A distant rumble makes the walls of my room vibrate, waking me up. I try to close my eyes again, but knowing that after the first siren almost always comes another one, I reluctantly sit on the edge of my bed. With a blank stare and half-closed eyes, I stretch my limbs and clear my mind after washing my face with cold water.

  The sepulchral silence of my caravan is broken when I turn on my old television to the news channel. While rummaging through my almost empty pantry, I hear a report that turns my stomach and freezes my blood.

  “At 1:30 a.m., a fifty-one-year-old man was at the entrance of his house along with his sixteen-year-old son when subjects on a motorcycle arrived to murder them.”

  My mind drifts for a few moments, but I regain composure when the steam from my small pot touches my face. I’m afraid to admit that I know who’s responsible for that incident, and something tells me I could be next.

  Sitting on my couch, I fill my stomach with a piece of stale bread and butter while the cold in my body fades as a brown liquid runs down my throat.

  My gaze wanders over every corner of my home.

  Exhausted by an invisible burden, I let out a defeated sigh. For weeks my head has been tormenting me with a thought, an action that could put an end to my problems forever, but which, out of cowardice or something else, I haven’t carried out.

  A faint sense of responsibility snaps me out of the trance. Standing up, I leave my caravan, abandoning my half-finished mug of coffee. The sea breeze gently hits my face while my hair moves to the rhythm of the wind.

  Walking among old fairground rides, the ground beneath my feet creaks with every step and the soles of my boots slip on the moss and moisture accumulated on the wood. The old Ferris wheel still stands, crooked, as if waiting for the exact moment to collapse. When I exhale, my breath freezes in the air.

  ◇◇◇

  Looking at the sky, the sun’s rays barely pierce through the dense grayish clouds that stretch across the entire city. From a railing I watch the seagulls grooming themselves carefully, only interrupted when they see me pass by.

  When I look at the suited people walking beside me—they don’t return my gaze—I wonder if I would have been in their place had I made better decisions in life. Though, to be honest, their apathetic, almost dead expressions aren’t so different from mine.

  Dodging the crowd rushing to catch the last bus, I suddenly feel a strong grip on my left shoulder, more intent on hurting me than getting my attention.

  “Hey, Ethan. Long time no see.”

  Death whispers in my ear. When I turn, a shaved-headed guy covered in a military jacket intercepts me, dragging me with him into a dark alley.

  The stench of rancid garbage floods the place, compressed by large containers.

  “Where’s what you owe us?” he asks furiously, his eyebrows almost touching.

  “Easy, Armando.” I raise my hands. “I still don’t have it.”

  Two tattooed guys behind him watch me like they want to crush a rat.

  “You’ve been given plenty of time already,” one says. “What, you think we’re your clowns?”

  My heart pounds against my chest, marking every second I don’t have. I bring my hand to my pocket, slowing down when I see their gazes tense.

  “What’s this?” Armando closes the distance.

  “Believe me, this is all I have right now.”

  “The boss has been waiting for you a long time, you piece of shit.”

  “Give me a little more time. I swear tomorrow I’ll have a part—”

  His knuckles slam into my teeth, throwing me against the pavement.

  “Son of a bitch, listen to me. We gave you way too much time, you understand?”

  The blow makes my eyes spin, barely able to make out my surroundings. Armando crouches down to my level, still towering over me.

  “Last chance. If you don’t have our money by tomorrow, I’m cutting your hands off, you hear me?”

  “Yeah…” I nod without looking at him.

  I didn’t stand up until they left. The muddy concrete stained my beige shirt. This week I was going to eat with those twenty dollars I no longer have.

  Fucking faggot. I clench my jaw.

  To think he used to be my friend…

  I keep walking toward the factory, gums full of blood and lip split open.

  ◇◇◇

  The warehouse vibrates from the force of the machinery and the suffocating atmosphere makes the back of my neck sweat. Sitting on a stool, the foreman looks at his phone while supervising the workers.

  “Good morning,” I say, fanning my chest with my shirt. “Got any work?”

