Shades of black and gray darted around one painful spot of white. She drifted in shadows, avoiding the summoning brilliance with waning energy. It was cold and soundless in the nothingness: no name, no corporal feeling, numbness was all. In vain, she struggled to remain there; something told her she would not like the light, but it nevertheless pulled at her relentlessly. Her resistance faded, and she fell, reeling towards the thrumming pain and breath. Dull at first, it sharpened quickly; the ache at the back of her head made it difficult to open her eyes. The light was gone, but the cold remained. There was a steely chill against her chest, cheek and arms, and she recognized the feel of metal binding her wrists. Carefully, she managed to open her eyes but, finding herself in total darkness, jerked her arms towards her chest defensively. Metal clanged against metal, her knuckles hit damp steel, a shot of pain bit into her wrists and ran up into her shoulders. Water rippled softly near her face, and the cold curve of the steel toilet banged into her breastbone. Shit, this is not good.

A door opened, flooding the compact room with an intolerably white light. The tiny bit of layout she was able to briefly catch was familiar; it sent a chill down her spine. Inky forms passed before the light, hovering above her and surrounding her. She could hear their ragged, hurried breathing as the door shut. Yellow beams glared down on her from all sides. She could count five but, unable to turn, was unsure how many were behind her. A coarse male voice broke the deathly silence, and as the words registered in her foggy brain, she felt the first strike hit her side. "Cop killer, you’ll learn to respect the uniform."

With each blow the breath left her lungs in small puffs, a bit at a time. Straining against her bonds, the cuffs that held her cut into her wrists. She gasped for air repeatedly; thwacks to her ribs impeded her breathing. A short club pounded her upper back and arms; the throbbing in her head gave way to the searing agony from every smack and pummel. She was blinded by the sudden radiance of flashlights flickering in and out of her sight. A kick between her shoulder blades crushed her against the bowl, and the sickening feel of breaking bone nearly made her retch. Magali bit down on her lip, the pressure enough to split the delicate skin, and kicked back with all her force. There was a deep groan; her hair was snatched and pulled back before a hard thrust sent her head slamming against metal. The blow deadened the pain and brought back the comfort of oblivion. "Shit. Is she dead?"

Magali stood by the window of the second floor apartment watching the steady file of kids walking to school. Backpacks swung from their shoulders as they strolled by smiling and chatting loudly. She searched the crowd for her little brother, Jorge. In the morning light, they appeared fresh and clean; summer was nearing, and their wardrobe was light and comfortable. She glimpsed the red sweatshirt she was wearing and frowned at its sad state. The cloth was dingy from its frequent washings, and the cuffs and neck were stretched far enough to cover her hands and expose her collarbone. The wiry woman with the wide-rimmed glasses was back, inspecting the condition of the apartment and asking inane questions. She appeared every two to three months, requesting the presence of one out of the three household children. It was Magali’s turn.

"Really, Mrs. Guerrerro, this is the last chance I can give you. Your children are all malnourished, all you have in the refrigerator is a jar of pickles, and…this place is a pigsty. It’s just not healthy. Now I know you receive a check every month. Where does it go?" The thin woman didn’t wait for an answer, but proceeded with her barrage. Magali’s mother sat passively, akin to a child being scolded. "The next time I make a visit I need to see some improvement, or I’ll be back with two officers, and your children will have to come with me." This last statement drew Magali’s attention away from the street; gritting her teeth, she glared at the caseworker. There was something familiar in the gestures the woman was making as she continued to speak.

Magali enjoyed sitting on the fire escape while she read. In her own private space, she could extricate herself from the noise of her brothers playing and her mother yelling. From her iron balcony, she observed the street: the drunks on the corner; the deal under her window; the junkies hiding in the alley shooting up. Pedro was a nickel and dime dealer. He set up shop on the stoop of the building, selling a few bags of weed. He wasn’t flashy, and he managed to supplement the worker’s comp he received every two weeks. His kids ate. It was from watching Pedro that Magali knew the silent signals the caseworker was giving her mother. She had watched a police officer do the same to Pedro, just before he put a wad of money in the cop’s hand and strolled away. Pedro continued his transactions in peace. She looked back down at her shirt and frowned, her empty pockets taunting her.

Not long after the angst-filled visit, she found a complete bag of Pedro’s product half-hidden under a car tire. She counted it as her luckiest stickball game ever and, for once, was not annoyed at having to retrieve the ball. The idea came easily: she would make separate joints and sell them for a dollar each. Plenty of her friends occasionally indulged in a bag now and then; she was going to make it easier for them to get their hands on the stuff. Then maybe she could pay for her brother to get a haircut. The plan itself was simple: make a little money and then spend it. It didn’t work out that way.

The joints were all gone and she had made a profit of three dollars plus the usual cost of the bag, since she had not had to buy this one. Not an hour had passed after her last sale when other kids, friends of friends, came asking for a smoke of their own. It couldn’t hurt; Pedro did it; it was just a little money; no one would notice. This time she was forced to buy the bag she needed. Pedro was all too happy to help.

After school, she gathered with her friends on the corner. A few hours and she was off for another bag, then two, then three. Not a month later, money was burning a hole in her pocket. Jorge got his haircut and she bought a new red sweatshirt; Efrain Anthony asked for a fresh notebook. There was more than a jar of pickles in the refrigerator, and Jorge was discovering he enjoyed cooking. Too busy hiding in her room, drinking herself into oblivion and lamenting their imprisoned father, their mother didn’t notice the small changes. Pedro did.

Nights became longer for Magali, and she was often sleepy in class. Her teacher warned her she wouldn’t get out of the eighth grade if she didn’t start doing her work again. To make up for it, she slept less.

Two in the morning meant about as much to her as two in the afternoon. The streets were quiet and all her wares were sold. Exhausted, Magali padded to the entrance of her building. The metal door was missing the lock, and it creaked as she opened it. Her footsteps echoed in the lobby and up the first dark flight of stairs. A piece of glass skittered across the floor of the landing; Magali watched it as it hit the wall. When she looked up, Pedro was glowering down at her from the next floor, a long curved knife in his hand. She swallowed, sucking in her breath when the man took one long jump down to her. The edge of the blade pressed softly across her throat.

"You’re crazy, you little bitch, if you think you’re gonna take food out of my mouth. I’ll kill you first."

She was pinned against a wall, a knife to her throat, and a body much larger than hers was pressing the air out of her. She could smell the scent of the weed he had been smoking on his breath; the red streaking the whites of his eyes made him all the more demonic. She refused to flinch when his lips touched her neck, the knife pushing harder into the other side. Her skin tingled painfully under its edge; any more and blood would pour. Sometimes it was easier not to fight. Magali opened her legs and arched her back as much as she could under Pedro’s weight. He let out a deep groan when she pressed herself onto his thigh; the knife’s edge receded, his kisses on her neck roughening. Committing herself to what she had to do, Magali struck out, kneeing him in the groin. He backed away from her. As he did, she latched onto the wrist of the hand holding the knife and twisted it. His arm was weak and she took advantage of the pain he was in to turn the blade on his neck. He couldn’t speak; his lips moved but there was no sound. Brown eyes pleaded with her, begged for forgiveness and leniency. They found nothing but cold blue and, turning away, looked for an escape.

"Look at me, motherfucker. I do this to you." she spat between clenched teeth. Butter, she decided. Skin was as easy to cut as butter. Warm dark fluid ran over her hand, down her arm and under her sleeve. His eyes rolled back, white and glassy. She let him slump to the ground, leaving a streak of thick fluid against her pant leg. She stepped away from the cooling body, a pool of black spreading on the marble of the floor-- a legacy of its once prosperous status. The bit of energy she had, fled, and she trudged to the steps, jumping over the spilt blood. Grabbing on to a railing for support one flight up, she came close to heaving. Had she eaten anything that day, she would have.

