Free Boy Kills Man by Matt Whyman

now.
    â€˜Chew on it,’ he suggested quietly, like this was a medicine. ‘That’s right. Yeah. Now we understand each other.’
    I was standing beside the curtains, afraid I might collapse all over again. Jairo looked at me with eyes wide and white, and began to sink to the floor. I realised Alberto was guiding him down, putting pressure on the gun until he had him on his back.
    There, he cocked the hammer, said: ‘You’re probably wondering if I can use this, huh?’
    â€˜Oh God, no.’ I began shaking my head. ‘Brother, please don’t.’
    â€˜Let me tell you,’ he went on, ‘I had some serious doubts myself, but they made my first hit easy for me. The guy I had to cap was strapped to a fence, all beat up and spread out like a chicken. You know what they did to him next, Jairo?’ He paused, and with his free hand traced a finger across his throat. ‘They sliced him. Man, they went from ear to ear. I watched the whole thing, didn’t see I had a choice, even when they pulled his tongue down through the wound so it’s hanging out like a necktie. I had no idea something like that could be done. I didn’t understand how anyone could even think of such a thing! So, I’m looking at this poor guy as he suffocates on himself. He’s trying to scream but it just makes the blood bubble … and that’s when they told me to whack him.’
    This was Alberto we were listening to here. My best friend from way back, telling us the story in such detail I wondered if this was the first time he had ever put it into words. It felt like we were hearing some kind of unbearable confession, something you wouldn’t even dare reveal to a priest.
    Alberto glanced over his shoulder, said, ‘Sonny, you have to understand I didn’t
want
to cap the poor guy. I didn’t want to kill
anyone.
But the way they had got him already, it was the kindest thing to do. He was dying there, a slow, humiliating death, right in front of all these people.’
    â€˜For the love of Christ, Alberto!’ I dropped my hands and spread them, still dealing with the most immediate horror here. ‘Take the gun out of his mouth.’
    Alberto looked back at Jairo, and appeared to take a second to remember why my uncle was down there on the floor, sucking on a gun. He sighed to himself, tipped his head to one side and said: ‘I was putting him out of his misery, that’s all. I was doing the right thing, wasn’t I?’
    This time he really was seeking some kind of assurance, his voice sounding more tightly strung than ever. Jairo just carried on looking up at him, his horrified face frozen around that pistol.
    â€˜You did what you had to do,’ I said at last, struggling to keep it together as I told him what I thought he wanted to hear. My mouth felt bone dry, and I licked my lips before reaching out to touch his elbow. ‘But you don’t have to do that here.’
    Alberto heard me out but he didn’t take his eyes from my uncle. I tried to ease him away, my hand guiding him gently backwards. It was the wrong move this time, I realised, for he shook me off and flexed his finger inside the trigger guard. Uncle Jairo began to moan and breathe in spasms, like his lungs had shrunk and he couldn’t keep the air inside.
    â€˜Ever I’m asked to kill a man now,’ Alberto said next. ‘I just have to think of my first time. I don’t care what the guy has done so wrong to earn the hit. That’s none of my business. All I know is that by taking his shitty life away I’ll be helping him out somehow.’ At last, but without warning, Alberto removed the muzzle from my uncle’s mouth. He wiped his brow with his forearm, took a second away with his thoughts. ‘So long as I don’t get my vest messy,’ he said finally, ‘my job is done.’
    My uncle tried to speak, to utter thanks, but the air he gulped