Esta soledad me esta quemando las pestañas

This little dagger’s a sharp one. There’s an impressed lift to his brows when she mentions a baseball bat, but far as he can tell she ain’t draggin’ a slugger with her so he reckons he’s not about to get his head swung outta the park this very instant. Maybe next time, though. He’s got a feeling it ain’t hyperbole she’s speaking.

It’s quite a standoff they’ve found themselves in. Here Rodeo is, cloudless blue eyes watching for any sign that she’s aware of what he’s been up to, that she might have a mind to tell somebody what she saw in this warehouse. And there she is, eyes sharp as blades, tellin’ him she’s here looking for crows.

Neither of ‘em are showing their hand. And if it wasn’t for what’s at stake, Rodeo would kinda be enjoying himself right about now.

But this ain’t a game, and this little dagger might bleed him out if he lets her. Before they leave here, he’s gotta be sure she don’t know what he was doing at the top of the ladder. He carries on leaning against it, painting the perfect picture of lassitude even as he watches her reach a hand into her backpack with tension coiling at the base of his spine. Is she about to draw on him? With how his day’s been goin’, it seems about par for the course. He’s waiting to see cold steel gleam in her hand as it comes out, but… it’s just a damn pack of cigarettes.

Shit. Paranoia is really getting the best of him these days.

It ain’t like he’s got his Luckies right now, and a subpar cigarette is a subpar cigarette. So he nods in wordless assent and reaches out, pinching one of the cigarettes from her pack. He slips his old gold Zippo from his flannel pocket, thumb flicking the wheel to spark the flame. He holds it out to her so she can light her smoke first before he lights his own.

“A textbook? You sayin’ I’m fit to print?” he smirks, as if she meant it as a compliment. “N’I wouldn’t be so blasé if I was you. Heard tell when this place was open, men would fall into the vats of molten steel and burn up like goddamn Terminator 2. And granted, that does sound metal as fuck, but I’d wager that’s a recipe for a Grade A Vengeful Ghost.” Rodeo pauses to bring the flame to his own cigarette, lighting it up and sucking in a deep breath of smoke. His rough mahogany drawl continues on a smoky exhale. “You some kinda ornithologist, darlin’ Dagger? What business you got with the crows?”

..

Typically, she doesn’t smoke, but he’s being a gentleman about things so she indulges, leaning in to light a cigarette. “I’m saying you remind me of school,” she clarifies with ease. Or at least..the bits she was there for. Maite shrugs. “Sounds about right..men being vengeful just ‘cause they can’t keep their own fuckin’ balance.” Perhaps her views aren’t entirely fair, but the thought of lingering in a world you no longer are part of because you’re mad you tripped..isn’t a brilliant light. Add to it the fact that over the years, someone else’s anger almost always sparked alarm bells in her mind.

It also speaks to how little schooling she actually paid attention to on the occasions she was in a classroom. She doesn’t know the conditions factory workers labored under, especially in the first part of the century.

Darlin dagger gets him an eye roll and a smoke ring for his trouble, but it’s better than lil mama. “I mean..they printed textbooks, didn’t they? Been called a lot of things but ornithologist is sure a fuckin’ first,” she answers, opting for another drag on her cigarette. Maybe she did pay attention in a classroom because context clues are the only reason she can guess at what it means. who talks like that? she wondered. 

“Crows are smart. You can tell a lot about where they live if you get to know them...They like shiny things, you know,” Maite adds, almost thoughtfully. Her cuervitos were the same way. She left offerings that they liked, they left little things they thought she might like. But he didn’t need to know that, if he didn’t already. Members of Valencia didn’t need to know that she cultivated a network of eyes around the city if they didn’t already. Admittedly, if it was seen as a threat, they likely would have dealt with her by now. Turning to look up, she searched the depths of his eyes as if they would reveal something he didn’t want. There’s no helping the question that falls from her lips: “If you’re so afraid of ghosts, cowboy, why are you in here by yourself? Lose a game of truth or dare?”

