AZAEL

I’m in lockup. I don’t know how I got here.

I woke up two minutes ago with that all-over shitty feeling you get the day after a rumble. I keep my eyes closed trying to remember where Pelón hid his stash. Then I sit up, thinking I’m going to snatch the baggie from under the couch and go to the fields for a joint.

Except then I realize I’m not at Pelón’s. I’m on this narrow-ass cot in yesterday’s clothes. I untangle my legs from the blanket so I can take a look around. It’s dark, but there isn’t much to see. The cell’s about 8x8. No windows. There’s a shitter in one corner with a sink right above it. No mirror. Drain bolted into the concrete floor. The bunk with its raggedy blanket. Right above the bed somebody’s scrawled a message in Sharpie. NOW U THINK ITZ KEWL 2 BE A CRYMYNL? There’s a blue light shining in the main hall. I look through the bars and see a long row of cells just like this one.

Shit, juvie again? It’s only been four months since I got out of that fucking Youth Village. Village my ass.

I sit back down on the cot and try to think through the fuzz on my brain from the shit we smoked yesterday.

Thing is, I’ve got no memory of getting brought in here, and I don’t like that. It’s like I want to rewind and replay that part, but my brain’s a fucked up DVD player that skips back again and again to the same chapter, the last thing I can remember right.

We’re cruising through Montrose looking for some fucks from Crazy Crew that was messing with Javi’s stepsister. Javi is driving this ghetto-ass van that he bought off his aunt, and the whole time he’s driving he’s hitting a bottle of Jack and talking shit about the punks who called his sister a hoe. Pelón’s in the front seat, and me, my carnal Eddie, plus Mono, Cucaracha, Chuy, Greñas, and three other homeboys are smashed in the back. We’re sitting on top of bricks and chains and bats and all the other shit Javi keeps back there. The whole time I’m thinking that by the time I finally get out of the van I’m going to have chains imprinted on my ass from sitting on them so long.

“Where the fuck are the pinche fools?” I shout.

“We’ll find their asses soon,” Javi says, passing the bottle to us in the back. “These fuckers flap their colors like they think they some big shit.”

“They red and brown, ese?” Pelón asks all business like.

“Brown like a shitted-on diaper, red like some hoe’s bloody pad,” Greñas calls, getting some laughs. He lights up a fat joint, sucks on it hard.

Everybody’s joking and taking hits off the joint when Javi sees the beat-up green Caddy his step-sister told him about. He floors it and noses the van right up to the tail of the car. Three dudes in the back throw up their stupid sign, and just like Javi said, I can see that one guy has a ponytail with brown and red wraps.

The Caddy flies through stop signs, swerving like it’s a dog with an ass full of wasps.

“Come on, let’s ride them bitches!” Mono shouts.

Javi floors it, and we swerve through a red light.

“Easy, fucker!” I shout over the horns. “We can’t kick their asses if we’re dead!”

Javi laughs crazy. “Stop being a pussy, pussy!”

The Caddy pulls through a CVS parking lot, then takes off down another street. One of the Crazy Crew drops his pants and presses his butt up against the glass. That set’s Javi off again.

All of a sudden the Cadillac swings into a big empty lot by this run-down park. Javi plows through the grass to the other side. Before he even stops the rest of us grab our weapons and jump out.

“Let’s school these fuckers!” Eddie growls.

“MS-13 es primero!” I shout, throwing up our sign and swinging a chain. On the other side of the park, a big Chevy Tahoe pulls up and more Crazy Crew dudes pile out.

Now that I’m outside and I can move, I’m feeling good, strong. We roll in a kind of whacked dance, pushing across the field toward them, throwing our signs up. Our blue and white is on our tats and maybe on an undershirt or two, but these dudes are decked out like it’s dirty Valentine’s day, brown and red popping out everywhere--shoelaces, pants, fucking sunglasses, even.

They walk toward us looking cocky since they’ve got us outnumbered. But I know these fuckers are soft Montrose boys, and we’ll whip ‘em fast.

We start throwing our shit at them. Chew hits this skinny fuck with a brick. I smack a tall guy’s legs with the chain. He yelps and starts to run without even throwing a punch.

We keep pushing toward them, pitching our stuff, then going after it again. I lose my chain and pick up a bat.

I’m smacking around this one dude when I see a light-skinned punk going after Eddie hardcore. Eddie’s older than me, but I’m bigger and stronger, so I bail him out.

“Mess with my brother, you mess with me!” I yell. I block the dude’s blows and smash the bat down on his shoulder.

Eddie slaps my hand and hollers, “La Mara Salvatrucha controla todo!” Then he spits on the fool now lying on the ground.

I’m getting ready to take on a new punk when I see something red flash in the corner of my eye. I look, but nothing’s there. A second later, I think I see it again. I kick the dude in front of me in the stomach and shake my head in case something ain’t right in there. Then I turn quick and I catch sight of the red before it’s gone. And then-- And then-- And then--

That’s all I can remember.