Francisco Panza Is a Kind-Hearted Badass

Mariah?

Laura?

Carla?

There’s a name in Martin’s head that he can’t shake, and suddenly his vision resolves. In front of him is a grisly soul wrapped in bandages and chatting happily with the skinny blond fellow next to him.

Francisco mothereffing Panza. Kayla! Martin suddenly snaps out of his daze and looks around. Ian and Francisco are sitting next to each other on the other side of the cell. Tommy is sitting directly next to Martin looking dejected. Max Enberg is nowhere to be seen, though there are a couple of other gentlemen occupying the cell with them. Then Martin receives a signal from his face warning him of impending pain.

“Ow,” he whispers, gently touching a couple of fingers to his throbbing cheek. Tommy looks to him quickly, then leans out in front of him.

“Are you alright, dude?” Tommy looks back and forth at Martin’s eyes.

“What the hell, Tommy,” he says, swatting him away. “You’re creeping me out.”

“Jesus, you’ve been out of it all night. The medics said you’d probably be okay, but we weren’t allowed to let you sleep. Do you remember talking to them?”

“Do I remember...” Martin tries to recall a recent memory. Kayla. “I remember Kayla and the chick with the...hand.” He covers up one hand with the other and shoves his stump in Tommy’s face.

“Yeah, Kayla and Sylvia. Then the cops showed up after you punched Max and Ian stabbed Francisco.”

Martin looks across the cell at the happy couple, chatting away about who knows what. He’s stunned to think that he actually saw Ian stab someone.

“Man, who’s such a dick that they’d call the cops for a little stabbing?” Martin chuckles.

“Herb,” Tommy says. “After he got the bouncer to break up Ian and Francisco, he called the cops himself.” The implications of that phone call are not good for Martin’s career. He can potentially work other locations, but The Glorious Hole is his most repeatable moneymaker. Martin just hopes that Herb isn’t too pissed about such an incident.

“Christ. I hope he wasn’t too angry.”

“I think he was more worried about everyone’s safety, really.” Tommy stares vacantly at the floor.

“And what happened to that ginger dick Max Enberg anyhow? Did he not get arrested?”

Tommy’s eyes go wide. “He’s uh. They took him to the hospital.”

Martin furrows his brow, trying to remember what happened to him. “What the hell? I don’t even remember anything happening to him after I tried to punch him.”

“Well,” Tommy sighs, “I saw you about to pick a fight with two people who could kick your ass, so I figured I’d try to get one of them out of the way as quickly as possible.”

“Oh yeah!” Martin suddenly recalls seeing Max flying through the air. “You actually picked him up and fucking threw him! That was amazing, man.” Tommy chews the inside of his lip.

“Yeah, well...his back might be broken. And one of his arms definitely is.”

A part of Martin wishes that he hated Max enough for this to be inappropriately funny, but he just can’t enjoy it. It’s too real.

“Oh dear.”

“Yeah...” Seeing that Tommy’s distraught, Martin wants to find a new topic.

“So what’s up with Francisco and Ian? Best friends? What the fuck is this?”

Tommy shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t really want to talk to Francisco after what happened at the club.”

“Oh, you wimp,” Martin says, standing up. He’s a little light-headed, but he manages to navigate to where Ian is sitting and plop down next to him.

“Hey Martin,” Ian says. “You feeling better now?”

“Sorry about your face, man,” says Francisco. “I just gotta step in when people are hassling Max. He’s more of the sensitive type, y’know? That’s why he keeps around a bruiser like me to keep the crazies off his back. He’s got some nutty fans, bro.”

“I...” Martin wants to be mad at Francisco, but he’s being really nice. “Didn’t this guy stab you a bunch of times?” Ian laughs.

“Yeah, I went sort of crazy there, huh?” He laughs again. Francisco smiles.

“What, bro? You think I haven’t been stabbed before?” Francisco starts to laugh.

“Are you kidding me?” Martin asks. “What the hell kind of life have you led to get to the point where being stabbed isn’t a big deal? Is that some kind of secret Mexican power?”

Francisco shakes his head. “Man, I’ve seen some shit. Back when I was just a little shit roaming the streets with my friends, we saw a couple of gangs clash in an alley behind some rundown houses, and I say to my friends, ‘What do they have to fight about?’ So I stepped in between their knives and bats and shit, and they stop fighting each other just long enough to tell me and my friends to get the fuck outta there.”