A lot had changed and at the same time, nothing. When Maite was at a crossroads, when she needed advice, there weren’t many people she could go to. JR was one of few she knew she could trust. Maite could be honest about her intentions with Valencia (Lucero knew what she was trying, but Maite did her best to keep the details to herself). She could tell JR about her cuervitos and anything interesting they brought to her. And on nights like this, with a chill in the air and a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach, JR was someone that might be able to help.

Slinking from shadow to shadow, the young woman kept her head down and occasionally dodged into alleyways. Especially at that time of night, it was important to take extra care. Finally, she found herself at JR’s door. Maite was almost nervous as she raised her fist to knock on the door. Just appearing in the middle of the night without texting first might not come to anything, but who would be better to consult? If the woman waited til sun-up, she’d lose her nerve. 

   “heeeey matey —” the words coming out far too cartoonish, a line meticulously fabricated to downplay the jolts of electrifying pain shooting through her nerves. cue the smile, that looked more like the strained line one might see on a wounded animal — well, she was looking particularly roadkill-y tonight. but there was genuine appreciation of the company presenting itself before her (at least ‘cause it could’ve been anyone from valencia coming back for round two — or worse, a blue-suited man of the law escorting her to yet another night with her ass on a cold hard bench). in an attempt to prove herself less pathetic than she feels, mitch peeled herself off the wall and half stumbled forward, smiling.

     “oh, my pride, babygirl — it’s been ripped to shreds”. another drag, another puff of smoke thrown to her side, and a muffled groan slipping out her lips as the motion of her hand caused her to squirm. “should’ve seen the other guy”. hardly touched by the fight at all. eyebrows furrowed, a sudden look of curiosity about her, mitch grabbed what was left of her smoke and threw it out, too far: for a second she considered the civic usefulness of stomping on it, snuff it out, avoid it getting in touch with any of the pieces of trash littering the sidekick. just a second, then mitch shrugged — for all she cared, red ridge could’ve burned down ten years ago. “you got any guys for a quick, off-the-book job?” she inquired, nodding towards her wounded shoulder. “kinda don’t wanna deal with all the hassle of an e.r. you know? all those questions… all that… bullshit….”

..

Normally, she’d elbow Mitch for that, but tonight the other woman gets a roll of Maite’s brown eyes. stepping forward, she couldn’t help shaking her head even though she’d seen the business end of someone else’s fist more times than she could count. “Shame, that. The only fix I know is tequila but something tells me that’ll just cause problems.” Her lips pressed into a thin line as Mitch’s state made itself a little more clear. “I’d only like to see them if i have a baseball bat in one hand and a machete in the other,” Maite clarified. Without asking, the brunette moved to Mitch’s..less injured side, ready to offer support. Whoever Mitch tangled with wasn’t fucking around, that much was clear. “The fuck’d you do to piss them off and do i even know who they are?” 

Lips shifted to the side as she considered the different options available. There were a few old neighbors that could help, it was just a matter of who might be up (or easily bribed). Her fingers tapped absently against her thigh.“I know an old granny lady that can get you fixed up and will probably have something that tastes terrible but will help you sleep. I’ll just need to swing by home and get a few things for her first. If you need to lay low, Lucero will be off in a few hours and she’d always fix you up. What is best?” 

From Rodeo’s lips comes an utterance so ancient, so primordial, he never even knew he had it in him ‘till this very exact moment– when, flying off the next-to-last rung of the ladder, he cries out just like his Gran’na Bonnie-Jo used to do when she dropped a bag of flour or stubbed her toe on table leg, “Gad night a’livin’!”

Where the fuck that came from, he doesn’t know. But here he is, slapped silly with shock, staring down the barrel of two watchful eyes like cold black tea in a crystal glass.

Fuck.

He doesn’t recognize her, but that doesn’t mean he’s off the hook. How much did she see? Could she have any idea what he was up to at the top of that ladder, or what Valencia’s use for this place is?

Hell, what’s she even doing here in the first place?

