Cop: “your hands where I can see’em! Hey! your hands where I can see’em!” The vibrance on his voice roared as the glaring lights confused the perplexed individual at the front of his gun barrel. Staring with a wink at the bright light from the cop car the over calm individual waited. It seemed to had been waiting for a while on the front porch because there were some half lit cigarettes and half empty bottles of Old English forty ouncers.
The cop had arrived at a block of government houses whose front was all the same, the only thing that differentiated them were the plants many tenants would have. This house had none and the small patch of grass in front was dried and yellow from the lack of maintenance it was given, the lack of love. Then there was a small passage to the backyard on the side that split the government house from the beginning of residential section whose houses where well managed and kept. They all had a back yard that led to the alley where the trash was placed for the city to recollect every Friday.
Person 1: “Ya, ya… calmate ala verga. No porque traigas cuete puedes tratarme como…
Cop: “Shut up! And keep your mouth shut.”
Person 1: “Esta bueno” loudly replied as a stream of blood dripped down from one of its eyebrows.
Cop: “que trae en la frente?”
Person 1: “No que quieres que me quede callado a la verga!”
Person 2 (nosy neighbor): “Oficial! No le crea siempre dice mentiras, y ya tiene rato dándonos problemas aquí en la colonia”.
The individual’s neighbor in a very screechy voice glared at the cop from her four-foot wired fence next-door. She had called the police on her neighbor and was vigilant as the process took place.
Cop: “espéreme señora!”
Person 1: “Cállese a la verga pinche vieja incrédula váyase a cuidar a su esposo pedote que ya lo vi todo meado allá atrás de su casa!”
Cop: “Hey, keep still! And keep your hands where I can see’em!” With a loud voice the cop made himself heard as a tumult of people was beginning to gather around this person’s home. “I need backup” he spoke into his radio and slowly walked towards the individual. Quick, he scanned every possible sign of threat around the suspect.
Person 1: “Ya embe! Hagame, handcuff me pero no te recomiendo que entre al cantón.” His calm voice traveled slowly and solemn. The cop couldn’t figure what to make from it, so he did as he was told and handcuff the individual before making any further move.
Cop: “Need backup, possible 187” (murder) “will 127 (proceed with caution) awaiting backup”
Person 1: “¡Ya le dije que no entre, aquí no hay ningún 187 ni que chingados! Shit just got bad and there is no way back!”
Troubled and increasingly confused the cop tried to stay calm and just stared at the tiny five-foot languid looking individual who was wearing a couple of colorful necklaces and had weird looking symbols tattooed all over its body. Around the individual the air was thick and flavorful that it reminded the cop of a “botanica” or herb dispensary where people would go and buy herbs that would help cure any kind of sickness even the ones that had no mortal cure.
No cop goes alone into anyone’s house, but government houses were quite small around that neighborhood that the cop felt overconfident he would be able to find out whatever happened there.
Person 2: “NO!” A loud scream came from the back porch of the house. The neighbor had left the front porch to tend the husband who was in fact a known drunk around the neighborhood and to her misfortune had found him face down on the back porch.
The cop ran quick to where the lady was at grabbed his radio but this time there wasn’t any tone nor life on it. It had gone dead. He blamed the batteries which are supposed to outlast his shift. This didn’t stop him from running on the side of the house, overconfidence is a hell of a drug, which was filled with overgrown grass and dog shit from the Pitbull the individual had running free in the backyard and to the amusement of all had secluded himself and hid away inside its home. This old worn out wood boards nail together forming an unequal triangle at the corner far left corner of the backyard.
Just as he was about to reach the corner end of the house a sudden rush of cold burning wind emerged from under his feet. The impact crawled onto his bare skin paralyzing every limb of his body. Everything had turned dark and vanished into deep dark oblivion at a speed of a blink. Blabbering sounds began to emerge as whispers through his radio. He stood still and slowly began to regain some movement. With his right hand which was the first one to respond grabbed the radio from his left shoulder and placed it on his ear. He tried to decipher what the sounds where saying and even pressed the ptt switch a couple of times attempting to get some words across in response to his growing desperation, but the drowning sounds did not cease while skittering through his neck impaling him from any physical action.
“Ne…” the fainting voice was gaining understandable sounds. “Ne… huatl…. Nehuatl”… “Nehuatl Mictecacihuatl” The fainting whispers had transformed into stampeding roars that echoed throughout the darkness void where the cop was stranded. “Nehuatl Mictecacihuatl!” (I am the lady of the dead in Nahuatl or Aztec language)