Friends Till The End

Jaime was the most sexually experienced out of all of us which meant that he had kissed a girl on more than one occasion. Trixie Martinez was a neighborhood half-breed who inherited her temper and beautiful looks from her Colombian mother, while her sharp tongue and sarcastic whit came courtesy of her strong-willed Mexican father. Trixie read books, watched plenty of movies, worked in a bakery after school, and, by largely, kept to herself.

She was only comfortable around us.

Trixie was also the most envied girl in the neighborhood. The other girls resented her because she was so beautiful and always found ways to bully her which was never a success. The boys could never think twice about her seeing any of them so they left her alone. The mothers loved her, the fathers protected her, and the boys kept away from her. Jaime always questioned his luck on how he got so fortunate to date her. He would even let us take turns holding her hand.

Our neighborhood was run by a man named King Benny who made it job to protect the residents of our area by enforcing his own code of conduct to outside visitors, helping the local people, and most importantly, keeping any drugs from being smuggled into our neighborhood for profit.

Drugs were not allowed in the neighborhood and King Benny made a good job in getting his point across when a visitor tried to sell heroin on our streets. The packet fell into the hands of a nine-year-old boy which led to his death. King Benny made sure it was the last packet the dealer ever sold.

In a way to make quick money, I volunteered myself and my friends to run his errands for him. Since our neighborhood was so corrupt, voices had to be quiet and people had to be paid, or paid off.

Our first job paid $50 a week individually and only took 40 minutes of our time. All we had to do was meet where King Benny conducted his business, take the crumpled paper bag with the goodies inside, and be directed to the nearby police precincts for its delivery. It was the perfect way to handle payouts. Even if we got caught with the drop money, there was not anything the law could do about it. No one would ever suspect an innocent face like ours anyway.

-

It topped out 88 degrees on the day our lives were forever altered.

We had just got done making deliveries for King Benny when boredom and hunger immediately set in.

“We haven’t hit the hotdog cart in a long time.” Mike said, watching the little kids swarm the cart.

“I don’t know, Mikey,” Vic said. “That cart guys isn’t like the others. He gets pretty pissed when you take him off.”

“He’s right,” I said. “Last week, he chased Hector and two of his friends all the way to the piers. Almost cut one of them.”

“A hot dog isn’t worth bleeding over.” Jaime laughed.

“We can eat hot dogs or we can eat air.” Mike justified. “You guys chose.”

“Air’s probably safer, may even taste better.” Vic answered.

“Whose turn is it?” I asked.

“Yours,” Mike said.

The scam was simple and was as dumb as we could ever think of. I was to approach the cart and order what I wanted. The vendor would then hand me my hotdog and watched as I ran off without paying. This left the vendor with two choices; none of them very appealing. He would either accept or swallow his loss. Or he could give chase. The second choice would force him to abandon his cart while my friends would feast in his absence.

“Mustard and ketchup only.” I said, avoiding the vendor’s suspicious look.

He nodded, wary, his eyes over his shoulders, looking for hidden shadows.

“Can I have two napkins?” I asked reaching for the hotdog.

As he went to pull the napkins out the dispenser, I ran.

I ran past Big Papa’s candy store and the dry cleaners with the vendor chasing after me with a prong fork in his hand, frustration building up. As I ran, the ketchup and mustard splattered all over my white t-shirt and rubbed against my hand. But I could not stop.

“Pay me money, thief,” The vendor shouted. “Pay me my money now!”

I ran across the schoolyard and passed Trixie’s bakery, hoping the guys could at least have scarfed down two to three hotdogs already. If I was able to lose the vendor, I might be able to get back to the cart early enough and have time for at least one hotdog.

I was still on the run with the vendor behind when I noticed Mike, Jaime, and Vic pushing the cart towards the park. I looked back at the vendor who was exhausted, sweat dripping from his face and all over his shirt, not accepting defeat.

“You were only supposed to take the hotdogs,” I panted as I reached the guys. “Not the wagon.”

“Now you tell us,” Vic said.

“Just leave it here,” I wheezed. “If you guys are looking to push something, push me. I can’t take another step.”

“No, not here, “Jaime said, pointing to his right. “Up there, over by the grand stairwell.”

“The guy is coming fast, Jaime.” Vic explained. “We don’t have time.”

“I got a plan.” Jaime said.

The plan was simple and as childish as anything we had ever done. We were to hold the cart on the top edge of the stairwell, leaning it downward, and wait for the vendor. We were to let go the second he grabbed the handles and leave the scene as he struggled to ease the cart back on the sidewalk.

To this day, I do not know why we did it. But we would all pay the price. Everyone. All it took was a minute, but in that minute everything changed.

We held the cart as long as we could, its weight starting to get the best of us. Jaime held the cart the longest, his arms bulging at the strength needed to keep it from falling down the steps. Mike had slipped on his side, his back against the wooden banister, both hands being sliced by the wooden handles. Vic fell to his knees, desperately grabbing at one of the wheels, his knees scraping on the concrete. I held both my hands to the base of the umbrella, gripping tight, splashes of hot water showering my arms and face.

“It’s not gonna hold!” Vic cried, the wheel slipping from his grip.

“Let it go.” Mike yelled.

The vendor came crawling on his knees, his hands spread out across his face, his eyes visible.

“We can’t,” Jaime and I both shouted. “We can’t let of go.”

“Let it go, Tony,” Mike urged, his voice surrender. “Let it go.”

Watching the cart tumble down the stairs was as painful as trying to keep it from going down. The noise was loud, destructive, and numbing. The hotdogs, onions, napkins, and drinks flew everywhere, staining the stairwell.

Then came the loudest noise, one that rocked the entire stairwell and nearby park. It was a sound no one expected to hear. A crunching sound of wood against bone. It is a sound I have heard every day of my life since.

Fernando Gonzalez was an outside visitor who enjoyed taking walks in parks, feeding ducks that swam in the ponds. He had just got done with his neighborhood walk and was on his way to leave when the cart landed on him, barreling in at his chest.

His hands reached out to grab the sides of the cart in an attempt to ward away the impact. Both the cart and the man came to rest as one, slamming against the concrete wall. The cart collided violently with Fernando Gonzalez who had bigger plans in his life than just reading the newspaper.

The car splintered, boiling water and condiments crashing on top of his bloody head, lodging against the sharpest edge of the wagon. The silence after the crash was as numbing as the noise during it.

We all held our positions. No one spoke or moved, and the four of us all choked back tears. We heard sirens flaring and prayed they were coming in our direction. I looked down at the wreckage and saw the lower half of Gonzalez’s body twitching under the weight.

Jaime turned to look at me and for the first time I’d known him, I saw fear on his face. Vic and Mike didn’t move, their bodies trembling, both unnerved enough to pass out. A middle-aged woman in a floral housedress came to us in a run and stared at the scene.

“My sweet Jesus,” she shouted, turning her gaze towards us. “What have you boys done?” she asked, lowering her voice filled with fright.

“I think we just killed a man.” Jaime said.

Notes

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