Generally the only uninvited guests to worry about out here are the vagrants, the junkies who come lookin’ for a hole to curl up and die in. This gal ain’t the die-in-a-hole type, that much he’s sure of.

He reckons there are men who walk this earth– many of ‘em, maybe even most of ‘em– who would tell this woman she don’t belong in this place frequented by wraiths and criminals, that it ain’t safe here. But foolish as he might be, James Hawkins is no fool, and he’ll bet this little lady with the dagger eyes knew good and well what she might run into out here. Launching into some man-splainin’ admonishment about her safety don’t even cross his mind. That’s sure as hell not the way he’ll wriggle out of this one.

He can’t tell her that this place is off limits to civilians neither. The fact that Valencia does business here is not public knowledge, and though there’s probably talk around town, talk is just talk until some douchebag runs his mouth and confirms it. Rodeo’s been up to no good so long, he’ll never be that douchebag.

Now, all this evaluation is done in the split second between his boots hitting the ground on gran’na’s old exclamation and his next big inhale of breath. If there’s a slip of anger across his eyes, it ain’t at the lady crashing his candid camera party– it’s at himself, for letting this damned horror of heights get the better of him. He should have been on the ground before she even entered the room. Now he’s got no clue what she’s seen, and no clue what she means to do about it either.

But he knows one thing. If she suspects he’s up to something, acting guilty or defensive will seal the deal. So he does what he’s been doing ever since he stepped foot in this nightmare vista– he fakes it ‘till he fuckin’ makes it.

He heaves out a breath and slaps his palm over his heart. “Shitdamn, lil mama, you near jumped me outta my skin,” he says. His hand leaves his chest to rake through his hair, dragging it back from his face. The V inked at the curve of his wrist flashes in her view. His hand drops away and he rolls the tension off his shoulders. “Thought you was one o’ the ghosts. This joint’s haunted, ain’t you heard? Just full-up with phantoms. Gives me the heebie jeebies, I’ll tell ya what.”

He leans an elbow against a rung of the ladder, falling into his act so well that it’s hardly an act anymore. When he asks his next question, it is only with pure curiosity– no defensiveness, no accusation. “What you doin’ out here, lil dagger? Reckon it wasn’t for a front-row seat to my one man band. You lookin’ for ghosts? Or just admirin’ the crumbling infrastructure of our shrinking middle class?”

..

It’s almost all in the details. Maite’s dark eyes sparkle with interest at his chosen..does that even count as profanity? Other than that, she’s remarkably still given the way the man shouted. That was from years of practice, though. Years of having to convince men, who like this one were bigger and stronger than she was, that they didn’t scare her.

Interest turns to annoyance at being called ‘lil mama’, and one brow arches high, a silent excuse you, if ever there was one. She catches sight of the V on his wrist and that eyebrow lowers just a touch. His talk of ghost earns him an eye roll. Lil dagger is certainly better, but she doesn’t want to let on that he’s inching his way towards interesting.

Make them chase you is harder in practice than she thought, but still the young woman offers a shrug. “I don’t see why I’d fear the dead. I’ve never needed a baseball bat to manage them like do the living.” Maite is matter-of-fact in the way she answered. As if everyone needed some kind of weapon to deal with the living more often than not.

Maite tugged lightly on her braid as she took a moment to consider how she wants to answer him. She settles on, “Looking for crows. This is about as good a place to nest as any. Did you find any up there?” Her head tilts as she reaches into her backpack with one hand. Meant to be a gentle tease, she holds out a pack of cigarettes, silently asking if he wants one. Asking without offering would likely either get her nothing or the chance to see if she’d hold her own against him.

“Tell me cowboy, do you always sound like a textbook? Or is that the phantoms talking?” Lightning fast, she winks up at him for good measure just to see what he’d do with it. Maybe she shouldn’t be enjoying this quite so much, but here they were.

