THE CASH BOX Chapter 6

 Chapter 6: Lorenzo

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of Jorge’s house, casting a warm glow over the cluttered living room. Raymond sat at the kitchen table, picking at a plate of eggs and chorizo. Nelson and Vanni were already buzzing around him, their voices high and excited.

“Raymond, did you really live in California?” Nelson asked, his eyes wide. “Was it like the movies? Did you see any celebrities?”

Raymond smirked, shaking his head. “Nah, man. It’s not all palm trees and Hollywood. Mostly just… people trying to get by.”

Vanni leaned in, her elbows on the table. “Is it true you went to jail? What was that like? Did you have to fight people?”

Before Raymond could answer, Jorge stepped in, his voice firm but gentle. “Hey, hey. Enough with the questions. Let the man eat in peace.”

The kids groaned but backed off, retreating to the living room where Sebastian sat on the couch, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the TV. He hadn’t said much since Raymond arrived, and the tension between them was thick. Sebastian glanced over, his expression hard.

“¿Cuándo vas a conseguir un trabajo, huh?” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Raymond to hear. “No puedes quedarte aquí sin hacer nada.”

Raymond stiffened, his jaw tightening. He understood enough Spanish to catch the gist. Before he could respond, Jorge stepped in, his voice calm but firm.

“Sebastian, basta. Raymond’s got enough on his plate without you adding to it.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes but didn’t push it. He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, muttering something in Spanish as he left. Jorge sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair.

“Don’t mind him,” he said to Raymond. “He still…..misses his parents. He’ll come around.”

Raymond nodded, but he didn’t believe it. He could feel Sebastian’s resentment like a weight in the room, and he didn’t blame him. He was a stranger, crashing in their home, eating their food. He didn’t belong here.

Jorge clapped him on the shoulder. “Anyway, I’ve got something for you. A job. It’s not glamorous, but it’s a start.”

Raymond raised an eyebrow. “What kind of job?”

“Meat-packing plant,” Jorge said. “It’s hard work, but it’s honest. And it’ll put some money in your pocket.”

Raymond frowned. “Why can’t I work with Sebastian? He’s got a job, right?”

Jorge hesitated, then shook his head. “Sebastian’s job… it’s not for you. Trust me, you will do well at this job.”

Raymond didn’t argue, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Jorge was holding something back. He finished his breakfast in silence, then followed Jorge out to the garage. The space was packed with boxes, stacked floor to ceiling, filled with clothes, canned goods, and household items.

“What’s all this?” Raymond asked, picking up a box labeled “Donations.”

“Stuff for people,” Jorge said, his voice soft. “People who need it. I hold onto it until they’re ready.”

Vanni appeared in the doorway, her arms crossed. “Abuelito helps a lot of people,” she said proudly. “He’s like… a superhero.”

Jorge chuckled, ruffling her hair. “Not a superhero, mija. Just trying to do my part.”

Raymond didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t help feeling a pang of guilt. Jorge was a good man, trying to make a difference. And here he was, just taking up space.

---

The meat-packing plant was exactly what Raymond expected: cold, loud, and reeking of blood. He stood on the line, his hands numb from the icy water, his back aching from the repetitive motions. The other workers, mostly immigrants, chattered in Spanish, their voices blending with the hum of machinery.

At first, Raymond tried to keep to himself, focusing on the work. But it didn’t take long for the teasing to start. The workers, thinking he didn’t understand, made jokes at his expense.

“Mira este gringo,” one of them said, laughing. “Parece que nunca ha trabajado en su vida.”

Another chimed in. “¿Crees que puede aguantar? Se va a ir llorando antes del almuerzo.”

Raymond clenched his jaw, his hands tightening around the knife he was using to trim fat from the meat. He understood every word, but he tried to ignore it. He didn’t want trouble. Not here.

But then one of them made a crack about Johnny.

“Dicen que su amigo Johnny no aguantó ni un cuchillito,” the man said, grinning. “¿Qué tal si le damos una probadita a este también?”

Something inside Raymond snapped. He turned, his fist connecting with the man’s nose before he even realized what he was doing. The man stumbled back, blood streaming down his face, and the room erupted into chaos.

By the time the supervisor arrived, Raymond was already being escorted out, his face burning with shame. He didn’t even bother to argue. He just grabbed his things and left, the weight of failure pressing down on him like a stone.

---

That afternoon, Raymond sat in Jorge’s car, staring at the neighborhood picnic in progress. The laughter and music felt like a world away, a world he didn’t belong to. He wanted to drive away, to disappear, but he didn’t have anywhere to go.

Finally, he got out of the car and walked over, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Jorge spotted him immediately, waving him over.

“Raymond! Come meet some folks from the church.” He pulled Raymond in closer to him and whispered into his ear: “There may be some people here that could help me with my dream to build the community center!”

Raymond forced a smile, shaking hands and nodding politely as Jorge introduced him. But he could feel their eyes on him, their curiosity and judgment. He didn’t belong here.

