Chapter Text
“Puta madre.” Rodolfo's stomach rumbles loudly, the dull ache of hunger gnawing at the center of his belly. He clutches at his stomach in frustration, face twisted in discomfort. From his shared bedroom he listens for any sound coming from the dilapidated kitchen. He pulls anxiously at the loose threads on the bed sheets, the only sound he can make out is the low humming of the refrigerator. No one is home.
Quietly as he can, he tiptoes out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, eyes immediately sweeping over the counters for anything edible. He doesn't bother with the fridge, he's never seen anything but pieces of onions and peppers because of course, their parents are the only ones eating. There's nothing on the stove but an empty and banged up blue pewter pot. His eyes fall upon a chipped coffee mug next to the pot, tiny bread crumbs around it. Rudy's eyes widen when he spots a half eaten piece of bread further behind it. It's gone stale he realizes once he brings it to his lips, the rough edges cut at the inside of his mouth. Belatedly he realizes that it could have been poisoned, a trap for any foul rodent. He's eaten his fair share of traps before only to later be balled up in the bathroom, vomiting out his insides and clutching at the pain in his stomach.
But he can't be picky about what he eats, not in his household. His mother isn't the caring or doting type like the others in his neighborhood. He's seen the way the other mothers give their children hot plates of food, hugs and kind words. He knows not to expect that from her, ever. His father is like her but angrier, more violent, quick to throw punches at his children. He hates that he never knows when he's going to throw those punches, it's why he avoids his father like the plague.
It's easy enough, they're both always too busy yelling at each other to notice their three children. They're adults that never grew up, eternal teenagers wrapped up in their own drama. They don't care about feeding or clothing them, it's as if their responsibility as parents stopped the moment they were born. Hunger is at the forefront of the three siblings’ minds and yet the dishes are somehow always dirty.
Rodolfo has heard his mother yell at his brothers, accusing them of ruining her life, blaming them for her unhappiness. Perhaps it's because he's a middle child, perhaps it's his quiet nature or maybe it's the fact that he's learned how to avoid everyone in his household. Either way he doesn't get too much yelling from his mother or backhands from his father. That sort of attention goes to his older brother, Enrique and his younger brother, Santiago. He knows they loath him for it, he can see it in their eyes.
A piece of stale bread isn't enough to cease his hunger but it'll do until he can find something more substantial. He knows there won't be any more food to be found at home, if he wants to stop the hunger pains then he'll have to get money. Rodolfo heads for the front door where he's left his rusty bike tossed. He pedals off into the street, heading for the local playground.
—
Admittedly, it's not much of a playground, but it's where he and the other kids in the neighborhood congregate. The swings and slides are rusted over and broken all over. Even the asphalt is uncared for, fractured and unleveled with weeds growing among the cracks. Despite all of that, the laughter and shouting of children fills the space like any other playground.
A boisterous voice calls out to him, “Rudy! Over here!” He shields his eyes from the sun with his hand, looking towards the direction of the voice. He slowly pedals over to the source, another teen on a bike surrounded by younger children gathered under the shade of a large tree. “Chuy, you busy?” He asks with slight irritation, the black haired teen smiles wide and stops the flashy card tricks he was entertaining the younger children with. They disperse immediately with sounds of disappointment. “No, you tryna make some money?”
Rudy answers with certainty, “Yeah.” “So, what are we doing?” “ Cadenazo. There’s always someone trying to show off their jewelry at the plaza.” He knows that just one necklace will allow him to eat for a few days once it's pawned. It's quick money, there's no harm done, at least that's what he believes. Sure someone loses their jewelry but that's their fault. They're the ones wearing them out and about knowing it could get yanked, it's fair game in his eyes. He's done it enough times now to be familiar with the process, cocky to a fault because he's never been caught.
—-
As they scout the plaza for the right jewelry, hunger makes itself present again. A familiar dizziness affects Rodolfo's movement, making him slightly clumsy and unfocused. “That one,” he nods toward a middle aged woman, a thick gold necklace with a cross hanging loosely on the front of her plain dress. “You keep an eye out, yell if you see the cops.” “Órale pues.”
Chuy stays back, head on a swivel at the corner of the street as Rudy pedals behind the woman, picking up speed the closer he gets. It should be simple, just a quick yank and that pain in his stomach would stop, at least for a short while. But the moment his fingers touch the gold jewelry, the woman makes a racket that neither teen really expected. She shrieks at the top of her lungs, “HELP! HELP! THIEF! HE'S A THIEF!”
Rodolfo is momentarily startled as the people around them begin to watch the scene unfolding before them. He's come to a full stop on the bike because her hands are wrestling with his own as he tries to pull the jewelry off of her. He's more determined than she is; he pushes her back with a fist to her shoulder, knocking her to the ground as the people around them gasp audibly. Rudy shoves the chain in his pocket, struggling with his footing to get the bike going again. He’s only just started pedaling when Chuy's voice rings out somewhere behind him. “Rudy! They're coming man! Drop it and let's go!”
