Chapter 1: Exposition
There were five of us: Ernie, the big lug with the big heart, Hector, the rail-thin comatose one, Octavio "Octy", the asshole, Armand, the friend nobody liked, and me, Edaurdo (spelled that way on my birth certificate), much older brother to the first three, all gathered around a circular table in a West Virginia diner, miles from our New Mexico home.
"Try the fish tacos, they're excellent today," said our server, Maria.
"Not a chance in hell," said Octy.
"Is that any way to talk to our server?" asked Armand. Octy took out his gun and shot Armand dead.
"Oh my God, you killed Armand!" yelled Ernie. He grabbed Hector and we ran out the door.
* * *
"What'cha have to do that for?" I asked Octy as we were rolling in the '87 Pinto.
"Fuck Armand," said Octy. "He thought he was a big tough guy but he weren't shit."
"But they're only gonna come looking for us," said Ernie. "I can't be in jail again."
"Yeah, I don't want you ratting on anyone else," said Octy.
"I never ratted on nobody!" yelled Ernie. "I got off because I was innocent!"
"You and your posse killed a fucking 4-year old girl, ese," said Octy. "Even I wouldn't fucking do that regardless of what posse I ran with."
"They did it, not me!" said Ernie. "I was at home watching Chico and Guapo when it happened!"
"What the fuck do you think ratting is?" asked Octy. "They're all doing 20 to life because you didn't keep your big yap shut."
"People, people!" I exclaimed. "Is this any way to treat a brother? We used to be hermanos, man."
"Well, that pigfucker Armand was no brother of mine," said Octy.
"What did you just call him?" asked Ernie.
"I called him a fucking pigfucker because he fucked fucking pigs," said Octy. "No, really, dude, why do you think they stopped serving carnitas at his greasy taco stand for so long? It was because he couldn't keep his dirty pork sword out of the dirty pork."
"Well, fuck me," I said. "I think I had a fuckin' carnitas taco there once not too long ago."
"Yeah, everyone and their abuela had been calling him Pigfucker for many a year," said Octy. "And I wasn't so lucky either. I ordered el pastor too many times before realizing that was made from pork and not lamb."
"You thought it was fuckin' lamb?" I said. "Did you think it was a fucking falafel stand? What, were you going to order fuckin' schwarmas and gyros, and fuckin' baklava or fuckin' halah, whatever that shit's called."
"It's called halva," said Ernie.
"Shut the fuck up, Ernie," said Octy. "Now where the fuck are we going?" He seemed to have almost forgotten he was the one driving.
A cop quickly pulled us over. "Do you know how fast y'all were goin'?" asked the cop.
"Good thing Armand's not here," Octy said to me.
"You should answer the cop, dude," I said.
"What did you say, boy?" asked the cop. "Who is this Armand?"
"He's just some pigfucker," said Octy.
"Some pigfucker?" asked the cop. "Like someone who fucks pigs?"
"That's the one," said Octy.
"Are you callin' me a pig, boy?" asked the cop.
"No, sir," said Octy.
"I can't hear you," said the cop. "ARE YOU FUCKIN' CALLIN' ME, AN OFFICER OF THE LAW, BOY, A PIG?"
"I said no, sir!" said Octy.
"I don't believe you," said the cop. "You look like you have somethin' to hide. Now, we have evidence that someone driving a '87 Pinto like yours murdered one Armand Ochoa in cold blood at a dump called Maria's. Is that correct?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," I said.
"Shut up and let the driver speak," said the cop. "What's your name, boy?"
"My name's Guillermo," said Octy. "Guillermo de Silvia."
"That sounds like a made-up fuckin' name," said the cop. "I'm gonna take you down to the station, boy. You have the right to remain silent and so on."
"I have more rights than one," said Octy and was promptly beaten by a billy club.
* * *
"What are we gonna do?" I asked Ernie after we got to our motel and Octy went to the toilet.
"We all know Octy's guilty," said Ernie as he changed Hector's Depends.
"Yeah, but we're hermanos," I said. "We're brothers forever."
"We can't tell the cops nothing," said Ernie.
"But they're gonna put Octy on Death Row!" I yelled. "He's gonna get a fuckin' lethal injection!"
"Do you want the neighbors to hear?" asked Ernie.
"You're right, we gotta stay on our toes and keep our ears to the wall."
"Brothas forever," said Ernie.
"Best brothas forever," I said.
"You was talkin' about me, weren't you?" asked Octy as he came out of the shitter.
"What makes you say we were?" asked Ernie.
"I have fuckin' ears," said Octy. "I hears all the shit you says."
"Well, I say we get the fuck out of fuckin' West Virginia and hit the road," I said.
"A good fuckin' plan," said Octy. "I'm out like trout."
* * *
Ernie, Octy, Hector, and I checked out of the motel and hit the road as planned. We stopped for gas at a Texaco where Octy pulled up too close to another driver.
