"Juno is dead." Emanuel told me.
We we sitting on the terrace watching the sunset.
"Who was Juno?" I asked.
"You remember," Emanuel explained, "we visited his home during fiesta."
"Ah yes." I remembered climbing up a slippery hillside to get to a nippa hut perched on a ledge. I actually didn't know where I was. Just a small bamboo home. Everyone was drinking shots of whiskey.
"You want some?" One of the guys held up the whiskey bottle for me.
"No thanks," I replied, "I don't drink."
Which after thirty years still surprises me.
"Gee, he was young," I said, "how did he die."
"He got killed." Emanuel said.
"Wow, that's terrible."
"Nah, not really, no one cares, he was a killer."
It's moments like this that I am aware that I am about to hear some deeper truth.
"Huh?" I said.
"Juno was a killer for the gangs," Emanuel explained, "No one cares that he got it."
"Gee," I said, feeling very small, "how did they.. kill him?*
"I don't know." Emanuel said.
Caybago, 2025
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