Demi flew out of school today, following Burro Face. Before I left I saw them together in an
intimate conversation by the back field. She picked him over me, which really shouldn.t surprise me.
When she asked me in chemistry what she should do, I should have told her to dump that pendejo. Then
I.d be happy instead of pissed off. ¡Es un cabron de mierda!
He doesn.t deserve her. Okay, so I don.t, either.
After school, I hung out at the warehouse to see if I could get information about my dad. It was no
use, though. The guys who knew mi papa back then didn.t have much to say except he never stopped
talking about his sons. All conversation stopped when the Satin Hood sprayed the warehouse with
gunfire, a sign they.re out for revenge and won.t stop until they get it. I don.t know if I should be thankful
or worried that the warehouse is in a secluded back lot behind the old railroad station. Nobody knows
we.re here, not even the cops. Especially not the cops.
I.m resistant to the Pop! Pop! Pop! of gunfire. In the warehouse, at the park… I expect it.
Some streets are safer than others, but here, in the warehouse, rivals know it.s our sacred turf. And
they expect retaliation.
It.s the culture. You disrespect our turf, we disrespect yours. Nobody was hurt this time, so it.s not
retaliation against a killing. But there will be retaliation. They expect us to come.
And we won.t disappoint them.
On my side of town the circle of life is dependent on the circle of violence.
Taking the long way home after it.s all clear, I find myself driving past Demi's house. I can.t
help it. As soon as I cross the tracks, a cop car stops me and two uniformed guys step out.
Instead of informing me why I.m being pulled over, one of the cops orders me off my motorcycle
and asks me for my license.
I hand it to him. “Why am I bein. pulled over?”
The guy who has my license examines it, then says, “You can ask questions after I ask mine. You
have any drugs in your possession,Joe?”
“No, sir.”
“Any weapons?” the other officer asks.
There.s a slight hesitation before I tell the truth. “Yes.”
One cop takes the gun out of his holster and points it at my chest. The other one tells me to keep my
hands up, then orders me to lie on the ground while he calls for backup. Fuck.
I.m busted, big time.
“What kind of weapon? Be specific.”
I wince before saying, “A Glock nine millimeter.” Thankfully I gave Wil the Beretta back or I.d be
caught double-strapped.
My answer makes the cop a little nervous and his trigger finger shakes a bit. “Where is it?”
“On my left leg.”
“Don.t move. I.m going to disarm you. If you stay still, you won.t get hurt.”