 

Hurt rushed in on all sides; she was nothing but one immense, constant pain. Her throat ached, and at first she thought the screams she heard were her own. Slowly, she peered out at the world. Expecting to see herself surrounded by blackness, she was relieved and surprised at the clean white of the ceiling. Sharp odors of disinfectant and medicine assailed her sense of smell. She coughed from it, immediately regretting the involuntary action. A stocky nurse leaned over her, pointing a small penlight into her eyes.

"Good, you’re up. Tssk, I just don’t understand why you girls are always giving the guards trouble. You ought to learn not to fight so much."

"You have a broken rib in there. It’ll heal as long as you stay still. I’ve given you a sedative, and you shouldn’t be alarmed when you don’t wake up in here. In a little while, they’ll come and take you back to solitary. I’ll pop in and visit you every day, just to see how you are healing. Don’t remove the bandages," the nurse warned.

The yells were fuzzy, and they echoed and faded simultaneously in her mind. No doubt an effect of the sedative. Still, she turned her eyes towards the piercing screams. Through a wired window a few feet away from her she could view a room. In it, legs spread wide by stirrups, was a woman dressed in a short hospital gown. Both her hands were bound to the side railings of the bed, the handcuffs clanging as she pulled against them. Sitting calmly between the woman’s knees was a doctor, gently giving her instructions. Magali could see the stain of sweat on the chest of the blue and white gown the woman wore. The mother-to-be suddenly fell back, and her wails were replaced with the high-pitched cries of a newborn. Someone in a dark suit stepped up to the side of the bed. From behind, Magali could tell it was a woman.

The babe was cleaned quickly and put in swaddling clothes. For a moment the doctor held onto it, gave it a small grin and then passed it off to the woman in the suit. The new mother howled, imploring with each lament, "No, please. I’ve changed my mind." She screamed, looking with tears and pleading in her eyes at the woman holding her child. Blonde and tall, in her dark clothing she looked like an angel of death carrying away the child. A diamond hung from her neck, dangling from a golden chain above the newborn’s face. "You took the money, child. Too late for doubts," the angel whispered and, gazing lovingly at the babe in her arms, she walked away. Magali felt the room spin once and, coughing, the shadows descended.

************************************************************

"Solitary? What…why—" Casey wanted nothing more than to question the guard, but he ignored her, turning back to the clipboard he held and his task.

"Don’t bother, honey. He won’t know anything, and even if he did, he wouldn’t tell you." The plump, older woman patted her arm, giving her some comfort.

He called another name and, giving Casey a small smile, the old woman got in line. She stood frozen to the spot watching as the group of visitors was led through a door without her. When it closed, another door-- adjacent to the first-- opened, and a small stream of people filed out. One woman was crying as she held onto the hand of a small child who wailed for her mother. Casey, busy watching the small drama, didn’t notice the taller woman who strolled confidently behind them until she was just a few feet away from her.

She forgot to breathe. Blonde hair fell lightly on the woman’s broad shoulders in layered wisps, pale blue eyes narrowing in on Casey. Julia had not changed; the power in her stride commanded respect, her gait smooth and assured. She smiled pleasantly, stopping squarely in front of Casey.

"Casey, what a pleasant surprise. Are you here to do some sort of internship? I would have thought Cornell would have found you something closer to the city than this."

Out of habit, Casey dropped her eyes, but remembering herself, faced the paleness of Julia’s gaze with her own. "I’m here visiting a friend." Better for you not to know. Forgive me, Gali.

"Really?" she asked arrogantly. "Now who would you know that would end up in a place like this, hmmm? One of your classmates dip into the medicine cabinet?"

"Something like that. What are you doing here?"

"That’s simple; actually, I’m rather proud of it. I run a few programs that help these women earn an early release. Perhaps your friend would benefit from one. Here," she continued, handing Casey a small business card. "Give me a call, if you’d like. We can talk about it." Gently, Julia stroked Casey’s cheek and turned away from her, signaling to a man holding a baby, who stood discreetly away from them, to follow her. "Oh, by the way…found anyone to take my place yet, or are you getting along on your own now?"

Casey could do nothing but stare at Julia’s back as she sauntered out of the visitors’ center. She crushed the card she held in her hand and cast it away. Gali would beat you over the head with that card, Julia.

Back in the safety of her car, Casey leaned back and breathed out the tension knotting her shoulders. Her cheek blazed where Julia had touched it, the light caress demanding and proprietary. She closed her eyes, and tried to focus on Magali, but Julia’s words were reverberating in her mind.

They found an apartment near enough to campus for Casey to walk there from classes. With Julia taking graduate courses, it made sense for her to have a place to stay in town, rather than travel the distance back to her estate every day. When her mother wasn’t working Casey would stay, spending the night with Julia and away from reality. The first time, with Julia, she had floated on waves of security, letting the older woman guide her, hand and body. With each encounter Casey grew more confident, more inclined to please the woman who gave her everything she needed. It was easy, to give up control and put aside responsibility, when Julia carried the burden so willingly.

She was writing a paper for her English class using the most advanced of computers available on the market. Julia had purchased it for her, but insisted it remain in the apartment.

"Casey, come here."

Casey recognized the tone in Julia’s voice; it was a command, however gently it was issued. She turned the computer off and walked to where Julia sat in her armchair, a book open on her lap. At ease, she had undone the top buttons of her white shirt, exposing her collar and the swell of her breasts. Julia looked up at her and, having learned what pleased the tall woman, Casey lowered her eyes and body to the ground. Julia stroked her hair tenderly, as Casey knelt by her feet. She planted a loving kiss on the young woman’s lips and, running a hand down her neck, rested her palm lightly on a firm breast.

"Do you trust me?" Julia whispered in a husky voice.

With slender fingers pinching her nipple, Casey gasped, bowing her head and putting her hands behind her back. "Yes, Mistress."

Julia pulled her hair back, making her crane her neck, and bit at the soft exposed skin. "Your clothes displease me, Casey." She spoke closely to her ear. "Remove them."

Remaining on her knees, Casey began to disrobe, carefully unbuttoning her shirt one button at a time. She knew Julia enjoyed watching her expose herself slowly, relishing every inch and devouring her with her eyes. She rose only to strip away the jeans she wore, and then quickly resumed her former position. Her heart raced, struggling between the fear of the unexpected, and the freedom of losing control. She sat on her heels, hands open on her thighs, palms up. In that posture, she gave up everything; her mind, body, and spirit belonged to Julia to do with as she pleased.

"Wait here, Casey."

Julia walked away, leaving her shivering in her vulnerability and the chill of her nakedness. She could hear her footsteps as she entered the bedroom, the squeal of the closet door when she opened it; the pounding in her chest grew. When Julia returned, standing beside her, she could make out the tips of a black leather flail streaming down her leg. She was taunting her with what was to come.

"Present for me." Julia said, moving to stand behind her. Casey placed her hands on the floor and, arching her back, spread her knees far apart, completely exposing herself for her Mistress. A few hard slaps to her ass warmed her skin, and Julia rubbed the heat there with a soft caress. The flail came down once, streaking her skin with bright red stripes. Julia’s fingers found her moist folds, teasing her with pain and pleasure. Each strike of the flail brought another gentle touch to her center, the speed of both increasing until her ass and back were covered in red welts, and her core sopped with silky juices. She bucked with the sting of the lashes, groaned with the constant fondling of her clit; sweat beaded on her skin.

"Please…please, Mistress…" She didn’t know when it happened, only that Julia was pulling her back up on her knees, and was pressing her lips onto her. The tall woman stood before her, naked, legs spread open. Casey tasted her wet nether lips, using her tongue, teeth, and lips to show her passion. Julia would not allow her to use her hands.