Maite shook her head as she hurried down the road. Lucero’s cravings were starting to get our of hand, but here she was wandering the aisles of Roberto’s to get everything on her list. In truth, it would have been easier to just go to the grocery store with the amount of candy and snacks the woman wanted. Maite can already hear Lucero’s voice, Roberto’s tastes better. And of course, they had the prized sandwiches that could brighten anyone’s day. 

“Que tal, jefe?” she asked as she set an honest-to-god absurd amount of candy and snacks down. “I didn’t take all the cotton candy airheads, I promise,” she added, eyeing the wealth of candy and chips assembled. It was her own fault for not stocking up the snack cupboard sooner. “Can I get a couple sandwiches and a coffee, too, please?”

gonna break my rusty cage & run

••• WHERE: Vanderbilt Inc. ••• CLOSED to @maitesol​

If he’s bein’ real honest, today is a steaming pile of snot wafflin’ garbage ass sonuvabitchin’ bullshit.

He knew it’d be a bad day as soon as he woke up from a lean two hours of shut-eye and pawed at his bedside table for his pack of smokes. He knocked over a half-empty bottle of Jack and a splash of whiskey glugged out onto the shag carpet. That was irritating enough, but then when his hand closed on his pack of Luckies, it was insult on top of injury.

Fuckin’ empty.

And so, with a hellacious hangover and no fuckin’ cigarettes to his name, James Hawkins started his day in one epically awful rotten no-good Very Bad Mood. And lord wept, it’s only gotten worse from there.

First, there was that whole incident in the gas station when he was tryin’ to buy his goddamn smokes. Some truly dumb ass motherfucker at the counter ahead of him couldn’t decide what pack of condoms he was wanting to buy, and the fella legitimately stood there reading the boxes like he was browsin’ the specs on all his options. Rodeo tried being civil. He said to the man, “listen, partner, you don’t seem like the type’a fella who a lady lets climb on top her in the light o’ day. Why don’t you come on back later and make that selection?”

But when that Dumb Ass Motherfucker responded with a flippant “mind your business, buddy,” all civility went out the window.

Now at this point you must be thinking, well, at least he got his smokes. But the day wouldn’t even be as fortuitous as that. They were fresh out of Luckies. All he’s got to show for his unlucky early morning pit stop is a pack of Pall Malls and a split knuckle. And then shit just got worse.

He was suckin’ down a second subpar cigarette when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Stopped at a light on his gleaming white Harley, he pulled it out and saw a contact that could turn his mood on even the best of days. But today?

Well. It was nearly enough to turn this fine Saturday into a bloodbath.

Luckily, Rodeo managed to cool his jets before he arrived at the destination he was called to. He met with his masters and managed not to put a bullet between anyone’s eyes, so really he probably deserves the Nobel Peace Prize for his commitment to diplomacy. He was given a command, he was given the necessary impedimenta, and then he was sent on his way with a dire warning about what would happen if he didn’t comply. As if he needed any more reason to feel like a rabid dog in a steel cage that keeps getting smaller by the day.

But the devil beckons, and Rodeo does his bidding. So here he is, making his day even worse. Because if there’s one thing James Hawkins hates more than being subservient, it’s fucking heights. And of course they gave him a job that involves getting on a motherfuckin’ cock suckin’ piece of shit goddamn rickety ass ladder.

“Sonuva bitch,” Rodeo growls through clenched teeth as he reaches the top of the ladder. It ain’t no 15′, chill little stroll-in-the-park to reach the top shelf type ladder neither. It’s a ladder tall enough to reach the high ceilings of the abandoned warehouse, where exposed steel beams make perfect hiding places for the devices he was sent here with.

Cameras. They want to watch Valencia’s business. To what end, he doesn’t know. Is it just to understand how they do their deals, what kind of deals they’re doing, how many guns are moved out of their warehouse… Or… are they planning something?

Does it matter? Not his problem. Right now, the fact that this fuckin’ ladder keeps moving around under him is his problem. He tries to stay as still as possible as he reaches up into the beams overhead and sticks a small black button to the corroded steel.

Then, ever so gingerly, he descends.

