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When the front door closes, and we are alone, he says, "Who gave you the bag, and who sent you?" Holding the duffle bag, I roll my eyes and fish out my cell phone. I let out a frustrated breath, press the call button, and bring the phone to my ear. He scowls. "Who are you calling?"
I raise my eyebrows. "Who do you think? My grandfather."
His eyes widened, when his hand shoots out and snatches my cell phone, ending the call.
"What the fuck, Maxim?"
"Are you insane? You can't call him."
"Well, who do you think sent me?"
"Believe me, he is the last person that would come to mind."
He turns and I notice the crown tattoo on his neck. How different he is compared to his brother. Maxim is more like his father, Alex. He also dresses like our fathers do sometimes. The old-school way. Chicano. It's their way of life.La culturaof being Mexican American. The in-between is based on knowledge, history and identity.
In the old days in counter-subculture, thePachuco’swere the predecessors of the Cholos and would wearthe zootsuit in the early twentieth century. It is banned in LA due to the riots. It is illegal to wear the high waisted suit pants with suspenders, it was considered to be unpatriotic.
Cholos originated in the neighborhoods in southern California and the term is sometimes used despairingly because their association with gangs.
Cholo style is wearing pressed khakis, white Nike sneakers, a white t-shirt underneath a flannel long-sleeve shirt with only the first and second buttons fastened. And Maxim looks fine as hell embracing it. His tattoos tell a story. His body an invitation.
I've never seen him at the pool when I would hang out with the guys. He was always at odds with Santiago. And like Marcus, they were drawn to the east of Hillside. It makes sense since Maxim was raised with his mom for the first six years in LA. His uncle is Alina's brother and the leader of the Hillside Kings in California.
I never noticed Maxim, but all the other girls did because I only had eyes for Santiago. But things change. Sometimes, you need to wake up from a dream.
"Are you going to come inside, or will you keep staring at me?"
My cheeks burn. I think of a good reply but come up short, so I go with, "I don't know. Maybe you need to call someone."
"Andale."He motions for me to go inside. "Don't give me shit."
Why did you have to be so good looking?
The music is turned down, and a King and a 'home girl occupy every seat in the living room. They call their girlfriendshome girlsor the girl they are messing with. Orruca, but some girls don't like that term because it means old. But it can mean a wife or girlfriend.
The girls seated on the laps of the Kings or next to one are okay with it if they are with a King. It means they are cared for financially and protected in the El Barrio.
My dad would tell me and my brother Xavier stories of the Kings in the east growing up. The need to feed their familiesbut, most of all, protect them from other gangs. The guys and us girls never had that problem living in our fancy mansions and expensive cars.
"Who is she, eh?" The girl sitting next to–– I'm assuming––Angel by the big tattoo with his name on his forearm shoving her gently. The same girl still giving me dirty looks because of Maxim.
"Not now, Leti,'' Maxim says, “I have a business meeting,"
She sucks her teeth. "What business do you have with her," she snarls. "You fucking her?" I laugh. She glares and stands up. "You think it's funny, eh?"
I stop laughing, and my jaw hardens. "Yeah, I do. Now get out." I can feel everyone's eyes on me in the room, waiting for Maxim to correct me, to tell me to shut up and not talk to his home girl that way, but it never comes.
"You heard her, Leti," Maxim says and she storms out, slamming the door. "This is Elena, Xavier's sister."
"Damn,holmes. We didn't know," Angel says and glances at me. "We're sorry, eh. We never seen you before. We don't want any trouble. My sister didn't know any better. Sorry for the disrespect."
The three guys that pulled their Glocks on when I showed up shift in their seats. The three girls seated next to them give each other worried looks.
"Now you know." I turn to Maxim. "Let's get to it."
This is not school, and these guys are not my friends. The women even less.
Maxim shuts the door, and the duffle bag drops to the floor when he pins me against the door. "What…"