 

 

A knock on the window startled her out of the memory; reflexively, she hit her knee against the steering wheel and flinched. Dark shades covered his eyes, and the collar of his trench coat was pulled tightly around his neck, but Casey knew the face. He motioned for her to open the door to the passenger side, and walked around the front of the car. She clicked the lock open and sat back as Daly climbed in. Raising his hand to eye level, he showed Casey the crumpled card she had discarded at the visitors’ center and frowned.

He took a toothpick out of his pocket, chewing on it thoughtfully. He had tried all day to get in and see Magali, even representing himself as her lawyer had done him little good. He had to use whatever means were presented to him, no matter who was hurt. That was the company way. Magali was easy, she was already lost; no innocent bystander there. Casey, on the other hand, was a different story. Other than her involvement with the infamous Zero, she was one of the people he had been sworn to protect. That assessment had wavered as he watched the exchange between her and Julia Stanton, but watching the woman throw away the card had affirmed what he believed. Now he had to make a decision: follow up on a lead and possibly endanger a non-combatant, or rely solely on the unpredictable woman strategically placed behind bars.

Originally, the company planned to use Magali’s connections to bring down the lowest ranking members of the Blue Gauntlet. The cops that exchanged favors for money from big time drug lords, and filtered it up into the upper echelon, were part of Magali’s daily life. Once they were identified, it would simply be a matter of infiltrating the ring and going after the members with the real power. With her arrest, Magali would have a chance to get into yet another of the Blue Gauntlet’s schemes, but a short prison sentence would have afforded her little time. Her first judge, a member of the Gauntlet, would have given her no more than two-months, and she would have most likely been released within six weeks. . Daly took care of that. Putting the needle into the arm of that judge, giving the old guy a heart attack, had been a satisfying and necessary move. Getting the old man out of the way decreased the influence of the Blue Gauntlet in Magali’s sentencing. Placing an honest judge in his stead, insured that she was given more time so she could do what he needed her to-- embark on a collision course with one of the Gauntlet’s biggest players, Christopher Winslow.

"Where do you know Julia Winslow from?" he asked in a clipped tone.

"Who?"

He flicked the card onto her lap; it landed face down and she picked it up. In elegant letters across the top, next to an Old World emblem, was written the name, Julia Stanton Winslow, Ph.D .

"We were friends in school," she replied, sighing and running a hand through her hair.

"Friends? What do you—"

"Okay, fine, Daly, we were more than friends. I’m not having a good day here, so just spit it out. What do you want?"

Oh yes, this is just too perfect. Daly, Lady Luck is smiling on you today after all. With Magali on the inside getting proof, and Casey out here…with Stanton… "How close can you get to her?"

"Why? What do you want with her?"

"It will help Ze—"

"What do you want with her," she repeated with a bit more strength.

He had always thought she had a little fire hidden somewhere, her teeth were showing. "She’s involved in something of interest to me."

"If you want my help, then you’d better spell it out, Daly."

"Did you ever hear Zero mention a Blue Gauntlet?"

"No," she said, shaking her head.

Daly inhaled deeply, trying to figure out the most prudent way of telling her as much as she needed to know, without putting her in any more danger than he was prepared to. "All right, then you have to have noticed the tattoo on her wrist, it’s—"

"A blue hand…an exclusive club." Casey shuddered, remembering the dank smell of the basement and the burning of the rope on her wrists, when Webster had held her captive. There, in the darkness, he had narrated a tale of greed and corruption, weaving Magali right through its center. Somehow it was related to the small tattoo on the inside of her wrist. The one-sided conversation, at the time, had been the least of her worries. She still dreamt of the blue, electric streak of the stun gun that he had used to cause her pain. He said he had used it on Gali.

"Where’d you hear that? An exclusive club."

"Webster." Casey rubbed the back of her neck; the day was getting worse by the minute. "What’s all of that have to do with Julia?"

"It’s her husband, Christopher Winslow. That exclusive club… he’s an important member. I think they’re selling babies, but I need proof."

"Selling babies, from…?" Casey’s eyes wandered over to the white walls of the prison, and she answered her own question. "And Zee, what’s she have to do with it?" Please, please don’t say she’s involved.

"In this case…nothing, but she’s in the right place at the right time." He glanced over to where she was staring, confirming her suspicions. "If she does the right thing, she can be out of there soon, but I’m afraid she’s made it a little difficult on herself right now."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Call," he said, pointing at the card she was holding.

*************************************************************************

Magali laid on her back trying to ignore the throbbing in her side. The nurse had kept her word and came in once a day to check on her progress. She kept track of the passing time that way. The room was smaller than her cell, and the steel bunk was replaced by a square of concrete-- padded with a thin foam mattress-- that took up more than half of the space. For some time, she was unable to move very much; reaching the toilet not a foot away from her mattress was agony. At first, a guard would bring in a tray of food for her but, in time, the tray was slid in through an opening in the solid door, leaving the nurse as her only human contact. Encased in a cinderblock tomb, Magali didn’t have much to look at. There was no way to tell the time. Except for when the nurse came, the light was either dim or non-existent. She wasn’t sure how long she sat in the dark, nor how long she slept under the influence of painkillers. Her thoughts jumbled, dreams and reality overlapped. The path she had chosen came back to haunt her, reminding her that Casey had judged her correctly.

Eddie always seemed to show up at the most inopportune of times, and he always nearly brought a crisis with him. She had known him for years, a skinny runt with spiky, short black hair, who couldn’t bat a ball to save his life. When her business grew so much that she stayed away from school, he asked her for work. Neither set foot in a school building after they graduated from junior high school, and Magali learned that, with the right amount of money, she could pay off everyone from the mailman to the Bureau of Child Welfare caseworker.

A year and a half after Pedro’s death, she had not only filled his shoes, but had also surpassed his wildest dreams. A greedy landlord rented her an apartment, where she housed her merchandise and safely peddled it away. She made enough money to employ some of the other kids she grew up with, and support her mother’s drinking habit without her brothers starving. No one on her street starved anymore. Although she was comfortable financially, there was always someone asking for help, so she thought of ways to make more. It was when she purchased a used motorcycle that she got the opportunity to do just that.

The Dragons were a Chinese gang in downtown Chinatown, mostly young immigrants who owed allegiance to a larger Chinese organization. It was from one of their members that she bought the bike, and who, she ended up racing at least once a month. She beat him every single time, earning his admiration, and an invitation to meet his friends. They introduced her to a new product, one that was guaranteed to bolster her profit, but also increased the margin of danger. Cocaine was the flavor of the day. She made her choice and, after learning everything she could about the care and distribution of the stuff, bought a gun and set up shop. Although, by virtue of her ethnicity, she could not be a member, (nor did she want to be), she enjoyed being around the Dragons. Learning their code of honor and their language. One member, in particular, took to tutoring her privately.

Mei was beautiful; her long, red-dyed hair cascaded down her back in silky waves to the top of where her back curved out. She was thin in stature, delicate to the touch, with flawless skin that smelled perpetually sweet. Her almond-shaped, brown eyes, occasionally tender, spoke of intelligence and tranquility. Magali couldn’t get enough of her satiny, pouting lips. A foot shorter than she, Mei’s head reached to Magali’s chest, and, whenever she leaned her back to a wall, the girl was in the habit of laying her head just under Magali’s chin.

Routinely, Magali waited for a call on her beeper every morning, letting her know a delivery of fresh supplies was on its way. On this particular morning, they had been out riding. Traffic was slow during the hours when most were at work or school, and Magali sped up the length of Manhattan deciding to squander some time groping Mei. Business came to a halt during the early hours of the day, and the apartment was empty. Pinning her to a wall, she had one hand down the front of the girl’s jeans, and the other up the front of her T-shirt. She attacked when she kissed, pushing her lips forcefully against Mei’s mouth. Mei panted and squirmed as Magali’s fingers repeatedly entered her and withdrew. The girl bucked along with the rhythm she set, urging her exploration further. Mei was nipping at her neck when Eddie made his appearance; stumbling through the door, he almost tripped.

