Blood in the Snow
David and the Lion’s Den, chapter 25
The young man stared blankly as Esteban charged out of the bar, throwing on his coat as he opened the door into rain, sleet, and swirling wind. He thought about going upstairs to apologize.
Then a boy’s voice sounded in his ear. “He’s your uncle too?”
“Huh?” The young man looked up to see the teenager at his side, still so frosty from the storm that his body was sucking all the heat out of the air.
“Esteban,” said the gangly boy as he shook water of out his inky hair. “You called him uncle. What is he to you? Your father or your mother’s brother?”
“Neither. Not that kind of uncle.”
“I see,” the boy nodded knowingly. “It’s the same for me. I guess technically we’re second cousins or something. We’re from the same village in Colombia. But I call him uncle.”
The pinpricks that had been teasing the young man’s skin began to heat up and sting. Misty premonitions started to take form. “Who are you, boy?” he asked with a dead voice. “What are you doing here?”
The teenager seemed to take no notice of his discomfort. He replied with bright enthusiasm, sticking out his hand and chirping his name through an apple-cheeked, white-toothed grin. He spoke a crisp Spanish that the young man knew immediately, that flushed out hidden memories of the mountains of his boyhood.
“So, what’s with New York, kid?” The answer was obvious, but he might as well ask. “Just visiting?”
“Nah, I’ve been here a couple years already. Tio Esteban brought me over when my parents … well, after they died.”
The young man began to sweat despite the chill. “And what have you been doing here? Where do you live?”
“Way out in Queens,” the boy answered, describing to the last detail the apartment the young man remembered so well. He almost asked if Roberto the brickmason still lived there, but just then Howie set coffee down in front of them.
“Look at you two,” the ruddy-faced bartender observed. “You look like long-lost brothers.”
“Just primos,” the boy answered in musical english. “Cousins, not brothers. Esteban and us, we all come from the same village in the mountains. From the same blood. We’re all alike.”
The young man picked up his cup, took a long, tongue-singeing slurp, and glared. His heart was beating too fast. He needed to calm down, but most of all, he needed to be sober. Esteban would be back down all too soon. He focused his attention on the boy.
“So what are you doing here tonight, Primo? What brings you to the City with our … with Esteban?”
The boy picked up his own cup before answering. “I come into Manhattan all the time now,” he mouthed around the rim. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and chattered about adventures downtown, learning to ride the subway, and begging Esteban for a job at Cucina.
“You’ve been here before, then? This isn’t your first time?”
The boy smiled. “Oh, no. Our tio brought me last Saturday. We had lunch downstairs. Squid and pasta!”
“Howie, more coffee!” the young man snapped, holding up his empty cup. “Was it a long lunch?” he quizzed, turning back to his young cousin who was eyeing him curiously.
“I suppose,” the boy shrugged. “We were here most of the afternoon. Esteban laughed at how much I ate. He asked me where I put it.”
“And what else did he do?” Could it be happening all over again?
“What do you mean, what else?”
“Did he introduce you to anyone? Did he bring people to the table? Men?”
“Of course,” the boy shrugged. “You know Esteban knows everybody.” He was starting to sound annoyed. “What’s with all the questions?”
“Nothing, it’s just… Just one more, OK? This one’s important.” The young man knew he probably sounded crazy. The kid shot him an exasperated look, but nodded and kept quiet.
“OK, those guys you met. Were any of them … uh. Did you meet this guy who … He’s kinda tall, balding? Grey hair. Really fancy clothes and jewelry? Sound familiar?” How else to describe Carl?
“Maybe,” the boy drawled, sounding interested despite himself. “But who knows? A bunch of old guys look like that. Why? What’s going on?”
The young man spotted a gleam in the boy’s eyes. Odd. It almost looked like greed. He sipped his coffee slowly before answering. “I’m not sure why. I’ve got a bad feeling, though. I know Esteban better than you do. Longer.”
Oddly, now that the worst of his fears seemed confirmed, he was calm. Relaxed. He was forming the beginnings of a plan. “Never mind,” he told the boy. “I’m just being stupid. Too much Dewars, probably. Let’s change the subject. You really wanna work here?”
The kid’s eyes caught fire as he bolted up in his stool. “More than anything! Come to the City every day? Hell, yes! I could make a fortune. And the food! I love it here.”
The young man smiled. “A fortune? I dunno about that. Not much money in busing tables. I should know.” He noticed the boy’s smile turn into something more like a smirk, but he wasn’t really paying attention. “I’m sure I could convince Esteban to let you work here, only here’s the problem. You couldn’t afford a place to live. Not right away.”
“So? I can take the bus and subway from Queens.”
“Impossible! It’s two hours or more each way.”
The boy’s face set in a stubborn mold.
“Hey, relax,” his cousin reassured him. “I think I’ve got a solution.”
“Really? What? Man I hope …”
The boy’s excited chatter cut off abruptly as the huge front door banged open.
