sailorguitar
July 27th, 2014, 09:33 AM
** I appreciate any and all constructive criticism, ideas, thoughts, smears... whatever. Thanks for reading **
** There are no "4-letter words" in this story, but it is adult themed.
Zona Rosa, 3:30 a.m. The barrio was quiet now. One hour earlier and the streets had been alive, lethal, but the action had fallen off leaving a restless vacuumin its wake.
Though it made money for those whodid business here it would be hard to find a rougher part of the city, even if the money flowing through these streets wasn’t exactly legally obtained. Money being money though, Raul didn’t mind how he got it. That attitude had taken him away and brought him home wealthy by local standards. A bandito, he thought, do they ever get out alive? He considered this as he unplugged the Christmas lights strung across the rafters and he chuckled despite the answer to the question.He blew out the few remaining candles on the bar and tables.The whirling ceiling fan he left on, the hum of the motor comforting, and walked across the empty barroom to his office at the back.
On a side street one block off the main drag sat Raul’s establishment, CaféAzul. The two-story building and property he had paid for in cash one hot and rainy afternoon, slapping down 100 dollar bills on the rain streaked hood of his old Ford Falcon and counting out loud as the wide eyed real estate agent watched. His wife, Unice ran it as a café during the day serving coffee and pastries and sandwiches. The vertically blue and white striped building serving as a beacon for those re-animating for the onslaught of another day and the liquid night that followed. At night it became a bar; a neighborhood bar, a neutral zone respected amongst the competing interests ofthe barrio because of Raul, because of the fading light in the evening, because neutral ground was needed and because the bar squatted amongst the monotonous houses these same people came from. Raul was one of them, in a way. Here at Azul, a mixed crowd usually; men and women, young and old despite the dancers on the pole three nights a week and the rooms upstairs with mirrors on the ceiling: Casa Pantera, for those so inclined.
He had come back to Mexico to leave behind the life he had lived up north but he had brought much of it home with him. Indeed, more than he had imagined,and he was foolish to think he could escape what he had left behind in Seattle. A part of him, a part he wasn’tready to talk to yet, knew this. After all, he hadn’t left, he had run like a bandito.
Raul could hear the approaching click-clack of heels across the wood floor of the barroom and he was certain by the rhythm of the steps which dancer it was. They were all beautiful, the girls that worked here were, and he adored them all, maybe a little too much andUnice wasn’t the jealous type. But hewould feel the fiery wrath of her blood in a shuddering coldness and a wall ofsilence if he ever violated her trust, and besides he valued her friendship,the years they had together and her trust and affection too much to hurt her. To stab her in that way, he would never forgive himself. They also had a daughter together, Talia, and she made the trust they shared more valuable than anything.
Kat peered in and leaned on the door frame of his office with one hand cocked on a hip, her collection of gold bracelets falling down her arm and gathering in a reflective cluster at her wrist.
“Buenos noches jefe. You run a good place here Raul.” She said.He looked up from counting the money and receipts. He could tell she was tired but she gave him a meaningful look.
“De nada bonita. I think all of us make this a good place.” He replied. His reading glasses sat low on his nose and stretched from ear to eararound his large round head, he leaned back in his chair and looked over thetop of the frames at her, crossing his arms over his chest as he did so. Some of the girls here called him papa, usually with a warm smile.
“Yes, I think so too.” She smiled and put a fist to her mouth and yawned, “Have a good night. I’m going home. Sayhi to mama Unice and Talia for me, will you?”
“Okay, I will. Are you coming in tomorrow?”
“Si, I’ll be here tomorrow. Adios.” She waved and turned to leave, her hips swaying as she disappeared into the darkened interior of the barroom. A creaking sound and then a pale elongated rectangle of powdery streetlight stretched through the empty café as Kat opened the front door to leave. A distant police car’s siren wailed. The door swung shut behind her. Raul got up and locked the door and went backto his office.
He was organizing the day’s money and receipts into bundles and wrapping them in rubber bands when he thought he heard a small knock on the door. He paused in his counting and cocked his head, was that a knock? He wasn’t sure. But there it was again, three short raps. He looked at his cell, it was fiveto four. What was someone doing knocking on the door at this hour? Was it Kat? From outside the café looked closed and empty. He got up, grabbed his snub nosed .38 revolver from the desk drawer, swept a hand through his oiled black hair and began making his way towards thefront door. He was about halfway there when he heard his phone. He stopped. His mind jumped, he suddenly felt a stony weight in his stomach and he knew: this is strange, something is wrong. The Russian is here. An itch produced itself at the nape of hisneck. He looked back at his phone and it was twisting around on the desk, vibrating. Three more knocks, this time a little louder, followed by shuffling noises from beyond the door. He walked back to hisphone and picked it up.
“Halo?”He answered quietly.
“Raul.”Kat said; it was a statement, a confirmation. She sighed. Her voice was low, almost a whisper and she sounded afraid.
“Yes, what’s going on Kat?”
“Raul, there are two men at thefront of the bar. They don’t look good. Dressed in black…”She trailed off and muttered under her breath, then, “… gringos.”
“Wha…”He was cut off by a loud banging noise at thedoor and he realized whoever was at the other side was now trying to break downthe door. He thought again with rising alarm: It’s the Russian, he is here. Raul had no enemies here and if hedid he would know; this was something else, from somewhere else.
“Get out jefe.”He could hear herbreathing.Her voice was quieter butviolent in its command. “Leave. Get out! Hurry!” She hissed in a horse whisper.
