Fragment taken from the story “Saint Death”
The Storyteller, Volume IV
Like many others before him, he thought it was a robbery, so he pointed me in the right direction to where his money, valuables, and ‘good stuff’ were. I took out a gun and shot him twice in the face. After he fell down I turned him over—face down—and gave him a third shot, in the back of the head. The coup de grace. The death blow.
This one is not coming back to harm anyone else.
I turned around and left. I took the mask and the gloves off and tucked them in my belt. I lit up a cigarette and began to walk away; I wanted to clear my mind of things. I always got wound up with the adrenaline rush. This one had not been a fighter—like others—so I guess I had extra energy left to burn.
After a couple of hours walking, I went inside a 24-hour coffee shop; I paid cash for my coffee and sat down to drink it. There were a few customers inside; I looked at my watch: it was 3:30 in the morning. I sat down on a table by the front window, next to the entrance.
I took out my pen and began to make a drawing on a paper napkin. I drew María’s little face. I hoped she was happy wherever she was, away from pain, away from injustice and everything else that was wrong with this world. I hoped she might be looking down on me. I didn’t expect her to agree with what I did at night, but I surely hoped for a smile; I just wanted to think she would smile at me once more.
“This is a hold up! Empty your pockets and put the money and valuables on the tables—do it now!”
I turned around and saw four men rushing into the business. They were armed.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
A couple of women screamed; their male companions tried to calm them down. One of the robbers pointed his gun straight at me and walked over to my table; I stood up and he hit me in the face with his gun before I could even react. I fell on the floor.
“Didn’t you hear what he said? Put all your damn things on the table!” he yelled in my face as he knelt down, his gun’s barrel almost touching my left ear.
He took me by the jacket and helped me up; my nose was bleeding. He opened my jacket to search me and saw my gun tucked inside my belt, concealed to the side. He took it out with my ski mask and the gloves and turned around to shout at his friends, “Hey, look what I found on this one!” he said, holding a gun on each hand.
I embraced him from behind and put my hands on both of his hands; his own gun went off, shooting his partner. All hell broke loose. His friends started shooting at us. I used my own gun—still in the thug’s hand—to return fire while he struggled with me. I took cover behind him the whole time.
The robbers came closer to us; customers rushed out. I kept on shooting with both guns, behind the robber; but still, a bullet went through my thigh. I couldn’t hold the man’s weight in my arms any longer and we both fell backwards, knocking over the table I had been sitting at. The robber I had been holding on to was also hit several times by his own partners. I tried to move his body to the side so I could take cover behind the table.
I knew that man was dead or about to die. I had shot two of his three friends already, but I was not sure how badly injured they were. The fourth man kept on shooting in my direction while he took cover behind a booth on the other side of the room. I started to move and he came out of his hideout to shoot me.
“Duck, Toñito!” I heard my father’s voice clearly.
I turned to look.
“Duck, mi’jo, now!” he urged me again.
I quickly went down on the floor, and several bullets came in through the window from outside, shattering the glass. That surely was a fifth thug, the one who drove the getaway car.
The incoming bullets took care of the man standing in front of me, trying to kill me; I saw another thug running out of the place, yelling to his friend on the street to stop shooting.
“Well done, mi’jo. Well done,” I heard my dad’s voice again.
I looked around. There was cloud of thick smoke over us from the shooting; I saw the paper napkin I had used to draw María’s face on the floor, next to my face. I took it. I heard sirens in the distance; someone must have called the police already.
It’s over.
“It’s not over, Toñito. It’s never over, mi’jo. Never!” I heard my father’s voice again.
His laughter faded out at the same time everything went dark around me.
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