The Misbegotten

Half an hour later, the girls and I met in the backyard under the covered patio abutting the back of the house. Having garnered cold drinks, we took off unnecessary clothing and foot coverings. We opted to lounge outdoors against the oppressive heat of the day.

Leda sauntered off to the downstairs bathroom, emerging a few minutes later, her heels and white nylons in hand. The shapely, pale skin of her legs was flawless in the light filtering through the massive awning straddling the entire rear of my parent’s home.

I’d been admiring those young limbs with lazy eyes, thinking about the stuff Ramona had said earlier in the foyer. I realized, a bit late, those milky appendages were closer to me than they should’ve been. I peered up at Leda to find her already looking at me with a snide, lop-sided grin on her face.

“Enjoying the view, Estefan?” she asked under her breath, loud enough so only I could hear.

I swallowed without recourse. I wasn’t nervous or anything. I hadn’t been mooning over the silken texture of her legs on purpose. It was obvious my mind had been a million miles away. Still, I was stricken by the way she was staring at me, though.

Leda had always been aloof or sarcastic, maybe cordial at times, but she had yet to exude real consideration of me. It was as though she were weighing or measuring some quality about me. She hadn’t regarded me with any degree of seriousness the entire time I’d known her.

That caught me off guard. Other than that one time I’d compelled her to lust after me, her approach to me had always been stand-offish at best.

She raised an eyebrow at the silence stretching between us as if she had anticipated my discomfort. Miraculous as it was to me, her expression softened a bit. Her smile became more genuine.

I remember thinking, something significant had passed from me to her and vice versa. But, I couldn’t have told you at the time what that might’ve been.

Of all the girls, Leda has always been the hardest for me to read. I mean, I have come to know her much better than I had back then, but that was due to the luxury of time. She and I have had a lot of it together. Still, it doesn’t detract from the fact that Leda is like an onion. Traversing from one of her layers to the next oftimes reveals a whole different person lying beneath. Every once and a while, the person below is so unlike person above. It is difficult to conceptualize you’re still looking at the same woman. Leda is – and always will be - a very complex lady. She hides herself and makes you hard to trust. But there’s a reason for this. Once she does open up and does decide to trust – she does so for life.

I know her to be so committed, she epitomizes devotion, and that devotion has roots in every single layer comprising her. When she loves, she loves with every piece belonging to her.

Yeah, complex, I told you, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Every smile from Leda makes you feel like you’ve done something right, like you earned it. She makes you feel special.

“I wasn’t getting horny off your legs, if that’s what you’re asking,” I mumbled. I was trying to tread on familiar territory. Sarcasm and indifference had always worked in the past.

Her eyebrows extended fully. “Oh really…?”

“Yeah, really,” I replied, but I had to chuckle. After all, who the fuck was I kidding, she had nice legs.

She took the patio chair next to mine.

The others found similar seating around one of two large tables my parents had under the wooden framework of the awning. Tight-woven, indoor/outdoor polyurethane sheets hooked onto the lumber provided the shade. Through a series of stainless steel eyelets in the coverings themselves, the sheets remained in place.

“That’s okay, Effy, say what you want, but we both know what you were thinking,” she murmured, speaking at a more normal level.

This got Ramona’s attention faster than a fly on shit.

That’s all I need!

“And what was he thinking?” she asked. She had no control over her ability to stay silent.

Leda laughed, a throaty sort of gurgling, ripe with connotation. “Your boyfriend thinks I have nice legs.” She giggled anew, though her eyes were watching me and not Ramona.

“Is that why you took off your pantyhose?” began my girlfriend. “So, you could make him think about your legs?”

Her eyes she nailed to my face. “Maybe.”

It was Ramona’s turn to laugh.

A few of the others smiled, not sure what was transpiring per se. Still, they all knew some sort of sexual interplay was happening before them. “Some things never change,” she began, and then another train of thought crossed her mind. “It has been a long time, since I’ve seen the old Leda.” It was innocuous and stated in plain terms, devoid of rancor or malice, a mere observation. Yet, it had a profound effect upon the smaller girl.

