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happened to Carly. He gave her more drugs, heroin, a lot more, laughed at her, told her it was just a favor. I shake her head again, hard. She screams. I wrap the hose around her throat. She pleads. They all plead.
    Who asked the favor? Who did he do the fucking favor for?
    She says she doesn't know. I ask her where the drugs are. She points with her bulging eyeballs to a row of suitcases mounted on an upper shelf that hangs from the ceiling so cars can be parked beneath. I let go of the hose and pull each case down until one feels heavy to the pull of gravity.
    I can hear her breathing. Panting like the dog she was. I throw open the case, there are several small bags of coke and two large packets of smack. I rip one of the bags of coke and throw it at her. She shrieks and tries to grab the powder in the air, then from the concrete with her bloody fingernails. I grab another baggie of cocaine and squeeze it. She pleads. They all plead.
    Who asked for the favor? A favor that was to kill my sister?
    She tells me that if she tells me who the favor was for then I will kill her. I tell her that I will destroy all the powder then kill her if she doesn't tell me. I throw her another baggie. Intact. As a sign of good faith. She does not know, really does not know who Santana did this for, but she says she knows that whoever it was came from Chicago. She got a call. The accent was the same as mine, she recognized it. Chicago.
    I feel my muscles tighten. I can sense my blood drop in temperature. The rage begins to rise. I try to force it back. I push and try but it's too late. My mind cannot process this. It cannot emotionally engage what she said. It's too late for her. I take the piece from the back of my Dockers and fire a single round into her eyeball. Blood sprays fucking everywhere. I wasn't prepared. Didn't want to do this. The rage did this. Rage always does. It is its nature.
    I slam the case shut. The powder is still inside. I wipe the door handles with my printed shirt tails. Pick up the spent shell cartridge. I am aware that my fucking DNA is all around. I remove the green hose and reel it up in a loop around my arm and elbow, feed my arm through it and take it with me.
    A child is playing upstairs. I walk down the sidewalk and up to the rental car. I take the nondescript cell I picked up at Walmart and call the sheriffs office. I give them the address. Told them I heard a disturbance and noise. It's urgent. I leave no name. The suitcase is laid on the rear seat. It was around 8 grands worth of street gear or 28 years depending on how you viewed these things. I need Largo around. Need him now. The rage is fading but the word of a Chicago contract on a child. My sister. Still kept my mouth dry and throat tight. My blood cooler. A favor she called it. From Chicago the voice she said. Let me get Largo. Let me get the truth.
    Reverse the car and head for the I-5 North.

THE FAVOR
     
    Getting to Yama by noon was pushing it. Especially with this fucking traffic. I pushed the car forward. I drove with aggression, the pussies on the freeway gave me space until there was no more space to give. I pass all the auto dealers at Irvine. I carry on North passing Disney and other fairground shit. Stop. Crawl. Make up 2 more miles. Pick up speed to 40mph back to 20mph back up to 60mph then 70 and didn't see no accident, no car wreck, no reason to slow down at all. It was all just pure weight of traffic. Car Car Car RV Truck Truck Car Motorcycle. An old guy on a Harley pulls it slow then moves into the car pool lane. His bike is shiny, his leather is shiny, he is fake and shiny and a fraud like the rest of his compadres. Middle aged assholes who try to look young, go back in time and try to buy a hunk of steel that will throb between their legs like an anal vibrator. Fucking A-holes.
    Sliding closer to LA, the garbage on the highway grows showing the decay that surrounds the city. I take the La Cienega exit twisting back upon myself to