A tall shadow stood in the doorway, with several thick folds of cloth folded over its forearm. The Sunday afternoon shone through the hallway window, the cold winter sun beaming into the shades-drawn bedroom, only obscured by the silhouette. Lalo couldn't make out the face, but he didn't have to–he knew it wore the same expression it always wore, that same tired apathy floating a layer above a generalized disappointment.

"Your room is a mess." The shadow's voice croaked, breaking just above a whisper. "You coming today?"

Lalo didn't look up or respond. Now was not the time. He continued to spray his homemade vinegar mix onto his one good pair of shoes–a bulky pair of yellow Jordans–and continued pressing his thumb into the cloth against one of the stubborn smudges that betrayed its age.

"You can wear those if you want." It leaned against the doorway. "But at least throw on a nice shirt. Just out of respect." It extended that forearm. Lalo looked up and could now see a plain, freshly-pressed black button-down shirt hanging down, swaying in the breeze like a noose.

"I'm not going." Lalo set down the left shoe, satisfied on his progress against the smudge. "Chubbs and I are taking a trip."

"Eduardo…" the shadow retracted its arm. "I know you're mad we didn't go last year. But, well… I think Maria would've wanted us to come on the ten-year anniversary of… you know…"

"Yeah, well, you can go." Lalo delicately slipped his left foot into the shoe, and began to prep the other. "You could even bring Rosa this time. Maybe Jesse. Show her how happy you are now. Without her."

The shadow sighed, walked in the room, and sat down on the bed next to Lalo, raising up a hand and placing it on Lalo's shoulder. "You know how her heart would break if she heard you say that."

"So it's a good thing she can't." Lalo huffed, grinding the teeth on the left side of his mouth. "That's the wonderful thing about death, Papa. They can't hear any of us, anymore."

"You don't know what you're saying. I know she still watches over us. And I know she still wants the best for you, no matter what."

"She is, huh?" Lalo smiled as his foot slipped perfectly into the other shoe on the first try. "Does she know that I've killed a man?"

The shadows eyes bored into Lalo's skull. "…you have not."

"I did. Last month. Three blocks down from here. Some meth-head just outside the gas station tried to mug Chubbs while I was grabbing a drink. Real scummy guy." Lalo twisted the laces of the first shoe in his fingers. "When I came out, Chubbs gave me the look. Got the jump on him. Socked his sorry ass right in the jaw as he turned around. Poor fucker was so high out his mind he didn't even use his arms to brace the fall. I still remember how it sounded when his teeth his the edge of the curb. He was just lying there, blood leaking from his mouth, not even screaming, just groaning and grunting. Chubbs wanted to leave, but I thought he looked too sorry to live, so I finished the job and stomped his mangy head into the cement."

"You're lying." The grip on his shoulder tightened.

"Not like anyone cared. Nobody ever asked me shit. Week later, Chubbs and I saw a guy with a power hose spraying down the sidewalk. No body in sight. Scot-free." Lalo flexed his arms as he pulled the laces tight. "I've known for a while I was capable of doing something like killing. Just didn't know I could do it without consequences." He stifled a smile.

The shadow's hand collided against Lalo's cheek with surprising force, and knocked his head into the side of the headboard. "To think you'd tell such a filthy lie." It stood up and walked back to the doorway before turning back, the harsh sunlight burning Lalo's eyes as he stared back up at it. "You are not the son I raised."

The door slammed, and Lalo was thrust into the darkness of the room, the only remaining light bleeding through the cracks in the cheap blinds. He rubbed the side of his head, feeling the abrasion raise slightly, undoubtedly bruised.

Lalo sighed and narrowed his eyes as he continued to stare at the closed door. "You're right, Papa. I am not."

A puff of musky grey smoke billowed up to then buffetted out the window of the low-rider as it sped down the interstate. Lalo inhaled again, watching how the fire at the end burned down another few millimeters, held the smoke in his lungs until it started to burn his throat, and blew out, exhaling towards the outside of the car.

"No, no, not like that." Chubbs shook his head, and held out his hand. Lalo coughed and passed him the cigar back. "It's not like a cigarette. You don't suck it all in."

Lalo coughed again, his stomach doing a flip. "Then the fuck am I supposed to do with it?"

"You puff on it. Suck in with your mouth, not your lungs. Then savor the flavor." Chubbs put the cigar to his lips, and Lalo saw his throat wobble in some cryptic way. When Chubbs exhaled, the smoke came softly out his nose. "Then just fuckin'… cycle it up through your nose. That way you can taste and smell it properly."

