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"Do you know what's so fucking wrong with you, Sergeant Major Parra?"
For Rodolfo Parra, there were many things that were so fucking wrong with himself that he couldn't easily answer Sanchez's question, so instead he just stared.
If his problems were money he could probably have owned a mansion like one of those cartel lieutenants. He began to list the problems in his sober brain, which was unlike Sanchez's: see, one was the fact that, except for Rodolfo, every Los Vaqueros were plastered with Tequila, and another was that the pub, which had been noisy the moment the question came out from the lieutenant's mouth, had suddenly fallen silent as if someone's abuela just brought a C4 to a bachelor's party. And then, in fact, there was another:
"It's that, really... like, seriously... you stare at people with that... that face of la Muerte ."
Utter silence-- and then the pub bursts with sudden laughter, Rodolfo recognizes the voice of a corporal shouting: 'Boss, don't kill him!'.
Wrong answer, Sanchez. The problem was: Rodolfo Parra, born and raised in Las Almas, a close friend of the Alejandro Vargas for twenty years and SIC of Los Vaqueros, had never actually loved Las Almas, even once.
After making what seemed like an academically critical declaration, Sanchez dropped his chin like a man out of order. So naturally Rodolfo grabbed Sanchez's soggy chin with his hand, lifted it up — and once again, the pub fell silent. While some pendejos frighteningly hushed another pendejos, Rodolfo thought of the numerous acts of close-quarters combat kills he have committed throughout his years in service. There were very few who could recover their senses and rush at you when you are hit by the chin with a gun. (Probably Simon "Ghost" Riley can. Could.) And then you just push — shot to the head with an X12 handgun meant instant death. Clean. Then again, Rodolfo was known for strong endurance and as a bastard who loves kicking asses, so he usually aims for the stomach with a strong kick. More often than not, when you press the muzzle against the forehead of someone on their knees, their chin naturally lifts. Pull the trigger, because why not pull the trigger? It's you or them. The enemy looks at the sky for the last time. And then darkness. He would call that a romantic way to go. And then when Alejandro Vargas grabs his chin for —
Rodolfo pried open Sanchez's mouth with his thumb, stuffed a taco in, and then stood up from his seat.
"Escúchame, cabrónes - I'll gladly make you meet la Muerta herself if you don't sober up and fuck up tomorrow's training, ¿entendiste?"
Cheers echoed in the distance with a shout of "Sí" "Sí Rodolfo"-- and to make matters worse some drunk bastards started singing. Leaving the drunk vaqueros inside he pushed the door open, rummaging for a cigarette in his breast pocket — the dry and cold night wind of Las Almas slapped his face like it had a personal grudge on him. This cigarette wasn't even Rodolfo's, and his vaqueros were drowning whatever remaining brain cells they had in glasses of cheap alcohol. Alejandro was nowhere to be seen.
It had been almost six months since he last smoked a cig. Sitting on the parking lot curb, he lit up the smoke with a lighter he'd stolen from Lopez's back pocket, and the familiar taste of smoke filled his lungs. Rodolfo could never understand addiction, but he did understand the sense of stability that came with repetitive actions. Inhale, exhale, think, Inhale, and exhale. In some sense, it was a form of meditation. He did also understood the sense of stability while calming Alejandro, forehead to forehead, so this became a problem once again. Colonel, it's over now. Se acabó, coronel. Sorry, Rudy. Lo siento, Rudy. His palm struck by Alejandro's misdirected punch had stopped hurting, he was lost in the moment. Inhale, exhale, listen to Alejandro's rhythmic breaths. Inhale again, and exhale.
For Christ's sake, stop thinking about Alejandro, Rodolfo Parra.
He felt a familiar presence outside his field of vision. He sensed the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but the owner of that presence was none other than Colonel Alejandro Vargas and Sergeant Luis Lopez. Thankfully, compared to other Vaqueros, they seemed to be relatively sober. The sound of a hand hitting a solid surface — that's usually Alejandro placing his hand firmly on someone's shoulder as if he is on a mission to do that.
