The Plug's Wife Read Online Free PDF Page A

that, no matter what, even if it meant death, family always stuck together. 
    Benicio growled, his small fists flying out in front of him trying to connect with any body part on the man who had assaulted his sister and killed his father.  The other man, the one with the eye patch, grabbed Benicio around his throat and hoisted him off his feet like a ragdoll.  Both men laughed, making the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Benicio’s legs pumped feverishly, like he was pedaling a bike or running an invisible race.  His arms swung like the blades of a windmill too.  The man holding Benicio by the neck squeezed harder and harder, choking off his oxygen, until his little legs finally slowed to a halt and his arms dropped at his sides.  The color had faded from his face and his eyes rolled up until all his sister could see were the whites. 
    Fear had a stronghold on her now.  Her stomach muscles clenched so hard she wanted to drop, but she stood there seemingly rooted to the floor.
    “¡Basta ya!” her father’s killer had screamed at his one eyed partner.  At that, the one eyed man tossed Benicio’s limp body down to the floor.  The men obviously took amusement in their work.  She watched in horror as her brother jackknifed onto his side, wheezing and coughing until the color started returning to his face.  She trembled, not able to help the tears leaking in steady streams from her eyes.  She couldn’t understand why they were here or what they wanted from her family. 
    Before she knew it, the men turned their attention to her.  She felt the cold kiss of a pistol against her temple. 
    “Su padre ya no llevar esto ... esto … Yo No Coopero Con La Dictadura ,” Your father will no longer lead this…this…I Do Not Cooperate with the Dictatorship .  The man growled as he pressed his gun harder into her skin.  Her bladder released all over her feet as she sobbed.  She knew her father had been what they called in Cuba “revolucionarios civiles,” but she had no idea his activities would result in such a violent end. 
    She had always been proud that her father spoke up about their oppressive living conditions.  Her father had been a prominent figure in their poor village, helping those who were wronged by the government or whose breadwinners had been jailed on trumped up political charges.  She was too young to fully understand the brevity of her father’s activities.  Now, she just wished he had been more careful.   
    “¡Cállate! No habrá llanto por los muertos! Si lloras. Usted va a morir!”  Shut up! There will be no crying over the dead! If you cry.  You will die .  The shooter barked, grinding his gun into her forehead even harder.  Standing in a fetid mix of her own body fluids, she swallowed her cries sending them tumbling down her throat like hard marbles.  The men laughed maniacally, amused by the fear in her eyes.  The two circled her like vultures over a rotting animal carcass. 
    “Ahora. Vamos a intentarlo de nuevo.”  Now.  Let’s try this again.  The man with the gun hissed as he turned his aim once more on Benicio.   “Nunca llorar por los muertos. Sólo los débiles hacen.” You never cry for the dead. Only weak people do.  The man said heartlessly.  She shook her head slightly. Then he blew Benicio’s brains out.
    “No!” she shrieked, her legs giving out as she collapsed.  But no new tears fell this time.  She would never cry for the dead again in her lifetime. 
     
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    “Oh my God, no!  JB! Oh JB!” The deep, guttural screams snatched Summer out of her nightmarish memory.  She blinked her eyes rapidly, focusing on the source of the noise. 
    “Can you believe these bitches?” Caralina whispered in Summer’s ear.  Summer checked her shades to make sure they were in place. 
    “Who is that?” she asked evenly as she watched a kitschy dressed woman with a bad weave throw herself onto the casket and scream