"Yo, what the fuck, dude?" asked the driver, a young white male.
"Don't fuck with me, fool," said Octy.
"Is that a fuckin' threat, boy?" asked the other driver. "Because I've got a mind to call the cops."
"Fucking seriously, bro?" asked Octy. "Fuck."
"Break it up, you two," I interjected.
"Hey, who the fuck is that guy?" asked the driver, and took out a knife.
"He's got a knife! Let's split, gang!" yelled Ernie from the car.
"You wanna fuckin' tangle, bro?" asked Octy. "'Cuz it's on."
"No, it's off," I said, and turned to the other driver. "I'm sorry, sir, but we're thousands of miles from our home and we've got to get back on the road."
"Oh, I see how it is," said the other driver. "Well, it looks to me like we got some bad hombres here."
"Did he just say 'bad hombres?'" yelled Ernie from the car.
"Ay, he did," said Octy, and turned to the other driver. "You know, back where I come from, we have a saying about people like youse."
"Where do you come from, Mexico?" laughed the other driver.
"Fucking hell, man," said Octy. "We gotta teach you some fuckin' respect, man."
"Oh, Spanish lessons, sounds like fun," he laughed.
"Holy shit, Jesus fuck!" yelled Octy. "What the fuck is wrong with you, pendejo?"
"What's a pendejo?" asked the other driver.
"You are," said Octy. "And you're about to be a dead pendejo if you don't leave and don't come back."
There were five of us: Ernie, the big lug with the big heart, Hector, the rail-thin comatose one, Octavio "Octy", the asshole, Armand, the friend nobody liked, and me, Edaurdo (spelled that way on my birth certificate), much older brother to the first three, all gathered around a circular table in a West Virginia diner, miles from our New Mexico home.
"Try the fish tacos, they're excellent today," said our server, Maria.
"Not a chance in hell," said Octy.
"Is that any way to talk to our server?" asked Armand. Octy took out his gun and shot Armand dead.
"Oh my God, you killed Armand!" yelled Ernie. He grabbed Hector and we ran out the door.
* * *
"What'cha have to do that for?" I asked Octy as we were rolling in the '87 Pinto.
"Fuck Armand," said Octy. "He thought he was a big tough guy but he weren't shit."
"But they're only gonna come looking for us," said Ernie. "I can't be in jail again."
"Yeah, I don't want you ratting on anyone else," said Octy.
"I never ratted on nobody!" yelled Ernie. "I got off because I was innocent!"
"You and your posse killed a fucking 4-year old girl, ese," said Octy. "Even I wouldn't fucking do that regardless of what posse I ran with."
"They did it, not me!" said Ernie. "I was at home watching Chico and Guapo when it happened!"
"What the fuck do you think ratting is?" asked Octy. "They're all doing 20 to life because you didn't keep your big yap shut."
"People, people!" I exclaimed. "Is this any way to treat a brother? We used to be hermanos, man."
"Well, that pigfucker Armand was no brother of mine," said Octy.
"What did you just call him?" asked Ernie.
"I called him a fucking pigfucker because he fucked fucking pigs," said Octy. "No, really, dude, why do you think they stopped serving carnitas at his greasy taco stand for so long? It was because he couldn't keep his dirty pork sword out of the dirty pork."
"Well, fuck me," I said. "I think I had a fuckin' carnitas taco there once not too long ago."
"Yeah, everyone and their abuela had been calling him Pigfucker for many a year," said Octy. "And I wasn't so lucky either. I ordered el pastor too many times before realizing that was made from pork and not lamb."
"You thought it was fuckin' lamb?" I said. "Did you think it was a fucking falafel stand? What, were you going to order fuckin' schwarmas and gyros, and fuckin' baklava or fuckin' halah, whatever that shit's called."
"It's called halva," said Ernie.
"Shut the fuck up, Ernie," said Octy. "Now where the fuck are we going?" He seemed to have almost forgotten he was the one driving.
A cop quickly pulled us over. "Do you know how fast y'all were goin'?" asked the cop.
"Good thing Armand's not here," Octy said to me.
"You should answer the cop, dude," I said.
"What did you say, boy?" asked the cop. "Who is this Armand?"
"He's just some pigfucker," said Octy.
"Some pigfucker?" asked the cop. "Like someone who fucks pigs?"
"That's the one," said Octy.
"Are you callin' me a pig, boy?" asked the cop.
"No, sir," said Octy.
"I can't hear you," said the cop. "ARE YOU FUCKIN' CALLIN' ME, AN OFFICER OF THE LAW, BOY, A PIG?"
"I said no, sir!" said Octy.
"I don't believe you," said the cop. "You look like you have somethin' to hide. Now, we have evidence that someone driving a '87 Pinto like yours murdered one Armand Ochoa in cold blood at a dump called Maria's. Is that correct?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," I said.