"Luis. What's this problem so serious that you need me separately like this? I was enjoying Mia's terrible singing, amigo."
That was Alejandro. It seemed like tonight has a problem in store for everyone — Las Almas is that merciful. Luis hesitated before speaking.
"It's... it's Rodolfo, Colonel. Are you sure you want to leave him behind while you go after El Sin Nombre?"
So the problem was me, God damn it. Heavy silence followed after Luis' hesitated words-- and Rodolfo paused the hand he was about to bring to his mouth.
"Rodolfo? What about him?" Rodolfo kept his mouth shut and stayed still. He was always good at staying low.
"You know. It's just that, he uh, he's become scarier."
"I don't know, Lopez. What's there to be scared of? Come on. He's Rudy."
"Are you acting like you don't know on purpose? That's exactly the problem, Colonel. It's Rudy we're talking about. Remember that joke? Not that one - 'The only person who can kill Alejandro is Alejandro.'"
"You idiots still saying that around? I have no clue."
"It goes like this, 'Who do you think is most likely to kill all of Los Vaqueros and then kill himself in the end?'"
Fucking hell.
"Fucking hell, Luis, make some sense. Your sense of joke is even more horrifying than Rudy."
"Colonel, I'm serious. He scares the shit out of us. He's become jumpier than before, and the scariest part is that it doesn't really show on his face before it does. Sanchez earlier? I thought Rodolfo was ready to kill him-- and it seemed like he was actually actively considering it. I can tell it by looking in his eyes, you know that I can, sir. He's just... just always fucking angry these days. We all feel it."
Luis "Psychic" Lopez. Rudy used to like Lopez quite a bit, he was fun to have around. Right now, he wanted to kill Lopez from the closest point of his face, which will start between his eyebrows.
"Maldita sea... Stop it, Luis. He... he loves you. He loves you all."
There's the problem numero fucking who knows, too. Rodolfo Parra loves Los Vaqueros more than anything else in the world. That's Los Vaqueros 101.
"I know, sir. That's why it seems like there's only one reason he's angry."
"And what's that?"
"It's always you, Colonel."
===
Rodolfo's sudden realization that today was the day that absolutely no one leaves him in god-damned peace made him stand up abruptly. He flicked away his cigarette — the conversation was cut off. They noticed him. Rodolfo heard Lopez's faint swearing, but he didn't even bother turning around as he stormed away from the pub and toward the road. It would take an hour to walk back to the base, and if the narcos were planning on attacking him on the way, he was willing to let them kill him. If the idiots from the narco who dared to think about assassinating Los Vaqueros members in Las Almas were really that of idiots, Valeria would probably kill them instead, well definitely not for him but still, it wouldn't be that unfair.
Sometimes, Rodolfo missed Valeria. More precisely, he missed the version of Alejandro who used to spend time with Valeria. When Rodolfo had to face Valeria-- resurfaced as El Sin Nombre-- and attempted to calm down Alejandro who was enraged like a bull pushed in a fight ring, he suddenly recalled those slender hands that used to rest on his knee a long time ago. "Know is a strong word—" Alejandro and Valeria occasionally met and spent nights together, and Rodolfo understood very well what that meant for the Colonel. He never had any intention of encroaching on Valeria's position in their shared ritual. He simply knew that Alejandro and Valeria's strange pleasure after their "meeting" was to deliberately grab Rodolfo, who was walking by and trying damn hard to look straight ahead, shove him under their shoulders and share a warm body heat while smoking a cigarette. Pricks. Valeria would smile sharply just like Alejandro would, showing their full teeth, and touch Rodolfo's knee-- all the while Rodolfo pressed against the wall with a disgusted face. "You've got a good commander, eh, Parra. I can make a room for you too." Alejandro, with a rare blush on his face and still warm from sex, would slap Valeria's hand away from Rodolfo. "Rudy, kid, don't listen to that shit. She's just playing with you." Then Rodolfo would look at Alejandro with a disbelieving expression, saying something like "Did you just call me 'kid'?"
