THE CASH BOX Chapter 5

 

Chapter 5: Raymond

The door creaked open, heavy and slow, like it didn’t want to let him in. Raymond stepped inside, the smell of blood hitting him before he saw it. Johnny was on the floor, a dark pool spreading beneath him, his face pale and slick with sweat. His breath came in shallow gasps, and his eyes were wide, pleading.

“Johnny,” Raymond said, his voice low and rough. He dropped to his knees, his hands hovering over his friend’s body, unsure where to touch, where it wouldn’t hurt. “Who did this to you?”

Johnny’s lips moved, but no sound came out. His hand twitched, reaching for Raymond, then fell limp.

“Ambulance,” Raymond muttered, pulling out his phone. He dialed, his fingers trembling. The operator’s voice was calm, too calm, and Raymond snapped. “He’s dying! You understand? He’s dying right now!”

He hung up. They’d take too long. They always did. He grabbed Johnny under the arms, dragging him toward the door. Johnny groaned, a sound that cut through Raymond like a knife. “Hang on, man. Just hang on.”

The car was outside, an old beat-up sedan that Johnny had bought for a few hundred bucks. Raymond heaved him into the passenger seat, blood smearing the upholstery. He slammed the door and got behind the wheel, the engine roaring to life.

He drove fast, too fast, the city lights blurring past. Johnny’s head lolled against the window, his breathing shallow. Raymond glanced at him, then back at the road. “Stay with me, Johnny. Stay with me.”

The sirens came out of nowhere, flashing lights in the rearview mirror. Raymond cursed under his breath. He didn’t have time for this. He pressed the gas harder, weaving through traffic, the cops close behind.

The hospital loomed ahead, its lights bright and sterile. Raymond skidded to a stop at the entrance, throwing the car into park. He jumped out, pulling Johnny from the seat. Medics were already running toward them, a stretcher between them.

“He’s been stabbed,” Raymond said, his voice tight. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

They took Johnny from him, loading him onto the stretcher, rushing him inside. Raymond followed, but a hand on his chest stopped him.

“Sir, you need to stay here,” a medic said.

Raymond stared at him, then at Johnny, disappearing through the doors. He nodded, stepping back. The cops were there now, their hands on their guns, their voices sharp.

“Hands where we can see them,” one of them said.

Raymond raised his hands, his jaw clenched. “You in this country legally?” one of the cops asked. They patted him down, cuffed him, read him his rights. He didn’t listen. He kept his eyes on the hospital doors, waiting, hoping.

A doctor came out, his face grim. He shook his head. Raymond closed his eyes, his chest tight.

“Name?” one of the cops asked.

“Raymond Avila,” he said, his voice hollow.

They ran his name, and he knew what they’d find. Ex-con. Homeless. A man with nothing to lose. “You were homeless and then you got locked up in California, huh?” One of the cops said, grinning, slapping Raymond’s driver’s license in the palm of his hand. “Well, now you’re getting locked up in Houston. Welcome back to Texas.” They took him away, the cuffs biting into his wrists.

---

The next day, the sun was too bright, the world too loud. Raymond sat in the passenger seat of Jorge’s car, the old man’s voice a steady hum beside him. Jorge was talking, always talking, about second chances and opportunities. Raymond stared out the window, his mind elsewhere.

“You’re an American citizen,” Jorge said, his hands tight on the wheel. “You were born here. That means something. You have every chance to make something of yourself.”

Raymond didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say. He felt hollow, empty, like all the life had been drained out of him.

Jorge glanced at him, then back at the road. “What do you want to do with your life, Raymond?”

Raymond shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You can’t just drift forever,” Jorge said. “You need a purpose. Something to work toward. You’re not going to find answers going to be homeless in California. Your home is here. You belong in Houston.”

Raymond didn’t respond. He didn’t have a purpose. He didn’t have anything.

Jorge read his mind. “You have a purpose, Raymond. That’s what I saw in you when I was introduced to you through the program. That’s what I could tell when we were writing eachother back and forth. You’re meant for great things. And I’m going to help you figure out what they are.”

Jorge leaned back in his chair, a cup of coffee steaming in his hands. The morning light filtered through the window, casting a warm glow in Jorge’s beaten-up Ford pick up. Raymond sat silent, his eyes fixed in front of him. Jorge had been talking for a while now, his voice steady, his words measured. He spoke of Houston, of the city they lived in, of the world as he saw it.

