Wala / Maitl
Caine stood at the kitchen island with his hands on Autumn’s hips, her body bent forward over the marble with her palms pressed flat against the surface and her back arched, her hair falling forward past one shoulder. The TV ran across the room, Danny Kanell’s voice carrying over the CBS Sports desk with Aaron Taylor seated to his right, and underneath it, faint and steady, the sound of skin against skin.
“Look, I know everyone is talking about Caine Guerra. He’s having a great season, sure, but everyone knows my stance on these spread offenses. He’s never under center unless he’s taking a knee to run the clock out and they don’t even do that all that often. These guys just don’t translate well to the NFL. Especially when you take into account that he’s played what? Three tough games?”
Caine’s grip shifted on her hips. His eyes went to the screen across the room where Kanell leaned forward in his chair y. A graphic of USC’s remaining schedule filled the lower third of the screen beneath him. The light came through the windows to his left and pressed flat across the marble, the hardwood and Autumn’s shoulders where it caught the bare skin.
“His not having a lot of gametime against the best programs is a common knock on him,” Taylor said.
“Because it’s true. He’s not being asked to do anything difficult. He’s not showing that he can do anything difficult. I can throw it to Xavier Jordan against Iowa. Right now. I can do it right now. He’s a great runner, seven hundred yards or whatever. I don’t know if I would call him a quarterback.”
“Let’s take a look at USC’s upcoming matchup with rivals UCLA.”
“Fuck,” Caine said, exhaling hard through his nose and taking a full step back from her. He leaned back against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen, his weight settling against it.
Autumn flipped her hair over her head and ran a hand through it, her fingers pulling through the strands until they fell back behind her shoulders. She straightened off the marble and rolled her shoulders once, her palms pressing flat against her own thighs.
Shen bent down and pulled her panties up from where they’d been around one ankle, tugging the waistband up and into place against her hips.
She looked at him over her shoulder. “They might as well just get it over with and call you a nigga.”
Caine snorted a laugh. “They probably do when them cameras ain’t rolling.”
“Your problem is that you don’t have a name that could make people think that you’re white.”
“I don’t?”
Autumn laughed, her head shaking, her hand still working through her hair. “Fuck no. If you didn’t play football, you’d have your job applications getting thrown out left and right with Caine Guerra at the top of it.”
“I think it’s the felonies that would do that.”
Autumn rolled her eyes. She crossed to where he stood and leaned into his chest, her body fitting against his, her hands coming flat against his sternum with her fingers splayed wide across his chest. Her chin tipped up so her eyes found his face.
“Can I convince you to come out with us this weekend after the UCLA game?”
“Yeah.” Caine nodded. “I think I can manage that.”
“Don’t do it if it means I have to fight your baby mama.”
Caine shook his head. “If you scared, just say that.”
Autumn swatted at him, her palm flat against his ribs. “I never been afraid of a bitch.”
Caine laughed. His arms came off the counter behind him and wrapped around her waist, pulling her body in until it settled full against his. Her hands shifted from his chest to his sides. The TV ran across the room behind them,
His chin came down so he could meet her eyes. “You wanna come with me to New York, too?”
Autumn pulled her head back. “They told you that you are a finalist?”
Caine nodded.
“You run that by Mireya?”
“You have got to stop being so worried about her. I told her to bring her girlfriend.”
“That doesn’t mean anything, nigga.”
“I told her I was going to ask you.”
“Alright,” Autumn said.
Caine smiled. He leaned down and kissed her, her body tipping up into him, her fingers pressing once into his ribs. He pulled back far enough to see her face.
“You want a round two?”
Autumn sucked her teeth, but the smile came up on her face before she could do anything about it.
~~~
Yola rolled off her and sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her, his chain hanging forward off his neck. He leaned over and grabbed a blunt from the corner of the table beside the bed, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger and bringing it to his mouth. His other hand found a lighter somewhere in the clutter on the surface and he flicked it twice before the flame held. The tip caught and he pulled, the cherry glowing against the dim of the room, and the first line of smoke left his mouth in a slow stream that broke apart before it reached the ceiling.
Mireya sat up and swung her legs off the other side of the bed. She walked to the bathroom, her feet finding the tile, and stopped at the rod on the wall where a single towel hung folded over the bar. She pointed at it and called over her shoulder. “Is this towel clean?”
“That’s my last clean one. Don’t wipe your pussy with that shit.”
Mireya rolled her eyes. She pulled the towel off the rod, shook it open with one hand, and wiped between her legs with it, pressing the fabric flat and drawing it through once. She folded it in half and dropped it on the bathroom floor. Back in the bedroom she found her panties near the foot of the bed, stepped into them and pulled them up over her hips, the elastic settling against her skin.
