Acoustic Shadows by Patrick Kendrick

‘The tools you need are in the front.’ Emilio said, ‘
Bueno
,’ then went to the back of the van and opened the doors.
    Inside, hidden in the shadows, were three men, all bound, their hands behind their backs. Bandanas wrapped tightly around their eyes. Sweat-soaked clothing stuck to them like a second skin. Emilio reached in, grabbed one of the men by his arm, and guided him out, telling him to watch his step as he climbed out of the van.
    Julio grew uncomfortable now, but said nothing. A warm wind came off the ocean like the breath of a killer whispering in his ear and he felt sweat form in his scalp, then trickle down and hang on his chin for a moment. When it fell, he thought he could
hear it
hit the ground.
    Emilio went to the front of the van and looked around in the cab. He came back brandishing a machete. He approached Julio and put his hand on his shoulder.
    ‘These men stole money from me.’ he said, gesturing with the blade. ‘When I tried to get it back, they threatened me and my family. We cannot allow this. Do you understand, son?’
    Julio nodded, but a lump of fear grew in his throat, and he could not swallow, though he desperately needed to.
    Emilio pushed the blindfolded man to his knees, his once pressed, linen suit, dishevelled and filthy as a beggar’s. The man began to cry and plead for his life. The other men inside the van began to whimper like puppies in a sack that was weighted down for the river.
    Emilio brought Julio over to stand with him and said, ‘Watch what I do to men who try to hurt me.’
    He brought the machete up and to the side as if he were shouldering a baseball bat. When he brought it back down, it struck with a wet, meaty sound, and stopped hard against the man’s neck bones. Blood spurted and sprayed Emilio and Julio. Emilio tugged at the blade and dislodged it from the man’s cervical spine. The man began to convulse and fell forward. Before he hit the ground, Emilio swung the blade again, catching it in the wound from the first swing. This time, it went clean through. The man’s head came off, hitting the ground with a thud.
    Julio stood transfixed, his mouth wide, lips quivering. He could see the man’s face and watched his mouth open and close, like a fish gasping on a hot, dry deck. He turned and retched into the grass, his legs shaking under him like saplings caught in a hurricane.
    Emilio pulled another man from the van. The man sobbed and made promises and excuses, but it was as if Emilio could no longer hear him. He pushed him to the ground near the body of the first man, then turned to Julio.
    ‘It’s your turn, Julio. You must help kill our enemies.’
    Julio shook his head. ‘No, Papa, I cannot do this.’
    Emilio reached over and slapped him. The blow hit him in the ear and made it ring so loud he could barely hear what else his father was saying. But he heard enough. ‘If you don’t do this,’ Don Emilio declared, ‘one of these men will shoot you. Do you understand?’
    Julio nodded, tears streaming from his eyes.
How had this happened?
One moment, he was happy and sated, full of wine and women. Now, his father was threatening him and he was being forced to murder a man he did not know, and in this most brutal way.
    ‘Stop crying,’ said Emilio. ‘You won’t be able to see what you’re doing.’ He placed the sticky handle of the machete into Julio’s hand.
    Julio looked at the blade, shining black in the moonlit night. Before he had gone downstairs for dinner, he had made love with the red-haired whore and, as they lay there in post-coital bliss, he had noticed his phallus, still shining from their sex. This is what he thought of as he looked at the blood-slicked blade: a wet, throbbing phallus. In one afternoon, his father had introduced him to the utmost pleasure in life, and now mixed that gift with the most horrible deed any human could perform. This incongruent mix would haunt him for the rest of his life – he knew that, even then