Read Online Chango's Fire by Ernesto Quinonez - Free Book Online

sandwich out of his overalls, “I even brought us lunch, see. Half of this is yours, but I want the bigger half.”
    â€œTrompo go home,” I raise my voice and he closes his lips real tight. I look behind me to see if the boss has noticed me not working. I see Antonio making fun of Trompo. I look back at Trompo Loco and can’t tell if he is about to cry or spin.
    â€œYou can’t work here, because I already got you a job,” I lie, because I know he is about to spin. If he does, there’s no stopping him, at least not without knocking him down to the ground and maybe hurting him.
    â€œReally,” he gets closer to me, “a real job?”
    â€œYes, I’ll tell you later.”
    â€œWhat do I do?”
    â€œYou go home.”
    â€œThat’s not a job, Julio.”
    â€œI mean you go home now, I’ll tell you later. And then you have to move in with my family, right? Right?”
    Trompo Loco is beaming. He licks his lips, like he’s been starving and a plate of food has just been placed in front of him.
    â€œOkay, okay, you can have all of it,” he hands me the sandwich. “I’ll go home and make a new one. I have some Wonder Bread left over, the jelly and all.” Trompo Loco turns and walks away. I’m glad he is leaving, but then he turns around. “Hey Julio why do fat chance and slim chance mean the same thing? I heard a guy say it. Then another guy, and it means the same—”
    â€œGo home!” I yell at him, and he covers his mouth real fast, like he had said something wrong. He turns around and begins to walk away whistling, happy he is going to have a job soon. And I go back to work.
    The boss taps my shoulder.
    â€œHey, wasn’t that kid Eddie’s retard?” He winks at me, and I ignore him and get to work. Boss trails me, grabs my shoulder, because he feels he can command any of his workers’ attention at any moment. “Let me tell you something Julio, being that we are both friends of Eddie’s.” I stop to listen, maybe it’ll be short and then he’ll leave me in peace.
    â€œI knew that retard’s mother. We all did. Know what I mean?” He gives me a wink.
    L ike I don’t have enough problems.
    Waiting for me downstairs at home is Maritza. I haven’t seen her in a while. I only hear echoes of her voice at night, when the services in her church would start. Bits and pieces of her sermons enter through my window and sometimes, when her church is really high on the Lord, my entire floor shakes.
    Maritza is holding on tightly to this very scared girl. She clings to Maritza, like she has cat claws. The girl’s eyes never leave the ground, and she’s silently crying. Her heavy tears roll off her cheeks and splatter on her blouse. The girl is short, and I can tell by her beautiful, long, black hair and her silence that she is a new immigrant from Maritza’s church.
    â€œYou have to drive us, Julio.” Just like that, no please or thank-you.
    â€œWait, aren’t you supposed to be at church right about now?”
    â€œWe snuck out. We have little time, Julio. You have to drive us—”
    â€œWhere?” I say.
    â€œTo Queens. And I don’t drive, let’s go,” she says. “This is important, Julio. And we only have two hours.” I stare at her for a second, because Maritza is like that sonic boom that you hear seconds after the electric storm hits the city and all the car alarms go crazy. That’s what she does to me when I see her, and it takes me a while to shut them off. I used to be in love with her for so long, but later it wore off. Like that number that you keep playing that never comes up, yet you still play it, but now it’s more out of habit than love or want or need. Basically, I’ve known her all my life.
    â€œLook Mari, I’m not in the God business, that’s you. I got my own things to worry