It doesn’t get easier when he moves the ladder and climbs it a second time. He’s trying to work fast, ‘cause he reckons if anyone wanders in he’s gonna have a helluva time lying his way out of this one, but every time he gets close to the top he freezes for a bit, panic seizing him.

So, to give himself something besides sheer horror to focus on, he starts singing.

His voice echoes in the empty warehouse, big and loud and a little extra raw in his overwrought state. As he sits himself at the top of the ladder again and reaches up into the rafters, he croons out, “You wired me awake and hit me with a hand of broken nails. You tied my lead and pulled my chain to watch my blood begin to boil.”

Another camera is placed. He starts to climb down.

“But I’m gonna break, I’m gonna break my, gonna break my rusty cage and run…”

..

Befriending the crows was something she’d learned from one of the many abuelitas in her neighborhood. The old woman had taught Maite when she was a child, how to watch. How to gain their trust, and their favor. That old woman must have known something about the person the little girl would grow up to be, because its those same skills that have kept her going this long. Tending to her crows was a part of her daily routine. Just like she tended her crows, she also tended her cuervitos. Those who were down on their luck, other petty criminals..anyone she could get an in with. Maite remembered their spots and their vices, and was giving gifts in thanks to those who’s had tidbits for her. 

Her offerings made, Maite decided to wander around the town a bit. New connections could be around every corner after all, and the more eyes around the town she can get, the better. The warehouse is almost always a good spot to meet someone new or catch up with someone known. Getting in isn’t too hard, and she’s careful not to make any noise. Creeping in, Maite couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips as the sound of a man’s voice bounced off of the walls and the ceiling. He was big, but the big ones were always a little more fun to scare. Hoping luck would be on her side, she continued forward without making a sound so that she could lean against a nearby beam. Interest sparkled in her dark brown eyes as watched, arms crossed over her chest. 

This was certainly something new. Maite had seen a lot, and walked into a lot, especially after starting to poke around more, but what she’d consider a cowboy singing on a ladder...this one took the cake. He sounded good, she’d give him that. Rather than make her presence known, she waited. Saying something now might startle him, and that was the last thing he’d need.  Maite waited until he was a few feet from the ground to speak.

“You do that well. Singing, I mean,” she clarified, watching carefully for his response. It would say a fair amount about him. As the young woman watched with obvious interest, she absently twirled the end of her thick braid around her finger. If he were the type to get violent, he’d probably win assuming she couldn’t outrun him (a distinct possibility, but all reward came with some risk). 

Over the years, Maite’s face wasn’t all that uncommon at the shelter. One of her sisters was had needed their help several times, and she’d helped more than one person through its doors. This time, she didn’t have a person, but a brown paper bag on her hip. One of her cuervitos had finally agreed with the girl that truly, it would be a good idea to go to the shelter for help. Maite helped her and her child, a quiet wide-eyed little girl, sneak out of their former home and into the shelter.

The child had cried because she hadn’t had a special blanket and stuffed animal, so Maite had done the only logical thing. Promise the little girl she’d get them, then break into the house, and steal them. It was risky, but she’d gotten in and out without a problem. She’d paused at the front to check in and explain that she had a delivery for the mother and daughter and let the receptionist check the contents of the bag. Once permitted, she turned to find the pair but stopped short upon catching sight of the director. “Hello, Ms. Montemayor,” she greeted with a polite smile. Maite’s mother didn’t have a lot of money, and her kids were street urchins from the start, but that didn’t stop her from instilling old-school manners into them. Even if they weren’t always used.

Like a shadow, Maite slipped through the alleys of Red Ridge. Her cuervitos were always out, and she’d tended to several of them. Far more valuable than any garden, their whispers had pointed her in the direction of some people who seemed to think that they didn’t need to pay Valencia. Even she knew damn well that was foolish. She had to leave some trinkets in thanks for them. It had taken a few days, but she’d been able to confirm for herself that a salon had started selling more than manicures. Perhaps Valencia wouldn’t care about more drug dealers in the area, but drug dealers attached to cash-based business that weren’t paying any street tax? And knew damn well there was a price to doing business in Red Ridge? That should put a smile on Serafin Mosqueda’s face.

