Moist Read Online Free Page B

held the vial upside down and, just like he’d seen on television, filled the syringe with the clear fluid. He put the vial back in the bag and tapped the air bubble to the top of the syringe.
    â€œWhat is that shit, man?”
    Esteban looked at Norberto. He liked this. This was fun. Watching Norberto shit his pants, beg for his life. This was gonna be good.
    â€œWhere’s Amado?”
    Norberto told the truth.
    â€œHe was here, man. I went out to get something and when I came back he was gone.”
    â€œWhat’s with the tub?”
    Norberto looked at the bloodstain, the Comet, and the scrubby sponge he still clutched tightly in his fist.
    â€œBlood, man. It’s just blood.”
    â€œWhose blood is it?”
    â€œAmado’s.”
    â€œDid you kill Amado?”
    â€œNo, man.”
    Esteban laughed.
    â€œHe cut himself shaving?”
    Norberto looked at Esteban. Then he looked over at Martin. Martin gave the syringe a little squirt. That shit looked evil.
    â€œLook, Esteban, I didn’t have nothing to do with this, man.”
    â€œDígame.”
    â€œAmado hurt his arm.”
    â€œHe go to the hospital?”
    â€œNo, man, it’s more fucked up than that.”
    Esteban hated to lose his temper. All his heroes, the bad guys in the movies, Marlon Brando as the Godfather or anything with Christopher Walken in it, those guys never lost their temper until they were pushed too far. Esteban admired that. He wanted to be cool like that. But Brando didn’t have to put up with wetback fuckups like he did. Esteban slapped Norberto across the face. Slapped him hard. Norberto reeled, hitting his head against the side of the tub, breaking open a nasty gash. Norberto’s blood oozed down into the Comet.
    â€œWhat happened? What happened to Amado’s arm?”
    Not wanting to get hit again, Norberto blurted it out.
    â€œIt got cut off, man.”
    The look that crossed Esteban’s face was unusual. A mixture of mirth, disgust, and genuine shock.
    â€œBullshit.”
    â€œ
Es a verdad
.”
    Esteban smacked Norberto again.
    â€œAmado killed Carlos Vila, but somehow he got his arm cut off.”
    Esteban was surprised by this.
    â€œHe killed Carlos?
¿Por qué?
”
    â€œI don’t know nothing about it, man. But they had some kind of deal and Carlos was cheating Amado. So, you know Amado, he whacked him.”
    Martin and Esteban exchanged a look. Martin spoke first.
    â€œThey can reattach that arm.”
    Norberto shook his head.
    â€œNo, they can’t, man.”
    â€œWith advancements in microsurgery all kinds of things are possible. He may not have full range of motion again, but—”
    Norberto interrupted Martin.
    â€œHe left his fucking arm there, man. He don’t got it.”
    Esteban leaned in close to Norberto. Norberto squirmed, squinted, and waited for the violence.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHe left his arm with Carlos, man.”
    Esteban stared at Norberto.
    â€œGive him the shot.”
    . . .
    Amado woke up. His arm, or more precisely the spot where his arm used to be, was throbbing. His eyes focused on the ceiling. Cottage cheese with specks of glittering gold. A lamp on the bedside table cast a muted yellow glow around the room. Amado twisted his neck and saw that the chest of drawers had been draped with a sheet and was lined with stainless steel doctor tools. Amado noticed that an IV drip had been attached to his arm. He heard something in the next room and croaked a sound out of his mouth.
    The door swung open and a young black man entered.
    â€œYou’re up? How ya feeling?”
    Amado tried to say something. He croaked again.
    â€œHang on. I know what you need.”
    The young man brought a cup with a flexi-straw up to Amado’s mouth.
    â€œThe anesthetic can really dry you out. Go ahead. Drink it.”
    Amado sucked on the straw. He was disappointed when cool water entered his mouth and