During the time of his earlier career where he had arrived in the special forces only ever following Alejandro's footstep, those were his moments of comfort. That's right, those moments had no place for problems. Back then his Colonel was more optimistic and gentle, which suited his ideals. When Alejandro got angry on the verge of losing control, he had a trusted colleague to vent his energy in a quick fuck and a dear friend who followed him, often spouting nonsense stories from their childhood and making him laugh. Rodolfo found this present days... horrifying. Alejandro's trusted colleague Valeria stabbed him in the back with the name El Sin Nombre stitched to her chest which was once decorated with military insignia, and Graves' tank left the training ground of Los Vaqueros as a war-torn ruin with C4 craters and bullet marks. Rodolfo had never loved Las Almas. What kind of lunatic loved a place where soldiers and sicarios shook hands and threw corpses covered with cartel clothes next to children's playgrounds? But there is Alejandro Vargas, of course. The ever idealist. He was so fucking tired.
So, Rodolfo Parra, despite everything that had happened, found himself to be the horrifying one that he is still relentlessly following Alejandro. Even now, he wanted Los Vaqueros' commander, who would go after Valeria like a dog chasing a bone, to stay within his sight , and it was precisely because of that fact that he was furious with himself. Luis Lopez was so wrong, what a psychic he is. Rodolfo had never, absolutely, not once, been angry with Alejandro fucking Vargas. When Alejandro had told him to cross the border he crossed the border. When Alejandro had told him to become friends with mercenary Gringos, he became friends alright. Alejandro tells him to kill, he will kill. If Alejandro tells Rodolfo to kill himself he might as well just kill himself. Conclusion: Rodolfo Parra is insane. He should have left for Mexico City when he turned 18. He carried a relatively smart head on his shoulders, and after his grandmother died, he had no family left. It would have been so easy. He only had himself to blame, really. Only if it wasn't for that Rodolfo Parra who mindlessly loved Alejandro Vargas who mindlessly loved Las Almas —
"Rodolfo Parra!"
Guess Alejandro decided to call his full name outside these days. He stopped, turned around to find Alejandro, who didn't even seem out of breath. The expression he wore when he went out looking for Rodolfo, 20 years ago, 10 years ago, now — it stayed the same. When Rodolfo finally met Alejandro's eyes with the face deliberately conveying 'what,' the Colonel narrowed his eyes.
"Are you mad at me?"
"Why would I be mad at you, coronel?"
"Rodolfo, you know Luis says silly things all the time."
"I'm not mad at Luis Lopez either."
"So what's the problem then?"
Me. I'm the problem, damn it. Rudy didn't say that — he just silently glared at Alejandro. He didn't even ask Why are you going after Valeria? or stupid questions like that. Alejandro chooses the path, Alejandro walks the path. That was also, Los Vaqueros 101. Who has the right to object to that path? Even Rodolfo Parra certainly didn't have that right. While you go after that woman, I will be the only one extending the short lives of these vaquero idiots. Of course he didn't say that. But that was the reason why Alejandro Vargas can leave Las Almas but not Rodolfo Parra. Becasue Rodolfo Parra would always be here. And Alejandro would trust Rodolfo to the death. So Rodolfo spat out this stupid question instead:
"What if I retire?"
"What?"
That was something Alejandro would never have imagined coming out of Rodolfo's mouth, so he felt a little better.
"I wanted to leave this shithole and move to Mexico City. Did you know that?"
Alejandro didn't say anything. Rodolfo started filling the silence like an idiot he is.
"I was sipping on some cheap beer stuck in this damn town during my leave, you know why? Because you wouldn't leave Las Almas. Now look at you, getting on a plane to God knows where to catch the villain like a hero you are. But I'm still going to stay here, right? That was your plan from the start, Alejandro, no? You know what? It's a great plan, really. It's perfect. Because there's only one person in the whole fucking Las Almas who can catch Valeria and only one person who can fill that void."
