Page 1 of Liar

1

How it all began…

Gunfire is as common as tortillas and tamales in Loreto. A good day is when the streets aren’t running red and the gentle hum of nature dwarfs the dismal reverberations of death.

Good days are rare. Good nights even rarer, with tonight being one of the worst.

“Hide, Luciana. Fast.” My brother Diego’s shout cuts through the night.

Nightmares are something you’re supposed to wake up from, not into. But I’m quick to realize that’s exactly what’s happening.

I roll out of bed, my heart racing. Fearing how this time, the stucco walls of our small house aren’t enough to keep danger out. I bite my lip in hesitation, briefly consider rolling beneath my bed but instead race across the small room to the window. With shaky hands, I yank the nails out of the rotting frame. One by one, until I’m finished and able to open it. But only partially, the warped wood allowing me to tug it up a quarter of the way. A year ago, I’d have squeezed through the gap. Before God blessed me with healthy, big breasts and full hips that sway as I walk. A late-blooming growth spurt that’s changed me from a gangling sixteen-year-old to a seventeen-year-old with a figure that, unfortunately, seems to make men sit up and take notice,in a town where staying invisible is the only way to survive.

Invisible ... I give up on the window as a stream of cursing erupts from the living room. My only remaining choice is to hide behind one of the floor-to-ceiling bath curtains I’d hung up to hide the cracks in the walls. I slip behind the vinyl closest to the door and listen attentively as I try to piece together what’s going on.

“Compadres, cálmate,” I hear my brother say. Hard to know if he’s afraid or not, his tone is flat and unruffled. I’m terrified. This is the first time company like this has paid us a house call. We’ve avoided being directly sucked into their business, even when recruitment into the Mexican drug cartels has become the norm.

What has Diego done?

“You think you’re worthy of being a Cobra? You were ordered to kill someone. Proof you’ve gotloscajonesto be one of us. So?”

I stiffen in horror. Diego murder someone? Our parents died in a cartel-initiated shooting. Since then, it’s been him, me, and our combined wits enabling us to survive in an ever-changing environment.

No. My brother is not joining a cartel. I won’t allow it.

“Haven’t killed anyone yet,” I hear him say.

Oh, no. That tone—

A loud pop rings out.

“Until now.”

“Mierda. He shot Manuel straight between the eyes.”

There’s gunfire followed by the telltale sound of a struggle. My brother can brawl with the best of men. He’s no one’s victim. But he’s battling a few men, who’ve busted into our home, and I’m struggling to come up with a way to help him. I’ve got a few solid moves, learned for self-defense rather than a full-on attack. Now how I wished I’d listened and not stubbornly refused when my brother encouraged me to learn how to shoot. A bullet beats an upward thrust of the heel of a hand any time.

“Grab his sister. We’ll drag them both before Arturo.”

I inhale sharply as fists connect with flesh. Footsteps sound, along with Diego’s lie. “She’s at a friend’s house,pendejos.”

My bedroom door slams open, yet I’m prepared for it. The door rebounds off my outward facing palms, leaving a small gap between the wooden surface and me. Enough where from a hole in the vinyl shower curtain, I can see the man in the dim light as he marches over to my bed, falls to his hands and knees, and peers beneath it.

Cursing under his breath, he stands and turns toward the small window directly across from me. I hold my breath as he marches toward it and out of eyesight, praying he’ll think I’ve slipped away and am long gone.

I wish I were ... except for Diego ...

Another shot is fired in the living room.

Another furious screech. “Fuck. Juan.”

The man in my room freezes for two long seconds before screaming, “Juan! You’re gonna pay, motherfucker.” He charges from the room, but I can’t exhale the air I’ve been holding in my lungs quite yet.

Dios, Diego. What have you gotten us into?

“You wanted proof, compadres?” I hear him taunt. “I gave you proof. Next time you’ll think twice about breaking into my home.”

“Take hold of his other arm,” someone barks. “Arturo will deal with him.”