Yola had laid back against the pillow with the blunt between two fingers, his arm bent behind his head, his eyes on the ceiling. Smoke hung in a flat layer above him that the light from the window pressed through.
“So where you been hiding since Trell got dropped?”
“I ain’t been hiding nowhere.”
“But you ain’t been coming around.”
Mireya grabbed her scrubs pants from the arm of a chair near the closet and stepped into them one leg at a time, pulling them up over her hips. She found the drawstring ends and pulled them through the waist, tying it off in a single knot. “Where is there to come around?” She tugged the hem down over her ankles. “It ain’t like I was selling anything. I only went there because Trell told me to.”
“You looking for a new nigga?”
Mireya picked her scrubs top up off the same chair and pulled it over her head, her arms pushing through the sleeves, the fabric catching for a second on her hair before she tugged it free. She gestured down the length of herself with both hands. “Do I look like someone that’s trying to be in a traphouse?”
Yola pulled on the blunt, the cherry brightening against the grey light that came through the blinds. “You was in school back then too and you still used to be in right there with all the real niggas.”
Mireya shook her head. “I’m good.” She sat down on the edge of the bed near the foot and reached for her shoes on the floor beside the nightstand. She slid her foot into the first one and worked her heel down into it, pressing against the back with her finger until it seated.
She looked over her shoulder at him. “So, who’s running everything now?”
Yola shrugged. “Ant think he is but it’s a new nigga that done came into the city setting up shop. Me, Shad and Scottie been fucking with him. Skimming some here and there.”
“Who’s the new dude?” Mireya pulled the second shoe on and pressed her foot flat against the floor to seat it.
“Nigga named Royce. Got a twin brother name Romeo.”
Mireya snorted a laugh. “Goofy ass names.”
“They got money and a plan. You wanna meet them? I know them classes expensive as fuck.”
Mireya shook her head. She pushed up from the edge of the bed and walked around to the side where Yola lay, and stopped next to him with her hand held out.
Yola looked at her hand and then up at her face. “This one ain’t on the house? Old time’s sake?”
“That’s exactly why I need my money.”
Yola laughed, his head shaking once against the pillow. “If you wasn’t no pro, I could see why a nigga would want to wife you.”
He reached over to the nightstand and pulled the drawer open, the wood catching once before it slid free. His hand came back with a roll of bills held tight by a rubber band around the middle, the ends of the bills fanning out where they’d been folded over. He worked his thumb under the band, peeled the first bill off the roll, and laid it flat across her palm. The second came off and landed on top of the first. Mireya watched his thumb hook under the edge of the third.
~~~
Saul drove with his elbow on the window and his head propped against his hand, the interstate stretching flat across the Bonnet Carré with the spillway opening up on either side of the bridge.
The water sat low and grey under the sky, the grass along the edges of it yellowed and pressed flat from where higher water had been weeks ago and dried into a lean that all pointed the same direction. He looked out over it for a second, the flat expanse of it running all the way to the tree line where the cypress stood bare against the grey, then shook his head and turned his eyes back to the road in front of him.
…
He took the exit and turned south, following the streets as they narrowed, the houses getting closer together, chain link and concrete driveways and trash cans pulled to the curb. He found Trent’s block and pulled to the curb two houses down from the address, put the car in park, and killed the engine.
He sat with his hands on the wheel, his thumbs pressing into the leather at ten and two. The neighborhood was around him, a dog barking behind one of the houses, a truck parked halfway up a driveway with its hood raised and no one under it. He pulled the key from the ignition, pushed the door open and stepped out onto the street.
He stood next to the car with his hand on the top of the door and looked at the house, at the front porch, the Ring camera mounted above the door frame and the walkway leading up from the sidewalk. His hand tightened on the door and he bent back toward the seat, his body half in and half out, then shook his head once. He straightened, closed the door behind him, and walked up to the porch.
He raised his hand to the door and stopped, his knuckles an inch from the wood. He could hear a TV on inside, something with a laugh track muffled through the door. He let a breath go through his nose, then knocked three times and let his hand drop back to his side.
Trent’s voice came through the Ring camera speaker, tinny and compressed. “Fuck off, bitch.”
Saul threw his hands up, facing the camera. “C’mon, bro. Can we just fucking talk?”
“You can talk.”
“Just let me in, man.”
Nothing came back through the speaker. Saul stood on the porch with his hands at his sides, his weight shifting once from one foot to the other, his eyes on the small dark lens of the camera.