Alejandro still didn't say anything.
"What if I leave you? Would you still chase her?"
"No."
Now it was Alejandro time to glare at him like he was going to absolutely murder him. Alejandro was beautiful under the night light, faxe twisted with confusion and filled with anger. Rodolfo had never really been the target of Alejandro's anger recently, perhaps the only one in the whole Los Vaqueros squad who managed to escape his harshness. Everything has exceptions, it seems like. But it made sense. Rodolfo Parra has just violated a rule that was set from the very start, the holy commandment they shared. He dared to speak of leaving.
"No. I wouldn't. So shut the fuck up, Rudy. Stop saying absurd shit."
"You call it absurd?"
"Yes."
"Me retiring, Mexico City. All that?"
"You can never leave."
Alejandro didn't bother adding 'me' to it. Both of them knew that 'Las Almas' was not the answer. 'Los Vaqueros' was only a half-correct answer. Rodolfo wanted to get angry, yell at him, but strangely, he felt his anger subsiding. Rodolfo Parra can never leave Alejandro Vargas. It was a tautology, a law of physics. Who could get angry at the fact that wood burns in fire, that apple falls to the ground? Not him. Rodolfo looked into Alejandro's eyes for a moment. The same eyes. 20 years ago, 10 years ago, and now. Despite everything that had happened, Alejandro looked at him with that same fucking eyes, and despite everything that had happened, Rodolfo Parra followed Colonel Alejandro Vargas. Rodolfo lowered his head to calm his breath, staring into the cursed Las Almas' dirt ridden road, and then he felt presence getting closer. Who else could it be but that damned Alejandro Vargas?
Alejandro hugged Rodolfo. As Rodolfo's face got closer to Alejandro's nape, he could smell his hair wax, the usual cologne with a hint of musk, and the faint scent of tequila. He closed his eyes and got closer to Alejandro's warm body, rested his chin on his shoulder, and strangely, all the tension disappeared. Rodolfo stayed like that for a while, until finally putting his hand on Alejandro's waist, pulling him close.
"Rudy, you can never leave."
"I know, damn it."
"I'll come back straight after the job's done."
"I know that too."
"...When I come back, wanna go to Cancún together?"
"Fuck off, Alejandro." Rudy snorted. Alejandro laughed softly.
"Mexico City, huh?"
"I was young."
"You've grown old."
"You've grown old. I haven't."
Some more soft laughs.
"Leave Luis and Sanchez alive, yeah?"
"Who else would leave them alive if not me? Go, have your fight. I’ll be waiting."
Alejandro's hand found Rodolfo's chin, lifting it so that he could see his face. As Alejandro's lips softly brushed his, his bristly beard grazing the chin, Rodolfo felt like a complete idiot. For fuck's sake, he was like a sad wife waiting for her husband to come home and make love to her after getting slapped and kicked around. As if reading that thought, Alejandro showed his teeth again and smiled sharply, and Dios, Rodolfo really hated Alejandro. Alejandro petted Rodolfo's shoulder like he would always do after a job well done, and they walked down the dark dirt road together. An hour walk to their base. Who cares about the cartel.
===
"What are you thinking?"
Alejandro asked some times later.
"Nothing."
"Then I think, and you always follow. Understood?"
"God I hate you."
"Understood, Sergeant Major Parra?"
Rodolfo sighed.
"Yes, Colonel Vargas."
"Easy as that."
"Easy as that. ... Que vivan Los Vaqueros. "
"Pues que vivan Las Almas, compa. "
Just like their Los Vaqueros phrases flowing naturally out of their mouths, it was indeed easy as that. The reason every problem that he had, has, became meaningless, was right there. Rodolfo Parra had a lot of problems, and he still didn't love Las Almas, true. But utterly pointless.
Rodolfo Parra can never leave Alejandro Vargas.
That's it — all problems fixed.