The Son of Every Man

Chapter 2.1

In one second, Miguel's eyes bore into me like those of a shark, and in the next, they flit around at passersby, whom I cannot see, but only feel when they move close behind me. He is analyzing them, taking notes, and this behavior is constant for him. He knows them all by name, I am sure, and most of them, I am also sure, consider him as their personal friend. No one would be capable of truly returning this sentiment to so many, but he is very good at faking it. Because of this, I had always believed on some level that he would be okay, but even so, it was impossible during that first year not to cry at night from worry.

Back before all of that, when he was just twenty years old, Miguel rented a small sunlight-flooded apartment several blocks from the warehouse. Marco had arranged it all. Miguel insists that after everything, after wading neck-deep through what he refers to as a series of bullshit events, he liked where he had landed. Five nights per week in the warehouse, an occasional meeting out in the desert? It wasn't an unpleasant life, nor was it particularly lonely.

Sometimes Miguel grows bored with me. I would never flatter myself that this isn't the case. Yes, he'll say, yes, of course that's how it was. Obviously. Or he'll tell me that I shouldn't be asking, for example, about the weather that day. Embellish that shit. Make it rain, make it sunny and hot as hell--whatever tells the fucking story, right? When I insist that he please try to remember, he just grins and rolls his eyes.

Today, I round the last corner, trailing my fingers along the thick white rubbery paint masking a cinderblock wall. He is already seated at the table. He lights up when he sees that I have arrived.

I sit down and say, "I heard you are speaking with your mother again. That's great news."

Miguel corrects me: "My mom is speaking with me again. I have always left that door open."

I fold my hands on the table between us. "I'm sorry, that's what I meant to say. Does it make you happy?"

"There's a lot of shit left to work through. We might never resolve all of it. But yes, I am happy."

;-;

Eddie's promotion to president of the camp had been premature, a bizarre fluke that was hardly celebrated by anyone due to the circumstances—least of all by Eddie. Indeed, it was likely that each worker involved with the Delta Encampment had been quietly affected, each in his own way. As for Miguel, he had cried unexpectedly one night after receiving a delivery, couched alone in his tiny office at the back of the warehouse, behind the stacks, one week after the fact.

The death of Marco (Big Boss) brought about many changes, one of the biggest being that Eddie (Boss Man) no longer had time to do the runs himself. Whatever was thought of Whitey and Sid and Dan and the others, none had been deemed appropriate as a replacement driver. It was around that time, Miguel remembered, that the kid started coming around, accompanying Eddie as a runner-in-training. Though it would be a long time before their walls came down, Miguel remembered Gabe's entrance as a curiously bright spot in a dark time. His face was friendly and comforting, and he was even younger than Miguel himself, which had been a surprise. Something extra had drawn Miguel's interest, though. There was something familiar about this kid's presence. At the time, Miguel could not have imagined what it was.

As for that first night, though: What day had it been—a Monday? Almost three weeks ago. Why did that specific night, more than a year after they met, feel like the first of all nights? Probably because, at Eddie's suggestion, Miguel had broken his long silence. He almost had to laugh now at how pointless it all had been. He liked to think all that time spent with his big mouth shut had made him seem mysterious, but other than that, he couldn't see any real benefit. It had simply been Big Boss's way of doing things. Keep the chit-chat to an absolute minimum, he had told him. Say hello, then get to work. No exceptions. It had always felt extreme to Miguel, but he had too much respect for the man to have ever questioned his methods.

What he remembered most vividly was discovering just how seriously Gabe took it all, reacting to basic conversation, even small-talk as if it were risky behavior. It was clear right away that Eddie hadn't warned him about the rule change. But what the fuck was he so worried about? Their work wasn't exactly complicated. There was even room for errors here and there. Maybe Gabe's duties could have been viewed as more hazardous than Miguel's, but even that was up for debate. His route was sanitized. Neither of them dealt with any of the risks met by their superiors, and it was likely they never would—at least Miguel was content (and probably bound) to stay where he was. Did this kid have some grand ladder-climbing scheme? It wasn't like Eddie was going anywhere, not for a long time.

On the second night, Miguel had once again fished Gabe from the car; on the third, Gabe had gotten out on his own, mumbling something about needing to stretch his legs. He was handsome as hell—there had been no question of that—now with his face out of the shadows. There was even a vague athleticism about him. But he was also very slim, with a small build, which did not normally appeal to Miguel. (Not that it mattered anyway, as it was unlikely Gabe was the sort who would return his interest.)

Also on that third night, he had seen Gabe smile for the first time. There had been a couple of forced ones before that point, but they weren't the same: This was a beautiful, broad kind of thing that vanished immediately and would not return for some time. Miguel could tell that Gabe carried real anguish with him. Something in the kid's eyes told Miguel he had been through his share of tragedy. But then, that smile, breaking through it all like the sun through a storm.

On the fourth night, after performing hundreds of runs without fail, Gabe was gone. It had instead been Eddie and his brand-new Lincoln Navigator, black as death, rolling up through the cloudless night. Eddie, who had not made a single delivery in over a year. In fact, Miguel had become so accustomed to Gabe's appearances in the squat, dusty red sedan with the pop-up headlights that, at first, an anxious pang leapt through him. But then he recognized the car. Of course it was Eddie—who the fuck else would it be?

He remembered it like this: Eddie waited, looking solemn behind the wheel, as Miguel raised the garage door a little higher than usual. Once he had backed in and Miguel had finished securing the place, Eddie got out and they met behind the car. Eddie's presence was an overriding one in a number of ways, and Miguel remembered standing back, feeling odd and on edge as his duties were executed for him.

The tailgate rose with a quick hiss of the support struts.

"Bad news. It's all class-A," Eddie muttered. "Do you want help?"

Miguel had assumed Eddie would explain the situation without being prompted, but then again, it was Eddie. So Miguel finally asked: "Where's Gabe?"

"Gabe's mom killed herself, so I am making the delivery in his place."

What the fuck? Leave it to Eddie to just say it outright like that. Just lay down the words like they were nothing. Miguel's mind suddenly buzzed, a million questions surfacing at once. He pulled himself together, pretending to assess the load. "I'm sorry to hear that. No, I don't need help."

Eddie, acting strange and distraught, seemed relieved to wait beside the car.

Class-A meant top-shelf snow dox, which was miserably heavy, but Miguel hardly noticed as he lifted the packages one by one and organized them on fresh pallets. He wondered how long it would take for Gabe to return to his runs. Would he ever come back?

"You have some exposed product on the back wall. I can see a little bit under the tarp. Do your best to keep it all covered."

He looked up and realized, alarmed, that Eddie was crying. His cheeks were wet and glistening in the fluorescent lights. His massive frame had slumped entirely against the side of the car. "Okay," Miguel said, looking away in horror. "I'll take care of it." It wasn't until he had nearly finished emptying the cargo from the SUV, sweating, rushing around, that he worked up nerve to ask. "Eddie, is everything okay?"

Eddie no longer wept, but he paused so long before answering that Miguel suspected he wasn't going to. Finally he said, in his low, flat voice, "Yes, everything is fine."

"Did you know her?"

Eddie looked down at the floor. "Yes, I knew her."

By the next night, Eddie had recovered somewhat. He also brought some good news with him. "Gabe will be back in a couple of weeks."

;-;