"Magali, come quick. Man, I think she’s dead…I…oh shit, I’m sorry." Eddie blanched when he realized what situation he had walked in on, and avoided looking straight at them.

"Relax, stupid, and tell me what the fuck you’re talkin’ about. Who’s dead?" she barked, pulling away from Mei as if she had been doing nothing more than washing her hands. Buttoning her jeans and pulling the belt of her chaps tightly around her waist, she picked up the gun she had laid near her feet and tucked it into the waist of her pants.

"That little kid, you know…the girl whose father you blasted a few months ago." His eyes darted to Mei as he spoke.

"You didn’t tell me that story, my…Yun-Fo." Mei cooed, rubbing Magali’s bare shoulders.

"It was nothing," she said, glowering at Eddie and throwing Mei a knowing smirk. Yun-Fo was Mei’s pet name for her, and she rather liked it. Human fire. Eddie didn’t understand any Chinese and, even if he knew what the words meant, he wouldn’t have been able to comprehend the ideas and sentiments behind them. Human Fire: passionate, urgent, consuming, uncontrollable, violent. She was all those things to Mei, and the girl loved her for it.

"Was it necessary?"

Magali let her head hang, thinking of the day she had killed the man in the hallway, and the raging anger she had felt at the time. She was having trouble with one of her workers, her brother Jorge had disappeared for two days, and she was due for another visit from the caseworker. But when she heard the screams in the hallway, she had acted for one reason alone. A stronger force was hurting the defenseless.

"It was scaring the customers…bad for business." she stated flatly, pulling a white thermal shirt over her head. "Take me to the kid, Eddie."

Emaciated and deathly pale, the young girl was sprawled on the cold ground of the alley. Her honey-brown hair was tangled and matted with dried blood, and she was grimy from the dirt of the street. She wore a thin, filthy T-shirt; her dirty jeans and panties were bunched around her ankles, and blood stained her thighs. A few feet away, lay the neighborhood’s oldest junkie. He was asleep in his stupor, and his equipment lay strewn at his feet, the needle in his hand. Winded from running she stopped to recover, and surveyed the entire scene before approaching the body. She squatted down by the girl, her breath showing on the air in hurried clouds. Carefully she searched the girl’s neck for a pulse, and nodded when she finally felt one. Her blue eyes flashed in momentary relief.

"She’s not dead, Eddie, but she will be someday…soon." she said, pointing to the telltale pinpricks on the girl’s legs.

"We should call social services, right?"

"Social services is why she’s here, Eddie."

Magali gingerly picked the girl up off of the ground. She was light, and Magali cradled her as she walked, looking down on the girl’s blue lips. She took her to the apartment and dumped her in the bathtub. The water from the shower washed away the grime, and Magali stripped away the clothes the girl wore, throwing them into a corner. Mei helped, scrubbing the girl’s skin with a towel and the dishwashing liquid they used to clean the equipment. The girl never woke, but some color slowly suffused her features. Clean, Magali laid her on a mattress they kept in the back room. Eddie had gone to fetch some clothing from her home, and returned with an added blanket.

"What the hell are we gonna do with a little girl?" Eddie queried, handing the clothes off to Magali as she dressed the unconscious girl.

"Look at her, Eddie…She look like a little girl to you? She used to be, man…I put an end to that."

"What the hell are you sayin’?"

"Think she would be here if her father was alive? Come on, Ed. Shit, her mother sliced her wrists not two weeks after I capped her pops. What the fuck do you think I’m sayin’?"

"So…you gonna take care of her, too? Money’s tight, Magali. We have a bunch of ‘em on the payroll already."

She was always quick, sometimes too fast for Eddie to even see her movements, but he knew she had lunged at him when he felt her hand tighten around his throat.

"It’s my money, Eddie, and I do whatever the fuck I want with it. Never, never question me again. What the fuck do you care anyway? You get yours."

He was glad Mei was there. She had laid a gentle hand on Magali’s shoulder, and the effect was visible in the stone blue eyes boring into him. The squeeze on his throat loosened.

"Yun-Fo, either trust your right hand man, or kill him. But you can’t have both."

"Ma…Mariana’s pregnant," he managed to croak out, and Magali’s hand fell away.

"Damn." Her shoulders were strained under the weight they carried; not a day passed that didn’t add to the burden. She slapped the back of his head and smiled. "Well then, I guess we have two more on the payroll now…"

The girl on the mattress moaned, clutching the blanket she was wrapped in, and opened her eyes. The surprise in them was evident but, with the practiced ease of one used to waking in strange places, she calmed. Magali looked down on her, her expression stoic.

"What’s your name, kid?"

"Callie," she answered meekly, knowing full well to whom she spoke.

"You belong to me now, Callie. You do what I say, no questions asked." She threw a look at Eddie, "And no more junk. I catch you doing that stuff and…I’ll do the job myself. Got it?"

Callie nodded and passed out.

After a few weeks of eating properly and gaining some warranted rest, Callie filled out. Days were spent in the apartment helping Magali package the crystal powder and roll joints for sale. When the dark, young woman stood out in the street at night with her workers, Callie was by her side. One night, when Magali was busy arguing with Jorge, who had resurfaced after his latest binge, Callie asked her for the knife she kept tucked in her boot. She handed it off not giving it a second thought, until she heard the shrieks of terror from some of the girls that surrounded her. Across the street, Callie was hugging the junkie she had found her with; her arm was pumping viciously at the man’s stomach, and Callie was smiling. By the time Magali reached her, the man was curled at Callie’s feet, dying. She glared at the young girl, who had risked bringing the police down on the street, and grabbed the bloody knife away from her.

"You could have told me that’s what you were planning."

"Sorry, I didn’t want to—"

"Never mind. You like to kill…time to start earning your keep."

 

 

***********************************************************************

Callie was tired of waiting; the last word down the pipeline was Zero’s order to continue the war in Brooklyn. She’d been restless to carry it out, and now she was playing nursemaid instead. It rattled her nerves the way nails on a blackboard vibrated in one’s teeth. She just wasn’t cut out to be around small children, or any children for that matter. Although Eddie had been adamant in his command that she wait outside, curiosity had gotten the best of her. The guys watching the building knew her; they didn’t stop her. The only obstacles in her way were a few locks which she dispensed with easily. Magali had done a good job of teaching her. She put the toddler in front of her as she opened the door to Magali’s apartment; that stopped the charging Devi in her tracks. Once inside, Callie took her time gazing at the apartment’s furnishings. Alejandra was torturing Devi, pulling her cropped ears and grabbing for her small, stubby tail as the dog tried to run from her. Devi didn’t mind it nearly as much as it seemed; she showed it in the way that she trotted back to the little girl when she did manage to escape. Callie wandered about the living room, poking the books on the shelves. Zero reads? She decided the CDs in their towers were more to her liking. I’ve never heard her play this shit, she thought as she read the titles of a classical music collection. Must be that little blonde bitch’s shit. Bored, and with Alejandra entertained, Callie padded her way down the long hallway, towards the bedroom. She knew exactly where it was. She took in the interior, the large bed draped in dark colors, the balcony door overlooking the river, the lush carpet under her boots. With a sigh, she sat herself on the edge of the bed. How long ago was it I lay here, willing to hand everything over to you, Zee? How long? It seems like forever. God, but I love the way blood looks on you.

Closing her eyes, remembering that day, envisioning Zero standing on the stoop of the building, surrounded by her faithful, she drew in a long breath.

