(For those of you who haven't read the other two chapters, You didn't miss much. Los Malos, an L.A. gang, beats up a kid, gets two new-comers named Connie and Mike, and the police are on their tail.)

Los Malos

Chapter 3

“These are nice,” Paco commented, flipping through the cigarettes in the pack.

Connie only smiled, twirling her own in her fingers.

He glanced up suspiciously. “They aren’t poisoned, are they?” He teased.

The twirling stopped instantly. Glaring at Paco, Connie lit the cigarette and purposefully took a long drag.

Paco chuckled. “Okay, then.” He pulled out his own lighter. The others were already helping themselves to the expensive cigarettes.

Mike tucked his lit cigarette in his mouth and sat down next to Kevin, a wiry African youth, who was just lighting his own.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Mike joked, taking out his cigarette to smile. A stream of smoke flowed out of his mouth as he talked.

Kevin didn’t take the bait. “I always ditch first and second period on Thursdays,” he explained. “What’s your excuse?”

“My school is back in Ontario,” Mike answered, taking another drag. “And besides, the cops are after me. They don’t have your face yet, do they?”

Kevin shook his head. “Nope. I’m more careful than Reiko and Taylor and them. I don’t show off.”

“So you’ve never snuck anything on campus?”

“Loads of times,” Kevin answered abruptly, chewing thoughtfully on the end of his cigarette. “I just keep getting caught, is all.”

Something gleamed in Mike’s eyes, and he lowered the smoking cigarette, smiling. “I had a knife with me all the time back home, and I was never caught. Want to see?”

Kevin shrugged, but Mike could tell that he was paying attention.

Mike pulled his switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open. All conversation in the dim alleyway stopped abruptly at the sound, everyone suddenly tense.

Oblivious to the sudden tension, Mike held out his hand. “Could I borrow your blade for a sec?”

Kevin hesitated. No one ever went without some sort of weapon, even for a “sec.”

Mike sighed and snapped his fingers at Connie. “Toss me something, sis,” he said.

Normally she would’ve bristled at being snapped at and commanded like a dog, but this time she grinned wickedly and tossed him a knife.

Taylor followed it as it arched through the air, her eyes growing wide. She grabbed at her empty pocket. “Hey!”

But Paco only laughed. The pricey cigarette had put him in a good mood.

Mike caught the switchblade and flipped it open. “Thank you, Connie,” he said smugly, grinning at the German.

Taylor glowered at him, then snapped rigid as he used the tip of her knife to work at the screws of his knife. “Hey!” she shouted again. “That’s not a screwdriver!”

Several members shushed her, glancing towards the mouth of the alleyway and chewing their cigarettes nervously.

Mike ignored her and pulled the screws out, removing his blade from its handle. He grinned savagely at Kevin. “Now check this out.”

He pulled off his shoe and searched around the sole, then, when he had found the gap he had prepared before, he carefully slipped the bare blade partway in between the shoe and its sole. Finally, he pulled an old thread from his pocket, tied it around the hole the screws had gone through, and pushed it all the way in.

“So you can pull it out quickly,” Mike explained, slipping his shoe back on. “They never suspect it. Trust me, I did it all the time.”

Kevin raised his eyebrows, intrigued, and slowly chewed on the end of his cigarette, thoughtful.

Still smiling, Mike put his knife back together (Taylor clenching her jaw as he used her knife to twist the screws back in) and tossed the knife back to Taylor. Everyone went back to their casual slouching, now that all the knives were put away. A few were slightly disappointed that there was no action, but most were happy to be saving their energy for bigger game.

With her blade safely back in her pocket, Taylor lit her cigarette and glumly breathed in the smoke—and her eyes suddenly lit up. She pulled away, admiring it. “Damn, that’s good!” she breathed, the smoke spilling out of her mouth.

Connie nodded modestly, continuing to smoke.

The German girl turned greedily toward Connie’s backpack. “You have anything stronger?” she asked, already reaching for the bag.

Connie casually picked up her backpack before Taylor touched it, pretending not to notice her. Taylor’s square jaw clenched, but she said nothing.

“Marijuana,” Connie shrugged, casually. “If that’s what you want…”

Taylor sat back in disappointment, hoping for something bigger, but Paco leaned forward, reaching for the marijuana cigarette in Connie’s hands.

Connie held the cigar back, eyebrows raised. “Sorry, amigo,” she said, mocking the word, “But this costs.”

Whatever good feelings the cigarette had brought dissipated immediately, and the entire gang went silent. Reiko, especially, was alert, the cigarette still smoking lazily in between his fingers, forgotten.

Paco cocked an eyebrow, pulling at the scar that ran down his face. “I could get it from you if I wanted to,” he said calmly.

Connie shrugged, seemingly unaware that she was treading on dangerous ground. “I’ve dealt with greedy boys before, twice your size,” she replied. “I gave you the cigarettes for free, and those kind are hard to get. Whenever you need them I have them, and you can have those for free, as an employee discount. As for everything else, I can lower the price for you, if that’s what you want, but I can’t go around giving away expensive drugs for free.”

Mike had seen battles like these between his sister and a burly groups of high-schoolers before, and she had won every time. But he did wonder how she’d fare against Paco.

The Latino youth crossed his legs, the black leather jackboots he always wore thumped heavily on the asphalt and the leather squealed. “How much?” he asked, eyes hooded.

