Chapter 10: A Reflection

In chapter 10,  we see Ricardo Morales enjoying his reflection in the mirror.  He then goes into a description of his neighborhood. He lives in a home with his family in a poor neighborhood, but a step up from where he came from three years ago. Ricardo reflects on how he considers his mother a Saint. 

Many Cones is a podcast novel based on true crime. The murders inspiring this crime fiction took place 30 miles from Chicago in Northwest Indiana, and captivated the area from the initial brutal crime scene all the way through and beyond discovery of a shockingly bizarre motive.   

Ricardo Morales was enjoying his reflection in the mirror.  His arms were extended, hands elapsed in front of his belt line, in body builder fashion. His shirt was off. He was flexing his pecs and turning slightly from side to side. People called him stocky. It’s not stocky, he thought, it’s barrel chested. It’s muscular.  

The noise outside his window was increasing and it broke his concentration. He went to the window and peered out. A group of at least sixty people filled the blacktop area abutting his residence; men, women, boys and girls prancing, dancing, and romancing. Four boomboxes played dueling Spanish stations. Although it was only early evening, the party atmosphere had already begun.  

Ricardo lived in the middle house of a cul-de-sac. His aunt and uncle owned the home. He and his mother had resided in the dwelling for the last three years. They shared the upstairs converted attic/bedroom.  Their respective beds adorned walls on opposite sides of the unfinished room. The flat was frigid in the winter and sweltering in the summer. The structure was small but a lifetime better than where Ricardo and his mother had escaped from.  

The neighborhood party developed every weekend night and once or twice during the week. The dead end was a perfect place for the revelers to assemble. Hidden from prying official eyes and yet out in the open. Alcohol and drugs were plentiful.  Sex was a macho peacock strut away. Arguments occurred at each gathering, usually late at night, but bloodletting fights and injuries were rare, invariably engendered by a slur or slight to someone’s pride.  

Ricardo had revered the revelry. Posturing, drinking, toking, flirting, boasting, fighting; everything that was important. His aunt and uncle had never attended the bashes and that angered him. They were normal people; they should have enjoyed themselves.  

At first, Ricardo prodded them to take part in the festivities. The excuse always given was that they were too tired from work. When the activities were in full swing, their two young children were not allowed outdoors. Ricardo finally came to the conclusion that they believed themselves too good to attend. Fuck ‘em, he had decided. Who needed ‘em?  

Ricardo’s mother never attended, never mixed with the crowd, but that didn’t surprise him. She was a saint. Even though they had very little, oftentimes nothing, she devoted every second of her time and energy to her little boy.  

About a month earlier, Ricardo abruptly stopped attending the gatherings. His friend, Richard Sparne, had shown him the error of his ways. Sparne introduced him to Mr. Albert Moffit.  Mr. Moffit introduced him to the possibility of becoming wealthy.  

Once he recognized the opportunities that were his for his taking, he realized that the people at the party were never going to amount to anything. They had no jobs, no aspirations, no chance to succeed. The drinking, drugs, and sex made the failures easier to accept, but in the morning, the failures still greeted you. Ricardo no longer courted failure. He had become an important man and very soon would be wealthy. Then he would care for his mother.  

Transcript

Chapter 10

Ricardo Morales was enjoying his reflection in the mirror.  His arms were extended, hands elapsed in front of his belt line, in body builder fashion. His shirt was off. He was flexing his pecs and turning slightly from side to side. People called him stocky. It’s not stocky, he thought, it’s barrel chested. It’s muscular.  

The noise outside his window was increasing and it broke his concentration. He went to the window and peered out. A group of at least sixty people filled the blacktop area abutting his residence; men, women, boys and girls prancing, dancing, and romancing. Four boomboxes played dueling Spanish stations. Although it was only early evening, the party atmosphere had already begun.  

Ricardo lived in the middle house of a cul-de-sac. His aunt and uncle owned the home. He and his mother had resided in the dwelling for the last three years. They shared the upstairs converted attic/bedroom.  Their respective beds adorned walls on opposite sides of the unfinished room. The flat was frigid in the winter and sweltering in the summer. The structure was small but a lifetime better than where Ricardo and his mother had escaped from.  

The neighborhood party developed every weekend night and once or twice during the week. The dead end was a perfect place for the revelers to assemble. Hidden from prying official eyes and yet out in the open. Alcohol and drugs were plentiful.  Sex was a macho peacock strut away. Arguments occurred at each gathering, usually late at night, but bloodletting fights and injuries were rare, invariably engendered by a slur or slight to someone’s pride.  

Ricardo had revered the revelry. Posturing, drinking, toking, flirting, boasting, fighting; everything that was important. His aunt and uncle had never attended the bashes and that angered him. They were normal people; they should have enjoyed themselves.  

At first, Ricardo prodded them to take part in the festivities. The excuse always given was that they were too tired from work. When the activities were in full swing, their two young children were not allowed outdoors. Ricardo finally came to the conclusion that they believed themselves too good to attend. Fuck ‘em, he had decided. Who needed ‘em?  

Ricardo’s mother never attended, never mixed with the crowd, but that didn’t surprise him. She was a saint. Even though they had very little, oftentimes nothing, she devoted every second of her time and energy to her little boy.  