Danger sparked in the air with her very presence; Callie could smell the scent of the woman’s sweat. She herself had never liked Ricky. As far as she was concerned he was a parasite, a disgusting roach. Zero’s posture was all warning. Eddie was behind her holding a bat, and Callie knew what it meant. She savored the sting of the slap that crossed Ricky’s face; she had felt it herself, before. Zero was in full bloom, savage and sensual. In an attempt to escape from her brand of justice, he ran from her, a car nearly hitting him, Zero on his heels. She was graceful, the way she glided across the hood of the car bat in hand, her focus on the terrified man fleeing her wrath. Callie licked her lips as she watched the bat swing down on Ricky, blood splattering Zero’s face. Her heart was racing with the determination and rage that was imprinted on Zero’s countenance. A tingling in her neck spread out and trickled down her back. She knew Zero would be smoldering, her savagery flaring into an insatiable hunger. And then, she knew, Zero would come for her.

She hadn’t.

Now, of course, Callie knew why; she ran her hand across the silken sheets of the bed, twisting the smooth fabric in clutched fists, her knuckles white. A burning seized her, knowing the sheets she held caressed the naked form of the blonde who took her place; a woman who panted and sweated beneath the dark form who should have been hers.

Instead of the feel of strong hands gripping her arms, pulling her into an enraged embrace, Callie had stared in disbelief as Zero rode off in her Jeep. The police, who had foolishly shown up, had been dismissed. "Fuckers."

Callie waited on the stoop, knowing that eventually the beast would want to be fed. She thought of her last encounter with Zero, and shivered, not from the cold, but the sheer terror of its aftermath.

In a heated moment of passion, when Callie knew she was between blood-thirst and lust, Zero noticed a needle mark on her arm. The rest was a blur. She remembered little else but Zero’s bestial features hovering over her, as she delivered blow after blow. And just before she slipped into unconsciousness, she had heard Zero say: "If you ever disobey me again…you won’t wake to regret it." She had told herself over and over that she had deserved the beating Zero had given her, knew she had been wrong. It took her a week to recover.

They had not been together since then. It had hurt when, after dispensing with Ricky, Zero had not come right for her. But she returned within the hour; and Callie, who had hoped she would, had still been standing on the stoop, waiting for her.

The black armored Jeep skidded to a stop in front of the building, its driver side window slid down, exposing the stony features of Zero behind the wheel. Zero gave Eddie an order, then motioned for her to come to her. Callie hesitated just a moment, until Eddie patted her shoulder on the way into the building.

"Tonight…you come with me. Now go tell Eddie…You won’t be back anytime soon." Zero’s wishes were clear, a lump in her throat prevented her from speaking, and silently she turned to do as she had been told.

Zero was more than angry, her eyes radiated pain, and Callie raced to join Eddie, anxious to be with the woman who had ignored her for months. When she finally reached him at the top of the stairs, he reminded her to obey Zero’s wishes. The order was unnecessary; she wanted nothing more than to be commanded by the woman who owned her existence.

She was stoned as they drove; it showed in her reckless sharp turns. Callie knew where they were headed. It would be the first time Zero, with raw carnality flashing in the blue of her eyes, took her to her home. Usually they ended up at a downtown hotel. Desire was burning her chest, and she risked reprimand by laying a hand on Zero’s thigh. It was snatched up and brought to the dark woman’s lips.

"What’s your name?" Zero was asking her, sucking on each of the digits of the offending hand. It was an old game between them. Zero had returned from prison fiercer, her darkness deepened; and with her first lover Mei gone, her every step bordered on violence. When it was at its worst, Zero turned to Callie, who reveled in the brutality with abandoned submission. It was then that the game had begun: Zero would give her a name for the night, to which Callie would respond. She suspected it made it easier for Magali to let go.

Callie’s thoughts returned to the present, as she felt the same bed beneath her now. But not that night, Zee. I made you face me as myself and still you took me. Ripping my jacket off and throwing me on this bed; you needed me then. So I could make you forget whatever it was that burned in you, tame the beast, let it tear me to shreds. God, when you stopped I thought I would die; I thought you were still angry with me, about the drugs. Then I found out…it was her, she was taking you away...and when she angered you, instead of coming to me, you went to those three bitches. Oh, I’m not angry because you fucked them; God knows how many women you’ve made scream. But the beast…the beast is mine, and mine alone.

A scraping sound interrupted her thoughts, and she rose, smoothing out the sheets crumpled from where she had sat on the bed.

Casey fumbled with the key to the door; it kept sliding on the metal circling the lock and passing the key entry. Having difficulty sleeping after discovering Magali was spending a few weeks in solitary, something she knew little about, made her lethargic. She hadn’t had a good night’s rest in over a month. The door swung open, and she knew something was strange, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Two steps in and she braced herself for Devi’s customary leap. It never came. A creak from the floorboard and a weird squeal from the living room caused her to jump. Someone was in the apartment, someone who was cunning enough to slip past Nelson or Ruben or whoever was currently watching over the place. She faced the long hallway that branched from the entrance back towards the bedroom. There were four doorways in the corridor: one to the kitchen; one to the bathroom; the third to the master bedroom; and the first, wide archway opened out into the living room. Nervously she watched them all, stumbling over what action to take in her exhausted state.

Booted footsteps hit the wood of the hallway floor, and a slender woman strolled out from the bedroom. Her light brown hair fell around her face, focusing an onlooker’s attention to her greenish-hazel eyes. Casey thought about running and tackling her, but there was something in the way the woman moved under her red-and-black leather riding suit, that gave her pause. The jacket was open, and she could see the bulletproof vest the intruder wore, its hem just over the butt of a gun tucked into the front of her pants. Casey heard the squeal again, but kept her eyes on the threatening stance of the woman; she seemed familiar.

"You’re Casey, right?" Callie said, smiling and throwing her hands up in a gesture of conciliation. Just then Devi bounded into the hallway, a dark-haired toddler straddling her like a horse. The woman laughed, pointing at herself, "Callie," and then the toddler, "and this is Alejandra, Alex for short, or better yet, Jefita, little Boss." Devi wiggled, throwing the toddler to the floor. "Eddie will be here any minute. He sent me ahead."

"Careful, Devi, you’ll hurt her." Casey reprimanded, holding out a hand to the panting dog.

"Oh, that’s one kid she won’t hurt, guaranteed," she said, putting her hands on her hips.

Casey wrapped her arms around Devi’s neck. She thought it was more likely that the dog needed protection from the child than vice versa. "How can you be so sure? She’s just a tiny thing."

Callie knitted her brow and put her hands on her hips. "Don’t you know who she is? I thought Zero would have told you, seeing as you and her are so tight and shit. I mean…you’re shacking up in her crib, right?" Callie gestured to the apartment, shaking her head and chuckling.

"Of course I know…Zee doesn’t hide anything from me. I was just being careful, that’s all." she said, shrugging and holding off the struggling toddler who was trying her damnedest to get her hands on Devi.

"Yeah…right…why would Zero keep you from knowing about her—"

"Ca-llie…" he drew out her name in a tone of warning. Eddie had found the door to the apartment open, and had caught the tail end of the women’s conversation. "Papi!" the little girl cried, jumping into his arms. He held out a bottle of apple juice to her, and she greedily took hold of the drink. "Hey, Casey. I wanted to get here before ya did, so I could introduce ya myself. But it looks like someone beat me to it, huh?" He bounced the toddler on his hip. Letting her go to scamper across the floor and into the living room, he glowered at Callie.

"Didn’t I tell ya to wait outside?" Fuck, if Zee finds out I had these two in the same room together, she’ll skin me alive.

"It was cold out there, and Alex wanted to see Devi."

"Nelson let ya in?"

