?Quien lo hizo?

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Feedback is greatly appreciated. A take of life in the ghetto.

Submitted: August 15, 2012

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Submitted: August 15, 2012

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5:37 a.m.

A hispanic teenage boy drags his feet back to a cop-infested home. Having been out all night spending time with his friends boozing and getting high off mota or some cheap dope, he’d thought he’d be alright to cruise down six blocks back to his parent’s shithole home. He’d chose to walk because his parents had been too damn cheap to get him a car, or even a bicicleta for that matter. Then again, his padre and madre were probably too poor to get him anything even. Then again, all the Latinos and Mexicanos were too damn poor in the area.

The puto, bruised all over with gashes across his face and arms, came through the front and was swarmed by the cops. They all knew who he was already since he had been in and out of the city jail a few times for public disturbance, vandalism, and evading arrest. Stupid puto, he’d been told not to mess around late at night.

“Paco, que paso?”

“Nada, ma, nada! No se preocupe! Dejame en paz.”

“Hijo, estaba muy preocupada! Tienes que decirles lo que paso, ahora!”

He told his story, even though he didn’t remember it much (he was still a little buzzed and a little high). He told the cops it was dark and that when he got jumped it was by four guys. He told the truth too cause he was scared shitless that the dudes who did it would come by him and finish the job. The gangs around the area were ruthless. The cops asked him who they were, but it was all he could say because it was very dark in the alley they beat him up.

“Maybe it was the redneck blancos that me, Jose, and the kids took money from. It could’ve also been the niggers who don’t like me at school ‘cause they saw me feelin’ up one of their own at Rizo’s a couple of nights back. You gotta help me serge, I don’t know what to do!”

The police in the area had seen it before. A small pelea, a little rough up by some of the local cholos or what not. It happened everyday and wasn’t a big deal. What the big deal was were the drug busts. “We’ll do what we can Paco. Meanwhile, please fill out a report and we’ll take a look at it once it’s processed. Shouldn’t take long.” The cops all went back down to the station while Paco sat and turned on some MTV crap. He knew after all he’d been through with the cops before they wouldn’t even stop by the shithole casa to even check up on him.

11:48 p.m.

What Paco wanted was to tell his puto friends about what happened. He knew they all were going to be chilling at Jose’s that night and that they would like the story. He snuck out his bedside window and started walking. Jose lives a few streets down on Jefferson. The shithead was even excited to brag about his attack and that he survived the beating like it was nada.

12:16 p.m.

A cop car going down on Camino del Cuervo is the first to get to Paco. He only gets to him by chance because that’s his zone and he happens to see someone on the ground. Paco’s shot twice in the chest, once in the throat, and thrice in the huevos. No one ever even heard the shots.


© Copyright 2017 cakwok. All rights reserved.

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