Rudy grunts, his vision turning slightly spotty under the stress of the situation and the weakness of his body. Chuy doesn't struggle like he does, Chuy doesn't understand what it's like to go to bed hungry, to have to swallow glass after glass of water to fill his stomach. She actually cares for him, she'd never let him suffer the way Rudy's mother does. She would never let Rodolfo leave her house without eating a proper plate of food. Chuy would never understand.
“No!” He pedals away as fast as his skinny legs allow him to, but only seconds later the sound of heavy tires screech against pavement and he knows that can't possibly bode well. Rudy glances back in time to see Chuy peel away down an adjacent street not from street cops, but from a green army pickup truck that was likely just patrolling the area when someone informed them of the ongoing crime.
“Fuck.” He mutters in dismay, dead set on pedaling from the pick up on his trail, his long hair swaying in the wind. Rudy makes a tight turn to the left, entering a narrow alleyway that he knows no vehicle could ever fit. He listens intently for any telltale sound of being followed, his heart thumping away in his ears while sweat beads at his forehead. Rudy nervously moves out of the darkness of the alley and onto a quiet backstreet. He feels around in his pocket to make sure that his meal ticket is still there, breathing hard and trembling slightly.
When he’s sure that he’s no longer being followed, he closes his eyes, something he regrets right away. The air is knocked out of his lungs and his heart drops into his stomach as he's roughly tackled to the dirty ground, arms twisted behind his back painfully and wrists promptly handcuffed. “Let go of me!” “Shut up!” A gruff voice tells him, their knee settles on his back, keeping him firmly pinned with face pressed against the rough street. Rudy twists and turns uselessly to get free, but it's all in vain, he’s been caught.
“Ratero de mierda, why don't you work like the rest of us?” The harsh voice of the soldier is right in his ear, he can feel his breath on his skin. “I am!” He retorts and the soldier laughs as he pulls Rudy upright by the scruff of his neck, pushing him back against the wall of a nearby building. “You consider yanking chains a job? Be serious, you sound like a fucking child.” Rodolfo can finally see the soldier that's managed to catch him; thick dark brows and almond eyes, his dark gaiter tucked under his chin reveals his strong jawline and a smattering of stubble. Tall and bulky body all wrapped up in a standard green camouflage uniform, ‘EJERCITO’ stamped across his vest in thick, white, bold letters.
“I am! You fucking idiot! I'm 17!” He looks skeptically at Rudy before moving closer and patting him down. Rudy’s anger reaches a peak when his meal ticket is taken out of his pocket, it shines tauntingly in the soldier's gloved hand. So close, but so far. The soldier steps back and grumbles under his breath. “No ID. You really are just a fucking kid.”
Rudy’s head falls forward, eyes staring hard at the ground, hunger pains once again gnawing at his insides. The day has gone to shit, all he wanted was money to eat and now he's at the mercy of some soldier. He knows how they treat people like him, beating them black and blue before throwing them in jail. He pockets the necklace, never taking his eyes off Rudy as he does so. Rudy’s stomach rumbles loudly and the soldier pinches at the bridge of his nose, “You're just hungry, huh?”
He turns Rudy around, the handcuffs click as they come off but he doesn't dare move except to rub at his red wrists. He digs into one of his pockets and pulls out a few colorful crumpled bills, “Here, don't let me catch you again, dumbass. Work if you want to eat and live, you keep doing this and you won’t make it far.” Rudy stares wide eyed at the money in his hand, wordless as he looks back up to the man. “What? You want me to arrest you? Get out of here. I'm counting to ten and you better be gone.”
True to his word, the soldier begins counting out loud and Rodolfo scrambles for his tossed bike, immediately riding out of the vicinity. He can’t help but look back, watching as the soldier walks back down the dark alley.
He replays the day in his head over and over as he eats his instant noodles in the dark playground, swinging slightly on the battered swing set. He doesn't know what to make of it, doesn’t know how to feel about it.
As Rudy reaches the bottom of the styrofoam cup he realizes there's something funny about all this. His parents, people who are meant to be kind and caring, don’t care that he goes hungry, don’t care that he’s out robbing people to satiate that painful hunger. They’re cold and indifferent to his suffering. The rough looking soldier that tackled him to the ground, a complete stranger, pitied him enough to give him money to eat instead of handing him over to local authorities, who in turn would've sent him to some juvenile facility.
It's not funny, not in the slightest, it's sad and pathetic, but he laughs all the same. It's the first laugh he's had in a while. Happy moments are far and few in his life. He laughs until tears form in the corners of his eyes, until the laughter turns into small sobs that he tries his best to muffle in the darkness of the night.
—
2 years later
It was Chuy's idea really, to become halcones for the cartel. He'd heard from a friend of a friend that it was easy money and easy work. He’d simply suggested it and Rodolfo didn't think twice before accepting. He wasn't nearly as naive as Chuy, he knew it wasn't actually as easy as they said, that it was in fact dangerous and horribly underpaid. The lowest of the low ranks within the cartel infrastructure, but that didn't deter him, they all had to start somewhere.
