Chapter 2: You can't take it with you
The clinic was a recent addition to the neighborhood. It being on Nuestra Familia gang territory, it had quickly gained its attention. And money. It wouldn't have lasted more than a couple of months without their financial aid, State grants being irregular at best, and the doctor who'd founded the establishment knew this. In order to continue helping the poor, predominantly African American and Latino population of the area, the staff would turn a blind eye when NF members came in for stitches and debridement of minor gunshot wounds.
Mando had visited the place a few times. He usually preferred to do his healing on his own, and had become quite adept over the years, but even he had to admit there were limits to his knowledge. One memorable time, he'd spent the night there with a low grade concussion, thinking he was going to die.
Even though La Eme didn't know about the place, Mando still took precautions and parked at the back. It was still the middle of the night, and he hoped the darkness of the unlit lot would provide enough cover when he made his escape.
That was the plan he had come up with – go in there, make sure the kid was being treated, and leave, knowing that someone would call the cops. The child would be checked out, and he'd be protected. Win-win situation, really. Mando tried to convince himself of that fact as he entered, clutching the silent bundle against his side a little tighter.
The small waiting room looked as it usually did at this time of night – half filled, with people who had come in not because they were sick, but to find shelter. The staff was aware of this, and didn't begrudge them, as long as they stayed quiet. The rest of the "patients" consisted of fidgeting junkies hoping for a methadone fix. Mando tried not to look at them too closely as he made his way to the night receptionist sitting behind the required wall of Plexiglas.
He could see in her eyes that she recognized him. Although he wasn't sure if it was as a former patient, or as a Nuestra Familia gang member. Mando was older than the rest of his peers – they were usually lucky to see their 25th birthday, let alone their 35th – and wore no ostentatious tattoos. His were discreet, and not gang-related. A small sign between his thumb and forefinger on each of his hand. When she saw what he was holding in his arms, her attitude changed.
"Can you help me, please?" Mando still asked quietly, hoping his demeanor wouldn't spook her.
She nodded hesitantly, clearly unsure of her decision, but the miserable look of the baby must have swayed her. If she indeed remembered Mando, she would know he wasn't one to cause trouble. The receptionist pressed a buzzer, and she beckoned him inside once a door to her left opened.
This alerted a nurse, who joined them after a few tensed seconds. The kid had started to fidget in his arms, as if he could feel Mando's unease.
"The doctor isn't here, it's just a few nurses tonight, you should really take him to a hospital," she rushed in to say as soon as she glanced at the child, a look of worry in her eyes.
"We don't treat children here," she added, when she realized that her words hadn't made an impression.
"Could you please at least check him out?" asked Mando over the whimpers of his charge. "I know this is irregular, but I just found him abandoned in a house."
"What happened to his parents?" The nurse countered, eyeing the still bleeding wound on his forehead.
"I don't know, he was alone. There's bruises on his chest and he probably hasn't eaten anything in a while," he returned, hoping she'd soon drop the questions and focus on the actual patient.
She still had misgivings, he could tell, but a full-fledged cry from the child finally seemed to convince her.
"Follow me," she huffed tiredly, and led them to an exam room.
Mando had a hard time detaching the kid from his chest, when the nurse asked him to put him on the bed. He was clearly unhappy about the change of settings, and made it known with a loud wail.
"Shh, shh, it's okay little one, we just need to get a good look at you," said the nurse in a quiet voice, clearly more adept at soothing than Mando, which wasn't saying much.
Once divested of his blanket, and the bruises stark on his olive skin, she swiftly turned towards him.
"You found him like this?" she accused, not trying to hide her ire anymore.
The toddler kept crying, hot tears rolling down his dirty cheeks. He was looking everywhere around him, his eyes scanning the room in search of something, and raised his arms when he finally spotted Mando, who had backed off against the wall, hoping he'd soon be able to make his escape quietly.
This was more difficult than he had anticipated. And with the nurse now looking at him, there was no way to exit the room discreetly. He'd have to try again later. For now, he'd give the kid what he wanted. That seemed reasonable. So he approached the bed and intended to stroke the little head, but the kid grabbed his hand instead, and held it in his tiny fists fiercely. He hiccupped again, then was quiet. The nurse stared at him, and although recrimination was still evident in her eyes, she had mellowed significantly.
"Yes, I found him like this, not an hour ago," Mando eventually replied, observing the kid and his movements closely. He still hadn't released his hand and was now trying to bite off his fingers. Mando still didn't move, even though he could feel small, pointy teeth against his knuckles.
"He's probably teething and hungry," the nurse noted.
Mando nodded, although he had no idea.