I watched as Leda went from flirtatious promiscuity to introspection in the span of moments. She didn’t seem mad, just thoughtful and stayed otherwise quiet.

I told you, she was complex.

Out of nowhere, Leda completely changed the subject. “So, why is your ex-girlfriend staying with you, Estefan?” she was peering through her eyelashes at Tirza who had taken a seat at the end of the table. This was the furthest possible chair from me.

I pushed aside needless thoughts of self-pity. It was ok if Tirza didn’t want to be near me. I regarded Leda through a half-squint, trying to guess what was going on inside that head of hers. “Why don’t you ask her?” I replied a little smug and likened my face to that of an Easter Island monolith.

It was Ramona who spoke instead though. “Yeah, I think it is a good idea for the two of you to know what we’ve been dealing with, since you left us yesterday.”

“Why? Did something happen?” questioned Sandy, sitting up straighter. Her bright orbs dimmed with dread-filled curiosity.

Tirza snorted, an attempt at being derisive, but the hurt on her face made it fizzle.

Leda’s gaze stayed on my ex-girlfriend.

I was beginning to wonder if she didn’t like Tirza for some reason.

“Tirza, why don’t you tell them what happened last night,” urged my cousin. She sat with her knees bunched up before her. Her toes wiggled from time to time, suspended over the edge of the chair.

Tirza sighed, her eyes brimming with unbidden tears.

I saw concern pour into Sandy’s expression.

This was not the case with Leda. She just sat there implacable, unmoving, her vision on the small teen at the end of the table.

“Teezee, tell ‘em, so they know this shit is for keeps,” a soft plea from me.

She nodded, stoic now.

Sandy glanced from me to Tirza a few times. “What the hell happened?!” she queried, more strenuous than before.

That was when Tirza began to speak. Though I had heard the tale more than once, I was as rapt as the two newcomers. I still found it hard to comprehend that Teresa, Lisa and Javier Cardenas were no longer walking the earth. It was all so surreal – unrealistic - because it made no fucking sense. Yet, there she was, sitting there in my backyard, under the patio awning, in the heat of the day. Again, she told us of her family's slaughter. How they died for no reason whatsoever. Because somewhere, someone determined in some dark room that the Cardenas family was a threat to Humanity. With the lunar glow of many LCD screens illuminating their unseen faces, the command given - eliminate them.

Like I said, it made no sense.

It wasn’t long after, every one of the girls was weeping alongside her, filled with despair and harrowing sorrow.

Me, on the other hand - and I think it was because I had known her family – I sat there with something else beginning to boil within me. This had nothing to do with any sort of sadness or desolation.

I was filling with heat, hitting the arm of the patio chair with the bottom of my right fist. It was just a light pounding. I tried not to notice the vague tinge of red at the edge of my vision. I hadn’t realized I was denting the expensive metal armrest the entire time.

The “hardness” Ramona had spoken about earlier was manifesting. I was beginning to change.

*****

“Hey, Estefan, you wool-headed, marícon, I am talking to you!” was the shout startling me from my reverie. It came from my far right, on the other side of the huge custom island barbeque my father had a contractor install a few years back. It was an unmistakable voice, deep and gravelly, commanding and demanding respect all at once.

I turned in that direction.

Tirza finished talking.

Sandy began to pepper her with questions, edging from her seat to kneel before my ex-girlfriend. She was holding her hand as they spoke.

Leda didn’t join her friend. She sat there, hugging herself, her face pained as if she was struggling with something from within.

I don’t think she wanted to cry in front of us and was trying her damnedest to stop the tears from overtopping her defenses.

Her eyelids were moist. She looked as though she would weep at any moment.

I came to my feet, craning my neck so I could see over the many countertops and shelves of the island. I saw the fence, blocking access to the backyard at the side of the house.

“Estefan, it’s me!” he yelled again, waving.

I could just make him out. I could only see the top two –thirds of his head as he strained to peer over the obstruction.