It felt good to belong to something, to have some sort of link to others, a sense of belonging that his family had never been able to provide him with. The money was enough to keep him from having to resort to petty theft, enough to keep the hunger pains at bay, even if his diet consisted solely of junk food. Right away he was enamored with what he was given, a shitty red motorcycle and a glock that seemed like it had been through hell and back, if the wear and tear were anything to go by. He quickly grew fond of it, he'd practice shooting it often, taking it apart and assembling it until he was comfortable handling it like the other sharpshooters he admired.
It's a day like any other, the afternoon sun beating down upon him as he’s driving around on his motorcycle with Chuy in tow. They’re keeping an eye out for anything remotely suspicious; enemies disguised as civilians that try to encroach on Las Almas cartel territory or any authority with the intent of digging around, trying to arrest cartel members. Out of sight from civilians and enemies alike, they stop at strategic points where they tune into their radios and check their cell phones for any important incoming information or any stupid joke from the others.
Rudy knows he is little more than cannon fodder at the moment, even Chuy knows that, and that's exactly why Chuy is unwilling to do much work for the cartel. He's not willing to put in the effort Rudy does, even if it means getting less money. This is little more than status and a side hustle for him, a way to make himself seem more important than he really is within his neighborhood. He really shouldn’t be involved in any of this to begin with, he has far more opportunities in his life, but that’s none of Rudy’s business.
“Do you see that?” Rudy pulls off his helmet and squinting as he looks off into the distance. “See what? There's nothing there man, the heat must be getting to you.” “No, no, look again.” The summer heat is brutal, the heat shimmer evident all around them, unbearable even under the shade of trees. Chuy stretches his neck out further, shielding his eyes with his hand in order to see. “ Mierda . It's the green ones.” He looks back to Rudy, visible worry in his eyes.
He revs his bike, “The army is visiting, we have to report this.” “No Rudy, they're coming in hot, man! We gotta get out of here-" “Call it in first, Chuy. You know how this works.” He takes out a radio and two phones out of his worn out black backpack, furiously typing on one and then the other. He can hear Chuy speaking into the radio with fervor. “Don't get nervous, Chuy.” Words of encouragement meant not only for the other, but for himself too.
It's impossible to tamp down the thrum of adrenaline in his body as he watches the muted green pickup trucks speed closer and closer towards them. “Vamonos Rodolfo, we can't stay here!” There's urgency and fear in his voice now, but Rudy doesn't give into it. “No, you know how we do things, Chuy. You can run away if you want but I'm not, someone has to stall them.”
Rudy rides towards an adjacent street, hoping to get an advantageous spot in order to shoot, Chuy reluctantly follows behind at a distance. He gets off the bike and runs to crouch behind the hood of a parked car, slowly taking out his gun from his waistband. He's focused now, too focused to care about the sound of a motorcycle speeding away. The sound of Chuy fleeing from the fight.
His finger slowly comes to lay on the trigger and he steadies his aim over his target, breathing slow and steady. Everything is perfect until it isn’t. Suddenly a heavy body blindsides him and he's tackled to the ground in a way that brings some dejavu to mind. The gun goes off, the bullet whizzes off somewhere into the distance, completely missing its intended target and clattering to the ground. “Get off of me! Puta madre!” He bellows, everything feels the same as it was two years ago; his arms twisted behind him, face pressed painfully against the ground with pieces of gravel digging into his skin.
“You motherfucker, you thought I wouldn't remember you?” Everything is exactly the same as it was two years ago. A chill sweeps over Rudy's body, with that voice alone he knows exactly who he's dealing with. For a reason that's unknown even to him, he attempts to play dumb, “What? What are you talking about, I don't know you! I didn't do anything wrong!” All fight flees his body when the soldier slaps the handcuffs on his wrists.
Rodolfo grunts as the familiar soldier grabs him by the chin, “Look at me cabrón! You don't remember me? Look me in the eye and tell me you don't remember me!” Rudy tries to pull away from his grasp, averting his eyes from him and the other laughs darkly, “You do remember me pendejo!”
Rudy promptly gives up the act, shouting back with anger, “Fine! Puta madre! I remember you, I remember you!” A wave of shame washes over him at the admission and it only gets worse when the soldier berates him, “And you remember what I said too, right?” The space between their faces is minimal, practically nose to nose, “I told you if I caught you doing stupid shit again I'd put you in jail, cabrón!” Rodolfo grimaces as the grip on his chin turns into a painful full face squeeze, “I’m giving you another chance, pendejo. Give me a good fucking reason to not turn you in.”
“Because-, because I can give you good information! You ask me anything and I'll tell you what I know!” The soldier laughs, “Do you have any idea what happens to snitches?” “What do you care? Don't you want to know what I know?!” He clicks his tongue and lets go of Rodolfo's face, “Chamaco pendejo.” Any hope of being let go this time around vanishes as the soldier pulls him up and walks him towards one of the green pickups. He’s shoved into the backseat, “You stay here.” He tells Rudy gruffly as he slams the door shut on him.