Callie shook her head, holding up a small leather pouch she had in her jacket pocket. "I picked the lock."

"Alright, fine, but next time I tell ya to do something…do it." Eddie waved his hand toward the door, dismissing her.

"Bye, Alex-- You’re not Zero, Eddie. Don’t try to be." she paused whispering in his ear, before sauntering out the door. Eddie threw her an annoyed look.

"So…what do ya think of my baby girl?"

"She’s a handful," Casey answered, giving Eddie a curious glance. "So…to what do I owe this visit? And why was there a strange woman in my bedroom?"

"Oh..uhm, sorry about that. She’s a little you know…strange. I’ll have the locks changed, alright? Come on, let’s sit down. Man, my butt is tired from chasing that kid around all day. She takes after her god-mother."

"Who’s that? Wait…let me guess. Zee?"

Eddie nodded and stretched his legs out as he sat, making faces when the bones in his back settled. His leg still ached from his most recent gunshot wound. Alejandra was falling asleep with her bottle atop a worried Devi, her hands grasping onto the dog’s ears.

"Can I get you something? Water, soda, a drink?" she asked, pointing towards the kitchen with her thumb and settling into the corner of the couch.

Eddie shook his head, turning down Casey’s offer. "Just sitting down makes me happy."

"So?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, sorry. Well, first, I wanna know how come ya didn’t come tell me Zee was gonna be in solitary? I hadn’t heard from her in days, and I waited for ya to call or something. I figured ya went to see her, and if anything was wrong ya would tell me. I finally had to call the prison myself, and talk to a friend I know is doing time up there to find out what was up. She told me Zee was in the hole."

"Oh God, Eddie. I forgot—"

"Hey, it’s all right. I was just worried about ya. I know what it’s like to see her behind a glass…I thought maybe you got spooked or somethin’."

‘No I…I didn’t even get to see her, but I can’t stand thinking of her locked away like that, Eddie. All I know is what I see in the movies…and she’s…" Casey hid her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. "She probably doesn’t even think about me. I…I abandoned her."

He didn’t want to tell her it was worse than what she imagined. Wrinkling his nose from the sharp pain in his thigh, he scooted over to her, throwing a huge arm around her shoulders. "Aw, Casey. Don’t cry. I can’t stand it when women cry. She thinks about ya, really she does."

"How can you be so sure?" she mumbled.

"You know why she’s in the hole?" Casey shook her head, not lifting her face from its hiding place as she cried. "Some stupid guard broke that rosary you gave her. She attacked him…that’s what I heard anyway." It only made her weeping intensify, and he threw his strength into a bear hug, trying his best to console her. Alex was dead to the world; she had gone all day without a nap, following him into every seedy place he went. "Hey, I know what can get your mind off it all."

"Yeah?" Casey was curious; the torment in her was driving her insane with exhaustion. She was up for anything, until she noticed where Eddie’s eyes had fallen.

"No, Eddie, no way. I can’t babysit now. I have work tomorrow. Where’s your wife?" She was pleading with him, the thought of looking after the rambunctious toddler draining.

"She had to go to a funeral in Florida. Alex is too small to go to something like that, so she had to leave her with me. But, Casey…with Zee gone I have to do everything. It’s dangerous to have Alex with me. Please." He begged, all of a sudden turning into an overgrown, pouting boy.

Casey remembered the vest she had seen Callie wearing; its twin sat under Eddie’s shirt. She knew he had a gun tucked away somewhere, and it made her weaken for the small toddler. She stared at the sleeping child. Her black curly hair spread out over Devi’s haunches, small fingers clutching the bottle of juice. The sight made her surrender, and it showed in her shoulders as they drooped.

He smiled and stood up. "Thanks, Casey. I’ll be back in the morning…she’ll sleep through the night, I promise." He gave the girl a kiss and, waving, tiptoed out the door.

"But I’m…suppose to meet Julia tonight," she whispered once the door had closed.

It had taken a few days before Julia returned her call, citing her busy schedule in an unapologetic excuse. Casey talked her into meeting, saying she was interested in any program that would help her "friend" shorten her stay behind bars. Julia didn’t need much convincing; the domineering woman’s intentions were clear in the tone that she used as she spoke. Casey would pay for whatever "favors" were granted to her. Julia’s motto hadn’t changed: something for something. The question remaining-- would she be able to follow through-- haunted her every waking hour. What if Gali finds out? What if I can’t? God I don’t want her hands on me. What the hell have I gotten myself into to? Buck up, Casey, relax. It’s not like you haven’t traded your body for what she can give you before, right? Right. Shit, what do I do with the kid? Jesse, yeah, Jesse.

*****************************************************************************

It still hurt, but that didn’t stop her. She was tired of lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, letting the memories flood over her in an overwhelming tidal wave. Magali held her hands close to her sides as she lay on her stomach. The floor was cold and hard, but the chill seeping through her shirt and bandages soothed the pain from her healing rib. She guessed she had two more weeks to go, then they would set her loose on the general population. If she didn’t start moving, regaining her strength, she would be easy prey for anyone trying to establish themselves. The nurse continued to visit, bringing the medication that did little more than put her to sleep. She’d place them under her tongue when the nurse handed her a glass of water, and once the pudgy woman was gone, she’d spit them out into the toilet. Sleeping for hours on end wouldn’t bring her back to fighting condition. Unfortunately the hours were longer now without the oblivion of the pills. And when she wasn’t doing push-ups or sit-ups in the small space afforded her, she was mired in the frightening pit of her mind. Somehow, Smoke had managed to get a pack of cigarettes to her through the "book woman". Once a week the "book woman" would come around, pushing a cart loaded with badly abused books, their covers torn and worn. She’d give them out to the prisoners being held in solitary row. Just a small measure of insurance the warden had taken to counteract the effects of deprivation. Some prisoners were known to go insane while alone, making them harder to handle after their punishment was complete. Far from cowed, they would end up spending months in solitary, only to return over and over again. Taking the lives and bodies of a few guards along with them. Magali guarded the cigarettes jealously, careful to mete them out, lest they run out and she have nothing to look forward to.

She pushed herself up from the floor, using the last bit of strength in her arms, and collapsed on the flimsy mattress. Sweat ran down the sides of her face, down her neck and onto her chest. Her breathing was heavy, but she was satisfied with finally reaching her goal of a hundred push-ups, and it made her smile. It wasn’t a happy smile, more of a feral grin, resulting from the knowledge that she would be ready when they came again. And they would, she knew, but the next time, hers wouldn’t be the only broken ribs needing tending to. The walls closed in on her, their whiteness blinding, even in the dim light. Borders disappeared, and she turned to her only escape. Where did it all go so wrong?

She had been satisfied with owning her little piece of the neighborhood. There was enough money, now with the cocaine added in, that she could support her ever-growing army of workers and their families. Enough of the profit went into her own pocket that she could pay the rent and utilities of her mother’s home. It was no longer hers; she spent weeks without setting foot in the place. Her brothers were happy. Efrain continued in school, coming closer to graduation with every successive year. He was on the Dean’s honor roll at Cardinal Hayes high school, and the debate team, as well as the chess club. Jorge had become involved in the trade, but he consumed more than he sold, until consuming was all he did. Magali knew he was trying to imitate her, and she could do little to stop him, short of beating him senseless. She had done just that once, and he had disappeared for days afterward. She couldn’t honestly lecture on the dangers of taking the stuff, everyone knew she dabbled in it herself occasionally. It kept her awake and put the pain to sleep.