“Half-price, for you,” she said.

Paco barked a tight laugh. “Half? Is that the only math you can do?”

“Insulting me isn’t going to help you, Paco,” she answered coolly. “Half-price is a good deal. Not even my brother has gotten it before.”

Paco’s sharp eyes flicked to Mike.

“Connie, leave me out of this,” Mike said weakly, smiling, but, seeing the look in Paco’s eyes, he sobered and said, “I usually only get a couple dollars off.”

The Latino youth turned back to Connie, regarding her silently. Connie calmly stared back, smoking her cigarette, her chin set at a defiant angle.

Finally, Paco removed a wad of dollar bills and handed them to Connie, eyes glinting. “Bitch,” he spat, but he was smiling.

Connie smiled sweetly back and handed him the marijuana, not even bothering to count the money. Mike noticed a bead of perspiration trickling down the side of her neck and realized she had known how dangerous tangling with Paco was. Apparently she wasn’t going to push the matter any further to make sure she got the right amount.

Smart girl.

Kevin glanced at his cell phone to see the time, and stood. “I’m off,” he said. “I’ll ditch sixth period today, too, I guess. No point to it, might as well.”

Everyone mumbled their goodbyes, having most of their attention focused on Connie and her drugs. After thumbing his closed blade for a while, he decided to try Mike’s trick later and left the alleyway.

Mike handed Connie some money and got one of the cheap cigarettes; the ones she had given everyone were a bit potent for him, and he had had enough for one day. Once whoever wanted to buy something got what they wanted, Connie leaned back against the bricks of the alleyway, a smoking roll of marjuana in between her lips, smugly counting her profits.

“I sort of miss school,” she said unexpectedly.

Mike’s head snapped up, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. “What?!”

“I got the most profit there,” she replied calmly, though a bit disappointed. “Sure, now I don’t have to do it in secret, making sure the cops won’t find anything on me, but I had a good group of customers.”

Paco chuckled. “I’m sure they’ll be disappointed to lose such a valuable dealer,” he commented, eyes glittering as he chewed on his cigarette.

At that moment, Kevin came back around the corner, hurrying into the alley. “On second thought, I think I’ll hang here,” he said lightly, sitting back down next to Mike. “What’s it to me if I skip a day?”

Paco looked up. “Why the sudden change?” he asked suspiciously.

Kevin took a deep breath and took another one of the cigarettes from Connie, which she grudgingly handed to him. “The suckers are here.”

The Latino youth was instantly alert. “Where?”

“Coming up,” Kevin answered, jerking his head in the direction of street. “They all just ditched school for some graffiti.”

Paco rolled his eyes. “What a lame thing to ditch school for,” he muttered. His fingers wandered towards his pocket, where his switchblade was, but he didn’t pull it out.

Mike glanced at Kevin in confusion. “The suckers?”

“The Chupacabras,” he whispered back.

"Chupacabra?" Mike asked. "What does that mean?"

“Blood-sucker,” said another Malos member, a slender Caucasian girl named Jessie.

“Actually,” Corrected Paco, removing his cigarette to answer, “It means ‘goat-sucker.’”

“Goat-sucker?” Connie scoffed. “As opposed to sheep-sucker?”

“Sounds…terrifying,” Mike agreed sarcastically.

“It’s a mythical creature in Mexico that sucked you dry of blood,” Paco explained, with none of the levity the others shared.

The others glanced nervously at each other.

It was then that they heard the raucous joking and laughing of a group of teenage boys. Almost all of their conversation was in Spanish.

Paco went rigid and began vigorously chewing the marijuana, staring intently at the other side of the alley as if there was something remarkably interesting written on the wall.

The group of Chupacabras appeared at the end of the alley, and the two groups seemed to tense up immediately. Each Chupacabra had a tattoo on his upper arm, a black fang dripping with red blood. Normally it would’ve been covered by their shirt, but now their sleeves were purposefully rolled up, showing off the gruesome tattoo. All of them were Latino.

“iOye, Francisco!” one cried, raising a spray can.

Paco ground the end of the cigarette to mush in his mouth, doing everything he could do avoid looking at the Chupacabra.

“iOye, Francisco!” he shouted again. “Hey, I’m talking to you!”

Paco took out the ruined marijuana and examined it, lips pursed, then tossed it away. “I’m not Francisco,” he called back, still not meeting their gaze. “Beat it.”

But the other just laughed. “Ah, los malito is too afraid of the cops to use his own name! ipobres bebecito!”

Paco muttered a few curses and yelled back at the Chupacabras in Spanish, but they only laughed harder.

Finally, he stood up and started to walk away. He was so angry that he was talking to everyone is Spanish.

"Paco," Kevin said, warily. "None of use can understand a word you're saying. Chill out."

Paco took a deep breath, then said carefully, "Let's get out of here. Arguing with these morons isn't helping us much."

Taylor looked disappointed. “Maybe we can challenge them for later—“ she protested weakly, but Paco cut her off.

“A rumble will draw too much attention,” he insisted. “We’ve already shown up on camera.”

The German watched, crestfallen, as he and the others walked down towards the other end of the alley. She turned toward the Chupacabras and started to thumb her knife in her pocket, almost longingly, undecided, but finally she let out a stream of German curses and strode off after the rest of the gang.