said L.A. had charm must have been high. It was full of the most insane assortment of schmoozers, wannabe upper class twits, junkies, and awful drivers. The city itself was sprawling and uglier than most Mexican cities. It's only bright spot being that it had the highest concentration of blonde women than any other place he'd ever been. He stayed a week there, including his nineteenth birthday; which he spent the majority of pissed off that he still couldn't legally drink in the United States.

After L.A., he drove up the coast, stopping at a couple beach towns along the way. This eventually brought him to San Francisco. Some ignorant prick type had once told him that 'only fags and chinks live in San Francisco'. But after a day there he realized that statement was both grossly inaccurate and disgustingly ignorant. He loved it. It was unlike any city he'd ever seen. It was fairly small in area, yet big in population. He couldn't quite decide if the rows of packed in houses on the hills were fascinating or oddly disturbing. The smell of salty sea air was a refreshing change from the arid breeze he was used to. And the mix of cultures there was unlike anything he'd ever seen. He briefly felt like a kid again for the first few days; driving his car up and down the hills, long haired head hanging out his open window as he squinted at the myriad of scenery. He came to the conclusion that sea lions were the ugliest animals he'd ever seen, and that Alcatraz was the design of near genius.

It was nearing the year 1965 and little did Bill know that a cultural and social whirlwind was brimming on the horizon in San Francisco. Terms such as: 'hippies', 'anti-war rallies' and 'LSD' were still fairly unknown to him as he settled into the City by the Bay. But, as he had a tendency to do, there was no doubt that he'd find the stuff of trouble before it found him. It was only a matter of time.

---

Bill rented out a cheap hotel room near the Italian district; a full month's rent up front. It wasn't glamorous, but it was the best option at the moment. After about a week into living in San Francisco he realized that the money he'd brought with him, including Estiban's donation, wasn't likely going to last him through the next month. He either had to earn some money, live on the street, or go back to Acuna. The last two options had little to no appeal to him. He had to earn money. He'd never had a real job, in the sense of a job that didn't' involve some sort of illegal activity, and even he still didn't have any intention of getting a legit job. He knew he had enough criminal smarts to get some cash picking pockets, short change scheming, or shoplifting. But he preferred a new variety of illegal activity.

The opportunity to earn some money arose one day while he was sitting at a corner diner, leafing through the paper. He'd been to the diner a few times and liked the quiet atmosphere of the place. The usual waiter, a balding older man, put his check on the table and noted, "No offence, but I dunno why yer hangin' out in this part of town kid, alls ya got here are a bunch of old Italians and the Chinese goin' back and forth ta Chinatown with all their bags n' chickens and whatnot. Why don't ya go up to Height Street. That's where yer type is."

Bill narrowed his eyes at the man over the rim of the paper. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? What exactly was 'his type'? But he simply nodded and slipped five dollars onto the table.

Later that day, his curiosity got the better of him and he drove to Height Street, following the directions the hotel clerk had given him, What he found was perhaps one of the strangest groupings of subcultures that he'd yet to ever see. Height Street was a long straight avenue of shops; most of them retail. But it wasn't so much the commercial aspect of it that intrigued him, but the people. Most of them were young, near his age. They, for the most part, didn't' seem to be doing much of anything. Allot were standing around, talking, or sitting together on the sidewalk. He saw one kid playing a guitar. They were dressed in an odd mix of bright colored clothing and virtually nothing. There was allot of long hair, jewelry and iconography that was virtually alien to him. It was quite the sight. And while the hippie movement was yet in full swing, he was witnessing its early presentation.

He parked the Thunderbird and spent the rest of the day milling around the street; observing. He quickly realized what these kids wanted, they wanted drugs. And just like that, the answer to his money troubles was blatantly obvious.

He spent the next week slowly divining out his private stock of weed, in very small baggies of course, to the tie-dye wearing, multi-beaded, long haired hippies on Height Street. They might have looked poor, but Bill had an inclining that more of them were middle class suburban kids 'slumming it', than real participators in the chosen lifestyle. They had money, and Bill charged per bag what he'd easily paid half for in Mexico. They also seemed to take to him right away. He fit in, at least appearance-wise, and was quickly accepted as "one of them". Of course, Bill was no hippie; he never would be. He found their peace loving attitude irritating and utterly stupid. But their free love concept was far more inviting; and there were a number of good looking girls around seemingly perfectly willing to participate in that belief. In short time, he already had a nice handful of female friends; following the blazing weed trail of the charming newcomer to the scene.

And thus, as Bill had been an irresponsible pimp for a short time, he was also temporarily a rather low level drug dealer. But, the little stint into pot peddling earned him enough money to subsist for the next few months within a rather comfortable means. Plus, he'd found an accepting crowd of young people; who were too dazed by drugs and their own idealistic views of the world to realize he was a vicious cunning snake hiding in the "grass", just waiting for his opportunity.

Then, a month after moving to San Francisco he made a second and much more long lasting discovery.

He'd been leafing through the morning paper, which he'd gracefully stolen off the table of a restroom bound businessman at a nearby diner earlier that morning. He had no real idea of what he wanted to do next, or what he was really looking for. The weed dealing was fine, but it wasn't something he wanted to do for too long. He wanted something better, or at the very least, more challenging. At that point in time he didn't possess the proper knowledge to seek out those whom he wanted to be found by. He was nothing more than a speck of a young ruffian to the large dark world of the underground. Besides, there wasn't exactly any formulaic way for one to find their way into that world; even if in Bill's case they were subconsciously looking for it.

So, instead he idly scanned through various classifieds, redundant articles and advertisements; cigarette hanging from his mouth and a stale bagel in his hand. He was just about to shove the paper aside when one small ad on the back page caught his eye.

He tore the ad out of the paper and put it in his wallet. There was seemingly nothing all that special about it. It was just a small plug for a martial arts school in Chinatown, but it contained two intriguing words that he'd never seen before; two words that would change his life forever:

Kung fu.

END OF CHAPTER ONE.

Author's Note: Well, that's the end of the first chapter. I really appreciate all of those who took the time to read this story so far. (I know the chapters are pretty long) And a big 'thank you' to those who have left reviews. These chapters take me sometime to write with damn 'real life' going on, and are not always easy to compile. I have tried very hard to do my research when in doubt. I tend to be a stickler for details, which is both a blessing and a curse I think.  I really want to strive for a sense of realism, as well as the ideal of everything having some sort of point. Yet, at the same time try to keep the semi-outrageous quality of the QT world in there. Even if it may seem frivolous or inappropriate at the time, it will eventually hopefully tie together and make some sense in the end. But, I want you to know that your reviews, along with my love for writing this, continue to keep me inspired. I really hope you will continue to stick with me through the rest of the story; I have lots of ideas for what's to come and I'm having allot of fun writing it!

Chapter Two will continue right on in this same story entry.