To Protect and To Serve

As far as I can tell, the story is less than halfway done. I'm still deciding. As far as Soledad goes, I think I'm becoming guilty of Mary-Sueism, and I planned originally in this chapter to absolve that. I'll continue with that plan. The characters speak Spanish in this chapter and I used Spanish punctuation to indicate speech (the hyphens). They function similar to American quotation marks as far as indicating when someone started or stopped talking.

-Naruto-
Hinata flops down on the couch next to me. Other women, mostly in the age range of fifteen to twenty-nine, congregate in the room. They speak openly of their experiences as girls in the MS-13.Hinata and I are still getting used to it. Rosario’s not much of a talker. She listens carefully though. It’s probably because she recently joined the gang (so did we, sort of) and membership doesn’t exactly allow for leaving. She probably wants to obtain all the information she can so she’ll know what to expect. Hinata is trying to work up the courage to say something. She is beginning to blush in anticipation of being laughed at. No one, even any of the men, has made fun of her for her limited ability to speak Spanish. She’s gotten a lot better recently, and those who don’t know her think she’s becoming more confident. That’s sort of true.

--How old are you?—she finally stammers, blushing heavily, to a girl who’s definitely under the age of eighteen. The girl shrugs, and her hoop earrings move.
–Sixteen.—
Hinata’s eyes widen. –How long have you been in the gang?—
--Why?—
--Don’t your parents worry about you?—
The girl laughs and Hinata notices her manicure, sparkly blue fake nails with white lettering. –You have MS-13 stenciled into your nails!—
--It’s better than the treatment I get at home.-- Several of the others mumble in agreement. I’m the only guy in the room, and they all seem to trust me. Maybe they know I’m gay. If they don’t, I hope nobody finds out. They’ve performed this ritual of gathering and talking probably since the gang’s creation, as a way to escape the men. –Ernesto’s so ugly.-- Rosario speaks suddenly. Everyone laughs and agrees.
–I thought gang colors and the bandanna would make him look hot, but no. He’s still ugly and fat underneath!—his girl smiles. More laughter.

–Hey, if he’s ugly, how come you have sex with him?—I ask.
–I’m an adult. I can do what I want. Really, it’s to prevent Ricardo from doing it. There’s no way I’d have sex with a forty-year-old guy!—The women groan in disgust at the mere thought.
–So what goes on, a girl chooses a guy to have sex with and then they’re monogamous?—Rosario hugs her knees and fiddles with her hair. I grip Hinata’s hand tighter.
–No, a guy has sex with you. If you always pretend to enjoy it, or you don’t struggle too much, he won’t get bored and no one else will try anything.—Rosario frowns at that and hugs her knees tighter.
–So are we okay?—I indicate the fact that we’re holding hands.
–Oh, you’re fine. They might make fun of you because you never slap her around though.—
--They already do.—I grumble.
--Rosario, have you ever had your hair put into corn-rows?—The conversation always flows freely. Anyone can ask anyone anything. Maybe I’m a low threat because Hinata is posing as my girlfriend. I don’t know. I hope I stay that way though.
–Yeah.—
--Your hair is so long, so thick! How long did it take?—
--Three hours.—She nods to herself, probably remembering the experience.
--Did you get beads put on the ends?—

Rosario smiles. It must be a Colombian thing. –So you’re Mexican. I’ve been wondering. No, just little white rubber bands.—I stand corrected. –Is your hair naturally that long?—
--Yeah. I’ve never dyed it, either.—The women murmur in admiration. Rosario seems uncomfortable. –Hey, can I braid it?—Hinata asks. Rosario smiles. –-Sure.—
--Claudia! Get the nail polish. You promised to paint my nails,-- a twenty-year-old with crooked teeth hollers to the fifteen-year-old across the room. –Marina, calm down.—She trots happily across the room, which is soon infused with the odor of nail polish fumes. –Hey Francisco, want me to do your makeup?—another teases. –No!—They all laugh. –Your scars are so sexy,-- she has black hair and several ear piercings. She turns to Hinata. –Do you touch them during—
--Oh fuck, I almost spilled the nail polish!—Again, the hollering. Good timing, otherwise two FBI agents would have been found dead of embarrassment. Overall though, I’m calmer than I have been in awhile. It’s nice to be around the girls. The guys are scary. Hinata finishes braiding Rosario’s hair and I watch her sneak glances at Rosario's hand.

Later that night, I sit quietly at the table with the men. They smoke cigarettes and, like the women, talk. However, they talk about guns and drugs and illegal things they’ve done. It turns my stomach. They use derogatory terms for the women they are sleeping with and say terrible things about them. Then alcohol bottles are passed around. They plan more crimes and ask why I am writing all this down. I stutter nervously that it’s so I can know what to expect and prepare for my future as a member of MS-13. They roar with laughter and do not approach the subject again. Hopefully they do not suspect the truth, that I’m writing it down so they can be arrested and do a few decades in prison. Maybe some of them, the ones with high positions, will even get the death penalty.

“Want a cigarette?” The pack is offered to me. I shake my head. “I don’t smoke.” He shrugs and tosses it on the table. “Do you drink?”
“No.”
“You’re a girl,” another laughs. “You don’t drink, do drugs, smoke or slap your girlfriend around—how will she learn? You’re too forgiving.” I stare, pretending not to understand. –Do you drink coffee?—I nod. –Have you ever killed anyone?—I nod again, shrugging. They train their gazes on me, waiting for my anecdote. How the hell am I supposed to morph something that I did at work into something gang members would enjoy hearing? I shot and killed a man who stabbed me twice. It was self-defense. He was angry because the agents didn’t believe him, and it was clear by his body language that he was lying. He took his frustration out on me, the interpreter. He didn’t stab me hard enough to leave scars though.

--Well, um…--
--C’mon, tell us.—
--I shot this guy with a gun I stole from a dead cop. I shot the guy three times because…because he raped my sister and…and he tried to kidnap my girlfriend.— I hate improvising lies. It works for them though. They nod in respect.
–Was that the girlfriend you have now?--
--No, a different one.--
--What happened to the old one?--
--She cheated on me so I left her.—
Every moment that they focus on me is uncomfortable. The ones with low status are nice, but I don’t want to trust them. The ones with high status are mean and greedy, not caring about what they have to do to get money, sex or drugs.

--Where’s your accent from?—
Oh, shit. If I tell them truth it could compromise the operation or get me killed. He doesn’t wait for an answer.
–You’re from Peru, huh?—
Damn.
--Well, yeah. My parents were in the Shining Path. They got killed and I got adopted by an American.—Big lie. The men look at me with a new, deep respect, waiting for more. I rub the back of my neck nervously. –Um, my mom handled the money and my dad handled the guns…I was the one who physically dealt the drugs…cocaine, heroin…I was about six when I started and sixteen when they died and I stopped. I was moved to America then and now I’m here.—

Lies.