Quickly he walked to his office andgrabbed the cash and receipts. And as the sound of splintering wood exploded through the empty barroom, he was running for the back door.
** There are no "4-letter words" in this story, but it is adult themed.
Zona Rosa, 3:30 a.m. The barrio was quiet now. One hour earlier and the streets had been alive, lethal, but the action had fallen off leaving a restless vacuumin its wake.
Though it made money for those whodid business here it would be hard to find a rougher part of the city, even if the money flowing through these streets wasn’t exactly legally obtained. Money being money though, Raul didn’t mind how he got it. That attitude had taken him away and brought him home wealthy by local standards. A bandito, he thought, do they ever get out alive? He considered this as he unplugged the Christmas lights strung across the rafters and he chuckled despite the answer to the question.He blew out the few remaining candles on the bar and tables.The whirling ceiling fan he left on, the hum of the motor comforting, and walked across the empty barroom to his office at the back.
On a side street one block off the main drag sat Raul’s establishment, CaféAzul. The two-story building and property he had paid for in cash one hot and rainy afternoon, slapping down 100 dollar bills on the rain streaked hood of his old Ford Falcon and counting out loud as the wide eyed real estate agent watched. His wife, Unice ran it as a café during the day serving coffee and pastries and sandwiches. The vertically blue and white striped building serving as a beacon for those re-animating for the onslaught of another day and the liquid night that followed. At night it became a bar; a neighborhood bar, a neutral zone respected amongst the competing interests ofthe barrio because of Raul, because of the fading light in the evening, because neutral ground was needed and because the bar squatted amongst the monotonous houses these same people came from. Raul was one of them, in a way. Here at Azul, a mixed crowd usually; men and women, young and old despite the dancers on the pole three nights a week and the rooms upstairs with mirrors on the ceiling: Casa Pantera, for those so inclined.
He had come back to Mexico to leave behind the life he had lived up north but he had brought much of it home with him. Indeed, more than he had imagined,and he was foolish to think he could escape what he had left behind in Seattle. A part of him, a part he wasn’tready to talk to yet, knew this. After all, he hadn’t left, he had run like a bandito.
Raul could hear the approaching click-clack of heels across the wood floor of the barroom and he was certain by the rhythm of the steps which dancer it was. They were all beautiful, the girls that worked here were, and he adored them all, maybe a little too much andUnice wasn’t the jealous type. But hewould feel the fiery wrath of her blood in a shuddering coldness and a wall ofsilence if he ever violated her trust, and besides he valued her friendship,the years they had together and her trust and affection too much to hurt her. To stab her in that way, he would never forgive himself. They also had a daughter together, Talia, and she made the trust they shared more valuable than anything.
Kat peered in and leaned on the door frame of his office with one hand cocked on a hip, her collection of gold bracelets falling down her arm and gathering in a reflective cluster at her wrist.
“Buenos noches jefe. You run a good place here Raul.” She said.He looked up from counting the money and receipts. He could tell she was tired but she gave him a meaningful look.
“De nada bonita. I think all of us make this a good place.” He replied. His reading glasses sat low on his nose and stretched from ear to eararound his large round head, he leaned back in his chair and looked over thetop of the frames at her, crossing his arms over his chest as he did so. Some of the girls here called him papa, usually with a warm smile.
“Yes, I think so too.” She smiled and put a fist to her mouth and yawned, “Have a good night. I’m going home. Sayhi to mama Unice and Talia for me, will you?”
“Okay, I will. Are you coming in tomorrow?”
“Si, I’ll be here tomorrow. Adios.” She waved and turned to leave, her hips swaying as she disappeared into the darkened interior of the barroom. A creaking sound and then a pale elongated rectangle of powdery streetlight stretched through the empty café as Kat opened the front door to leave. A distant police car’s siren wailed. The door swung shut behind her. Raul got up and locked the door and went backto his office.
He was organizing the day’s money and receipts into bundles and wrapping them in rubber bands when he thought he heard a small knock on the door. He paused in his counting and cocked his head, was that a knock? He wasn’t sure. But there it was again, three short raps. He looked at his cell, it was fiveto four. What was someone doing knocking on the door at this hour? Was it Kat? From outside the café looked closed and empty. He got up, grabbed his snub nosed .38 revolver from the desk drawer, swept a hand through his oiled black hair and began making his way towards thefront door. He was about halfway there when he heard his phone. He stopped. His mind jumped, he suddenly felt a stony weight in his stomach and he knew: this is strange, something is wrong. The Russian is here. An itch produced itself at the nape of hisneck. He looked back at his phone and it was twisting around on the desk, vibrating. Three more knocks, this time a little louder, followed by shuffling noises from beyond the door. He walked back to hisphone and picked it up.
“Halo?”He answered quietly.
“Raul.”Kat said; it was a statement, a confirmation. She sighed. Her voice was low, almost a whisper and she sounded afraid.
“Yes, what’s going on Kat?”
“Raul, there are two men at thefront of the bar. They don’t look good. Dressed in black…”She trailed off and muttered under her breath, then, “… gringos.”
“Wha…”He was cut off by a loud banging noise at thedoor and he realized whoever was at the other side was now trying to break downthe door. He thought again with rising alarm: It’s the Russian, he is here. Raul had no enemies here and if hedid he would know; this was something else, from somewhere else.
“Get out jefe.”He could hear herbreathing.Her voice was quieter butviolent in its command. “Leave. Get out! Hurry!” She hissed in a horse whisper.
Quickly he walked to his office andgrabbed the cash and receipts. And as the sound of splintering wood exploded through the empty barroom, he was running for the back door.