The Painted Boy Read online

”

  “”

  “”

  Her uncle laughed, but then his features grew serious again.

  “” he asked.

  “”

  Her uncle looked out the window again, then shrugged.

  “” he said.

  “”

  He shook his head as he walked back into the main part of the restaurant. “”

  It was true, Rosalie thought. She couldn’t resist them.

  From the foundling cats and dogs that lived in and around her trailer at the back of her uncle’s yard to the kids at school whom the other kids picked on.

  But someone had to take care of those who couldn’t take care of themselves.

  Not that Jay didn’t look capable of looking after himself, she thought as she brought the plate out to him. But everyone could use a kind word or a helping hand sometimes.

  “Wow,” he said as she set it in front of him. “This is a feast.”

  “You haven’t eaten for awhile?”

  “Just truck-stop food when the bus stopped.”

  She poured him a glass of water and slid it across the table.

  “So, why do you want a job in a Chinese restaurant?” she asked.

  He started to answer, but his mouth was too full.

  “I grew up working in one,” he said when he’d swallowed, “and it’s pretty much the only thing I’m good at. Besides—apparently—getting into trouble.”

  She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment.

  “Have you ever tried working in another kind of restaurant?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I’ve only ever worked in my parents’ place, but I know the business from the ground up. I’ve been a dishwasher, busboy, waiter, and cook. I know how to clean up, order supplies, make the food, and work the cash.” He took another, smaller bite from the burrito. “I need to get a job. And find out where the Y is so I’ve got a place to sleep tonight.”

  Rosalie nodded. “So are you on March break, or have you already finished school?”

  “You mean like an accelerated program?”

  “I guess.”

  He smiled. “Just because I’m Asian doesn’t mean I’m an academic whiz. Maybe it’s in my genes, because I’ve got a brother who’s a doctor, and a sister who’s a lawyer, and another sister who’s the CEO of an NGO helping kids in Africa. But it never took with me. I’m a dropout.”

  “Were your parents disappointed?”

  “You’d think. But Paupau told them—”

  He broke off at her puzzled look. “Sorry. That’s my grandmother on my mother’s side. She’s kind of like Marlon Brando in The Godfather. Everybody in the family—heck, everybody in the neighborhood—defers to her. Anyway, she told my parents that this was something I was supposed to do, so I left with their blessing.”

  “I don’t get it. What are you supposed to do?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? She just told me to go someplace that feels right and then I’d figure it out.”

  “And your parents were really okay with your doing this?”

  “Not really. I don’t even know that I am. But you don’t argue with Paupau. She has a lot of strange ideas, but like I said, everybody pretty much does what she says. So I stuck my finger on a map and it came up Santo del Vado Viejo—which I’ve got to tell you, I’d never heard of before—and here I am.” He smiled. “And who knows, maybe those guys chasing me and me hiding out in your tree is all part of some bigger plan.”

  “You don’t believe that,” she said.

  “Paupau says there are no coincidences, there is only the fate that you must follow.”

  “But you’re—” She hesitated, then plunged on. “You’re just a kid like me. You should be going to school, hanging with your friends, enjoying your March break . . .”

  “Which would beat being chased by a bunch of tattooed guys who want to kick my head in. I can’t argue with that. So what about you? What’s your story?”

  He took another bite from his burrito and gave her an expectant look.

  “There’s nothing much to tell,” she said. “I go to school. I work here in my uncle’s restaurant. I hang out with my friends.”

  “And stay out of trouble.”

  “Usually, yes.” She studied him for a moment before adding, “You know, my uncle’s looking for a cook. Maybe he’ll give you the job if I ask him.”

  “I don’t know anything about preparing Mexican food.”

  “You can learn. It’s not hard.”

  “I don’t want to impose.”

  “It’s cool,” she said. “Really. Unless you really have to work in a Chinese restaurant.”

  “It’s not that. It’s just . . . I’ve got this letter of recommendation that Paupau said I should show any prospective employer. I don’t know what it says, but I guess that’s why the guy at the Shanghai Gardens was so helpful.”

  “You don’t know what it says?”

  He shook his head. “It’s in Chinese. I know, I know. But I was born in Chicago, not in Hong Kong or the main-land. I can speak Mandarin, but I can’t read it. Everyone in my family speaks Cantonese except for Paupau and my mother. Anyway, the point is your uncle wouldn’t be able to read it, either.”

  “Tío Sandro makes his own decisions about who he thinks’ll fit in here.” She smiled. “And since I’m putting in a good word for you, I know the job’s yours if you want it.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “And until you can get a place of your own, you can sleep on my couch.”

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “Are you this nice to all strangers?” he asked.

  “I just like helping people.”

  “And I totally appreciate it.”

  “Oh, and before you get any ideas,” she said, “I’ve got a boyfriend.”

  “’S cool. I’ve got a girlfriend.”

  There was a laugh in his dark eyes that made her ask, “What’s her name?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t met her yet.”

  “Has that line ever worked for you?” she asked.