He watches the soldiers lift his motorcycle into the back of another pickup. Rudy can’t deny the fear growing within him, but the feeling of defeat has a stronger hold of him. The thought of being thrown into prison, a place that's perhaps worse than the slums, a place that's guaranteed to treat him worse than his family ever did. He rests his weary head on the seat in front him.
When he turns his head to look out the side window, he sees him and the other soldiers. They’re talking about him no doubt, he points at Rudy a few times, but he can't hear any of it with the windows rolled up. With his gaiter pulled down he can take in the pensive look on his face, their eyes meet for a moment. He strides back over to him, pulling open the door, “Do they know you were picked up?” “No.” Though he can't be sure, what with Chuy running off. “Did you report to them?” “Just told them you were headed their way, I didn't say anything else.”
The soldier stares him down, as if trying to decipher if he's telling the truth. He reaches into the endless pockets in his gear and Rudy would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid that the soldier was going to blow his brains out at that exact moment. But all he pulls out is a chocolate pastry wrapped in bright orange foil. He removes one of the handcuffs and hands him the pastry, Rudy goes to protest but is shut down immediately with a simple, “Shut up and eat.”
The burly soldier spends a few good minutes going through all of Rudy's belongings. He scrolls through one phone and then the other, pausing every once in a while when something catches his attention. He's focused and Rudy takes advantage of this to observe him closely or rather admire him. He’s just as he last saw him two years ago. His thick, dark furrowed brows over equally dark lashes, lips framed nicely by dark stubble, all on skin that's just a bit more tan than his own.
Rudy eats the pastry slowly, gazing intently as the soldier looks back up at him while messing with the radio. Their eyes lock and neither looks away for what feels like an eternity, until Rudy finally feels his skin prickle in a way he isn’t familiar with. He can't help but envy him somewhat, he's the type of man he wishes he were; handsome, strong, and powerful. He looks down at his own body, thin arms and bony wrists.
“Why are you feeding me?” Inky eyes glance up at him momentarily, “You look just as hungry as the last time, Rodolfo. That’s your name, right?” Rudy frowns, but nods, indignation just under his skin. The other doesn't seem to care and continues asking him basic questions about who he's working for, how long he's been doing so and whatever else comes to mind. It's nothing serious, nothing that’s worth gold or worth setting him free for that matter.
He steels himself as he opens his mouth to voice the single question that's been nagging him, “What's your name?” The soldier stops everything he's doing, turning his full attention to Rudy and after a minute of hard staring, Rudy hesitantly tries again, “What’s your name, sir ?”
His eyes narrow and he seems to grind his teeth before finally answering, “You can call me Alejandro.” Rudy meekly nods, lips turned slightly up as something finally goes his way. “Alright, here’s what's going to happen. You, Rodolfo, are going to be providing me with all that information you claim to have.” “What do I get?” Alejandro grins with amusement, ”You're in no position to negotiate. For now, you get your freedom. You won't be going to jail and you also won't be getting a tabliza . That's a pretty good deal for someone like you, don't you agree?” He gestures towards the bruises on Rudy's arm, bruises that he put there himself when he manhandled him.
He knows there's no room for negotiation here. But ever since this mysterious soldier, Alejandro , took pity on him, he feels the need to push his luck and see what else he can get out of him. The need to survive one way or another.
Alejandro pushes a phone into his hand, likely a burner judging by its simple and outdated design, “You keep this on at all times, answer when I call and maybe you'll be alright.” He uncuffs him completely and gestures for him to move over. He whistles loudly and the other soldiers that were with him come back like a pack of well trained dogs. “I thought you said I was free to go?”
Alejandro flashes him one last smile before pulling the dark gaiter back over his face, “And you are. We're just making sure you get home safely.” The pickup doors open and the other men quickly fill it, the motor roars back to life and they head off towards his neighborhood.
“But- you-” You can't do that. He knows it's useless, he's stuck between a rock and a hard place. It's bad enough he’s a snitch, now his whole street and more importantly, his family , are going to see him arrive in a goddamn army vehicle. Alejandro eyes him curiously, he must feel the nervous energy radiating off of Rudy because he rests a heavy grounding hand on his shoulder.
The trip feels too short, the immediate consequences of his actions much too close for comfort. When the vehicle comes to a slow stop, all the soldiers step out, standing vigilant around them. Rudy feels himself wanting to crawl out of his own skin, everything sounds muffled as Alejandro drags him out of the truck. His gloved hand pats his cheek roughly, “Pay attention, muchacho.” Rudy nods slightly, but any hope for coming out unscathed from this situation leaves his body when he looks at his house and sees his father at the door.
He feels Alejandro push him forward with a hand pressing against his lower back. “Buenas tardes, señor. Is this your son?” His voice comes off deep and commanding, something Mr. Parra clearly doesn't appreciate in the slightest, he crosses his arms over his chest. “Unfortunately, he's mine.” Rudy sees the way Alejandro's left brow quirks slightly upwards at that, “What sort of trouble is he in now?”