He could hear movement inside the house, a lock turning over, then a second one. The door opened and Trent filled the frame, leaning on the door jamb with his shoulder pressed into the wood, a crutch tucked under his opposite arm. The rubber foot of the crutch sat planted on the tile behind him.
Saul looked at the crutch, then up at Trent’s face. “You’re up and walking around now?”
Trent’s jaw shifted once. “Fuck you. You got me and Javi shot and then disappeared for a fucking year, just living it up.”
“I was just in St. Amant. I ain’t disappear nowhere.”
Trent shook his head, his grip tightening on the crutch handle under his arm. “That makes it fucking worse. You were just forty minutes away and didn’t come check on us once.”
“You told me not to.”
“But now you here standing in front of my fucking face like shit’s normal.”
Trent lifted the crutch off the floor and held it out in front of him. He looked at the crutch, then back at Saul, his eyes flat. “You going see Javi?”
Saul nodded. “Yeah, I was going to swing by there after here.”
“You gonna need a plane ticket.”
Saul’s eyebrows came together. “What?”
“His parents couldn’t afford to take care of him here. Since you know, he’s fucking paralyzed from the neck down. They went back to Mexico.”
Saul looked down at the concrete of the porch, the crack running through it near the edge of the step. “Fuck, man. I ain’t know.”
“You never do. The whole time I’ve known you, all you fucking think about is yourself because you’re jealous of your fucking cousin.”
“Nah, man. I ain’t je—”
“Well, you can’t be him now, can you? Motherfucker’s rich. And what are you doing? Living at your baby mama’s house like the broke bitch you are. She probably pays for all your shit.”
“I got a job.”
Trent snorted a laugh. “My bad, big baller.” He shifted his weight against the jamb and lifted the crutch to gesture past Saul toward the car at the curb. “Get the fuck off my doorstep.”
Saul shook his head. He turned and walked back down the porch steps to the walkway, his hands going into the pockets of his hoodie, his shoulders pulling in against the cold. Behind him, the door slammed.
~~~
Caine leaned against the back of Memo’s car with his arms crossed and his ankles crossed in front of him, his weight settled into the panel behind his back. Memo stood beside him, his phone held low in one hand, his thumb moving across the screen between glances at the building.
The Century Regional Detention Center sat across the lot in front of them. A slow string of women came through the exit one or two at a time, some of them carrying clear bags, some of them walking toward the lot where cars idled along the curb, others standing near the entrance looking at their phones or scanning the rows for whoever was picking them up.
Caine watched them come out for a beat, then laughed to himself, his head shaking. “You know most of the time when someone asks to help bail a motherfucker out, it’s for an actual crime.”
Memo looked up from his phone. “Mano, they did charge her with a crime.”
“She threw paint on a CBP truck. She ain’t fucking Pablo Escobar.”
“It’s still the orange man’s administration. They’ll put us in prison for anything.”
Caine held his hands up. “You preaching to the choir. I did my time behind bars.”
“Ade gonna appreciate you getting her out though.”
Caine looked over at him, one eyebrow lifting a fraction. “Motherfucker, I know you trying to fuck her. I’m trying to help your ass out.”
“Man, we just friends.”
Caine laughed, one hand coming up to tap the back of it against Memo’s shoulder. “Alright, bruh. So, when she comes out of there, make sure you dap her up and tell her we going fuck some bitches for her first day out.”
Memo sucked his teeth, his head shaking once, the phone dropping against his thigh. “Ahora es comediante.”
Caine’s mouth pulled at both corners. He settled his weight back against the car and let his eyes move across the lot, across the women still filtering out of the building in ones and twos, across the chain link running the perimeter, the parking lot striped and cracked, wide enough that the cars along the curb looked small against the concrete of the building behind them.
Memo went back to his phone, his thumb scrolling in long pulls. Caine kept watching the exit. A woman came through the door and stopped on the sidewalk to light a cigarette, cupping the flame against the breeze, the smoke leaving her mouth in a line that broke apart before it reached the curb. Another came out behind her and crossed the lot toward a minivan where two kids sat visible through the back window.
Adelita came through the exit with a clear plastic bag in one hand, the contents shifting against the plastic as she walked. She wore a white t-shirt and jeans, both of them splattered with dried paint, patches of red worked into the cotton and the denim in shapes that had no pattern to them. Her hair was pulled back and her eyes moved across the lot until they found Caine and Memo against the car. She changed direction and crossed the asphalt toward them, the bag swinging once at her side.
She stopped in front of Caine and looked at him, her chin coming up a fraction. “I appreciate you paying my bail. I’ll pay you back.”
Caine shook his head, his hand coming up and waving it off. “Shit was cheap. Don’t worry about it.”