  “What? You don’t believe in romance and true love? That somewhere out there is the one person who’s going to make you complete?”

  “Is this more of your grandmother’s wisdom?”

  “Nope, this is all my own.”

  She shook her head. “Life’s not a pop song, it’s a rap song. And around here, it’s a narcocorrido.”

  “Say what?”

  “Do you know what corridos are?”

  “Some kind of Mexican music?”

  She nodded. “They’re part of the norteño tradition and usually have a polka beat. In the old days they would tell the stories of the Mexican ‘Robin Hood’ bandits like Malverde—‘the generous bandit’ who stole from the rich and then shared his loot with the poor. There’s even a song about how at the end of his life, he got one of his own friends to turn him in so that his people would benefit from the reward money.”

  “Cool.”

  “If it’s true.”

  “But now . . . ?” Jay said.

  “Now bands sing narcocorridos praising the murderers and drug lords who rule the bandas. It’s weird, but in Spanish the word for band and gang are the same, and now these stupid kids are showing us why.”

  “But it’s just like rap, isn’t it? Most of the people who make it and listen to it aren’t actually drug lords going around shooting people.”

  “No, here it’s the bandas that get shot. A group’ll sing a song in praise of one of the drug lords and members of a rival gang will shoot them for it.”

  “And is everyone like that around here?”

  “No, of course not. But it still cuts close to home. My f
riend Anna’s brother was killed in a drive-by a couple of years ago. My cousin José is in prison. The bandas are everywhere. Even my uncle ran with a gang when he was a kid, but he got out of la vida loca before he hurt himself or anyone else.”

  “Lucky.”

  Rosalie shook her head. “No, smart. And brave. It’s hard to turn your back on your friends the way he had to. Because they’re like your family. So he understands why José was running with the Kings, but it still breaks his heart that his only son’s in jail.”

  Jay glanced where the gangbangers had been earlier.

  “Maybe I picked the wrong place to move,” he said.

  “Oh, no. I’m making it sound horrible. There are lots of good people here, too. And there’s lots of other kinds of music, and all kinds of arts and street fairs and festivals. We have the mountains and the desert. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.”

  He smiled. “Well, I’m here now, so I might as well get a taste of it.”

  “Do you want me to talk to my uncle? I’m working another shift tonight. You could help out and when it’s slow I’ll show you the ropes.”

  He plucked at his T-shirt. “I’m kind of grubby.”

  “Oh, right. You should have a shower and clean up first. I’ll see if Anna’s free to run you over to my place.”

  “Is this the Anna whose brother was killed?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t want to impose on her, either.”

  “Are you kidding? She’s out of school, too, and is probably dying to do something. If you leave her alone, all she does is sit in her room and play her guitar.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know her and she doesn’t know me . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it. All you need to know is that she’s one of my best friends and plays in a band with my boyfriend, Ramon. You’ll like her—she’s cute.”

  “Great. I’ll make such a good first impression on her all grubby like this.”

  “You made a good first impression on me.”

  He studied her for a moment with that solemn, dark-eyed gaze of his. Then he shrugged.

  “And I have no idea how or why,” he said.

  “Maybe I just like the way you climb into a tree.”

  “Right.”

  She smiled. “Finish your burrito. I’m going to talk to Tío and then call Anna to come pick you up.”

  “Do you always get your own way?” he asked as she got up from the table.

  Rosalie smiled. “Only when I’m right,” she said.

  Then she disappeared into the restaurant.

  Jay finished his burrito, washing it down with half a glass of water. He hadn’t thought the salsa was too hot while he was eating, but the spices had crept up on him. Setting the glass down, he got up and walked to the back wall of the patio. When he was satisfied that the gangbangers weren’t still lurking around, he returned to the table to enjoy the quiet and warmth of the patio while he waited for Rosalie to return.

  She reminded him of his sisters—not pushy, just very sure of herself—and it made him feel a little more at home in a place that was so different from where he’d grown up. When he caught the bus two days ago in Chicago, there’d still been snow on the ground. There’d been a lot of snow because they’d been having a brutal winter. But as the bus took him south, the snow had slowly disappeared, the temperatures rose, and then he was here, in this strange city in the middle of a landscape that seemed to be made up of nothing more than rocks and dirt.

  He remembered Paupau nodding sagely when he told her where he was going, as though it was what she’d expected. As though she was familiar with his destination and it was exactly the place he was supposed to go. But now that he was here, he wasn’t so sure. It seemed so much more intimidating than it had in the guidebook he’d been reading on the bus trip south.

  Rosalie was right. He was just a kid still. He should be enjoying the March break and anticipating his return to classes. Except he didn’t care much for school—or at least it didn’t care much for him. Teachers, his fellow students—they all sensed the secret he carried but couldn’t share. He doubted they would put it in so many words, but they knew there was something different about him and kept him at arm’s length.

  Maybe it was for the best that he had chosen a place so far away. The city and surrounding desert felt completely alien to him, but maybe alien was good. For one thing, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d met someone his own age who didn’t immediately tense up around him.

