Easy Money

25

J-boy, gone/with it. Flashed in and out.

The pain was insane.

Closed his eyes. Waited. Heard the Yugos leave. Crackling in the woods. Their sounds faded out. He waited. Listened.

Alone.

Beaten to bits. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t feel his legs; they were numb. His arms were totally gone, too. His back, he could feel. Passed out.

Snapped back. Heard a car drive by on the road. Heard the beat of his own heart. Tried to move his arm. Hurt too much.

Vomited.

Just lay still.

Clear flow of thoughts: Jorgelito in the fairy-tale woods. Crushed. Dumped. Disgraced. Thought he’d been the king. Really, the most naive bitch. They’d been after Paola. God, please don’t let them’ve hurt her. Not humiliated her. He’d call her when he was done here. When he could get up. Paola, the world’s best sister.

He descended into darkness.

She’d accepted baby Jorge’s attitude. When he was fourteen years old, he’d come home with a letter from school.

I hereby wish to inform you that Jorge Salinas Barrio will be suspended from the Tureberg School for six weeks starting March 1 of this year. The reason for this measure is that he has serious problems cooperating with others and has a negative impact on the other students and the general schoolwork. I have on several occasions spoken with you about Jorge’s problems and we have also spoken with the school counselor, Inga-Britt Lindblom, about opportunities for Jorge to reach an understanding regarding his behavior. Unfortunately, his destructive behavior has only increased during this semester, which I also discussed with him and you on February 3 of this year. The school sees no other option but to suspend Jorge during the above-mentioned time. Sollentuna will offer homeschooling. Do not hesitate to be in touch with me if you have any questions.

— Jan Lind, Principal

Mama’d cried. Rodriguez’d whooped him. Jorge’d thought, If my real dad’d been here, he would’ve taken me back to Chile. But Paola wasn’t angry, not apathetic. Hadn’t made excuses. Just been nice. The only one who really talked to Jorgelito. Even though he was a hard-knock, it still felt good to talk. She explained, “You’re Mama’s and my prince. Never forget that. No matter what you do. You’re our prince.”

Someone in the forest was calling Jorge’s name. He couldn’t lay any quieter or stiller than he already was. Were the Yugos back?

No one showed up.

The puke stank.

He was finished. Caput. The Yugos were smarter than he’d thought. He should’ve been even more cautious. Must’ve been the hangover. How long’d Mrado and the other guy been following him? They weren’t on the bus. They hadn’t been on his subway car. Hadn’t seen them at the bus stop at KTH. Hadn’t seen any one single car following the bus. Had they trailed him all the way from Sollis? How’d they known he was at Vadim’s? Suspicions: The Russian fucker must’ve leaked. Or someone at the bar the night before. Had people recognized him? Cunts.

He tried to move a smaller body part-an index finger. Couldn’t feel it at first. Three seconds later, his entire arm was pounding with pain. Too much pain. He screamed aloud. Didn’t give a fuck if the Yugos were still around.

Someone yelled his name again.

He vomited.

Prayers on his lips: La madre que te pario. Thoughts in his head: Who can I trust now? Sergio? Eddie? Ashur? Can I get in touch with Mama? Do I dare call my sister? His flight from the big cage’d been smooth, slick. Speedy. Best one yet. But life after-Jorgelito’d thought too short-term. Thought it’d be easy. Same mistake as all the others-been weak, partied. Needed social interaction.

He tried to open his eyes.

Fir trees all around. The light peeking through the branches painted the ground a spotty pattern. Brown, bumpy, bare. No birdsong.

What would happen now? It was one thing to risk your own life to get at Radovan’s cash. But to risk your sister’s?

He thought about his two tattoos. On his left shoulder was a smiling devil. All in black. On his back, a crucifix with the text: The Man, in Gothic lettering. He’d thought he was the man with the master plan, when really, he was just a loser. Fucked over.

Down for the count.