Cholo

“Half a meelyun dollars ees not crumbs, pendejo,” Tattoo said as he paced the floor in front of me. “And, I weel torture you for half a meelyun days just for fuhn. It makes me happy.”

Dressed in silk slacks, dress shoes, and a white wife beater, he paused, smiled from ear to ear, and then motioned toward his partner, who was standing beside him holding a hammer.

“Where’s my mahney?”

Wearing nothing more than the blood-stained boxer shorts I’d worn for the last two days, I’d been moved into a folding chair. Held in place by the third man, I provided no resistance.

I simply couldn’t muster the energy.

I was slowly letting go, and I knew it.

I turned my head to the side, spit on the floor beside the man with the hammer, and then locked eyes with Tattoo.

“Fuck you,” I spat.

He glanced at each of his accomplices and then began to laugh like a madman. After he caught his breath, he looked at me.

His eyes thinned to slits.

“Eet was two or maybe three years ago. I took a hammer and smashed a man’s toes, one then another, until he had no toes left.” He pressed his hands to his knees, lowered himself down to my level, and then cocked an eyebrow. “Then, I hit him in the head with eet until he had holes in his skull. His brains leaked out on the floor, but he leeved long enough to tell me what I wanted to know.”

I realized my feet were flat on the concrete floor.

I imagined the hammer smashing my toes into something resembling hamburger. My stomach began to knot up, and then it started to convulse.

My eyes fell closed.

Give me the strength to let go, Lord. That’s all I ask.

He took a step back and nodded toward my feet. Before I had a chance to resist, pull away, or say anything, the hammer came crashing down onto the top of my right foot.

My back arched, my mouth shot open, and I screamed like a newborn baby.

The pain was unimaginable.

I gulped a few breaths, and then looked down.

He’d missed my toes, but hit the top of my foot so hard the skin was split wide open, revealing a snow-white sliver of bone.

I began to blubber and sob.

I was done. I couldn’t take another moment of torture. I inhaled a choppy breath, closed my eyes, and tried to get my sobbing under control.

I was going to die, and I needed to die like a man.

As I sat with my eyes closed and prepared to die, my right foot felt like it exploded into a million pieces. Then, a more horrendous pain consumed my entire body.

My eyes burst open.

I looked down.

Upon seeing what had happened, my entire body tensed, extracting what little energy I still possessed straight from my soul.

The big toe of my right foot was mangled into a bloody piece of unrecognizable meat.

I tried to clench my jaw, but my lips were quivering in spams.

After a moment of collecting my thoughts and channeling what little composure I had left, I fixed my eyes on Tattoo and shot him an evil glare.

“I killed…I killed those piece of shit drug dealing fucks,” I said through my teeth. “And, just so you know I’m the one who did it, one had Calle 18 tattooed on chest, and an eyeball on the back of his fucking head. Then I set the girls free. On my way out, I took the money…”

I turned my head to the side, spit on the floor, and then met his wide-eyed gaze. “And I gave it to the fucking police. Go talk to detective Watson. He’s waiting for you to come claim it. Pudrete en el infierno, Maricon.”

I knew my statement would cause him to realize there was no way to get his money back.

The last thing he’d do was go to the cops.

My telling him in perfect Spanish to rot in hell, asshole would let him know he’d beaten on me for two days without breaking my spirit. I was sure it was enough to get him to kill me, and that’s what I wanted.

It was over.

They could beat me to death with the hammer, but they could never hurt Alexandra, and that was all that mattered.

Take care of Alexandra, Lord.

I closed my eyes.

Now. Please, set me free.