Memo pushed off the fender and stepped toward her. “You good? Didn’t have to fight Big Bertha off in there, huh?”
Adelita rolled her eyes. “That’s not how jail is.”
“You were only in there a weekend,” Caine said.
Memo looked at her. “You hungry or something? We can stop.”
Caine looked over at Memo, his mouth pulling at one corner.
Memo’s jaw shifted once. “Man, fuck you.”
Adelita shook her head, the plastic bag swinging once at her side. “I just want to sleep in my bed.”
Caine pushed off the car and pulled open the back door. “I’ll sit in the back.”
Adelita looked at him, then at the back seat, then back at him. “You’re too tall for that.”
“Memo will just owe me one.”
Memo shook his head. He walked around to the driver’s side and pulled the door open, his keys already in his hand.
Adelita rolled her eyes. She walked around the front of the car toward the passenger door, the plastic bag shifting in her grip. “I don’t even want to know what y’all are talking about.”
Caine ducked his head and folded himself into the back seat, his knees pressing into the back of the passenger seat in front of him. “No te preocupes. Ya te enterarás.”
~~~
Ramon got out of his car and pushed the door shut behind him. He crossed the yard toward Nina’s front porch, his keys already out of his pocket and in his hand. He found the house key between his thumb and forefinger, slid it into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open.
Nina stood at the counter in the kitchen with her back to him, a cutting board on the surface in front of her, a knife in her right hand moving through vegetables in short, even strokes.
Ramon walked to the table beside the door and dropped his keys on the surface. He reached behind his back and pulled the pistol from his waistband, the weight of it shifting in his hand, and set it down on the table next to the keys. The metal settled against the wood with a dull sound.
Nina looked over her shoulder as he did. Her mouth pressed into a line. “I don’t want that there.”
Ramon turned from the table and walked into the kitchen, his hands loose at his sides. “What you cooking?”
“I told you I don’t want that there.” The knife kept moving against the board.
“I heard what you said. I’m gonna move it in a bit.”
Nina’s hand stopped on the knife. She looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes flat. “You know another young boy got killed in the city last night. He was walking across the street in the East. Gunned down. Thirteen years old.”
Ramon leaned against the counter across from her, his arms crossing over his chest. “You always be telling me about all these lil’ niggas getting killed like I don’t know they asses be getting put in the dirt. Stop trying to make me feel guilty. I ain’t kill his lil’ ass.”
“But someone like you probably did. Someone in their twenties or thirties just killed somebody’s baby and no one’s going to ever give those parents closure.”
Ramon sucked his teeth and pushed off the counter, crossing the kitchen to the fridge. He pulled the door open, the light from inside catching the bottles and the containers on the shelves, and scanned the rows for a beat before his hand found a water bottle near the back. He straightened, let the door swing shut on its own, and cracked the cap. “Nina, if you don’t want to hear about niggas getting shot then move your ass out to Luling or some shit.”
Nina set the knife down on the cutting board. She turned to face him fully, her arms crossing over her chest. “I got a job offer. A new organization someone I know is starting. Doing the same thing I’ve been doing, advocating to end gun violence, end gang violence, but with more resources, more money.”
Ramon shrugged. “Sounds like it’s your type of shit then.”
“I can’t be fucking a nigga in a motherfucking gang doing that.”
“You been doing that.”
“Well, I’m not doing it anymore.”
Ramon waved the comment off with the hand holding the bottle. “This the same shit you used to say.”
“I want you to get out.” Nina’s voice came across the kitchen low and level. “I’m taking this job and I’m not going to mock my friend’s vision by being with you. If you want to leave the street life behind, you can stay, but if that’s how you want to live, we’re done.”
Ramon looked at her for a beat, his jaw shifting. He set the bottle on the counter beside him. “Shit, you ain’t saying nothing but a word.”
He walked back across the room to the table by the front door. His hand found the keys first, scooping them off the surface and closing his fist around them. Then the pistol, his fingers wrapping around the grip and lifting it off the wood, the weight of it settling back into his hand before he tucked it into his waistband behind his back.
“That’s your decision?” Nina’s voice came from the kitchen behind him.
Ramon turned his head enough to see her over his shoulder. “You ain’t giving me no demands, man. Fuck you think this is? I ain’t no pussy ass nigga running from the streets. Go find you some flonky ass nigga to fuck then.”
Nina shook her head, her arms still crossed, her mouth pressed flat.
Ramon pulled the door open and stepped through it, the cool air hitting his face and his arms. He slammed it behind him.
