Chris Lee is a writer from Pennsylvania. A lover of all things mystery and noir, he hopes to one
day finish the novel in his head. He has stories in Punk Noir and can be found on Instagram:
@Chrimenez and X at https://x.com/Chrimenez
The kid wore hate in his eyes like shades in the summer. If you saw him standing outside the store that day, you’d have sworn he’d burn a damn hole through the door. Alfredo’s Deli was almost empty when the kid stood outside, bad motherfucker that he was, ready to make his play. See, the kid held no fear, wasn’t about to let them see him sweat. The kid was ready to show he was a somebody, wanted to let his stick do the talking, wanted to walk the walk. They didn’t know his real name. All they knew was he liked to be called Chavo.
I knew all this because I was in the Deli that day. I knew cause Chavo let me live.
It all started on a Tuesday. This kid, busted into the Deli as I was by the fridge picking up drinks, shouting and waving his stick around. The kids liked to let their sticks do the talking, nobody liked getting dirty anymore, no squabbling fair and square. Just stick talk and bullet holes.
The kid couldn’t have been more than 15 years old by the looks of him, the gun was thicker than his arm. Had a shitty mustache that he must have thought made him look tough. Wearing a Tupac shirt and some sweats.
Alfredo’s making hoagies and ignoring the hubbub, he gets kids coming here all the time screaming dumb shit. I was still in the back, knowing damn well if I even sneezed, I’d be Swiss cheese.
Chavo was alone. Kid got balls the size of grapefruit. Wasn’t even shaking, eyes full of rage and adrenaline.
Alfredo asked the kid what he wanted, having turned around to see the skinny arm dangling the gun over his counter. Mustard and mayonnaise decorated his apron. Chavo spit, raked one hand over his head and kept the gun steady on the counter pointed at Alfredo.
Told Alfredo open the register. Alfredo said no. Chavo blinked. Stared at him like he didn’t understand English.
I’m holding my breath, knowing damn well how shit like this goes in the streets.
Chavo told Alfredo to open the register one more time. Tried to say it with some bass in his voice but it cracked. I thought I saw his hand shake slightly. Then he held his arm up higher, squeezed the trigger and shot Alfredo three times in the chest.
The store grew silent and I remember the feeling of goosebumps on my arm. Chavo didn’t move. His arm was still aiming where Alfredo had been. His face was blank.
When his arm finally dropped, I could have sworn he almost dropped of the gun.
That’s when I saw it. Devil Kings ink on his forearm, red horns with a crown on top, where a halo would be. The face below the horns was similar to a Japanese Hannya mask, but just an outline with no color. Everyone in this neighborhood knew Kings tattoos were full red. That meant the kid was new blood. This must have been his initiation.
In the almost empty store Chavo stood, his jaw clenched. He hadn’t noticed me in the back by the fridge, a small shelf blocked his view but I could see from a small slit at the top of the shelf. He mumbled something and turned to face the door, then turned back to peek over the counter at Alfredo’s body.
I decided that now was a good a time as any. I pushed a can over and stepped out from the shelf. The kid jumped but reacted quickly, aimed the gun at my chest. His mouth was firmly shut and those eyes, the damn fire in them should have scared me.
Should have.
He told me to get down, the stick’s barrel a black hole. Something told me the kid wanted more blood but couldn’t decide. I placed my hands up in mock surrender and smiled.
“Chavo, it’s me.” I said.
I pulled my sleeve up, showing him my fully shaded in Devil King ink. The horns are even red.
“Bueno kid. You killed it.”
First time I saw the kid smile.
~ fin ~
Chris Lee is a writer from Pennsylvania. A lover of all things mystery and noir, he hopes to one
day finish the novel in his head. He has stories in Punk Noir and can be found on Instagram:
@Chrimenez and X at https://x.com/Chrimenez
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