One early evening, as the sun, in its death throes, cast an orange glow over the street, the grim reaper touched her with a light kiss. She was dismounting the bike, its engine hot at her thighs from her latest race. Her mood, almost always dark, was light. It hadn’t been a secret that Mei was related to Zhu-ge, her bike’s former owner and racing partner; they were brother and sister. What had been kept from public knowledge was their relation to a Mr. Wu Jin-ming, their uncle. The man practically owned Chinatown and its people. He used the Dragons to keep the neighborhood in line, and in constant fear. He made Chairman Mao look like an angel. The newly acquired news had lifted her spirits somewhat. With a connection to a man like that, she could easily increase the hardware her people carried, and keep the block safe from ambitious intruders.

With both feet on the ground, and her bike propped up on its stand, a sharp sting to her side shattered her thoughts. A sudden warmth ran down her leg, and she fell to the ground clutching her side. They say you never hear the one that gets you; she knew it for the truth then. Eddie was by her side in a flash, lifting up her head and laying it on his lap. The gun gleaming in his hand heightened her sense of dread; his eyes darted around the street, looking for the shooter. Grimacing, she tore open her shirt, wiping away the blood with a gloved hand, trying to get a better look at the wound. Under the gore, she found a straight line a few inches long, puffy and white. Nothing was spilling out. There was no hole. The bullet had missed, and had just skimmed over the top of her skin. She bit down the pain as she struggled to get to her feet, ignoring the urgent requests of Eddie to stay down.

"I’m going upstairs, Eddie. Just go get me some fuckin’ towels or something. This blood is ruining my pants." She pushed him aside and straightened. Her workers on the stoop were staring; she wouldn’t let them see her weakened, even if it was a bullet. She had known them for years, had traded baseball and Charlie’s Angels cards with them. But she knew them for what they had all become, beasts of prey. The pain turned into a raging fire as she made her way into her working area. The apartment had seen its share of blood; she knew at some point it would see hers as well.

By the time Eddie returned with a stack of multi-colored towels, Callie right behind him, the blue jeans she wore were scarlet. She stripped them off, catching the look of want from Callie, and piled the towels onto the wound. She nearly let out a scream when she pressed down on them, hoping to stop the flow of red fluid flooding from her side. Instead, she bit on her lip, the color draining from her face. Consciously she kept her tone casual, as if it were just a scratch she was applying a Band-aid to.

"Callie, get one of the guys to call that doctor over at Columbia-Presbyterian. You know, the one that likes to buy his shit un-ground. Tell him I want him here, now…and I’ll make it worth his while. And then get back here quick, Callie." The girl ran from the room, screaming out a myriad of familiar names. Magali winced; the pain was getting worse and her head was spinning. Eddie knelt by her side, adding his strength to the waning pressure needed to staunch the bleeding. Magali took a deep breath; she had to get it all out before the darkness came. "Eddie, find out who the fuck wants me dead… really dead. Not just the ones that hate me, but because I’m in their way too. Then…find that shooter. Got it? I wanna know by the time I wake up."

"Wake up?"

"Yeah, wake up. And Eddie…no one but Callie…and that… doctor… are allowed in here…until I do. If I don’t,…kill the bastard who got me…slow." She fought to get out the last words. The cocaine in her system was making it hard to stop the bleeding; she hadn’t eaten or slept in days and the loss of blood was zapping her strength. With any luck, the doctor would get there in time to close the wound, and if she died, then there would at least be payback.

Hours later she did wake- an IV dripped fresh blood into her arm, and the burning of the wound had given way to the sting of stitches. For his trouble, the doctor was rewarded with enough drugs to tide him over for a week. It had been worth the loss in product; the man had even managed to steal a pint of blood from the hospital supplies. Magali’s foresight had saved her. When she had found out the man’s profession and where he worked, she had given him all of her medical information, in preparation for such an eventuality. Not bad for just a kid.

Callie had kept watch over her, shutting out any of the many "friends" who wanted to check up on her, telling them she needed to rest up a bit. In truth she wondered whether the young woman would ever wake, and it had her in a foul mood. Magali opened her eyes to the sound of Callie knocking out someone’s teeth when they asked if she was dead. Eddie was trying to keep her from drawing a gun on the guy.

"Would you guys shut up, Jesus fuckin’ Christ, can’t anyone take a fuckin’ nap around here!" At the sound of her voice her guards came running, slamming the door behind them. Eddie looked ragged, his knuckles were bleeding and his hair was standing on end. Callie had a scowl; it relaxed when she gazed into the blue of Magali’s eyes. She could hear voices in the street yelling out the message that she was fine and, "I tol’ you nothing can take her down, stupid."

Eddie seemed relieved to see her awake; he masked it with a look of nonchalance. "I found out who it was."

"What you do? Beat it out of them?" she asked, glancing down at his hands.

"Yeah, something like that," he replied with a sheepish smile. "You know that guy, a few blocks down, the one that sells shit out of that corner building?" Magali nodded as he went on. "Looks like he wants to expand. Idiot’s been telling people he wants to build an empire. You want him dead?"

Death had touched her, for the first time; it had been an intimate embrace. She had danced with him before: he guided her hand when she pointed a gun, or swung her knife. This was the game; she had been playing it for over a year, had made a game-piece of herself to stay alive. She didn’t want an empire, just a secure place to live without the specter of poverty over her head. A place where the greater bureaucracy, designed to keep the poor where they were, could be beaten. No one starved, no one wanted for anything, and everyone worked towards a common goal. It was a world unto itself, but not alone.

"It can’t be that easy, Eddie. Someone else will just take his place. There are only two ways that block won’t come back after us." She rubbed the back of her neck, her scheme falling into harrowing place.

"How’s that?" he said scratching his head.

"We either destroy it, or make it mine. I think…better for it to be mine, without a doubt"

"What about the block after that?" The plot was making his skin crawl, whether from fear or anticipation he couldn’t tell, but the look in his friend’s eyes was sending shivers down his back.

"That’s easy…we take that too, and along the way…we give anyone who’s thinking about it…a reason to think again."

"Where do we stop?" Callie chimed in, a smile on her face, hoping she would get the answer she wanted.

"We don’t. Not until there is no one left to challenge us; then we can be safe."

"So how do we do it?" he asked, slumping down next to Magali, the weight of what waited ahead barreling down on him.

"This guy have friends?" her voice was cold.

"Yeah, a bunch, and a big guy that’s like his right hand man and shit."

Magali turned her eyes, orbs void of emotion, to Callie. "Then they go first…one at a time." Fixing her eyes on Eddie, she smiled for the first time. "Call Mei for me. Tell her I need to meet her uncle."

Callie ended up being a valuable asset, her first assassin. She spent nights showing the girl how to use and care for a gun, what silencers were best, and how to adjust a scope of a rifle in the dark. The Dragons had been good to Magali; they respected her for her determination, and desire to learn. She, in turn, passed what she learned in the matter of killing on to Callie; and, when she finally set her loose, Magali gained territory virtually over night. All-out shooting sprees, where Magali waged war on a particular street, and strategic take-outs by Callie, earned Magali control of Upper Manhattan. It was a complicated exercise in power, even more so at the hands of a merciless fifteen-year-old, who was backed by a contingent of ruthless killers. Opponents died by her hand, if they were formidable; at her will, if they refused her; and at her command, in a show of might.

For three months, Upper Manhattan erupted into warfare that made headlines and the nightly news. The Mayor sent out a special task force to quell the violence; officers died, their blood staining the streets. They didn’t know what or whom they were fighting, and their plan of action was haphazard at best. Each fight became fiercer, each killing increasingly brutish. It was during this time that she collected most of her scars as well; the junkie doctor was very busy. In retaliation, Magali’s orders to Callie expanded until they not only included anyone surrounding a druglord, but his family as well. The only ones excluded were women and children younger than she was; anyone over fifteen was fair game. Callie lost track of her original tally. More than once, Magali sent someone out to order a surrender, only to have them returned in a body bag. Retribution followed. Block after block fell, first those of importance-- their death making a statement that she was coming if nothing else. Then, when least expected-- in the middle of the day, the morning, the darkest hours of the night-- Magali attacked. With a small, heavily armed army of followers she rode onto a street. Fires erupted; explosions went off as cars were set ablaze. Through it all Magali opened fire at anyone standing. Not once did she mask her features; she wanted those who opposed her to know her face. She’d cut a bloody path towards the one in charge, once she had him or her, what followed was enough to make onlookers violently ill. The last to fall was found only because of a trail of rotting intestines marking a path to his body.