  “Over there.” He points without looking. “Unload that truck and stack the boxes on that platform.”

  My motivation goes straight down the drain when I see the mountain of boxes towering over me.

  “That’s a lot. Is there any extra pay?”

  “Same as always. If you want it.” He grunts.

  Since I’m not officially on the payroll, I make a living helping out occasionally.

  In moments like this I’d normally turn around and leave, but I need to recover what I lost. Besides, I have another problem on my hands. I have to pay those guys, but I don’t know how. Robbing a store isn’t as easy as it used to be, not to mention they don’t keep much cash anymore. Running away is impossible; they’d find me sooner or later.

  Behind me, a high-pitched, raspy voice catches my attention. When I turn, I’m surprised to see an old acquaintance. Maybe he can help me.

  As if my arms were carrying iron blocks, sweat starts pouring down my face like a waterfall. It’s a miracle nothing falls and crushes my foot. I manage to finish the job with great difficulty. The sun is already high in the sky. Barely managing to sit down and catch my breath, someone arrives to interrupt my sacred rest.

  “Ethan, I need you to take these tools upstairs,” the foreman orders sharply.

  “I’m going. Give me five minutes,” I say, wiping sweat with my sleeve.

  “Now. Or I don’t pay you.”

  He walks away with long strides.

  Son of a bitch, I mutter to myself.

  My stomach burns as if I’d swallowed acid. Midday and I still haven’t managed to talk to him. The walls have ears around here, and I’m not even sure I want to do it.

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  The workers leave after the bell rings. With the place clearer, I walk toward him. My legs feel weaker with every step.

  His tank top reveals almost skeletal arms.

  “Hey, Frank, how’ve you been?”

  Interrupting the sanding of a boat, he turns toward my voice.

  “Ethan!” he says, extending his hand. “Shit, how long has it been?”

  I return the gesture. His palm full of sawdust feels even rougher.

  “Months, I guess.” I force a laugh. “Thought you were still locked up.”

  “Nah, compadre. Got out yesterday. Thank God.”

  “I heard they took you in for kidnapping someone.”

  “Yeah, man,” he clicks his tongue, letting out sour breath. “But they also got me because I stayed watching that dumbass.”

  His bad breath kicks me in the nose like a mule. It’s hard to act normal when the blackish-yellow of his teeth steals my attention for a second. I’m amazed they’re still in place.

  “Anyway, tell me, why’d you come say hi? Don’t give me bullshit.”

  I lower my gaze, organizing my thoughts.

  “Look…” I say, lowering my voice. “I need money. I don’t know if you can help me.”

  “Sorry, man.” He blows out air. “I don’t have cash to lend you. I’m broke.”

  “I’m not asking to borrow,” I put my hand on the back of my neck, squeezing it, “it’s just… don’t you have some kind of job out there? You know.” I nod.

  “Oh, I get it now.” He frowns and his mouth twists into a smile. “Maybe I can introduce you to someone, but I don’t know, man. I don’t want you making me look bad.” He shrugs.

  “Don’t worry.” I pat my chest. “You know how I work.”

  “It’s not that.”

  I don’t like how he starts looking around. When he confirms no one is paying attention, he signals me to lower my head.

  "I want you to kill someone," he whispers.

  My tongue locks for a second, as if something were stuck in my throat. I was expecting the usual stuff. Not this.

  The skin on my back crawls. I don’t want to do this, but if I refuse, I’ll be the corpse in the river.

  Frank slaps my shoulder.

  “Hey, relax. It’s fine if you don’t want to do it.”

  I force myself to speak. My throat still closed.

  "Why do they want him dead?"

  “I don’t know, compadre.” He laughs indifferently. “I just heard the boss of my area wants him dead. But the guy lives in another neighborhood, you get me?” He makes a vague gesture with his hand. “If everyone goes it’ll turn into a huge mess, but you’ll go alone. Nobody knows you.”

  I rub my eyelids with my fingers and lift my chin. I say nothing. I startle when the bell rings again, reminding me how little time I have left to decide.