The young man looked up to see Esteban glaring down at him. “There’d better be nothing but coffee in that cup,” the man said in an even but cold tone. “I got it all straightened out. Alvarez will meet you at that diner on 9th Ave. Pier 23. Five AM. Don’t be late, and don’t be drunk.”
“I got it, Uncle. I’m never late. Remember?”
The man sniffed and raised an eyebrow. “Fine.” He turned to the boy. “Let’s go. I need you to meet someone.”
The young man stepped forward, into a space between his young cousin and the older man. “Tio, no. Don’t do this.”
“What do you mean, no?” the man snorted. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing, Uncle. Look, I’ve been talking to the kid. He wants to work here, but he needs a place to live.”
“You think I don’t know this? That’s what I’ve been working on. A place for him to live.” The man shoved out from between his two younger relatives. “Let’s go, boy. Now.”
The young man’s arm flew up and pushed hard against his uncle’s shoulder. They stood eye to eye. “No, Esteban. Not with him. Not again.”
They stared each other down. The nephew gathered all his fear and anger into a tight ball. His teeth clenched with the effort of containing it. He watched an unrecognizable look flash across his uncle’s face. Fear? He realized for the first time that he was taller, bulkier, obviously stronger than the older man.
“He’s gonna live with me, Uncle. He can bus tables here and stay at my place. He’s our family.” Like I was your family, you cold bastard.
“Are you out of your mind?” Esteban snarled. “Since when do you run our family? I decide what happens to the boy. Me!” He started to take a step forward, but the young man — without even thinking about it — reached out and shoved him. There! There was that was that flicker of fear again! The man staggered backwards.
“He’s a kid, Esteban!”
No response.
“He’s coming to live with me.”
Esteban’s expression changed all at once, a steely mask descending over his features. “Outside. Now!” he spit out as as he jerked a thumb at the door. He turned on his heel and strode toward the exit, turning his head only when he reached it. “Move!”
The young man followed, heart racing, sick about how foolish he’d been. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, sleet and freezing rain whipped into his face and ripped through his cotton shirt.
“No, boy,” he heard his uncle order. “You stay inside. Your primo and I have business to conduct.” The man whipped around the moment door closed.
“You laid hands on me in public, you ungrateful whelp!”
“You sold me as a slave!” the young man shot back instantly.
“Oh? I didn’t see any chains holding you in place.”
“I was 16!”
“I sent you to learn English and to learn how to live in high society. All you had to do was polish a little furniture. Stop whining, Pobrecito!
The man’s gall was breathtaking. “That’s not all I had to polish, and you know it, Uncle.”
Esteban smiled almost sweetly. “For you, pretty boy, I imagine that was a perk.”
The young man sucked in a breath and held it. His uncle started to laugh.
“You bastard, Esteban.”
The man started to laugh even louder, holding his arms around his chest and rocking. “Fine,” he gasped as his astonished nephew winced in pain from the whipping wind. “Fine! It’s too cold to stand out here and fight over that little catamite. You want him? He’s all yours. But I doubt you know what you’re getting into.”
The young man was tensed to object. He mouth was open to argue. He closed it in confusion and wrapped his arms around himself.
“That’s it? You agree just like that?”
He didn’t see it coming.
The universe exploded. Pain shattered his jaw, and lurid colors danced around his head just before it cracked into the sidewalk. He didn’t know where he was for a second, then his uncle had his hand, grasping him, pulling him to his feet.
“Of course that’s not it, you idiot,” he smiled through sharp white teeth. “That’s what you get for shoving me in front of my employees. You’re bleeding. Make sure they notice.”
The young man shook his head to clear it, then when his uncle’s face became furious again, he realized he’d made the wrong gesture. “Yeah, yeah,” he stuttered out through a stinging jaw. “I got it.”
“I’m going home. Get inside and collect your little pet.” The man turned toward the separate entrance that led up to his apartment. His nephew stared after him, then reached for the restaurant’s door.
“Oh, two more little things, the man amended, turning back. One, I pocket your share of the action at the docks tomorrow. And until further notice. Two, touch me again in public and you’re dead.”
His nephew nodded. He didn’t care. He opened the door, walked into a blast of hot, food-scented air, and felt the room revolve slowly around him. He’d stood up to his uncle. He’d stood up and won! He didn’t know if it was the sucker punch to the jaw that was making him dizzy, or the joy of besting the old son of a bitch.
When he finally stopped shivering, he looked over at the bar to see Howie and the boy gaping at him.
“Primo, you’ve got blood on your mouth!”
He walked over and took his bar stool back. “I fell.” He turned to Howie. “Looks like I forgot to eat. Send Claudia over? My primo and I need our dinner.”
He slipped an arm over his cousin’s shoulder. When Howie left to track down the waitress, the young man looked down at the boy, who was directing a perplexed but trusting look at him.
“Don’t worry about anything, mi primo. I’ve got you.You’re safe. That’s a promise.”