When the smoke cleared, Magali owned Washington Heights, Inwood, Harlem, Spanish Harlem, Morningside Heights, and Alphabet city (a neighborhood she claimed as a favor to Wu Jin-min; it bordered Chinatown). All who had followed her, raged with her, and bled with her, went from simple runners to lords representing her in the various neighborhoods. Anyone left standing at the end found their old jobs were still available to them; they had only to swear allegiance. The bloodshed was over; peace settled on the island; the task force had nothing more to do and was disbanded.

On the roof overlooking the block where it all started, Magali faced the skyline of the city sprawled under her feet. Summer had arrived, the music of ice cream trucks wafted through the air along with the sound of children’s laughter. With the warmth of the sun on her face and a light breeze fanning back her hair, Magali smiled. She filled her lungs with the sooty air and its scent of the new season. Untouchable, no more killing, it’s over…it’s all over. Thank you, Holy Mother. Come on you stupid rich bastards, buy your poison. "You’re mine! You hear me, New York? I own you!" Her voice was hoarse from barking out orders and screaming at the dead. "You didn’t take me down, I took you! Fuck you! Fuck you bastards." She flung her arms above her head as she yelled to the sky, the veins in her neck showing. "I won, I beat you." With an air of finality, she fell to her knees; shaking, she wept in relief. "No more," she whispered.

She spent a few days searching for her little brother, Jorge. He was able to do what no other could-- stay one step ahead of her. The search and the activity of the past few months caught up to her, and she retired to her mother’s home. There she headed straight for the living room, where she slept for two days on the couch, getting up only to go to the bathroom or order take out. She missed her brother’s cooking. Efrain studied at the kitchen table, scowling at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. Once, she heard him whisper "low-life," and she purposefully moved, making him jump and fall out of his chair.

Having enough of take out she went to the refrigerator to take stock of its contents. No milk, no bread, no peanut butter. "Heh, peanut butter and jelly, I can make that, I think."

"Hey, Efrain, go to the store. I’ll give you a list."

"You go, I’m busy."

"Fuckin’ incredible. Anyone else would shit if I yelled, but not you, huh, Efrain?" It was her attempt at a joke.

"Don’t compare me with those thugs you hang with, Magali."

"Thugs?" She slammed the door to the refrigerator. Inside it something fell over, most likely one of her mother’s beer bottles, and Efrain did jump. She pushed over the table he was working on, papers and books spilled to the floor. She backed him into a corner, the smell of his fear sickening her. "Those thugs, like you call them, lay their asses on the line so you can have those fancy clothes of yours, you pissant. You have what you have, because I am who I am. And together, me and those thugs…feed this whole fuckin’ neighborhood."

He was trembling with her closeness, her eyes nailing him to the wall. "You’ve brought nothing to this neighborhood but death. You make them sound like heroes…like you’re a hero." He was trying to be brave, but the quavering in his voice betrayed him.

"I’m no hero, Efrain, but just remember-- I save about as many lives as I end, and you’re one of them."

"And our brother’s is one of the ones you’ve ended." As he spoke the words, he knew he had crossed the line, and he shut his eyes against the impending fist he knew was headed his way.

"I’ll fix that too," he heard her say as the door slammed behind her.

She returned a half-hour later to find that Jorge had chased Efrain up to the roof, insane with the need for more money. She killed him then, snapping his neck as she had learned to do within the past few months. Then, it had saved her bullets and it was cleaner. She never thought she would use the move on her own brother. Efrain had watched the entire thing, and if he hadn’t lived in complete fear of her before, he now did. With her arm around Jorge’s neck and head, she twisted and felt the pop of vertebra snapping. Her baby brother went limp in her arms; his life was over. She barely heard the Miranda act when cops surrounded her and pushed her to the ground. The rasp of Jorge’s last breath drowned everything out.

 

A tray of food appeared in the slot below the door. The sound of metal scraping against the concrete of the floor drew her away from the memory of her brother’s death. She didn’t bother to move from where she sat on the concrete block that supported her thin mattress. She could tell by the smell what was on the tray, and it did nothing for her appetite. A thick, coagulating gravy covered a slab of brown meat like slime on stagnant water. They called it Salisbury steak.

A sandwich was the usual fare for her while she waited, listening to the disgusted tones used to describe her life, her actions. As usual, she refused to eat it. At night, while she waited alone in her cell, they’d bring her a tray of food. It reminded her of school lunches. She had refused them as well. The trial took weeks, with reporters stationed just outside the courtroom. Those who were allowed in carried only a notepad. Her lawyer told her to plead. There was no doubt as to her guilt, he had said; her brother would testify. They had held out as long as they could. Any longer and she wouldn’t get out before her thirtieth birthday. They’d managed to have her tried as a youthful offender, but it was clear, that with the lack of maximum security for juveniles, she would spend her time among adults. That was fine with her; she didn’t feel like a youth.

They sat her in the judge’s chambers cuffed to a hard wooden chair so old it creaked when she moved. Rarely was she allowed anywhere in public view. As a minor, the system was doing its best to protect her identity. As a result, she saw no one but her lawyer, cops, prosecutors and judges. She hadn’t seen her mother since before her arrest, her father was still behind bars, and Efrain hadn’t bothered to show up either. Magali didn’t expect to see any of her workers in the courtroom; it would have been stupid for them to have stepped foot in a federal building of any sort. She had ordered them away on the one chance she had had to use a phone. She was alone.

They brought the paper in for her to read her moniker. Bajo Zero was plastered in bold letters across the top of the front page. She’d seen it before-- the descriptions of her brother’s murder, the conditions under which she had lived, her alleged involvement with drug trafficking. She was a cold-blooded murderer, they had written: colder than ice, below zero. The personification of everything that was wrong with American youth, an example of the rampant violence of society, and its disregard for authority. They were right. She believed them.

Short and stocky, the judge wore his robes naturally. She did her best to keep her chin up as he sat behind his desk, his dark gaze fixed on her. Her fate rested in his hands. The lawyer, hired by legal aide, stood behind her, his hands resting on the back of her chair. She wanted to slap them away, carve him a new asshole, watch him beg at her feet. Even with all the hoopla surrounding her case, she knew, without knowing a thing about law, that he had pissed her case away. He had too many other cases waiting. The prosecutor sat next to her. As if claiming her for the state wasn’t enough, he wanted her to know she had lost. He was just doing his job, she had tried to tell herself, but then she found he enjoyed burying her a little at a time over the course of the final few weeks.

"You’re making a wise decision, young lady. I’m sure your lawyer here has given you the best advice possible, and you are fully aware of the penalty you face by pleading. I’d like to give you more time than what you’ll end up with. Jorge Guerrerro’s death was a tragedy. Such a young boy…but, such is the case when a defendant pleads." He had been directing his speech to her alone, and with the same ease turned his eyes on her lawyer. "Have her guardians agreed to the bargain?"

There was a long moment of silence, and Magali wondered how they could have gotten her mother out of her stupor long enough to agree to anything.

"I’m sorry, your Honor, but…the defendant’s father is in custody, and…her mother, as of last night, is deceased. The decision is hers alone. As her attorney and guardian at this time, I have advised her to take the plea."

 

Continued - Part 5

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