  He must’ve done something for them to want him dead…

  “Okay… fine,” I answer, my voice barely audible.

  “Deal, man.” He nods. “I’ll give you the address and there they’ll tell you what to do.”

  Frank puts his arm around my back, lowering his voice.

  “Listen, do it right. If you fuck it up and someone finds out, I’ll be screwed too.”

  I leave the place after getting paid. The hunger I felt has disappeared, and my hands tremble and pound my temples. I have to kill him without anyone seeing me. I don’t know how.

  ◇◇◇

  The horizon turns orange and the sun begins to hide among skyscrapers. Tree leaves fall gently, spinning before touching the ground. I keep walking, avoiding the children running around the place. When I see them my chest tightens. I don’t know why.

  The noise of the cars pounds my head. All my plans to not do this end the same way. I don’t want to be here. I wish that person deserved it.

  The sun’s rays weaken as I enter the alley. It smells of dampness and stagnant water. When I go down the stairs I’m greeted by a door eaten by termites, a dim bulb illuminating the entrance and bugs flying around. A bell tinkles above me when I enter the bar. I try to look normal, but I only manage to draw more attention. When I approach the bar the smell of sour beer gets stronger.

  I move my head in all directions, looking for what to do. A guy with long hair and a bandana on his head speaks to me from the other side of the bar.

  “What’s up. What can I get you?”

  “Give me a cheese sandwich and a beer.”

  My appetite comes back all at once.

  Occasionally I glance at him sideways, waiting for the right moment. Behind me a game is playing. The narrator’s comments are barely heard among the fans’ shouts.

  I finish my food, leaving the plate aside.

  “Hey, compadre. I come on behalf of Frank. I don’t know if he already told you.”

  “Frank?”

  Without looking up, he wipes a crystal glass.

  “Frank…” I clear my throat. “Frank ‘El Flaco’.”

  “Ah, got it. Did he tell you what you were gonna do?” he asks, his voice more serious.

  “Yeah.” I barely nod. “He said you’d give me the details.”

  He scans the room with his eyes. No one pays attention to us; everyone is too busy with the game.

  With gestures he indicates for me to follow him. A heavy door behind the bar. It smells of chlorine and there’s barely a shelf with cleaning products.

  “This is him,” he says, pulling a wrinkled photo from his pocket.

  Short hair. About my age. He doesn’t look like he’s involved in this kind of thing.

  “Did he do something to make someone want him dead?” An awkward laugh escapes me.

  “I don’t know, compadre.” He snorts. “He lives in Las Flores, near a park.”

  I keep looking at the photo and my senses drift away.

  “I’ll give you a number and you send the proof there,” he says, snapping me out of the trance.

  “When I finish do I come back here for the money?”

  “No, no, no.” He raises his voice. “You send the photo and they have to confirm you did the job. You can come tomorrow.”

  I don’t know how I’ll be able to come here without them finding me.

  “How much are you giving?” My throat tightening into a knot.

  “One hundred twenty.”

  I feel like a horse just crushed my head. It’s little. It doesn’t even cover half my debt. But it’s too late to look for anything else.

  “Okay…”

  “Good, good. Be careful, man. If they catch you, don’t say anything.” He leaves, giving me a pat.

  ◇◇◇

  I never thought I’d use this old revolver for anything more than scaring people. I found it when I broke into that caravan and didn’t bother throwing it away. When I finish this and get a bit more time… then what?

  The bus rattles over the potholes and won’t let me think. My head hurts.

  Near me, a child plays with his mother. I watch him more than I should. For a few seconds I imagine myself in his place and look away. People nod off around me. In the window I can barely see my reflection.

  There is no moon or stars. Black clouds cover the sky as if they were about to collapse. It’s almost midnight, but there are still people in the neighborhood. Not many. Just enough to make me uncomfortable. I walk along the park sidewalk, careful of the roots sticking out of the ground. It’s impossible not to look at the central tree. Its trunk is still marked by bullet holes.

