Paco Gonzales
Jorge Pérez
Juan Gómez
I read these names over and over again; I was almost sure they were the names of my childhood friends. I hadn't seen them in about fifteen years, and their names were so common in that town, or even in the whole country. How could I remember them?
It didn't take my men long to find them, even though they might have found someone with the same name, so we went to check it out right away. We had several SUVs, one behind the other. We didn't need that many people, but sometimes you have to remind everyone which gang is in charge. The people there stared at us as we passed by, and some even waved goodbye. But what I did notice, and what those dumbasses of my men didn't, was that there was some guy counting the SUVs we drove.
"Stop," I told the driver, and he stopped right in the middle of the street. The other SUVs stopped too.
I got out and walked toward the guy counting the SUVs. He started running as soon as he saw me, but with magic you can do a lot of things, even run so fast you immediately reach and stop that jackass.
"How many did you count?" I asked him.
"No, I didn't count anything," that asshole lied to me, so I punched his face him so hard he ended up on the floor.
"How many?" I asked again.
"Seven," he said, and I cast a spell that just obliterated him. There was blood everywhere. The people who were there started screaming and running away, and I turned back. Before getting in the SUV, I started counting how many we had. Six. Ha. That fucking idiot miscounted.
Or maybe he said "seven" so I'd think that and let him go.
But it didn't matter if he counted them right or wrong; he was counting them.
Anyway, I got in the SUV.
"What a bunch of idiots, all of you," I told that bunch of idiots. "If someone's counting the SUVs you're in, it's probably from another gang who'll tell them how many of us there are and where we're going."
"But there's no other gangs here, Boss," one of them said.
"Yes, Boss. We took care of all of them," said another one.
"There are always other gangs. Always," I was about to tell them that, but no. If they were so sure there were no gangs left, I'd better leave them with that idea. But in my experience, there are always other gangs. At first, you don't see them 'cause they're small and they're hiding from you. They're not stupid. They're recruiting people, getting weapons, expanding their business, watching you. Then, when you see them on the streets, it's 'cause they're no longer afraid of you; they already know how many people are in your gang, where their safehouses are, who goes where and at what time. You're gonna try to kill them, but you're gonna see that it's your men who start dying, who start disappearing 'cause you don't know where they are, but they do know where are you and your men. And when you least expect it, they're gonna come at you and kill you.
But those bunch of dumbasses that were my men believed there were no other gangs left. Well, I hope they were right, 'cause otherwise they'd end up killed.
What a shame. They'll have to learn the hard way.
And you might say: You don't care if your men are killed? Well, I kinda do, but I can come back any day and kill all the other gangs in town. Or I can recruit some of them, and they wouldn't go around saying there aren't other gangs in town, 'cause they know there are always other gangs. Always.
Besides, I was too busy looking for my friends at the time, and trying to kill all the other gangs before they come out is like trying to kill all the cockroaches at home: no matter how hard you look or how many you kill, there will always be a few you didn't find.
But hey, the SUVs kept moving forward.
"Who are we going with?" I asked my men.
"With the first one on the list, Boss, Paco González," one of my men told me. "Well, we couldn't find him, to be honest, but we found his family. They must know where he is."
"Well, they better," I told them, "'cause I fucking hate to waste my time."
It didn't take long before we arrived at a house painted mint green, the color of poverty. Yes, mine wasn't even painted, but that was my fucking dad's fault. When I took over, I pimped the fuck out of it, with white walls and a concrete roof, not those crappy metal sheets we had. And I also bought some nice furniture and a stove, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.
The thing is I remembered that house. Maybe one day Paco invited me over for dinner or to play, but I got into that house. I walked up to the door and knocked loudly. A short, gray-haired woman opened it. I remembered her. I don't know her name, but it was Paco's mom.
I don't know if she remembered me, but as soon as she saw me, she started to cry and yell helplessly.
"Give me back my Paquito!" She came up to me and started hitting me helplessly on the chest. "Give him back!"
A woman came out of the house and pulled the mom inside. I remembered her too; she was Paco's sister. She was younger than us, and she watched us play from afar.
"Leave him alone, mom," she said, still pulling her towards the house; in her other arm, she carried a small child.
She cried too, but little by little she brought her mom into the house.
"Ever since what happened to his brother, I never saw Paco again," I told them, I don't know why. I wasn't lying, but I don't know why I told them that. If they didn't even know where he was, Paco was most likely dead. Maybe some gang in town killed him.
Well, I went back to the SUV, and the mother and sister went into the house. None of my men said anything to me. I sat back in my seat and glanced at the house. Paco's sister was watching us through the window. She was angry and looked at us helplessly.
Maybe I do was the one who killed Paco. How could I remember all the people I've killed? In fact, do you think I remember what that guy who was counting the trucks looked like, the one I fucking obliterated with a spell before getting to Paco's house? Obviously not. It was just someone who fucked up, like a lot of people before him. That's how it is. If you fuck up, you die. And if you don't kill those who fuck up, you are then the one fucking up 'cause they could kill you or someone you love. That's how it is.
Anyway, we left. Meanwhile, I was thinking about Paco's mom and sister. If the other gangs in town found out I met them, they'd surely try to take from them all the info about me they can.
They'd torture and kill them, as they always do.
But I couldn't give less of a fuck about it.