Shadow Boys Read Online Free PDF Page A

Negroes. To Raul, he represents a slice of Texas that is exotic and vaguely dangerous, like prison rodeos and chicken-fried steak.
    Raul shakes his head, unable to form words. He wants to talk, to tell the man that he’s never been arrested. That was his brother, Carlos, and then only a couple of times.
    The man taps his Pall Mall into an ashtray. “You Delgado boys cut a wide swath across Mex-Town, I’ll give you that.”
    Raul wishes he could speak. He needs to tell the officer it was all just for fun. Just for something to do.
    “A couple of real Pancho-fucking-Villas,” the cop says. “You and your brother.”
    Words finally come.
    “No. You don’t understand—” Raul is shaking his head, eyes welling with tears.
    “Don’t sass me, Rah-ool.” The cop stabs out his cigarette. “Don’t ever do that, you hear me?”
    Raul swallows the lump in his throat. Quits shaking his head.
    “A couple of armed robberies on Maple Avenue, liquor stores,” the cop says. “We’re gonna need you to tell us about those, all right?”
    Raul doesn’t speak. His mind races, breath comes in gasps.
    He and Carlos have never robbed a liquor store. They grabbed money from the cash register at 7-Eleven, stole coins from the car wash. Never anything with a gun. Never.
    The cop arches an eyebrow. “Cat got your tongue, Rah-ool?”
    Raul shakes his head. Then he remembers what the man said about sassing him. So he stops. If only Carlos would arrive. He could explain everything. He is good with words. And with people.
    Raul swallows several times, works up the nerve to speak again.
    “Where is my brother?” His voice is ragged. “He can help you.”
    The cop stares at him, face blank. He pulls a Pall Mall from the pack. Sticks the cigarette in his mouth but doesn’t light it.
    There is only one way into the room, a door by the cop. From the other side of the door, over the ringing in his ears, Raul hears raised voices, people arguing. Then, footsteps followed by silence.
    The cop looks at the door for a moment. He drops his cigarette on the table and grabs a briefcase off the floor like he is in a hurry. He opens the case and pulls out a plastic bag containing a revolver.
    The weapon has a short barrel and is battered, the wooden grips chipped, the metal dotted with bits of rust that remind Raul of the cop’s scarred face.
    “This here’s your gun, right?” The cop drops the sack on the table. It makes a loud thud.
    “No-no-no.” Raul shakes his head, no longer worried about sassing. “We never touch guns.”
    The cop takes a drink of coffee but doesn’t speak.
    “Where is my brother?” Raul is crying now. “He will tell you. We never use guns.”
    “Damn, boy.” The cop scratches his chin. “They puttin’ stupid sauce on your tamale or what?”
    “Please. Just ask Carlos.” Raul wipes his cheek. Smeared blood stains his hand.
    The cop opens the sack, drops the gun on the table.
    “Don’t worry,” the cop says. “It’s unloaded.”
    Raul stares at the weapon.
    “This is a Smith and Wesson.” The cop points to the revolver. “The one you and your brother used when y’all robbed them liquor stores.”
    Raul feels his stomach churn. The room looks like it’s growing smaller.
    “Maybe you could pick it up,” the cop says. “That might jog your memory.”
    Raul doesn’t move.
    “G’on.” The cop points to the weapon again. “Put it in your hand.”
    For some reason—maybe it’s the officer’s tone or the smallness of the room or the fact that his brother is nowhere to be seen—Raul is more fearful now than when he was in the back of the police car.
    He shakes his head. Tears stream down his cheeks.
    “I need you to pick up the fucking gun, Rah-ool.” The cop stands. “You don’t want to make me mad.”
    Raul crosses his arms, hugs himself, head shaking.
    The cop walks around the table, fists clenched.
    Raul is trying to make himself small, when the door is flung open and a man in a blue