Alejandro isn't the slightest bit bothered with Mr. Parra's unkind treatment, why would he? He's taller, broader, and really in charge. “None at all.” “Then why are you here? You just picking up kids in the slums and recruiting them then?” The smile is evident in Alejandro's voice, “Nothing like that. We saw your son alone and thought it was best to bring him home before he got caught up in something troublesome.”
Mr. Parra grunts, “Trouble enough that you're here, making a scene in front of my house. We're decent people here, there's no need for you lot to be here, making us look like common criminals all because of him .” Alejandro's hand comes to rest on Rudy's shoulder, “There's no need for hostility, señor. Like I said, he's done nothing wrong, we just don't want him to be part of certain statistics. Afterall, the youth are our future. He's all yours, I apologize for any inconvenience we may have caused.” Alejandro lets go of him and walks away from them both after a small salute.
Rodolfo stares wide eyed and helpless as Alejandro and his men drive away. The moment they're out of sight, he's yanked into the house by the arm. All too quickly his father’s left hand is pulling on his long messy locks, his right hand balled into a fist and crashing spectacularly against his face. Blood blooming from his lip as it splits open against his own teeth.
“¿Cómo te atreves Rodolfo?! I don't care what you get yourself into but you crossed the fucking line bringing those idiots here!” Rodolfo grapples at the hand in his hair. “I didn't do anything! Why do you care anyways?! You think anybody around here thinks you're actually a-a decent person or a good father?! They didn't need to see those guys parked outside your house to know you're full of shit!” The fist that meets his face would've made him fall back but his father's hand is still in his hair, holding him steady for more punches. “You. Piece. Of fucking. Shit!” Every word is backed by a punch, by the time he's done Rudy is on the floor, swallowing the thick blood dripping down his throat.
“You know what? It would've been better if they had taken you, you're nothing but a waste of fucking space! I let you live in my fucking house for free and this is how you thank me?I want you out! You hear me?! Get the fuck out of here, Rodolfo! I'm done with you, you ungrateful piece of shit!”
Rudy staggers back up, wiping the blood off his face with the back of his hand. “That's fine with me, I was getting tired of you too.” “Pick up your shit and leave, now .” The finality in his voice leaves little room for argument, not that Rodolfo was going to argue for a place in that godforsaken house. No, he was done with sneaking around the damn place like a rat, avoiding everyone in order to not have any fights with any of the others.
Streaks of blood stain the dirty floor as he makes his way towards the bedroom. He gathers his few earthly possessions; raggedy, discolored pieces of clothing and a small amount of cash he had hidden in the interior of the metal bed frame.
He makes his way back to the front door with his ratty backpack on his shoulder, his father still standing there, furious as ever. Simply looking at the man is infuriating and before he knows it his bony fist meets his father's face. He's sure the man is more surprised than really physically hurt, but he doesn't wait to find out which it is. Rodolfo hurries out of the house, running to his motorcycle in a hurry. The front door swings open, and he can hear the man yelling all sorts of things at him as he speeds off into the dark night.
—-
Rodolfo stares intently at the yellowish walls of his motel room, ruminating on his situation. He’s homeless and alone now, there's no way around that.
He knows staying at this shoddy motel will eventually run his meager savings dry. He could've protected his savings somewhat if only Chuy had agreed to let him stay at his place. But Chuy refused after he saw Rodolfo being carried away by Alejandro and his men. After that he vehemently refused to even be seen with him out of fear. Coward . Of course he would refuse, this was all just a game for Chuy, it would never be as serious for him because he had a warm bed, food, and a caring mother.
“You have to find someplace else to lay low, my mom's going to kill me if she sees you here. Everyone saw those guys outside your house and that's all they're talking about. Besides, what if they come back? What if they change their minds? It's strange they even let you go in the first place!” Rudy simply gave him the finger as he rode off, Chuy only shrugged. “Asshole.”
He doesn't dare tell him that they only got away because he struck a deal with Alejandro.
Rudy groans inwardly, homeless and at the mercy of some soldier. There was nothing at all good about this situation, no remote win at all.
He hears the distinct sound of a phone ringing, except this one's different from the others he carries and he realizes quickly why that is. It's the burner phone Alejandro gave him. His stomach drops, he'd rather not answer, but he's not about to make his situation worse by becoming a fugitive.
“What can I do for you, señor?” “I told you to call me Alejandro.” “Yes sir, Alejandro, sir..” Rodolfo cringes at his fumble, slapping a hand over his face, “Where are you, Rodolfo? I need to see you.” He looks around the room, “At a motel.” “Send me your location, you better open up when I get there.” “Yes sir.”
The knock on his door shouldn't frighten him but it does, the motel room isn't his permanent home but it makes him nervous to let his new soldier acquaintance into his space. He unlocks the door and Alejandro pushes past him. Rodolfo peeks his head out, eyes scanning the area before closing the door behind him.