"The bruises look old," she conceded, "but he should really be checked out by a pediatrician. We only have a portable x-ray here, I should call an ambulance."
Mando nodded once more. This too, seemed reasonable. He could make his escape before the ambulance arrived. But escape was the last thing on his mind at the moment - he just wanted to sit down, take a load off his painful ribs, and look at the kid.
"We have some formula here for new moms, and diapers. I can change him and give him a bath while we wait."
Again, no complaints from Mando, who at this point would have said yes to anything. The brown eyes were staring deeply into his, and he couldn't help but wonder what the kid saw in him. Why had he latched onto him so quickly? Was it a simple yearning for affection and care? Or had he guessed when he'd first gazed at him in the ramshackle house that he would save him?
Mando sat on a stool next to the bed while the nurse worked. The child was calm as long as he could still hold his hand and had him in his line of sight. She washed him gently with warm, soapy water, applied cream on his diaper rash (whatever that was, although it was easy to guess) and found him a donated green onesie to wear.
"How old do you think he is?" Mando asked the nurse, who surprisingly hadn't called an ambulance yet. Maybe the big brown eyes had also played their trick on her, he thought.
"All his incisors are out, and his canines seem to be on the way, so I'd say around 18 months. The pediatrician will be able to say with more certainty."
Eighteen months old, marveled Mando in consternation. Surely someone was missing this kid and looking for him. Apart from the old bruises and rash, the nurse hadn't seen any sign of neglect or malnutrition. Someone had been taking care of him until quite recently. Mando knew that this would be the cops' job to find whoever it was, but he couldn't help but feel he should do it himself. He felt responsible. Unfit, but responsible.
The nurse left the room to prepare a bottle of formula, and it took Mando a whole minute to realize that it was the perfect moment to leave. She wouldn't notice he had gone. And yet, he didn't move. He blamed his tired bones and muscles, but really the answer was much simpler than that - he just didn't want to leave.
"Do you want to feed him?" she asked once she was back with a knowing look in her eyes. Mando was more transparent than he thought.
The correct answer to that question should have been: "No, I have no idea how you're supposed to do that and I don't care." But he uttered a simple "Yes".
He had to take the child back into his arms, and that seemed to please him immensely. He was even more pleased when he saw the bottle, and he latched on to it before Mando had the time to wonder how he was supposed to hold him, exactly. The kid clearly knew what to do, and the nurse only advised him to lower him a bit on his chest and make sure he wasn't drinking too fast. How was he supposed to know that? Every time he tried to move the bottle slightly, the small lump would emit a mewl of complaint. So Mando stayed put, one hand holding the bottle, and the other on the child's round tummy. He seemed to be copying his movement: a small fist making sure the bottle wouldn't move, while the other gripped his thumb rhythmically in a sensation that had gotten quite familiar now, and that Mando was worryingly starting to enjoy.
He was done unsurprisingly quickly, then emitted an unprompted burp so loud that Mando couldn't help but laugh audibly. The sound seemed foreign to his own ears, but the child giggled in reply. This made him feel unabashedly happy with himself. After everything he had gone through, the kid had giggled. The warm feeling in his chest didn't last long, unfortunately. Their happy bubble burst when Mando heard raised voices outside.
"Did you call an ambulance? The cops?" he pressed, not really blaming her.
"No," the nurse frowned. "I was going to wait until morning," she admitted. "I'll go check what it is."
But as soon as she opened the door, they heard the gunshots. On red alert, Mando stood up quickly, the child complaining but still pressed to his side. He'd left his piece in the car, not imagining for a second that he would need it.
"Where's the back exit?" he asked the dumbstruck nurse quickly. She vaguely pointed towards her left.
"Get down, lock the door!" he admonished her, when she still hadn't moved from the outside corridor.
She slowly retraced her steps and did as he asked on autopilot, and Mando switched off the lights, looking for another way out.
"What's in there?" he pressed, pointing at the other door.
"Medicine…cabinet," she mumbled.
He physically pushed her in that direction. There wasn't a lock on the inside, but it would have to do.
"Stay in there and don't make a sound," he told her, closing the door behind her and hoping with all his might that he was wrong. Hoping that the chaos he could still hear outside the exam room – screams, yells and gunshots – was not what he feared.
The kid was surprisingly unfazed by all the commotion, now. On the contrary, he seemed just about ready to fall asleep. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Mando would have laughed once more. Instead, he ran quietly and stood right behind the door that led to the corridor. Just in time, as footsteps were coming closer. He heard the door knob rattle, an expletive, then loud bangs as the door was repeatedly hit. It was flimsy, and gave out quickly. Mando shielded the kid with his body when the door bounced on him, and before the intruder had time to look inside the room, he divested him of his loosely held gun with a practiced gesture, claimed the weapon for himself and shot him twice, center mass, unceremoniously.