"Shut up and let the driver speak," said the cop. "What's your name, boy?"
"My name's Guillermo," said Octy. "Guillermo de Silvia."
"That sounds like a made-up fuckin' name," said the cop. "I'm gonna take you down to the station, boy. You have the right to remain silent and so on."
"I have more rights than one," said Octy and was promptly beaten by a billy club.
* * *
"What are we gonna do?" I asked Ernie after we got to our motel and Octy went to the toilet.
"We all know Octy's guilty," said Ernie as he changed Hector's Depends.
"Yeah, but we're hermanos," I said. "We're brothers forever."
"We can't tell the cops nothing," said Ernie.
"But they're gonna put Octy on Death Row!" I yelled. "He's gonna get a fuckin' lethal injection!"
"Do you want the neighbors to hear?" asked Ernie.
"You're right, we gotta stay on our toes and keep our ears to the wall."
"Brothas forever," said Ernie.
"Best brothas forever," I said.
"You was talkin' about me, weren't you?" asked Octy as he came out of the shitter.
"What makes you say we were?" asked Ernie.
"I have fuckin' ears," said Octy. "I hears all the shit you says."
"Well, I say we get the fuck out of fuckin' West Virginia and hit the road," I said.
"A good fuckin' plan," said Octy. "I'm out like trout."
* * *
Ernie, Octy, Hector, and I checked out of the motel and hit the road as planned. We stopped for gas at a Texaco where Octy pulled up too close to another driver.
"Yo, what the fuck, dude?" asked the driver, a young white male.
"Don't fuck with me, fool," said Octy.
"Is that a fuckin' threat, boy?" asked the other driver. "Because I've got a mind to call the cops."
"Fucking seriously, bro?" asked Octy. "Fuck."
"Break it up, you two," I interjected.
"Hey, who the fuck is that guy?" asked the driver, and took out a knife.
"He's got a knife! Let's split, gang!" yelled Ernie from the car.
"You wanna fuckin' tangle, bro?" asked Octy. "'Cuz it's on."
"No, it's off," I said, and turned to the other driver. "I'm sorry, sir, but we're thousands of miles from our home and we've got to get back on the road."
"Oh, I see how it is," said the other driver. "Well, it looks to me like we got some bad hombres here."
"Did he just say 'bad hombres?'" yelled Ernie from the car.
"Ay, he did," said Octy, and turned to the other driver. "You know, back where I come from, we have a saying about people like youse."
"Where do you come from, Mexico?" laughed the other driver.
"Fucking hell, man," said Octy. "We gotta teach you some fuckin' respect, man."
"Oh, Spanish lessons, sounds like fun," he laughed.
"Holy shit, Jesus fuck!" yelled Octy. "What the fuck is wrong with you, pendejo?"
"What's a pendejo?" asked the other driver.
"You are," said Octy. "And you're about to be a dead pendejo if you don't leave and don't come back."
"And you're about to be a dead pendejo if you don't leave and don't come back," Octy's voice resonated with a dangerous undertone. The air grew heavy with tension, the palpable fear weaving its way through every molecule surrounding us. The other driver stared at Octy, his eyes wide with disbelief mixed with a hint of trepidation.
His gaze shifted towards the worn-out tires of our old Pinto, the rubber cracked and weathered from years of travel. The oppressive heat of the scorching sun hung heavy in the air, casting long shadows that danced eerily across the asphalt. Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead, mingling with the dust and grime that clung to my skin.
It felt as if the very essence of this desolate Texaco station had seeped into my pores, embedding itself within me. The scorching sun beat down mercilessly, its rays casting long shadows that danced eerily across the worn-out asphalt. I could feel the weight of tension hanging in the air, an invisible force pulling at our every breath.
The scorching sun beat down mercilessly, its rays casting long shadows that danced eerily across the worn-out asphalt. I could almost taste the metallic tang of fear that permeated the atmosphere, mingling with the acrid stench of gasoline and exhaust fumes.
I could feel the tension radiating from Octy, his eyes burning with a mixture of anger and determination. The other driver stood frozen for a moment, his face contorted with a mix of fear and defiance. The air felt thick with anticipation, as if time had slowed down and every heartbeat echoed loudly in my ears.
Ernie's voice pierced through the silence like a serrated blade.
Ernie's voice pierced through the silence like a serrated blade, jolting me out of my reverie. His words were sharp and quick, slicing through the heavy air that hung between Octy and the other driver. I could see the tension in Ernie's face, his eyes darting from one figure to another, searching for any signs of trouble. His mischievous grin had faded, replaced by a look of concern mixed with a hint of fear.
Ernie's eyes darted back and forth between Octy and the other driver, his mind racing to find a solution that would defuse the escalating tension. He clenched his fists, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. The air felt charged with the intensity of their confrontation, each passing second stretching out into eternity.