He's not in uniform and Rudy can't help but gawk at him unabashedly. He looks good in uniform, but he looks even better in his civvies. Alejandro looks a bit like a rancher. He’s got on an unbuttoned grey plaid long sleeved shirt and underneath a simple black t-shirt that's very form fitting, his well muscled figure out on display for anybody to appreciate. Rodolfo is almost sure that Alejandro's arm is almost as thick as one of his own thighs. The jeans he wears are black and tight in all the right places. A horseshoe shaped belt buckle rests snuggly around his hips. The white stitching on the dark cowboy boots peek out from under his pant legs, they're well creased, clearly a well loved item of Alejandro's.
“What?” Alejandro asks with an unlit cigarette between his teeth, he's confidently sitting on the edge of the creaky bed. Rodolfo shakes his head, tearing his eyes away, “Nothing.” Suddenly he's all too conscious of his overall poor appearance, his clothing dingy and his scrawny body. Alejandro points toward one of the chairs at the small table near the door. “Sit.” And he obediently does so, turning the chair to face him.
“Why are you here? Did you just fuck a girl?” Rodolfo shrinks back at that, he's had girls approach him before, but he's never had any genuine interest in them. Not the way he does when he sees certain guys, guys like Alejandro. “What? No, no, I got kicked out of my house because of you. Apparently seeing the army outside of his house is where my father draws the line. I don't have anywhere to stay.” Alejandro sighs, lighting the cigarette and inhaling. He tilts his head back as he exhales, and Rudy ogles at the peaks and valleys of his neck. His eyes follow the path that a particularly thick vein takes from below his ear to the top of large pecs, swirls of black chest hair barely visible.
He wonders how much time and effort it has taken Alejandro to build himself into the burly soldier that he is. “Can you even afford this, chamaco?” Rodolfo looks down at the stained flooring, “Just a few days. I'll figure something out.” “You can't crash on a friend's couch or something?” Rudy angrily thinks back to Chuy. “There are no friends in this business, you can’t trust anyone.”
Alejandro smiles wryly at that. “Miralo, si usa el cerebro.” He looks around for an ashtray and Rudy takes the one next to him, walking over to hand it to him. Before he can go back to his seat, Alejandro's large hand tightens over his thin wrist, pulling him down next to him. The glass ashtray is the only barrier between them. “If you had listened to me back then, you wouldn't be living like this now.” Their faces are only inches apart, Rudy can clearly make out the distinct clover flavor of Alejandro's cigarette, the woody scent of his perfume and a few faint scars on his face. However, none of this is enough to distract him from Alejandro’s infuriating words.
He clenches his jaw, “What was I supposed to do?” “Get a job, stop stealing, easy as that.” “No it's not! Nobody wants to give a job to a drop out in case you haven’t noticed.” Alejandro raises his brows, exhaling a plume of smoke into the air between them and lets go of Rudy's wrist. “That's what they all say, and then when they're in the thick of it, with the muzzle of a gun pressed to their face,” His index finger presses right into the center of Rudy's forehead, “they regret it, they all do. They wish they hadn't gone down this path. Trust me.”
Rodolfo balls his fists up, and Alejandro is quick to tap on one of them, “Easy pendejo. Don't even think about swinging.” He slowly stretches them out, wiping the sweat of his palms on his worn out jeans. “Why did you drop out?” He asks easily, gaze still fixed on the other. Rodolfo crosses his arms and looks down at his ratty shoes, “Waste of time, it doesn't make money,” he lowers his voice, “and they stopped giving out free lunches.”
Alejandro shuts his eyes and sighs exasperatedly, “And this seemed better to you?” He shrugs, “At least I'm not going hungry now.” Alejandro smirks, “I don't know about that.” He wraps a calloused hand around Rodolfo's thin arm, “And now you're homeless.” Rudy remains silent for a moment, “Are you just here to make me feel bad? Because I don't need help with that, I'm doing just fine on my own.” He gives Rudy a pat on his back, “I bet you are. Actually I wanted to see who I'm working with, now I know you're just some poor devil.”
Rudy lets himself fall back on the bed, his hands pushing his wild hair back and out of his face. Alejandro tugs on a lock of his hair to get his attention and Rudy wonders if he's this touchy with everyone. He can't say he hates it. “I do have some business with you. Nothing too big for now, I want some names and I'm sure you can do that much for me.”
Alejandro carries the small table towards the bed, placing it just in front of them and pulling out a large paper map from his pocket. He unfolds it, running his hands over it until it lays flat against the plasticky surface of the table. It's a map of Las Almas, that much Rudy can tell. He just hopes he has all the answers Alejandro has in mind.
And he does, Alejandro wasn't lying. Most of his questions are about things that aren't much of a secret; certain stash houses, upper ranking members and lugar tenientes. It isn't anything big, but Alejandro is meticulous about it. Wringing him dry of any and all information he could possibly have, and it's tiresome because he isn't used to being interrogated like this. He shifts constantly from side to side until Alejandro smacks his thigh, pulling a very audible gasp from his lips. “You're like a damn worm, stay still.” Rudy feels his neck warm uncomfortably and he tries not to think too hard about the feeling of Alejandro’s hand on his body.
