Page 7 of Hostile Rival
A burial would be a peaceful sendoff rather than flesh scorching flames and dusty ashes. But beggars can’t be choosers.
“A basic cremation could be arranged for a thousand dollars if that's your preference. However, it would be a no-frills event.”
“Okay. I’ll call you back with a budget. Thanks.” I hang up and throw my cell phone onto the stripped bed.
A funeral shouldn’t have to be expensive to be meaningful. But fuck, I can’t just drop her off at the crematorium and walk away.
We never discussed the reality of her actually dying. Mama had battled cancer for so long, dealing with its curse became our daily life. Deep down, I knew it would happen eventually, just not yesterday.
I cared for her around the clock, only leaving her alone when I had errands to run or a shift to cover at the local convenience store. And now she’s not lying in my bed anymore. I’m left alone in this city, desperately trying to sort out this financial shit storm I created.
My belly rumbles, a common thing for me, given Mama had needed more sustenance than I did. I survived on cheap noodles and coffee, both of which I had depleted since before she was wheeled out of here under a sheet.
Aside from the fact I’m penniless, I wasn’t in the mood to go shopping. Sitting on the plastic chair in my one bed apartment, where my mother had taken her last rattled breath, I stare at the old mattress and wonder what the hell life has in store for me.
The second she passed, part of me died too. From the day I was born, it was just Mama and me, together, and doing okay with what we had. We weren’t rich, but we were happy.
And then, a few years ago, the weight started to drop off her bones and the doctor gave us the bad news. I pulled out of school to help her during chemo and never went back. That was my choice, not hers. And I don’t regret it.
Who am I now though?
A sudden loud bang on the front door has my heart jumping into my throat, pounding hard. “Open up. I know you're in there. It’s settlement day.”
“Fuck!” I mutter, recognizing the rough, masculine voice.
It’s the guy I had borrowed too much cash from when I knew I’d never be able to repay him by the deadline––today. But I was desperate.
My eyes flick to the window with rusty fire escape ladders on the other side. If I decide to run, the one thing I’d take is the photograph of Mama and me housed in the seashell frame I’d made for her. That, and the envelope she’d handed me the day before yesterday, giving the instruction to only look inside if I was in big trouble.
I know it's not money or details of a secret bank account inside. No, it's the name of my father. A man I’ve never known and the gangster she had never told about his daughter.
Apparently, he's not a nice man. However, off-loading his name after all these years was more for her benefit than mine. Peace of mind, I guess. Or a last-ditch attempt to look out for me if she wasn’t around and I see that now. She knew her time was up. Mama had hated the thought of me not having anyone to turn to if I needed help.
We’d talked about all the things we would do together when she finally recovered. I suppose none of those plans matter anymore. They were all her hopes and dreams. Especially the delirious fantasy that involved me hooking up with a nice guy, settling down, and money not being an issue.
Yeah, the chances of that happening are slim, much like the gangster at my door offering me a million in cash to clean his car.
When I’d accepted the envelope from her, Mama reminded me how resourceful and smart I am, even though I didn't havea great education. Then she said if things don’t go to plan and I end up crawling through hell, that’s where I’d likely bump into my father.
And if I couldn’t find a way out, I’d have the option to go to him.
Though the way I see it, I’ve gotten by all these years without a father. Besides, I’ve no desire to reach out to a stranger who’d likely not give a shit about me anyway, blood or not.
When I lunge for the photo frame on the nightstand, something powerful wallops the front door a few yards from the bedroom and the voice comes again, closer now. I’m not alone anymore.
“Daniela! It’s pay day.”
Taking a deep breath, I pivot on the spot and face the doorway, waiting for him to see me. Literally, there’s nowhere to hide in this place. It's marginally bigger than a shoe box.
Over the last year, I’d landed myself in bad shit and talked my way out of it. This conversation wouldn’t be any different, even if I’ve no clue what to say to fix it.
I drag a hand down my face and blow out. “I don’t have it.”
Before I can inhale, a skinny man in loose fitting denim jeans and a worn biker jacket appears, his long hair slicked back in a low ponytail and the mustache on his top lip sparse. “We had a deal, chica.”
I nod, eyeing the handgun pointed at my chest. “We did. But my mother died and I’m trying to––”
“My boss doesn’t give a shit about your mama or your excuses.” He cuts in, his cowboy boots thudding the floorboards as he advances. “David Castillo wants his money back, sugar. And if you don’t pay up, then I'll have no other choice than to tell him you’re a thief…and thieves are mutilated first.”