About a month earlier, Ricardo abruptly stopped attending the gatherings. His friend, Richard Sparne, had shown him the error of his ways. Sparne introduced him to Mr. Albert Moffit.  Mr. Moffit introduced him to the possibility of becoming wealthy.  

Once he recognized the opportunities that were his for his taking, he realized that the people at the party were never going to amount to anything. They had no jobs, no aspirations, no chance to succeed. The drinking, drugs, and sex made the failures easier to accept, but in the morning, the failures still greeted you. Ricardo no longer courted failure. He had become an important man and very soon would be wealthy. Then he would care for his mother.  

Rosita Morales was a prostitute. Her mother had abandoned her when Rosita was twelve. She gave birth to Ricardo when she was sixteen. Rosita had lived on the streets, various missions, and empty structures since being on her own. Once born, Ricardo was always with her. The baby, and then child, and then youngster made the mechanics of plying her trade difficult, but she managed, often with the boy in tow.  

No matter the degradation, Rosita vowed that she would do whatever was required to keep her son, to feed him, and to care for him. For a fourteen year time period, she administered at least one blow job a day to strangers, in some dank, garbage laden alley, or dark doorway, her little boy usually stashed somewhere very close, usually within earshot. Ricardo at least had food and clothes.     

A few years prior to their move to the cul-de-sac, Rosita’s only sister was married. The sister eventually found her sibling in a Salvation Army dormitory. Rosita and her fourteen-year-old son were sleeping on the same cot. The sister brought the Madonna and Child home to her two-bedroom, meager residence, already too small for the existing family of four. The family worked every day to maintain what they had. They shared even though they didn’t have enough.  

With a real home for her son, Rosita was able to get up off her knees. She earned enough money to contribute to the household, and for the first time in a long while, wasn’t ashamed of her reflection in the mirror.  

Somehow, through hit and miss attendance at a myriad of public schools, constant prodding from his mother, and a quick grasp of things, Ricardo became well educated. After moving in with his aunt and uncle, he was required to take standardized tests to determine his entry level at the high school. Ricardo surprised everybody with his high scores, and he was placed in his proper age group class. Even though he spent precious hours mixing with the failures outside his home, and also running the mean streets, Ricardo sustained a B average and was on track to graduate at the end of the school year.  

Morales left the window and returned to admire his barrel chested, muscular body. He had no plans for the night. Richard Sparne had a date with his girlfriend. Ricardo chuckled to himself. Sparne had to be the only mob guy in the world who couldn’t get in his bitch’s pants. He would keep that secret for his friend. Ricardo had his own girl problems.  

Eleven months ago, at one of the weekend outdoor parties, Ricardo met a cute girl looking for fun. While impressing her, he discovered she was a freshman at his school.  He was surprised. He prided himself on scoping out all the attractive young ladies. They clicked, and she agreed to go out with him the following night.  

Ricardo’s uncle allowed him to borrow the family vehicle once a month, as long as he kept his grades up. Luckily, he hadn’t yet used his monthly allowance. He took the cute girl to the drive-in.  

She suggested they watch the movie from the back seat.  Within ten minutes, Ricardo was driving in to her. It was his first time at actual penetration. He fumbled around like a child in a toy store. They had no more dates.  

Two months later, he was notified that he was being sued for paternity. His uncle knew a guy who was friendly with some lawyer named Cahan. Ricardo went to see the shyster and liked him. Cahan was handling the case.  

The baby was newly born, they were in the process of going through blood tests. Before Ricardo had realized his life’s calling, he had told Cahan he would agree to the paternity and pay child support if the tests confirmed he was the father.  That, of course, couldn’t happen, now. A man of his position and importance paying child support to some chippy was as bad as Sparne not being able to get in his bitch’s pants.  

Ricardo had blown an appointment with the lawyer. Cahan’s fucking secretary had actually called him and said he had to come in. He had almost told her to go fuck herself and to never dare call him again. Out of a fleeting respect for his uncle, he kept his mouth shut. But no more.  He would go see this fucking Cahan guy and set him straight, his bitch secretary too.  

A soft, melodic voice with a beautiful Spanish accent interrupted Ricardo’s thoughts. He turned from the mirror and saw his mother. Ricardo smiled, donned his shirt, and hugged her tight. Ricardo told her that he was going out, not to wait up, and that he loved her more than anything in this world.

Morales went downstairs and called another one of Moffit’s boys, a minor player, but one with wheels. He had used up his monthly allotment and had no transportation. Maybe he should have a talk with his fucking uncle, too.  

The aunt, uncle, and children were all safely ensconced in their front room, watching television. Ricardo didn’t feel like enduring questions. He bypassed the group and found a quiet, comfortable kitchen chair. The sound of the TV competed with the cacophony raging outside. Ricardo ignored them all.  

While waiting for his ride, he daydreamed about the time, in the next month or so, when he would tell his mother she didn’t have to work, ever again. He would tell her as he was driving her to their new home.  

His spirits renewed, Ricardo decided to let the boy with wheels drive him around for a couple hours. Then they would go see Mr. Moffit. He would find out what had to be done to fix this goddamn paternity.