Lalo cracked his knuckles. "That sounds fuckin' impossible, dude. How are you supposed to create a vacuum without your lungs? That's the only thing that expands in your whole-ass body. Can't fuckin' expand your mouth. And I'm pretty sure only saxophone players can do that circular breathing bullshit."

Chubbs sniffled and laughed. "The fuck are you talking about? Just like… feel it, man. It's not about getting all that brain rush and shit. This is real Cuban shit, mane. I'm not gonna let you puff on it if you're just gonna make yourself sick on it."

"Fuck you." Lalo kicked his feet up onto the dash and held out his hand. Chubbs passed the cigar back to him. "I won't get sick. I just don't get how the hell you're supposed to know all that shit. It's like they expect you to unlearn how to smoke everything else."

"S'what it takes. Otherwise you can't be high-class." Chubbs held the steering wheel with his knees, picked up the warm beer can in the cupholder, and took a swig. "If we gonna get rich, you gotta learn this shit. Otherwise they're gonna smell that new money on you right away."

"S'fuckin' stupid, is what it is. We'll just get so rich that they ain't gonna say shit. They gonna be the ones tripping over themselves to smoke cigars my way." Lalo stole the beer can from Chubbs, and was disappointed to find only drops at the bottom of the hot aluminum.

The two boys stared out the window. Out the driver's side passed sparse palm trees, small one-story houses, and the sliver of the ocean visible, while Lalo's side showed only bare, brown farmland, with huge, dilapidated farmhouses, and not a human being in sight. It looked much warmer outside than it actually was, and the cold was starting to bite a little against Lalo's exposed forearm underneath his 3XL white tee.

Lalo slid on the dingy woven hoodie that sat in the middle seat between them, his long black hair ruffling as he pulled it over his face. He felt something metal in the front pocket, which hit his stomach as he pulled all the way down, flashing a wave through his body. He held a fist to his mouth with one hand, and used the other to fish in the pocket, pulling out a small, snub-nosed revolver.

"Dude, is this all we got?" Lalo flipped and twirled the handgun as he held it up.

"Yeah. Figured we'd have to pack light–Cousin Tito got busted by border patrol last time for moving with just a standard twenty-two. Apparently they're real fuckin' tight about weapons right now cuz of some MS-13 bullshit."

"We're going to meet the Don… and all we have for protection is this tiny fucker?" Lalo sighed and leaned back.

"We'll be fine. Tito will vouch for us, he promised. He's in good with the Don. Plus, don't forget, we're the ones helping them. How the fuck else are they going to get up to Vallarta Palma?"

Lalo shook his head. "You know shit like this always has a chance of going south. We don't got the firepower to hold our own."

Chubbs yawned. "Y'know, it's really hard to be friends with you sometimes, Lalo. So little faith."

"I'm just taking precautions." Lalo grinned. "This our scheme, right? Is it so bad that I want to make sure we're doing shit right?"

"Aye. We'll do it right." Chubbs smiled back, took another hit of the cigar, and blew the smoke out his nose again. "Except for how we smoke cigars."

Lalo held the pistol in his right hand, made a finger gun with his left, and winked back.

It didn't really start to hit Lalo until the dirt road they'd been driving on for more than four hours suddenly transitioned to a beautifully smooth asphalt, fresh and black without a single line of paint. It was the sudden lack of noise that really woke him up–shocking his lilting eyes open, and off in the distance, he spied a sprawling three-story house, ostensibly smack in the middle of nowhere.

"…that it?" A groggy Lalo mumbled as he stretched out his arms.

"Think so. See the big white pillars in the front? Exactly how Tito described it."

"Jesus, I didn't think they'd be like… real marble and shit." Lalo squinted his eyes. "Can't really tell from here, though."

"You nervous?" Chubbs rolled up the windows as they approached.

"Starting to be." Lalo swallowed.

"Don't worry, ese. Just remember that you're the prize here. They want what we have." Chubbs gripped Lalo's shoulder and squeezed before returning his hands to the steering wheel.

The yellow low-rider stood out like a sore thumb among all the other vehicles as they pulled up to the gate. Half of the cars were a slick, aerodynamic black, reflecting with an oppressive gleam under the Sinaloan sun, the other half in ostentatious candy colors and decorated with foreign emblems that even Lalo, with his champagne taste, couldn't place. Each idled in line up towards the gate.

Lalo peered forward, back, and around at the other people in the cars. Universally, grizzled men with thick facial hair, pressed Armani suits, and Tom Ford sunglasses stared forward in cold silence, their expression shifting just so slightly that Lalo knew they could tell he was looking at them, but refusing to give him the acknowledgement.