This one was young, and much less of a threat than the other had been at the house. The tattoos were also much more obvious, and covered half his face. He felt a pang of dread as he realized his fears had been proven right. La Eme. He'd somehow been followed.
But Mando had no time to ponder this new development, he needed to get out of there. He ran to the direction the nurse had pointed, not taking the time to look if he had been spotted, and could just hear invectives behind him as he pushed out the exit door. A couple of bullets flew in his direction but he kept on running, glad to have parked in the back. He could hear the child complaining now, and he hoped that it was because he'd been woken from his almost nap, and not because he'd been hit by a stray bullet. Mando needed to focus, and lowered himself once in the parking lot, hoping to disappear among the few cars.
There were more yells behind him, and more gunfire, shattering car windows and triggering alarms. Louder cries from the child, although the surrounding noise was probably drowning their location from the gang members. He miraculously reached his car, his head still down, got in, dropped the gun on the other seat, started the engine and drove off almost blindly, barely looking over the wheel as he tried to keep them low enough. The back window exploded in a million pieces, the child screamed, and he tore off from the parking lot, the wheels spinning in their haste.
Mando started breathing again when they reached the end of the next street. He turned several times randomly - left, right, left, right - trying not to pay attention to the kid's insistent sobbing. He had no choice now, he needed to reach his headquarters. The only place he would be safe. The only place they would be safe, he corrected himself. A quick look assured him that the kid wasn't bleeding anywhere, but he still had to confirm they weren't being followed, which was no easy task. Mando did his best, taking half an hour to reach the tire shop on Slauson Avenue, when it should have only taken 10 minutes at this time of night, his eyes staring at the inside mirror every few seconds, fearing he would see a car tailing him or a cop's patrol.
He knew South L.A. like the back of his hand, but as he drove its streets that night, dawn starting to make itself known in the East, he felt as though the neighborhood he'd known practically all his life had it against him. Accusing him at every wrong turn. As if he no longer belonged. His city had become alien to him, all his certainties had shattered. But the weight of the child was still reassuringly there. His only constant as he drove one-handed was the rhythmic heartbeat and the gradually lessening cries coming from the small, warm body.
When he finally reached his destination, activating the garage door with the remote located at the top of his windshield, Mando closed his eyes. Almost expecting the gunshots to start again as soon as he stopped the car. But the tire shop was quiet, and the only sound was his own and the kid's breathing. He spared a few thoughts to the clinic he'd just left, knowing the gang would have to relocate their business somewhere else, and hoped that the man he'd killed was the only casualty. Somehow, he doubted it, and sighed at the memory of the nurse who'd shown him kindness in the end.
Unsure what would be waiting for him outside the car, Mando took extra seconds to come to terms with the recent events.
"We'll figure it out with Greef," he said out loud, surprising himself. The kid raised his head towards him, looking appeased by his voice.
"And then I promise you'll be able to sleep," he added for good measure.
With that goal in mind, Mando exited the truck. After a moment of hesitation, and with a cursory look around the empty garage, he reached below his seat, and placed his gun at his waistband, hiding it behind his shirt. He wouldn't be taken by surprise again if he could help it, and he preferred to use his own gun rather than the one he'd collected from the now dead rival gang member. Feeling slightly better, he walked all the way to the back, where the boss' office was located. He knocked on the door, having no idea what Greef did or did not know about the situation, and received a prompt, and worryingly calm answer.
"Come in, Mando."
He was expected, then. But was it a good or a bad thing? He suddenly had an irrational urge to turn on his heels and walk away. To simply go back to his car and drive off, never to return again. To just disappear. But this was his family, they would protect him. Like they always had. And he would continue to be the dutiful son. And pay his dues. No matter what they cost him. Because family was family.
Mando swallowed hard and opened the door.
Inside, Greef wasn't alone. Standing behind him were one person he knew, and one he didn't, but whose LAPD uniform was hard to miss, and probably an easy enough giveaway.
"Sit down, Mando. I think we all have a lot to talk about," announced Greef jovially.
Tensing, Mando regretted not having listened to his instinct outside and left the place when he still had the chance. Because he was quite sure that he wouldn't like the discussion they were about to have.
"Can I see the child?" asked Moff Gideon, La Eme's boss, the last man he had expected to see in the same room as his own boss. And yet, here he was. And he knew about the child. And Mando's life was about to become very, very complicated.