It was Roberto Marquez, my uncle on my father’s side of the family. He was one of the two people who – on the streets – when seen together everyone called, The Uncles.

Ramona was already at my side. “Ah fuck, Eff, what the hell is he doing here?” She’d been unable to keep a little twang of trepidation out of her voice.

“He no doubt has a good reason, babe,” I retorted through a lopsided smile. I was trying to make light of the fact that one of the two most notorious criminals this side of Las Vegas had just shown his face at my house. “Imma gonna go find out, ok?”

“I’ll go with you,” she said in a rush.

I glanced back at her with a frown. “He’s not going to try anything, Mona, so you can just relax.” I shook my head with mild disdain.

“I just want to make sure.”

“Ok, fine,” I acquiesced.

Once Ramona put her mind to something, it’s a real pain in the ass trying to convince her otherwise. She can be downright pig-headed.

“Come on, pendejo, I don’t got all god damned day to wait for your narrow ass to get in gear. Get the fuck over here and open this fucken gate!”

Besides, I didn’t have the time to mince words with her. My sonofabitch uncle was acting like a shopaholic at a Black Friday sales event.

“Alright, dude, calm down. I’m coming!” I called out to him, and saw him duck back down behind the six foot gated part of the fence. I punched in the code to unlock the gate and stepped back, opening the portal.

The man who, at one time, I had hated more than any other person on the fucking planet came into view.

(But that’s another story for another time).

He stood there, leaning back on one foot, his other leg extended in front of him, his chin upturned. The posture forced him to look down at me, though he was shorter than me by a few inches. It was the omnipresent “Vato-loco” stance that his generation thought was cool. Thank god, they were the last to think so.

“Oralé, mano,” he muttered through a rictus that had suddenly inflicted the lower half of his face. It was a strained grimace, making his chin stick out even farther than it had been moments before.

As ever, he was unobtrusive and wouldn’t draw an iota of attention to himself. He wore a double-breasted, long-sleeved, denim button-up over a stark, white wife-beater. He had on a pair of tan colored chinos, ironed razor sharp with creases that matched – of all things – the creases on his undershirt.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know… but go figure, even then Cholitos were a dying breed. So, I doubt many of you could even guess at what I’m describing right now.

On his feet was a pair of nice looking tan work boots, which told me he had been pounding the pavement for some time now. Thus, he wasn’t being that much of a dick when he had said he was little pressed for time. Still, though, he didn’t have to act like an asshole about it.

Aside from that, he had nothing else with him except a large duffle bag, army issue. That he had slung over one shoulder.

I could tell it was heavy just by the way the straps cut into his shoulder.

He was about five-foot-five, wire thin and muscled. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him anywhere, which was saying something. At the time, he was closer to fifty than forty. He had black hair, combed back over his head, and gelled with so much Brylcreem¹ it looked more like Kevlar than hair. It had it trimmed around his ears. High and tight in the back, it framed his wide face and shallow chin. This belied a stronger strain of Native American blood than what flowed through my veins. His complexion was ruddy, his skin so dry and wrinkled it looked like leather left to long in the summer sun. He had the same wide mouth that he’d inherited from his father, my grandfather Juan Marques, who had died way back in 2001. He sported a thick mustache and goatee, both immaculate. His eyes were as dark as his hair. They possessed a piercing quality that was much like Leda’s.

Although, his stare had hardened and matured with extended stays in San Quentin and Pelican Bay.

Hers’ was the look of a bitchy teenage girl.

His… well, sometimes it could spell death.

“Hey, man, what’s up?” It was a guarded question, spoken with a similar guarded tone.

“Nothing much, vato,” he said in his gruff voice, looking me over for a second. Then his eyes shifted to Ramona. His gaze lingered over her round tits and hips, maybe even her crotch.

She endured it, having been under his scrutiny before. Her eyes narrowed and a thin-lipped smile emerged.

His eyes returned to me, his face bunching up with irritation. “Hey, how come none of you fuckers pay attention, man?”