"Dude, we're like, wayyy under-dressed. I thought these guys would be like… vatos and shit. They all look like… I dunno. CEOs. Politicians. But with more muscles and battle scars." Lalo spied a weapon in the middle seat of one vehicle. "…and more than just a snub-nose."

"Well, what're we gonna do? Can't change in the car or anything." Chubbs shrugged as they inched forward towards the gate.

"Fuck, dude." Lalo massaged his temples with one hand.

That creeping feeling of charlatanry grew more restless underneath Lalo's skin as they were finally granted access into the gate. He saw the guards snicker out of the corner of the eye at their ride, picking up muted syllables that sounded to him like "childish" and "disrespectful". They practically rolled over laughing when he and Chubbs stepped out in their jeans and hoodies, and giggled the whole way through the pat-down. Lalo could only hope that his skin was dark enough to hide the violently embarrassed blush that splashed his cheeks.

The boys were led out to an spacious deck overlooking a lush garden filled with trimmed hedges and flowers so bright they almost seemed to glow, next to a crystal-clear pond affixed with a rocky water feature. The deck itself featured barstools and tall tables scattered in equal space across the edges, a handful of outdoor sofas and glass tables, and a fully-stocked bar staffed by two handsome young men in tuxedos with perfectly-trimmed beards that managed to mix drinks a frantic speed without once losing a sense of poise and grace as they served the guests.

Lalo figured the bartenders couldn't be much more than a handful of years older than himself.

"Welp, where you wanna sit?" Chubbs casually turned to him, his woven hoodie doing no favors to his figure as he stuck his hands in the pocket. "Or you wanna get a drink first?"

"I want to find your cousin Tito and get the first confirmation that we're not completely screwed." Lalo's hands were also stuffed into his own pockets, as he continually tried to dry his fingers of the sweat that coated his palms. "Dude, you can't say you don't see how they're all staring at us."

"Your mind is playing tricks, my friend." Chubbs scanned the room until his eyes lit up. "Ah, there we go!"

Chubbs strode confidently toward a large man with huge biceps that yet managed to be overshadowed by a massive gut which itself only managed to be overshadowed by an absurdly thick, shiny beard. Lalo shuffled behind, keeping his head low and shifting his eyes back and forth.

"Tito! My beloved cousin." Chubbs extended both of his arms for a hug and wrapped them around the large man, who didn't move, and only continued to glare forward.

Lalo's heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

That is, until the large man closed his arms around Chubbs, squeezed him back, and closed his eyes as a smile crept out underneath his beard. "Ah, Carlos. It has been too long."

"Oh Tito! But we only spoke last week!"

"Ah, but the wait always feels so long for my favorite cousin. How have you been?" Tito pulled away and held Chubbs by the shoulders. "It at least feels like you've been eating well. You trying to get bigger and scarier than me, Carlos? We can't have that."

"Of course, not, Tito. There is no beating the best." Chubbs held his cousin's hands before breaking one side and turning to gesture towards Lalo. "This is Eduardo Herrera, my closest friend and business associate."

Lalo waved with a slight motion as Tito scanned him up and down. He winced as the large man's eyebrow raised higher and higher the closer he looked.

"This little shrimp, here? He looks barely old enough to walk, let alone hustle!" Tito laughed and slapped Chubbs on the back. "Carlos, surely you have no need to be raiding elementary schools for friendship, no? Aren't you out of school yourself by now?"

"Ah, Tito, I am only seventeen." Chubbs laughed back. Lalo couldn't tell if he was forcing it or not. "And while Eduardo here is two years my junior, this shrimp has been moving kicks and grass since the third grade. He's the most ambitious son-of-a-bitch you'll ever meet." Chubbs leaned in and whispered into Tito's ear. "Someday, maybe even… he could be a new Don."

All of the men in the immediate vicinity fell silent and stared at Chubbs and Tito–whose own face morphed into a grave expression. "Carlos, my friend… surely you do not mean to speak such disrespect, especially… here."

The lump in Lalo's throat became a basketball as he eked out a half-grimace.

"Ah. That is my mistake." Chubbs lowered his head. "I mean no disrespect; I only meant to convince you of my close friend's capability, though I apologize that my words were chosen carelessly."

Tito drew a deep breath, picked up the caramel-colored drink from his table, and took a long, ponderous sip, before exhaling forcefully. "Very well. Know that I am putting my reputation at risk for you two, here, Carlos. Do try not to speak with such carelessness again."

Chubbs and Lalo both nodded vigrously, and Lalo reached out a hand towards Tito, who met his handshake with a tight grip and a firm stare. "We understand. We will not let you down." Lalo replied, trying to stifle the wavering in his voice.