The scorching sun beat down mercilessly, its rays casting long shadows that danced eerily across the worn-out asphalt. I could almost taste the metallic tang of fear that permeated the atmosphere, mingling with the acrid stench of gasoline and exhaust fumes. The dust particles shimmered in the harsh sunlight, suspended in the heavy air like tiny specks of forgotten dreams.
I watched as they swirled and danced, forming intricate patterns that mirrored the chaotic dance unfolding before me. Octy stood there, his posture tense, his eyes fixed on the other driver with a burning intensity. The atmosphere crackled with electricity.
Ernie, ever the quick thinker, stepped forward, his voice calm but laced with an underlying edge.
Ernie, ever the quick thinker, stepped forward, his voice calm but laced with an underlying edge. The sun beat down relentlessly upon us, its scorching rays casting long shadows on the worn-out asphalt below. I could feel the weight of the moment hanging heavily in the air, as if time itself had slowed down.
The scorching sun continued its assault on my senses, its rays searing through my skin and leaving behind a fiery trail of discomfort. The sweat dripped incessantly from my brow, mingling with the dust and grime that clung to me like a second skin. Everything seemed to blur around me, the world reduced to a hazy backdrop against which this confrontation unfolded.
The scorching sun bore down upon us, its rays mercilessly piercing through the thin layer of atmosphere, intensifying the heat that enveloped our bodies. The Texaco station stood as a lone outpost in the vast expanse of nothingness, the faded red and white sign barely visible amidst the shimmering mirage on the horizon.
The scorching sun beat down relentlessly upon us, its rays searing through my skin and leaving behind a fiery trail of discomfort. The sweat dripped incessantly from my brow, mingling with the dust and grime that clung to me like a second skin.
I could feel the oppressive heat weighing down on my body, suffocating me with its relentless intensity. The Texaco station stood before us, a beacon of solitude in this vast expanse of desolation. Its faded red and white sign creaked in the wind, as if whispering secrets of the countless travelers who had passed through its doors.
The air hung heavy with anticipation, as Ernie and Octy stood face to face with the other driver, their eyes locked in a tense stare-down. I could see the determination etched into Octy's features, his jaw clenched tightly, his muscles coiled like a spring ready to unleash its force.
The scorching sun beat down relentlessly upon us, its rays intensifying the already heated atmosphere. The Texaco station stood as a silent witness to this confrontation, its weathered facade mirroring the worn-out tires of our old Pinto.
The scorching sun continued its relentless assault, casting harsh shadows that danced mockingly on the cracked asphalt. The air hung heavy with tension, each breath weighted with the weight of the moment.
Octy's eyes bore into the other driver's, a fiery intensity burning within his gaze.
Octy's eyes smouldered with an unyielding determination, his gaze piercing through the other driver's facade like a searing laser. The air around them seemed to thicken with every passing second, as if the weight of their confrontation pressed upon the very atoms that composed it. Beads of sweat trickled down Octy's furrowed brow, mingling with the grit and grime on his face as he remained steadfast in his resolve.
The scorching sun beat down relentlessly, its rays intensifying the already heated atmosphere, creating a pressure cooker of emotions.
As I watched Octy stand there, his eyes burning with a fierce determination, I couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration mixed with apprehension.
The scorching sun beat down relentlessly, its rays intensifying the already heated atmosphere, creating a pressure cooker of emotions. The air was thick with tension, like a taut string waiting to be plucked. Octy's eyes bore into the other driver's, a fiery intensity burning within his gaze.
A bead of sweat trickled down Octy's furrowed brow, mingling with the grit and grime on his face as he remained steadfast in his resolve.
Ernie stepped forward, his voice cutting through the heavy silence like a knife. "Listen here, amigo," he said, his words dripping with controlled anger. "We don't want any trouble. We're just passing through, trying to make something of ourselves with our music."
The other driver shifted uneasily, his eyes darting from Octy to Ernie and back again.
The scorching sun continued its relentless assault, casting harsh shadows that danced mockingly on the cracked asphalt. Every element in the scene seemed to conspire against us, as if nature itself had turned into a malicious force, testing the strength of our resolve.
Octy's eyes smoldered with an unyielding determination, his gaze piercing through the other driver's facade like a searing laser.
Every element in the scene seemed to conspire against us, as if nature itself had turned into a malicious force, testing the strength of our resolve. The air hung heavy with the weight of anticipation, each breath drawn in with caution and released with trepidation. Octy's eyes, fierce and unyielding, locked onto the other driver's gaze, daring him to make a move.
The scorching sun beat down relentlessly upon us, its rays casting long shadows that stretched across the worn-out asphalt like haunting specters. The air was thick with tension, a palpable force that hung heavy in our chests and made every breath feel laborious.