He can’t be more than twelve and he always looks hungry.
I grab a paper plate and slide a burger onto it from the kitchen window before calling him over. He approaches carefully like he expects to get thrown out, but I set the plate in front of him and nod toward the stool.
“Eat.”
“I don’t have money.”
“I didn’t ask.”
He hesitates before digging into the burger like he hasn’t eaten all day. Manny watches the exchange and mutters something about me going broke feeding the neighborhood.
Maybe he’s right.
The bar door opens again.
This time everything changes.
Two bikers walk inside wearing leather cuts with the Saints Outlaws patch stitched across their backs like a warning. They don’t sit. They don’t order drinks.
They just stand there watching the room.
Predators already sure which animal they came to hunt.
The regulars sense it immediately.
Manny freezes with his beer halfway to his mouth. Luis stops chewing and stares with wide eyes. Conversations fade into uneasy silence.
I keep pouring drinks like my hands aren’t shaking.
An hour passes.
They never leave.
Eventually Fernán leans close behind the bar and lowers his voice.
“They asking about you.”
My stomach drops.
Then he says the name I buried three years ago.
“Darling.”
I swallow hard.
“You in trouble, Ana… Darling?”
Always.
I shake my head. “No, Tío.”
The lie doesn’t land. It never does. Fernán is like an uncle to me. He let me work here when I was thirteen and my mamá was sick. He knows my tells. But he also convinces the bikers I’m not who they’re looking for. They leave.
I think I’m safe. But I don’t head home. I linger. I can feel in my gut that as soon as I walk out of here, I’m in trouble.
The door opens again just after sunset, and this time there’s no pretending.
This time more bikers step inside.