Perhaps it's because the table is small, and Alejandro so big , that inevitably Rudy ends up pressed thigh to thigh with him in order to see the map. Not that he really needs to see it, but he finds himself enjoying the sight of Alejandro's hand moving against the map as he jots things down. His stillness doesn't last long, however, he starts bouncing his leg and Alejandro doesn't put up with it. His hand comes to rest over Rudy's leg, giving it a squeeze that seems more like a warning. Rodolfo rests his chin in his palm, looking up at him through his lashes, muttering a very insincere ‘sorry’ .
Alejandro finally caps the black marker he used to write and Rudy, as tired as he is, feels something he can't quite place. Something bad as he realizes that his time with Alejandro is up. The paper map is folded back up again and tucked into Alejandro's back pocket.
“Let's eat.” Alejandro studies him as he lights another cigarette. Rudy pushes the ashtray towards him, “What? You mean another one of those pastries?” Alejandro frowns at that, “No cabrón, real food . You eat like shit that's why you're so…” he trails off, “you need to put on some muscle.” Rudy hmphs, fingers lightly touching the hard muscle that makes up Alejandro’s bicep, “Whatever you say, big guy, but I doubt you got that big just by eating. You're part of the army, you guys train all the time too. No one's training me.”
“I can tell, you have shit aim.” “I'm not that bad actually, maybe even better than you.” Rodolfo gives him a toothy, cocky smile, it makes his eyes shine and the skin around his eyes crinkle. It's the first smile Alejandro has seen on Rudy, it makes him look younger, happier, far more appropriate than the usual scowl he carries. He finds himself wondering if there's something he could do to see that smile again.
“You'll have to show me that sometime because I find it hard to believe.” He stubs out the cigarette in the ashtray and walks around to stand directly in front of Rudy, eyeballing him up and down, “Don't you have any other clothes? Something more presentable?” Rodolfo huffs, “With less holes you mean?” He's terribly aware of his appearance and next to Alejandro he looks genuinely homeless but clothes have never been high on his list of priorities. The few clothes he has are ill fitting and worn out hand me downs. “Something cleaner, your shirt looks like you used it to wipe your bike down.”
He rolls his eyes and opens his backpack, rummaging around for something decent. He doesn't bother going to the bathroom to change, standing in front of the small rectangular mirror on the wall next to the bed and shamelessly pulling the old dirty shirt off and tossing it to the floor. He hears the other click his tongue in annoyance at the action, muttering something about not being orderly.
Alejandro stares at him, really stares , Rudy's clothing is terribly baggy, it all hangs off of him in a way that isn’t just unflattering, but also hides his body. He's taken aback by the svelteness of the younger's body, his bones visible just beneath his skin as he pulls the shirt over his head. His skin is peppered with dark moles of varying sizes. Small scars lay among them too, some raised and bulky, others flat and discolored. A small butterfly tattoo paints his left hip. Rodolfo could stand to gain some weight and muscle, but he's undeniably…attractive. The new shirt he wears is smaller and cleaner, but it's nowhere near the right size for his thin frame.
“The jeans too?” He asks through the mirror, Alejandro takes an embarrassingly long time to answer, prompting Rudy to turn around and look at him directly. He clears his throat,“Yeah, those too.” He watches as Rudy lets his torn baggy jeans fall to the floor, revealing the smooth tan skin of his legs. “What happened to you?” His tone is soft and the concern genuine. “What do you mean?” Rudy asks as he does his best to wrangle his dark hair into place, something he's never been good at.
Alejandro walks up behind him, touching the purple bruise beneath his shirt. Rodolfo winces, “I don't know, maybe my father or maybe it was the cops…or maybe it was you .” “I wasn't that rough with you. Who did the bruises on your face?” Rudy lets Alejandro gently touch the fading bruises on his nose, and then his cheek. He squeezes at Rudy's split lip, causing him to hiss and pull away from him.
“My father did that the moment you left.” “And the others? You have problems with the cops too?” “Yeah, what do you expect? I'm an easy target for them.” Alejandro keeps his tone down, “Maybe if you learned how to behave it wouldn't happen to you.” Rodolfo narrows his eyes, “I'm not doing anything, they just don't like seeing someone like me loitering around.” Alejandro hums in agreement, he points at the mirror, “Look at yourself.” Rodolfo turns to face it, “Look at your clothes, your face. You look like you're mixed up in all sorts of things. Just because you’re a shitty little criminal doesn’t mean you have to look like one. You want to be treated better don't you?” Rodolfo nods, Alejandro's hand snakes into his hair, tugging on it until Rudy’s head tilts back to ease the pull on his scalp. “Start with something small, fix your hair, get some new clothes.” Rodolfo turns away from the mirror, once again taking in all of Alejandro’s appearance. “Fine.” He lets go of Rudy’s hair and pats him on the back, “Vamonos pues.”