Well..perhaps not a smile, but it would be something.

She’d been given information on a few different locations where the man could be found. Tracking him down was an interesting exercise. There was always the chance that someone had fed her cuervito information and she was walking into a trap. It could have been set by anyone, Valencia included and by now she knew more than enough to to be wary of their soldiers. Her one saving grace would be that she doubted she was important enough to merit a bonebreaker. God help her if that ever changed. Maite adjusted the beanie on her head before emerging from an alleyway. Her lips quirked as she spotted her prey (even if the moment she made her presence know, she’d cease to be the predator). Giving the thick braid that hung over her shoulder a quick squeeze, Maite was reassured by metal points of the spiked barbells she’d hidden in her hair. And mamí thought piercings were her biggest concern, she thought ruefully. Her mother hadn’t considered that her youngest would get a bunch of body piercings to put through a ribbon and braid through her dark hair.

Once she was a little closer to her mark, though still a respectable distance, she paused and called out, “Buenas noches.” surely her presence had been noted, but it felt like the polite thing to announce herself and let Serafin make the next move.

where: outside violet, 1:13 am. to: open @redridgestart​

the lopsided grimace tightening her lips was a dead giveaway — tonight’s earnings amount to a black eye, a busted lip, a bruised jaw, a shoulder that hurt a little too much and a good amount of bruises she’s lost count of — it hurt like a bitch. one thing, however, was for sure: gender equality had allowed even the most retrograde specimens of valencia soldiers to reserve women the usual, fist-handed treatment. not that she hadn’t asked for it, in her own way. questions too bold, too precise to not raise a few eyebrows. one could’ve called her reckless, but she hardly cared about the consequence: she’d wanted to make waves, put some people on edge. the best observations were found when once still atoms buzzed around and crashed into one another.

still, that motherfucker had placed one hell of a hook, and her shoulder was throbbing. leaning with her back against the side of the building, mitch sighed, spat out a splash of blood and let out a curse — son of a bitch — under her breath. she needed a cigarette — badly. right as she lit it up, the flame briefly shining light over her corner of the hallway, right then her eyes met that of a not yet distinct figure: thank god for small miracles. “hey”, she called out, puffing out smoke to her left. “any chance i could hitch a ride to the hospital?”. 

..

red ridge was a great many things. quiet never seemed to be one of them, depending on how you lived your life there. for maite, the town was always awake, always moving. nighttime was her bread and butter - the cover of darkness lent itself to work and her special pet project. a reputation that would attract valencia wouldn’t build itself, that was for sure. small side deals - nothing big enough to get on their shitlist, but hopefully enough to get their attention in a good way. if nothing else, no one had beat the shit out of her yet.

and even that might present a unique opportunity. if they did send some of their soldiers after her, maite wouldn’t go down without a fight. if she were fierce enough, fought smart enough, maybe that could be a way to prove herself, too. her personal business attended to for the evening, she found herself wandering the streets. though she had no contact with her blood relatives, the people she’d met through them still spoke with her. those relationships were tended to, her cuervitos. for them, she always had time. as much as she could, she gave whatever else she could spare. she wasn’t seeking out any in particular when she caught sight of a bright orange spot. frowning, she walked closer without hesitation. 

the familiar voice gave her pause, and maite shook her head at the request. “jesus fuck, mitch. what happened?” she demanded, concern obvious. “you need a doc or patching up? lucero is working the er tonight so if you need good bedside manner, doc might be the way to go,” she rattled off, one hand moving to rest on her hip. “where are you hurt the most?”

maite soledad acero - 25 - aspiring street rat

a clenched fist | a lit cigarette | ripped jeans | bruised knuckles | tequila reposado | a st. jude’s medal on every door | a shadow on your threshold

tw: abuse, violence, domestic violence, mentions of drug use and prostitution