Free The Dog Fighter by Marc Bojanowski

picked up the knife and inspected the blade. He ate a piece of the guava and licked the ends of his fingers. His tongue was enormous.
    Deliciosa. He winked at the wife. Very sweet.
    Eduardo then set down the knife and moved to the shelves. He ran his finger along them collecting dust and clucking his tongue.
    Señora why have such beautiful things if you do not take care of them?
    Eduardo then threw the row of vases to the tile floor. Shards of clay scattering under the stove. The husband covered his eyes while Eduardo destroyed the hand painted dishes and cups. He broke a chair against the stout wood table and then turned over the chopping block where the guava was but lifting this plate as he did so not to spill the fruit. Then Eduardo kicked at the legs of the table like an angry little boy. His face red. His dark hair in his eyes. Cursing. Using the large kitchen knife Eduardo cut through one of the rugs in the hallway. When he passed us the wife kicked at him. The music came loudly from the distant room. Hard off the white walls. At Eduardo and then her husband the wife made bold curses frothing at the mouth. Her husband was almost as strong as Eduardo but nothing to me. Still I did not need to hold his arms he was so weak.
    After destroying the house Eduardo ate some more of the guava and then came to stand inches from the face of the wife. He was enjoying the spit from her curses on his face. He ran his tongue over his lips moist from the guava.
    This is your warning. Eduardo said calmly to the husband.
    The wife tried to bite at the end of Eduardos nose when he came close to her but he only jumped back and laughed. Then he stepped forward and punched her in the stomach with his fist. I let her crumple to the tile floor. The husband did nothing. Catching her breath she still did not cry.
    Just so you know. Eduardo bent over some and said to her as the husband tried to put his arms around his wife. Just so you know and do not have to have this happen again. He passed the back of his hand across the kitchen. His voice just above the music. This is your warning.
    In the street Eduardo walked alongside me. We said nothing. He ran his fingers through his hair to make it neat again. Dabbed at the sweat on his forehead with his handkerchief. He was nervous some but now there was excitement in his eyes. A bounce in his step. A group of boys kicked a dried gourd back and forth down the stone street. Eduardo joined them for the moment that we passed. Laughing.
    Then some streets later he said.
    I should have said happy anniversary. That would have been better. I can never think of the perfect thing to say at moments like these.
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    W hen I was first in Canción and working on the hotel I took money many times from Eduardo for these small jobs. I never once questioned from where the money came and most of the times I only held the arms of men while Eduardo punched them in the stomachs or necks.
    I never hit a man in the face. He told me once. I worry about breaking my fingers. Hurting my wrist.
    One time I pulled Eduardo by the hair away from a man lying on the ground that he was kicking in the face.
    Do not let me kill this one even though I want to. He said picking the lock of the door. Cantana does not always know what is best. But he is still Cantana. Be sure to stop me.
    Eduardo leaned over the man curled on the floor gurgling soft cries. He wiped the blood of the man from the toes of his expensive shoes using the mans torn shirt. Eduardos face was flush with blood making the teeth of his grin very white. He stood over the man panting.
    You are lucky I did not wear my good suit. He said. And then later he asked me. Do you think that was a good thing to say then?
    After one of these small jobs one night in the dark of a cantina Eduardo spoke of holes the teeth of the dogs leave in the fleshy throats of men who bleed before an audience. He spoke of ragmen stinking of dog saliva and blood and mierda and of dogs whimpering