Fire and Flesh
963 Words
Kathleen had rules. Rafael was breaking all of them.
The alley incident had changed something. She didn’t exactly invite him into her world—but she didn’t shut him out either. That was more than Rafael had expected. And more than he probably deserved.
One lazy afternoon, a week after the alley fight, she leaned against the doorway of the small corner shop she sometimes disappeared into. He had seen her there before, chatting with the old man at the counter, slipping behind the door marked “EMPLOYEES ONLY.” It wasn’t until that day that she motioned him over.
“You want a job?” she asked, without preamble.
Rafael blinked. “Like... a real job?”
She smirked. “Depends on what you call real. Stocking shelves. Taking out trash. Standing around pretending not to eavesdrop.”
“I’m great at pretending.”
“Clearly,” she said, eyeing his still-healing lip. “Come in. Let’s see if you can carry a box without tripping over your own shadow.”
That’s how Rafael Cruz—once a detective, now officially "Paul Simon," full-time fake street guy—became the proud part-time employee of Carmelo’s Corner Mart, a dusty, half-lit bodega that sold everything from instant noodles to knockoff designer perfume.
The job was menial, but it gave him proximity. Kathleen was there most days, sometimes working the register, sometimes handling packages that came through the back, always keeping one ear to the streets.
She didn’t tell him anything important. Not yet. But she didn’t seem to mind having him around. She’d grunt at his bad jokes, shake her head when he forgot to label a shelf, and once even kicked a box at him playfully when he spilled a tray of canned beans.
“You’re like a puppy,” she said. “Clumsy. Loyal. Kinda annoying. But hard not to like.”
“I’ll take that as affection.”
“Don’t.”
He swept the floor like it was a mission, alphabetized the ramen section, and fixed a flickering light no one had cared about in months. Slowly, the customers got used to him. The regulars started nodding. Even Mr. Carmelo, who spoke only in grunts and eyebrows, started trusting him with the till.
All the while, Rafael kept his ears open.
He learned the rhythms of the neighborhood. Who was moving what. Who owed who. Who disappeared. But nothing concrete about Angel’s Breath. It was like the drug was a ghost—there one second, gone the next.
And Kathleen? She remained the biggest mystery of all.
Sometimes she’d talk to him during closing. Quick stories about weird customers or childhood pranks. One night she told him about the time she hotwired her school principal’s car just to move it two blocks and cause a panic.
“Why?” he asked, laughing.
“Because he said I’d never amount to anything. Figured I’d prove I was resourceful.”
“And how’d that work out?”
“I ended up in juvie for a week. Totally worth it.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You ever think about doing something... different?”
She looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Different how?”
“Like... away from this. Something honest. Safe.”
She shrugged. “Honesty’s expensive. And safety’s a fairy tale. Besides, I kinda like where I am.”
He couldn’t tell if she was lying to him—or to herself.
One day, while they were restocking candy bars, a little girl came into the shop and pointed straight at Rafael.
"Mommy says you're the man who fell in the street like a cartoon."
Rafael blushed as Kathleen burst out laughing.
“Infamous,” she said, patting his shoulder. “You’re officially a neighborhood legend.”
“I do my own stunts,” he muttered.
“Poorly,” she added.
Later that week, they shared a lunch of microwaved burritos and grape soda on the shop’s roof. Rafael tried to get her to talk more about what she did behind the shop door, but she always redirected.
“You ask a lot of questions for a guy who claims he’s just happy to be here.”
“I’m curious by nature.”
“Curiosity gets people buried.”
“I’m not afraid of dirt.”
“You should be.”
She said it with a smirk, but the weight in her voice stayed with him.
Still, she let him in—just enough to keep him coming back. He fetched her cigarettes. Walked her dog, which turned out to be a one-eyed pug named Tyson. Got her favorite candy from the vending machine three blocks away, even though the machine always ate his quarters.
He never pushed. Not too hard. Just enough to let her know he was there.
And she never asked who he really was. Maybe she didn’t want to know.
But one thing was becoming clear: she liked having him around.
Even if just as a charming, slightly bumbling stray who made her laugh when the world outside refused to.
One night, she tossed him a hoodie from behind the counter.
“What’s this?”
“You look cold.”
“Concerned about me?”
“No. You’re just slower when you shiver. Makes you worse at stacking the soda fridge.”
He smiled, slipping it on. “You’ve got a soft side.”
“You’ve got a death wish.”
They smiled at each other in the quiet glow of the shop’s fluorescent lights.
Outside, the city pulsed with danger.
But inside that little corner store, surrounded by gum wrappers and flickering bulbs, Rafael felt something terrifyingly close to peace.
And it scared him more than any gun ever had.
- Writer
