Dios Mio

Posted on Tue Jul 21st, 2026 @ 12:24am by Cain Cross

1,357 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Episode 0: X Lang Syne
Location: Crenshaw Mall, LA
Timeline: 1991

And now the dark angel finds his home again amongst the shadows of the night, a tragic youth and a maker of victims. Enter on a shop at the close of the day. The main road’s street lights add a natural glow to the white neon rosary that bears witness above the door. Cars are scant and walkers scantier.

He pushes the door open and steps inside. The subdued light of the place is red and atmospheric. There is silence and the sound of his pristine white shoes and the jingling of the bell over the entryway. Cain Cross is wearing worn jeans and a blue hoody and a mask of pitiless utility.

He steps fully into the warm light of the darkened shop. He senses a soul in pain before he sees him, but that is the most normal thing in the world in his experience. He approaches the back - hears the mumbles. Spanish - no. Latin. Latin prayers.

“Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum,” the words came in rapid bursts. He smelled flowers. “Benedicta tu in mulieribus.”

The man was short and brown with a shirt and tie. He knelt before a statue of the Mother of God. A ruby red rosary was wrapped around his hands. Dare Cain interrupt? Dare he take another step forward?

“Ay,” he said quietly. Meekly, almost. And the reverence he showed made him ashamed. “Ay! Get up.”

The little man shook at the sharpness of his voice. He turned around with the speed and jitter of a startled animal. His eyes were wide with fear. It was Cain he was looking at, and seeing him did nothing to calm the man’s nerves. He saw something there in the boy's eyes. Something he couldn’t quantify. The very thing he was praying to be liberated from.

“Dios Mio!” He exclaimed, scrambling backward on the ground to the very base of the statue of the Lady. “We are closed. Come back tomorrow.”

“I ain’t here for no candles and beads, man.” Cain said, his white teeth chawing on his bottom lip.

“What do you want?” The man was afraid the answer would be otherworldly and braced himself for it.

“Money. For the 60’s. I’m here to collect the stash,” Cain said. He rolled his eyes. “Get ya ass up and bring it so I can get up outta here.”

Despite the harshness of his words and tone, the younger man extended a hand to the older. It was an olive branch from a dead tree, or so it might seem. The old Mexican didn’t take it. He pulled himself up by his own power and skittered off without another word.

“And don’t try nothin’ stupid,” Cain called after him. He then turned his eyes to the statue. She was a woman of modesty and beauty. Her skin was brown and her hands were pressed together in prayer. She wore a garment of fine red and a blue mantilla the color of the night sky all covered with stars. Her unseen feet trod on a winged man. Cain felt a shiver. He smelled roses.

He heard music from behind him. He smelled guava, chilli powder, and rain. He turned and saw the beauty - the same one he dragged Miguel into the sky over weeks before. Maria.

“So, you’re the one shaking down mi Padre, Flaco?” She asked. She looked like the little man, but with smoothness and softness on her face and smoke in her eyes. The similarity was only skin deep.

“I ain’t shakin nothin here, Maria. I’m collectin’ serious stuff for serious people,” he explained.

“From my Papi’s safe,” she added, her face like stone. “That ain’t yours.”

“Hey, I ain’t takin’ his money,” Cain insisted without explanation. He couldn’t explain. It wasn’t his business to tell. “He does his job - he gets his cut.”

“Mi Padre ain’t doin’ business with the damn Crips, Cain,” she shook her head. “He’s square as fuck.”

“He does what he’s told. He gets what he’s owed. Even squares can do that shit,” He looked her up and down again. He licked his lips. “I guess you know my name after all, huh?”

“I know lots of stuff,“ She crossed her arms under her chest, drawing his eyes again. He wasn’t afraid of looking or saying what he wanted. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll call Miguel and tell him you’re here.”

Cain chuckled, running a hand through his hair. His laugh had a subtle rhythm like it belonged on a track.

“What, you wanna see a show again? I didn’t embarrass ya little boyfriend enough last time? Heard he was in the hospital with burns.”

She didn’t seem frightened about what he had done. She seemed disinterested in responding to his question or making good on her threat. Miguel wasn’t who she wanted to see.

“So, if you ain’t stealing our money, then we must be holding something for you and your boys. Correcto?”

“Said I can’t tell you,” he said. He licked his lips again as she stepped closer to him. She came toward him with shifting hips and a hidden grin.

“I should cut your ass and save the cops the trouble.”

“Quit playin’. I’m the one tryin’ to stick somethin’ in you.”

Laughter replaced threat. One pair of eyes met another’s lips.

“Chico, you don’t have the size or the stamina to put nothin’ in me,” she challenged, stepping closer still. She could feel his heat.

Now height and suave moved forward as well, looming over her like a new kind of statue. His eyes met hers like a kiss. Defiant. Certain. Eerily certain.

“Bet?” He asked, moving himself like a mac in a mirror. “Put ya money where ya mouth is or step off, Little Girl.”

“Hey! Get away from my daughter! Get away from her now!”

A parent’s love brought more courage than threats to his life or livelihood. The father stepped into the room again, his feet heavy and his brow low. A saint on a mission. No smell of rain and asphalt. He stood between them like a wall of willpower alone. A haze of something unseeable danced around him like armor.

“Ay, she stepped to me,” Cain said with a grin, his eyes still on the man’s daughter. She was a wild one. Cain felt the eyes of the Lady burning holes in his hoody.

“Maria? You know this Pelafustán?”

“No, Papi,” she said, her eyes breaking with Cain’s to show her father all the innocence of her childhood. “I seen him before out in the streets. I know enough to know he’s bad news.”

The father set his jaw. He lifted the shoe box in his hand and pressed it firmly against Cain’s chest. Whatever fear he had earlier had transformed into a mission to keep the two of them apart.

“Here is your stuff. Take it and get out of here.”

“Good lookin’ out,” Cain said, opening the box and looking inside. He closed it again.

“Tell your pandilleros this is the last favor I do for them. Find somebody else and don’t ever come back here!”

“Man, I ain’t tellin’ them that shit. They’ll send me back here tomorrow to kick ya ass into next month,” Cain said. He shook his head. The man wasn’t getting out. Nothing Cain said would change that. His kindness was telling it like it is.

“Get out! And stay away from my daughter!”

The dark angel was unfazed by the anger of the father. It was a struggle for control. Not control of him, but of life itself. The father thought if he got rid of Cain, he could extinguish the fire in his daughter’s belly. He could win influence back with her. He could buy her soul back from the devil. Cain walked to the door.

“She stepped to me.“

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