  The guy’s house is nearby. A red car parked ahead cuts my path. Three guys talking next to it. They haven’t seen me. I change direction before one of them looks my way.

  I pull a black bandana from my pocket. I breathe and the sweat stays trapped under the fabric. I’m standing in front of his door. House number sixty-seven. I look both ways, making one last check. The silence is so thick I feel like any noise I make could give me away.

  I move to his yard, crouched. My fingers tremble when I try to load a bullet into the cylinder.

  Will he be alone?

  I blow out hard. He didn’t tell me anything about that. Or maybe I didn’t want to ask. I stand up as best I can. My legs lose strength.

  The door has no lock. I don’t know why this doesn’t relieve me. His living room stinks of alcohol and crack. Barely illuminated by the light coming through the curtains. I get lost among the mess. Behind one door I hear his breathing.

  I push just enough to pass through.

  He’s asleep, covered under sheets. It’s hard to raise my arm and I approach him. I kick something hard with my foot.

  He looks at me without understanding. He jumps out of bed when he sees me.

  “Who are you!?” he shouts.

  I step back. My vision blurs.

  “Easy…” He raises his hands. “Man, who are you?”

  I want to speak. I can’t.

  He’s moving, circling me. I try to control the trembling in my hand with the other. It doesn’t work.

  “Easy, put that down. What’s your name?” He lowers his voice.

  He takes a step toward the dresser. His weight leans forward.

  I choke on my own breathing and blink to keep him in focus. My arms drop. Just a little.

  He lunges at me, grabbing my wrist hard.

  “Motherfucker!!”

  We fall to the floor. We roll. My hand loses control and my fingers slip.

  The shot explodes.

  For a few seconds, I hear nothing.

  I can’t breathe and my body barely moves. Something soaks my shirt.

  Oh God… Oh God…

  I push him off me. I want to look away, I can’t. My eyes are wet and my nose is running.

  I stand up, dizzy. I can’t take my eyes off him, his head open. I hear shouts outside. I shouldn’t be here.

  ◇◇◇

  I couldn’t sleep. I was afraid my door would come down at any moment. The sound of the sea barely managed to cover the gunshot. I feel like I should have been in his place.

  If I had pulled the trigger back then…

  Something hits the wall from the other side.

  I grab the revolver almost by reflex and hide it behind me.

  “Ethan!!” someone shouts. The door receives another kick.

  I don’t want to go out. I think about hiding and waiting for them to leave, but the door gives way. Armando enters stomping hard.

  He grabs me by the hair and drags me outside. I fall face down. My wrists hurt from the impact.

  “Where’s the money!?” he spits. His brow furrowed.

  I want to stand up, but I stumble and step back. Armando isn’t alone.

  “I don’t have all day.”

  “Hey… I don’t have it all,” I say, my breath cut short, “but I have part of it.”

  “Oh, you have part of it? Where is it!?” He extends his arms, leaning toward me.

  My heart stops for a second. I feel something drilling into my head.

  I didn’t send the photo. Everything happened too fast.

  “Yesterday I did something and today they’re gonna pay me. I just have to talk to someone.” My tongue trembles.

  His eyes drop to the dark stain on my shirt. He stares at it, not understanding.

  “How much are they gonna give you?”

  My answer doesn’t calm him. Armando paces back and forth, scratching the back of his neck.

  I say nothing. I close my eyes hard and lift my chin. I breathe badly. Very fast.

  “No more.” He says, pulling out a pistol.

  “Wait!! Wait!! Wait!!” I step back more. My voice broken.

  “We gave you plenty of time, man,” someone behind him says. “And you didn’t deliver.”

  “I’m gonna pay you.” My eyes cloud over. “I swear…”

  I’m short of breath. I clench my jaw.

  I look up. I don’t know who I’m asking forgiveness from.

  I kick some barrels, distracting them a bit. I run, but my legs fail. Gunshots behind me.

  I can’t hear, my eyes lose clarity. I feel hot knives stabbing into my back. The air leaves me.