“Houston,” Jorge began, his voice carrying the weight of years, “is a city of contradictions. It’s a place where the skyline gleams with glass and steel, where the oil money flows like water. But it’s also a place where people sleep under bridges, where children go to bed hungry. It’s a city of wealth and poverty, side by side, and no one seems to care.”

He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes distant. “In 2020, they said things would change. They said the world was waking up. But what did we get? More of the same. Even with Trump gone. The rich got richer, the poor got poorer. The system, it’s rigged, Raymond. It’s designed to keep people like us down, to keep us in our place.”

Raymond glanced up, his expression unreadable. Jorge continued, his voice rising with passion. “They talk about freedom, about opportunity. But what freedom is there when you’re working three jobs just to pay the rent? What opportunity is there when the schools are falling apart, when the hospitals are overcrowded, when the streets are filled with violence?”

He set his cup down, leaning forward. “I’m a Christian, Raymond. I believe in the teachings of Christ, in love, in compassion, in helping those in need. But I also see the world as it is. And what I see is a system that values profit over people, that values power over justice. It’s a system that needs to change.”

Raymond shifted in his seat, his voice low. “And how’s that gonna happen?”

Jorge smiled, a sad, knowing smile. “It starts with people, Raymond. It starts with us. We have to care for each other, to lift each other up. We have to fight for what’s right, even when it’s hard. And we have to believe that change is possible.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Some people call me a communist, you know. They say I want to tear down the system, to destroy what we have. But that’s not true. I don’t want to destroy. I want to build. I want to build a world where everyone has a chance, where no one is left behind. A world where we share what we have, where we take care of each other. Is that so wrong?”

Raymond didn’t answer. He looked down at his hands, his mind racing. Jorge leaned back, his voice softening. “Houston is a city of contradictions, Raymond. But it’s also a city of hope. There are good people here, people who care, people who are trying to make a difference. And if we can come together, if we can fight for what’s right, then maybe, just maybe, we can build something better.”

He stood, placing a hand on Raymond’s shoulder. “It’s not going to be easy. But nothing worth doing ever is. We just have to keep fighting, keep believing. And maybe, one day, we’ll see the change we’re fighting for.”

Raymond nodded, his eyes still downcast. Jorge squeezed his shoulder, then took his hand away, leaving Raymond alone with his thoughts. The weight of Jorge’s words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. And for the first time in a long time, Raymond felt something stir within him, something he hadn’t felt in years.

Hope.

Jorge pulled the car over, stopping in front of an empty lot. Weeds grew through the cracks in the pavement, and a chain-link fence surrounded it. “This,” Jorge said, pointing, “is my dream. A community youth center. A place where kids can go, stay out of trouble, learn something.”

Raymond looked at the lot, then at Jorge. “How you gonna do that?”

“I’ll convince people,” Jorge said. “Influential people. People with money. I’ll make them see the value in it. I’ll make them care.”

Raymond nodded, but he didn’t believe it. People didn’t care. Not really.

Jorge kept talking, his voice rising with passion. “It’s my mission, Raymond. To save people. To give them a second chance. The human spirit, it’s resilient. It can overcome anything, if given the opportunity.”

Raymond didn’t say anything. He didn’t believe in the human spirit. He didn’t believe in much of anything.

They drove on, Jorge’s words filling the silence. Raymond tuned him out, his mind drifting. They arrived at Jorge’s house, a small, weathered place with a sagging porch. Jorge led him inside, introducing him to his grandchildren.

Nelson was eight, Vanni was ten, and Sebastian was around Raymond’s age. They stared at him, their eyes wide and curious. Nelson and Vanni took to him quickly, their laughter bright and infectious. Sebastian hung back, his arms crossed, his eyes dark.

“This is Raymond,” Jorge said. “He’s going to be staying with us for a while.”

Sebastian didn’t say anything. He just stared at Raymond, his expression unreadable.

Raymond nodded at him, but Sebastian didn’t nod back. He turned and walked away, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor.

Jorge sighed. “He’ll come around. He’s just... protective. And he’s doesn’t speak a lot of English, Sebastian. He has only been in this country for two years. So maybe you two can make friends, you teach him to speak American and he can help you with your Spanish.”

Raymond didn’t care. He didn’t care about any of it. He sat down on the couch, his hands resting on his knees, his eyes staring at nothing. The weight of everything pressed down on him, heavy and unrelenting.

Jorge sat beside him, his voice soft. “You’ll find your way, Raymond. Just give it time.”

Raymond didn’t answer. He didn’t believe in time. He didn’t believe in second chances. He just sat there, the weight of the world on his shoulders, and wondered if it would ever lift.

AtilA