Cesar sprinkled a few bits of the meth onto the small aluminum gutter in his hand. Seen from the side, the sheet was folded in an almost perfect V.
The temperature was razor. Cesar felt like his eyeballs were being roasted. They said that Quezon City was the ideal place because it had more trees than, say, Manila or Pasay. Here in Project 2, there seemed to be more greenery per square meter than most cities, but the heat was brutal. It was the kind that broiled brains, which, in turn, lead to stupid decisions, smashed bottles, broken teeth, slashed wrists, and hogtied corpses fished from the river.
Cesar decided to change the subject. “But then there’s Precinto Cinco — that’s where bad things happen. It’s on the corner of Bignay Street and Anonas Road, and it’s cursed. No business that has opened beside it has ever lasted, not even a year. Cursed, I tell you.”
“What I remember was the Adobo Republic—”
“Not even six months.”
“Too bad, cause their adobo was to die for. And before that, there was the pawnshop. I remember the robbery—”
“Two security guards dead. One stabbed in the eye. Cursed!”
“Yeah. Who the hell stabs people in the eye?”
“To be fair, this is good shit.” Cesar took another whiff. “Look at how this thing rolls. Beautiful.”
Like a distended teardrop, a clear globule slid down the aluminum strip, turning from an opaque yellowish-white into pure white smoke, gently flowing into the small tube tucked between Cesar’s lips. The tooter looked like some stylishly alien cigarette.
“Told you. Quality over quantity.”
“I still think you cheated me.”
“Will you just cut it out, Cesar? Sheesh.”
“Good thing you didn’t cross a cop. Otherwise, they’d be fishing your body out of the Quirino River by now. Those cops don’t have a sense of humor. Especially the ones in Precinto Cinco.”
“Those guys are the biggest, nastiest drug dealers in the district,” Franco agreed.
“I know. And the last guy who turned out to be a bad customer got his balls cut off. You know where they found his balls?
On the counter of Kawilihan Bakery. Imagine buying your early morning pan de sal and you see that...”
“Pan de sal with eggs. Perfect.”
“Don’t laugh. I think they should do that to you too.”
“For the last fucking time, I did not—”
“Satan has already bought you!” Cesar yelled, taking Franco by surprise. “Hahaha. Wanna smoke? It’s your turn, though I bet you already had your share before coming here.”
“My father told me a story,” Cesar started a little while later. “They had orders to finish this teenage pickpocket, who was a repeat offender. He was in and out of jail every week, it was almost like he lived there. And the cops got used to the routine, until the kid did something really stupid. He — with his cousin, another worthless druggie — held up a jeepney. It was an improvement over lifting wallets and snatching bags. But, know what? He crossed a line. He cut the finger off this nursing student.”
“Why the fuck did he do that?”
“They were in a hurry. Her ring wouldn’t come off. So they severed the damn finger.”
“Shit.”
“Shit, yeah.”
“The mom went straight to the police district superintendent. She said she didn’t want to press charges. With tears in her eyes, she just gestured with a finger across her throat. There were media people in that meeting. The superintendent was in no position to refuse.”
“So what happened to the boy?”
“They killed him, but not without torturing him first. The girl’s mom pleaded to the station commander: Make sure the boy suffers. Water method.”
“You mean they put his head in a drum full of water?”
“No, something worse,” Cesar said. “They put the boy’s mouth under a faucet. Two cops pull his jaw wide open so it fills up with water. They wait till the boy’s belly swells up like a balloon. My dad said he never thought it was possible for a human to suddenly bloat like that in just seconds, like he was pregnant or something. Then they get the biggest, fattest cop to jump up and down on the boy’s stomach. I think you know him — Reyes, I think. Big, dark, hairy, and ugly; he drives that battered jeep that passes by here. Water and blood gush out of the boy’s ears and nose.”
“Ugh. Wait. What happened to the girl?”
“She lived. Although let’s just say that when she gets a manicure, she gets 10 percent off.”
Franco chuckled.
Cesar took another hit from the aluminum pipe. Thick smoke billowed from his nostrils. “Anyway, that’s Precinto Cinco hospitality for you. They’re quite a friendly bunch.”
“I dunno what’s up with that place.”
“They found the boy’s body by the river,” Cesar continued. “You know how the cops get rid of corpses? First they douse the mouth with Tanduay or some gin. That way, it looks like some poor drunk fell into the water and drowned. Brilliant.”
“What about gunshot wounds?”
“Oh, they rarely shoot them.”
“Bullets too expensive?”
“Well, that... but my father says bullets raise more questions. Anyway, when the barangays find the bodies, they rarely ask questions. They often know who did it. And it’s usually good riddance — it’s the same old troublemakers. Same old names and faces, same old tattoos. So you better be careful.”
“Just because I have a tattoo—”
“I’m just telling you. Pretty soon the cops are gonna be on your tail. Oh, and you know what the kid was on while he was robbing that jeepney?”
“Lemme guess...”
“Satan has already bought you.” Cesar took another whiff, the smoke exiting his nostrils.
Franco smiled and repeated the words.
“Human life is so cheap in this town. With all the high gates, the SUVs, you’d think there’d be some sense of order and peace. Middle-class crap. With all this, you’d think we’d be spared from this shit. But no—”
“What do you expect? Your neighbor’s the biggest meth dealer in all of Project 2,” Franco said.
“You know what Mang Eddie did last year? Meralco found out he was tapping electricity illegally. Of course, the power company first files charges against you. And even if you pay up, they won’t turn the lights back on right away. Maybe it’s a way of not letting you off so easy. But you know what Mang Eddie did? The man bought a goddamned generator!”
“That is a certified gangster move.”
“Certified gangster, my friend. And the generator he got was this cheap secondhand unit. It roared like a bitch across the street all night long, and the whole place stank of diesel. But nobody complained. The barangays wouldn’t touch him.”
“Not even the cops, I’m sure.”
“Well, Mang Eddie used to be a cop. Dismissed from the force.”
“Do you buy from him?”
“Nope. Never. The man talks. A lot. If there’s one thing I learned, never, ever do business with your neighbor. There’s gonna be too many questions. And there’s always a problem when a man in this business samples his wares — and, of course, he will. Which means, pretty soon he’s gonna get paranoid. Praning.”
“Well, that’s a risk. But imagine the convenience. He’s just, what, less than fifty feet from your house? No more waiting.”
“Which only happens when I score from you, Franco. You keep making me wait. Always.”
“Will you just—”
“I’m kidding. You’re a good boy.” Cesar patted his head. Like a dog’s.
“You know I don’t control these things.”