“What’re you talking about?” The exasperation creeped into my tone of its’ own volition, I had no control over it.

“I was pounding on your front door for five fucken minutes. Still none of you guys answered,” he explained, spreading his palms to either side of him. “Then I went to the window and looked in. I saw that retarded younger brother of yours playing on the damned video games with the pinche headphones on. Not a fucking care in the world.” He stepped closer toward me. “I could’ve popped his ass, Estefan, right then and there. I doubt any of you idiotas would’ve realized it. He could be dead, right now, lying in his own shit for all you’d know.” He somehow squinted harder.

I thought that would’ve been impossible, seeing his face was already screwed-up beyond recognition.

“Hey, man, don’t talk that way about my brother,” I warned. I felt those deep seeded, angry thoughts rise from some forgotten vault in my mind. They were thoughts I’d rather not think about. But the fact it was him and he’d called Johan retarded, stirred the pot. The dregs were now spinning about the top.

“Or what, you little puissant bitch, what the fuck are you going to do to me?” he challenged, though he wasn’t yelling or demonstrative. No, Robert’s delivery was always one of calm, though cold, the sort that lulled people to sleep just before they froze to death.

Ramona came forward of a sudden, putting a restraining arm across my chest. “Estefan, he’s just trying to get a rise out of you. Don’t fall for his little, sick trap.”

I forcibly pushed down those ugly, wriggling things from the past. Instead, I stared back at my uncle.

A smile crept across his face. His eyes flicked over Ramona’s body once again. “I bet you can get a rise out of my nephew real fast. Right, Chica?” Again, his chin jutted forth.

I felt my annoyance rise anew.

“A big one, old man, hard and stiff. You know what I mean, right? And he doesn’t even need one of those little blue pills² like you.” She came close to me and put her arm around me, bumping me with her hip.

All I could do was close my eyes and shake my head real slow, from side to side.

Ramona was one crazy bitch!

Uncle Roberto gazed at her through hooded orbs, his lips pursed as if he tasted a fine wine. Or maybe he was dreaming what Ramona might taste like. I couldn’t tell, because the expression was sexual, but only in part.

“Estefan, you keep this one. She’s perfect for you.” Then he laughed, which made me take a step back. Laughing was not something that Uncle Roberto did. I wasn’t sure what was coming next.

Ramona tsked. She felt she didn’t need his approval in any way, shape or form. In her mind, she knew we were a good match. Just as the sky was full of stars at night, she knew it was a simple truth. Orange “Juice” Jones³ had said it best:

“You without me like Corn Flake4 without da milk!”

I breathed deep, letting the whole interaction wash away. “On the real, uncle, why are you here?” Changing the subject seemed like a good thing, so I went for broke.

He stood a bit straighter and brought his right hand to his neck. He glanced left and right, reorienting himself with his surroundings. With a flourish, he put the duffle bag on the ground. It clinked and clanked, smacking of things made of metal. “I come bearing gifts. And, even though you guys don’t show any respect, I am still willing to give them to you.” The arrogant Roberto had returned.

I glanced down at the large canvas satchel with interest. “What’s in it?” I asked, looking from him to the bag a few times.

“It is an insurance policy, nephew.”

I felt the incredulity come back full force. “What kind?”

My Uncle Roberto’s face lost all expression. His eyes boring into mine like a drill bit searching for oil. “They’re the kind that carries bullets. You know, bullets that shoot into people and kill them.”

Fucken-A! This demented, drug dealing, whore-mongering, murderer had brought us a bag full of guns!

{ ¹Brylcreem: once a brand of hair styling products for men. It wasapomade, created in 1928 by County Chemicals at the Chemico Works in Bradford Street, Birmingham, England. }

{ ²“little blue pills”: 20th/21st century slang, referencing Viagra, an oral medication in the form of a pill. It assisted men with erectile disjunction. }

{ ³Orange “Juice” Jones: a retired AmericanR&B singer.

{ 4“Corn Flake”: 20th century slang; referencing Corn Flakes, a popular breakfast cereal manufactured by Kellogg's. }