___
Alejandro doesn’t scold Rudy for touching just about every surface within his reach, he understands that it’s likely the other hasn’t ever been inside a decent pickup or any other vehicle for that matter. Rudy touches the stitching on the leather seats and runs his hand over the hard plastic of the dashboard. He stares at the screen on the center console and Alejandro sighs, “You can touch it, just don’t mess with the settings.” He can see the smile spread across Rudy’s face and he can’t stop himself from smiling either.
Rudy doesn’t know why he’s so trusting of this man he’s only met all of 3 times under less than pleasant circumstances. For all he knows, Alejandro could be driving him to his doom right now. It’s not like he’s told him where they’re going, but then again he doubts Alejandro would’ve asked him to change clothes just to shoot him in the head later on. The ride is long, quiet, but not unpleasant. When they come to a stop outside of some rustic looking shops, Alejandro orders him to stay and Rudy waits, until 15 minutes later he reappears with two green plastic bags that he drops on his lap. The savory smell wafting from them makes his mouth water and his stomach rumble audibly. Alejandro raises a single brow and laughs, “Not going hungry, huh?” “Whatever, where are we going?” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road as he answers in a deadpan voice, “Oh, I’m taking you out to a field where I’m going to shoot you and then, I’m going to eat your food.”
Rodolfo’s body tenses and his eyes go impossibly wide, the second Alejandro sees his expression he breaks into laughter, “Take it easy, if I wanted to kill you I wouldn’t bother doing all of this. That’s too much work, Rodolfo. Besides, it’s me who should be worried about you.” “You? Worried about me?” “Well, you’re the criminal here.” Rodolfo scowls, “But you’re willingly associating with a criminal.” Alejandro shrugs, “It’s for the greater good.” Rudy rolls his eyes.
Alejandro stops the pickup near a cliff and Rudy is only slightly worried for his well being, the area is lonely and empty, but it has an impressive view of Las Almas. The city stretches out infinitely in a way that has him marveling at the scene until Alejandro pats his shoulder. “Eat, you’re starving aren’t you?” Rudy nods and they eat in companionable silence until he breaks it with a question.
“So, what is it that you do anyways?” Alejandro wipes his hand on a flimsy napkin, “You know what I do already.” “Tackle innocent people to the ground and then take them out to eat?” “You see yourself as innocent?” Rodolfo takes a swig from his coke bottle and shrugs, “I haven’t done anything too bad.” “Why did you join them?” “I already told you, I’m hungry and they’re paying.” “You must have another reason.” Rudy goes silent for a moment, wringing his hands as he answers, “For my little brother, I don’t want him to live in the slums anymore.” “You have a brother?”
“Two. Enrique is my older brother, he left the house a while ago. He couldn't stand our parents anymore. Diego is the youngest, he's 11.” “You left him behind.” “I'd ruin his life if I brought him along, he's better off without me, but at least this way I can give him some money. This way he doesn’t end up doing what I had to.” Rodolfo fidgets with his hands, looking away. Alejandro nudges him, an open beer bottle in hand, Rodolfo accepts, sipping slowly as they watch the sunset over Las Almas. “You must care about him a lot.” Rudy avoids his gaze completely, “Yeah.” Alejandro thinks back to his own small family, his mother and father, and the poverty they lived in. They happily supported his decision to join the army. He worked hard to become lieutenant, a rank that allowed him to take his parents out of their shabby home. He’d survived poverty and he had the army to thank for that.
As the daylight slowly turns orange and then red, Alejandro finds his eyes wandering more often than not over Rudy. He watches as the beer takes the tension out of his body, his furrowed brows relax and his lips curve upwards slightly. Rudy turns suddenly, seemingly unaware of Alejandro’s staring, “You can call me Rudy if you want.” The oil from the food makes his plump lips shine in the dying sunlight in a way that makes something stir within Alejandro. “Rudy it is then.”
“Si, Ale.” He blinks slowly, sleep evidently taking over him. Alejandro’s hand tightens around his glass bottle. “Well Rudy, you're an absolute lightweight, let's get you back home.” “I'm not a lightweight, I'm just tired.” He mutters, eyes closing as Alejandro starts the engine back up. Rudy falls asleep quickly, body lax and head hanging to the side. Alejandro finds himself driving slowly, avoiding the bumpier roads and glancing at him at every stoplight.
It takes Rudy around 10 minutes to wake up on his own once they're back at the motel, Alejandro can't bring himself to shake him awake. “Ya llegamos, Rudy.” “Right…” His voice small as he blinks the sleep away, the neon light of the motel sign bathes his face in red light. A small sigh escapes him as he looks from his motel door and back to Alejandro.
“Keep that phone on, I'll call you soon. Don't make me come looking for you.” “Yeah, yeah.” As he opens the car door he turns back to Alejandro, sheepishly muttering, “Gracias.” “So you do have some manners.” The colorful heat on Rudy's face goes unnoticed under the red light, he slams the door shut and sprints towards his motel room.