Juarez Square and Other Stories by D.L. Young Page A

Low-hanging fruit, understand?” Timo nodded and Deke continued. “Then I tell him not to worry, that I’m on top of it, and I wanted to come and tell him that personally. Then, a few days later when the daily take miraculously hits an all-time high…”
    “You’re the big hero,” Timo said.
    “Bingo. And no one could refuse the big hero a favor, right?”
    After dinner Timo served coffee, his face still twisted with worry. “Just don’t get why you need to do this,” the boy said.
    Poor child, Deke thought. Of course he couldn’t understand. Deke had taken the boy off the streets six months ago, and before that the boy had only known a life of hustling and panhandling in Tijuana’s brutish squalor. For a street kid like Timo, life inside the Dump Lord’s razorwired perimeter, with regular meals and a safe place to sleep, had to be paradise by comparison. The endless mounds of trash an oasis in the West Texas desert.
    Had Deke ever felt the same way? Lucky to have work, grateful to have any job under any condition as long as it kept food on the table? Maybe. But things had changed after eight years. Eight long years living under Chang’s silly ‘no women dumpside’ rule. Eight years with no human connection except Timo his helper and Chang his tormentor. And the infrequent whore down in Tijuana wasn’t enough, not nearly enough to fill the emptiness inside.
    “I know you don’t understand,” Deke said, patting the boy on the shoulder. “Someday you will.”
    Someday the boy would understand there were worse things to lose than your life.
    ***
    The next morning Deke stood at the north entrance of the Dump Lord’s estate. He took a deep breath, raised a trembling hand, and knocked on the door. Chang answered with dark circles under his eyes. The man looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.
    “What are you doing here?” Chang snapped.
    Deke’s pulse began to race. He’d hoped to find Chang beaten down and desperate, softened up by two sleepless nights of waiting for the numbers to get better. Instead a monster with red-rimmed eyes, simmering with rage, stood before him.
    You’ve got the leverage . Deke repeated it to himself as he stepped into the foyer. The Dump Lord’s right hand awkwardly moved back a step, shocked by Deke’s sudden boldness.
    Chang looked at Deke’s clothes, his eyes widening. “What the hell are you wearing? Slacks and a dress shirt?” He shook his head and laughed. “Some special occasion I should be aware of?”
    Deke swallowed. “I need to speak with your boss.”
    “About what?”
    “You know.”
    They stared at each other for a tense moment, as if waiting for the other to flinch. Then a light behind Chang’s eyes switched on. “What did you do with those bots?” He stepped toward Deke, fists clenched, his gaze cold and hard. “You rigged them, didn’t you? This is all some sort of play, you stupid fat bastard? You’re a dead man.”
    Deke’s panic only lasted a second, its brief flare drowned by a flood of anger suddenly surging through him. Like a long-dormant volcano finally waking, he burst forth with a violent eruption, grabbing Chang by the lapels and shoving him hard against the door.
    “I’ve had it with you and your bullshit rules,” he sneered.
    Chang’s mouth hung open, slack in disbelief. Deke reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a remote control. “In thirty minutes,” he said, his voice shaking with rage, “if I don’t send a code from this remote, every last dump bot in this hellhole is going to crack a vile of acid I put inside its chassis.” Chang looked at the device in horror. Deke said, “You won’t even be able to sell them for scrap. Total motherfuckin’ destruction.”
    “You wouldn’t dare—”
    “You know how long it’ll take you to get three hundred new dump bots, much less find someone who knows how to make them harvest worth a damn? Months, maybe years. But something tells me you wouldn’t last long enough to