He managed to slip away after a few minutes, wandering toward the food table. That’s when he saw them: two thugs in suits, harassing an elderly church worker.

“This is garbage,” one of them said, poking at a tray of tamales. “You expect people to eat this?”

The church worker, a frail woman with silver hair, tried to placate them. “I’m sorry, sir. We’re doing our best.”

“Your best isn’t good,” the other man sneered. “I’d be embarrassed to serve this shit.”

Raymond felt a surge of anger. He stepped forward, his voice low but firm. “Hey. Back off.”

The men turned to him, their eyes narrowing. “Who the hell are you?” one of them demanded.

“Someone who doesn’t like seeing people get bullied,” Raymond shot back.

The men exchanged a glance, then laughed. “You got a problem, huh?” one of them said, stepping closer. “You don’t have anything better to do?”

Before Raymond could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“Hey, hey, hey! What’s going on here?”

Raymond turned, and his breath caught in his throat. It was Lorenzo. His childhood friend. The man who had once been his partner in crime, his brother in arms. Lorenzo looked different now—older, heavier, his hair slicked back, his suit tailored to perfection. But his smile was the same, wide and easy, his eyes sharp and calculating.

“Raymond?” Lorenzo said, his voice full of surprise and delight. “Is that you?”

Raymond nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Lorenzo. Damn, it’s been a long time.”

They slapped hands together, the gesture familiar and comforting. Lorenzo pulled him into a quick hug, clapping him on the back. “Man, I heard some crazy rumors about you. Locked up in California? Homeless? Tell me that’s not true.”

Raymond’s smile faded. “Nah. I don’t know what you heard.”

Lorenzo’s expression softened. “I heard about Johnny. I’m sorry, man. That’s rough.”

Raymond nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah. It’s been… hard.”

Lorenzo studied him for a moment, then grinned again. “Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters. And look at you, standing up to these clowns.” He gestured to the two thugs, who had backed off, their bravado fading under Lorenzo’s gaze. “Still got that fire in you, huh?”

Raymond shrugged. “Guess so.”

Lorenzo laughed, then turned to the thugs. “Get out of here. And show some respect next time, huh?”

The men muttered something under their breath but didn’t argue. They walked away, their heads down, their swagger gone.

Lorenzo turned back to Raymond, his smile widening. “So, what are you up to these days? Where do you work?”

“I’m, uhh, you know, just trying to do honest work. You know me, I cleaned my life up. Everybody knows this.”

Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed. “What do you do?”

Raymond awkwardly nodded his head. “Just…packing meat at the plant, you know…”

A look of pity and disgust washed over Lorenzo’s bronzed face. “Working at a meat-packing plant? That’s not you, man. You’re better than that.”

Raymond hesitated. “I don’t do that old stuff anymore, Lorenzo. No violence, no illegal work. I’m trying to… I don’t know. Start over.”

Lorenzo nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I get it. But you don’t have to start at the bottom, man. You’ve got skills. You’ve got brains. You just need the right opportunity.”

Raymond frowned. “What are you saying?”

Lorenzo leaned in, his voice dropping. “I’ve got a place. A bar. It’s legit, mostly. But I could use someone like you. Someone I can trust. You come by tonight, we’ll talk. No pressure, just… see what’s up.”

Raymond hesitated. He didn’t trust Lorenzo, not entirely. But he didn’t have many options. And the thought of having a real job, a real chance, was tempting.

“Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll come by.”

Lorenzo grinned. “Good. I’ll text you the address.”

Raymond shook his head. “I don’t have a phone.”

Lorenzo’s eyebrows shot up. “No phone? Damn, man, you really are starting from scratch. Alright, I’ll write it down for you. And hey, you got a car?”

Raymond shook his head again.

Lorenzo laughed, shaking his head. “You need a job, Raymond. A real job. And I’m going to get you one.”

Before Raymond could respond, Jorge appeared, his expression tense. “Raymond, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Raymond nodded, stepping away from Lorenzo. Jorge led him a few feet away, his voice low. “I didn’t know you knew Lorenzo.”

Raymond shrugged. “We grew up together. Why?”

Jorge hesitated, his eyes flicking toward Lorenzo. “Just… be careful, okay? He’s a busy man…just worry about your own affairs.”

Raymond frowned. “What do you mean?”

Jorge shook his head. “Nothing. Just… be careful.”

Raymond nodded, but his mind was already elsewhere. Lorenzo’s offer hung in the air, tempting and dangerous. He didn’t know what to do, but he knew one thing: he couldn’t keep living like this. He needed a way out. And maybe, just maybe, Lorenzo could give it to him.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the park, Raymond made his decision. He would go to Lorenzo’s bar. He would hear him out. And then… well, he would figure it out from there.

The weight of the world still pressed down on him, but for the first time in a long time, he felt a flicker of something. Not hope, exactly. But possibility.

AtilA