Honestly Kid

Wednesday, September 13th, 2006 | Part 1, People, premature fiction

Looking Hernandez in the eyes is tak­ing a risk. Stop there a moment too long and his dark pupils loose mor­tal­ity on you and kick your ass. For some it is a high cliff, oth­ers a preda­tor, and still oth­ers sim­ply that knife from their night­mares. He could never intend this. He does not know why he makes peo­ple uncom­fort­able when they look into his eyes. How could he? In fact, he avoided think­ing about it until his part­ner back in San Jose started brag­ging about it.

So, the kid won’t open the car door for the search. Shit, I’m get­tin’ ready to go back to the car to get a crow­bar and Hernandez he just stands stock still and locks his ass kickin’ con­quis­ta­dor eyes on the kid. Three sec­onds later, the lit­tle bas­tard turns off his god­damned stereo, opens the car door and hands me the keys like he was out in front of the Hilton for valet park­ing. Turns out he had a .45 next to his seat, a .38 in his sock and enough crank in the back to light up half the city.

They were great sta­tion house sto­ries, except they never sur­prised any­one who knew Eduardo Hernandez. They came more as a con­so­la­tion that he had this effect on every­one. No one, until William, ever tried to fig­ure out why this was so or where that ass kick­ing look came from.

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