  He noticed a tiny lizard making its way up the wall of saguaro ribs. It appeared to notice him at the same time because it froze in place—the lizard version of invisibility.

  “What do you think, little brother?” he asked it. “Is Paupau a wise teacher, or just a crazy old lady?”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  Rosalie had returned. She stood in the doorway with a tall, well-muscled man standing behind her. His black hair was slicked back from his forehead and his skin was dark against his white shirt. Faded tattoos patterned his forearms. His face was impassive.

  Jay started to point at the lizard, but it had taken his momentary distraction to vanish back in between the saguaro ribs.

  “Myself, apparently,” he said.

  Rosalie’s eyebrows lifted.

  “My niece tells me you’re looking for a job,” the man said.

  Jay stood up and came around the table.

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “I’ve got plenty of restaurant experience—just none of it with Mexican food.”

  “That can be learned. Do you take drugs?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Are you a member of any gang?”

  “No, sir.”

  The man studied him intently as he fired his questions. Then he asked the kicker:

  “Do you have honorable intentions toward my niece?”

  “Tío!” Rosalie protested.

  Jay regarded him with surprise. He glanced at Rosalie before he answered.

  “She’s way out of my class, sir,” he said. “And besides, I hear she already has a boyfriend.”

  Rosalie’s uncle finally smiled.

  “Good answer,” he said. He offered his hand. “I’m Sandro Hernandez.”

  “But everybody just calls him Tío,” Rosalie put in.

  “I’m James Li,” Jay said as he shook his new employer’s hand, “and everybody calls me Jay. Thanks for this opportunity.”

  “You’ve got work papers?” Tío asked.

  “I was born here. I’ve got my Social Security card.”

  “Gre at . We’ l l get the paperwork sorted out later. Rosalie says you can start training tonight?”

  “As soon as I get cleaned up.”

  “I’ve already called Anna,” Rosalie said. “She’s on her way.”

  Rosalie had to get back to work, so she left Jay to wait for Anna in the dusty alley. He didn’t have time to really start to worry about the gangbangers before a vintage turquoise-and-white Valiant pulled up. The driver rolled down her window and smiled.

  “Well, look at you,” she said. “All inscrutable and hand some.”

  Jay had to laugh. Rosalie was right. Anna was cute. Full-lipped and dark-eyed, black hair streaked with red, big jangly earrings. Her dark skin stood out against a cream T-shirt giving a shout-out to some Mexican band he’d never heard of. If Rosalie was a classic beauty, Anna was the wild girl you’d see sitting in the back of class, tapping her foot to some rhythm only she could hear. He could tell she was the girl who didn’t wait to be asked to join anything—she made her own plans and did the asking.

  “Cool car,” he told her.

  “I know—isn’t it? My brother got it fixed up for me for my sixteenth birthday. He did most of the work on it himself.”

  “Nice to have that kind of talent.”

  Something changed in her face.

  “Be nicer if he’d stuck to it instead of jacking cars for the Kings. Maybe the asshole’d still be alive.”


  There was a moment of awkward silence, then Jay nodded. “Rosalie said something about . . . um . . .”

  Anna sighed. “Sorry. I’ve got this love/hate thing going with my memories of him.” She gave him a too-bright smile. “So, are you getting in?”

  “If you’re sure it’s not too much of a bother.”

  “If it was, would I be here? Don’t be shy.”

  He went around to the passenger’s side and opened the door.

  “You want to drive?” she asked as he slid in.

  Jay shook his head. “I don’t even have my license. But I’m excellent at grabbing a subway or bus.”

  “Then it looks like I’m driving.”

  She was good company, chatting and laughing like they were old friends. The first thing she asked as they pulled away was what he had on his MP3 player. When he named a few of the bands, she nodded her approval and he felt like he’d passed some kind of test. He was glad he had because Rosalie wasn’t just right about her being cute. She was also right about him liking her.

  What wasn’t to like?

  Too bad it couldn’t go anywhere. He didn’t flatter himself that her flirting was anything but just the way she was—friendly and fun. Even if she did become more interested, nothing could happen. Not with the secrets he carried.

  “Rosalie says you’re in a band,” he said. “What are you called?”

  “We’re Malo Malo.” She pulled a face. “Yeah, I know. ‘Bad Bad.’ It kind of sucks. But Ramon—”

  She glanced at him.

  “Rosalie’s boyfriend,” he said.

  “Yeah. It’s Ramon’s band—I mean, he started it—so he got to pick the name.”

  “What kind of music do you play?”

  “We do some rap, some rock, all mixed up with the barrio flava—you know? Well, here we are.”

  They were only a few long blocks from the restaurant when Anna turned the Valiant down a dirt alley and pulled up along a chain-link fence. There was a low adobe house facing the street with a long silver trailer at the other end of the yard. Both had blue trim around the doors and windows. In between was a big expanse of dirt. Mesquite and palo verde trees grew at the back of the yard, shading the trailer, and there was a two-armed saguaro cactus by the house that stood almost thirty feet tall. Dried grasses and clusters of prickly pear followed the line of the fence.