“And? Jesus Christ, dude, why would you get in the middle of that?” Martin is enthralled.

“Well what the hell were they fighting for? Drugs? Territory? Just trying to kill each other? Tell me what a good reason is for them to stab and beat each other in the middle of the neighborhood, bro. Now, I wasn’t as big as them, and I wasn’t as strong, but I told them to stop. You know what they did?”

Martin shakes his head.

“They beat the shit out of me and my friends. I woke up in the hospital with a tube in my throat and bandages on my face.” Martin stares at the scar running down his face. “One of those gangbangers slashed his knife right down my face as a reminder that people weren’t supposed to fuck with him or his brothers.”

“And what about your friends?” Martin asks.

“Two dead. Two in the hospital for weeks. They had my back, though. That’s what friends do.” Martin looks at Tommy, then back at Francisco. “I told myself I’d never get beaten up like that again, so I started working out, and I stayed the hell away from gangs. I ended up playing drums just as a way to stay indoors when I could. You ever feel scared to leave the house when you were a teenager?”

“I lived in the suburbs. The worst problem we had was people driving too fast while kids were outside.”

“Then consider yourself lucky, bro.”

“I do, man,” Martin says, nodding. “So did you ever track down those thugs and kick their asses or what?”

“Naw, man, at this point they’re probably dead or rotting in prison. They’re not my problem anymore. But you’d better believe it, if they ever come my way again,” Francisco places one hand around his neck, “I’m tearing out their fucking throats.” Martin and Ian have no doubt that he’s serious and fairly capable.

“You three!” An officer points into the cell at Martin and company. “And you,” he says, pointing at Tommy. “You’re all free to go.” He unlocks the cell door.

A wave of relief washes over Martin. “What? How is that possible?”

“It’s basically all Francisco,” Ian explains. “He has Max’s power of attorney while he’s unconscious, and he’s not pressing charges against anyone.”

“You’re not gonna press charges against Tommy? For real? I mean, I don’t want him to go to prison, but it sounds like he wrecked Max.”

Francisco sighs. “It was my job to protect him. It’s my fault he was hurt. I never should have let Tommy get close to him, so when he wakes up, I’ll explain it to him. I’ll take the blame. As for Ian, I already told you that getting stabbed ain’t too bad, man. Adrenaline covers the initial pain, and drugs take care of the rest. I’m feeling pretty good.” Francisco smiles and pats Martin on the shoulder as he walks out of the cell.

As Martin, Ian, and Tommy leave the police station, Martin has a painful realization. “Shit, guys, how are we gonna get home?” Ian and Tommy look at each other, but they have nothing to offer. “Dammit.”

Martin looks at his phone, carefully picking through his list of contacts in order to find a good friend who won’t judge him too much, or at least one that will actually come to pick him up. Then he remembers that he hasn’t seen Hilda in a while, and she has a car.

“Ah, maybe this’ll be our ticket home,” he says. It’s kind of early in the morning, so Martin prays that she isn’t heading to work yet.

“Hello?” she answers.

“Hiiii. It’s Martin.”

“Martin? Why are you calling me so early?” She doesn’t sound too groggy. There’s a chance he didn’t wake her up.

“Well, I kind of got arrested last night-” he starts.

“For what?”

“Uh...I started a fight at Herb’s club. Ian stabbed someone. It was crazy.” To Martin’s left, Ian mimics the stabbing motion and laughs.

“Martin, I don’t have the money to bail you out.”

“Ah, you assume too much. We’re actually free to go home, but all of our vehicles are by the club or anywhere but at the police station. Any chance you could swing by and pick us up, pleeeeease?”

“Well, I do owe you for helping me get my car back.” Martin’s heart leaps into his throat. He looks at Tommy. Uh oh.

“Oh yeah. I had kind of forgotten about that, to be honest. We at least just need a ride to one of our cars so everyone can get returned to their proper vehicle.” Shit shit shit. Martin had forgotten who Tommy was.

“Okay. I still need to get ready, but I can come get you guys before work.”

“Awesome. Thank you. You are an excellent friend.” And hopefully very forgiving.

Hilda laughs. “Alright, bye.”

Martin looks at Tommy and briefly considers calling Hilda back and telling her not to come.

“Fuck,” he says, and Ian nods in agreement. Martin plans on doing his best to ignore the coming catastrophe and just relax for a bit.