~~~
Sena pulled her keys from the ignition and got out of the car, pushing the door shut behind her. The air pressed cool against her face and the backs of her hands as she walked toward the front door, the porch light on and casting a yellow circle across the steps and the welcome mat. She found Mireya’s house key on the ring between her thumb and forefinger, slid it into the lock, and turned it. The door gave and she pushed it open, stepping inside.
Mireya came down the stairs before Sena had the key out of the lock, her feet quick on the steps, her hair loose over her shoulders. She crossed the front room and pulled Sena into her, one arm around her waist and the other coming up to the side of her face and kissed her. Sena’s hand was still on the key in the door. When Mireya pulled back, Sena blinked.
“What was that for?”
“Because it’s your birthday, baby.”
“My birthday is tomorrow.”
“Yeah, but I wanted to be first.” Mireya’s smile sat wide across her face, her hand resting on the side of Sena’s neck.
Sena looked around the front room, stepping further inside, and pulled the door closed behind her. “But we need to talk.”
Mireya shook her head. Her hand found Sena’s and her fingers laced through. “Not tonight. I got mi mami to take the girls. You got me all to yourself tonight.”
Sena took a deep breath, her chest expanding under her jacket, and let it go through her nose. “No, really, Mireya.”
“Okay, later. But first I want to show you something.”
Sena nodded. “Okay.”
Mireya smiled and turned, pulling Sena by the hand toward the staircase. Mireya led her to the bedroom at the end of the hall. She pushed the door open and stepped to the side so Sena could see.
Presents covered the bed. Boxes wrapped in paper, some with bows, some without, stacked across the comforter and sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. A few bags sat between the boxes with tissue paper coming out of the tops, the colors bright under the lamplight from the nightstand.
Sena looked over everything on the bed, then turned to Mireya. Mireya stood in the doorway with her shoulder against the frame, her arms crossed loosely, the smile still pulling at her mouth.
“Mireya, this is too much.”
Mireya shook her head. “No, it’s not.”
“How much did you spend on all of this?”
“You’re a terrible gift receiver. You’re not supposed to ask how much I spent. I spent what I spent. Now, you open the gifts.”
Sena reached for the nearest box on the bed, a flat rectangle wrapped tight, and peeled the paper back from one corner, working her fingers under the seam and pulling it away in a single strip. She lifted the lid off the box underneath. Three smaller boxes sat inside, each one the same size, dark velvet with David Yurman stamped across the top in silver. She looked back at Mireya, then back at the boxes. Her fingers opened the first one. A silver cuff bracelet sat in the cushion, the cable design running the length of it, the metal catching the lamplight. The second box held another bracelet, different design, thinner. The third the same.
“You can’t have just one,” Mireya said from the doorway.
Sena held one of the boxes in her hand, the bracelet sitting in the velvet, the weight of it real against her palm. “This really is too much.”
“You deserve to be spoiled.”
Sena set the box down on the bed beside the others. She closed her eyes, her fingers pressing into the comforter on either side of her. “We really need to talk.”
Mireya crossed the room and sat Sena down on the edge of the bed, easing her back onto the mattress, then lowered herself to the floor in front of her, her knees finding the carpet between Sena’s feet. She took both of Sena’s hands in hers, her thumbs settling against Sena’s knuckles.
“Hold on. Me, first.” Her eyes came up to Sena’s face. “I know I’m hard to love. And I know most of the time, maybe even all of the time, I don’t deserve it anyway. I’m trying to be better for you, baby. I am.”
“Mireya.”
Mireya shook her head, her thumbs moving once across Sena’s knuckles. “You’ve been there for me despite everything. Whatever you need me to do to make this easier for you, I’ll do. I promise I will. I care about you and I want to make this work.”
“Mireya.”
“I love you, baby. I’m gonna do better. I swear.”
Sena’s eyebrows came together. “What?”
“I said I love you.”
Sena’s hands were still in Mireya’s, Mireya’s thumbs still against her knuckles, Mireya’s eyes still on her face from below. “I—I love you, too.”
Mireya brought Sena’s hands to her mouth and kissed the back of each one, her lips pressing flat against the knuckles, then lowered them to Sena’s lap. The smile came back across her face, slower this time, settling into place. She looked up at Sena. “What did you want to talk about?”
Sena opened her mouth. Then she closed it. She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“Okay. We can talk later if you change your mind.” Mireya nodded toward the boxes behind Sena on the bed. “Keep opening, baby.”
Sena turned her head and looked at the presents stacked behind her across the comforter, the wrapping paper and the bows and the bags with tissue coming out of the tops. She let a breath go, long and heavy through her nose, and reached for the next box.
This would be like saying man was cheating if he went to some random hair stylist he found on IG.
