Trejo by Danny Trejo & Donal Logue

Author:Danny Trejo & Donal Logue
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books
Published: 2021-07-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

GOODBYE TO ANOTHER LIFE

1986

When I started working on movies, I didn’t know it, but I was stepping into another life. But my uncle Gilbert was still in my old life, playing out that alternate timeline. He got out of prison, hit the street, and jumped back into what he knew best. He was collecting money for the biggest drug dealer in the Valley. If Gilbert showed up at the door, most people paid up immediately because they knew he was a serious dude. If you couldn’t pay, he’d take your boat or your cars until you could.

In worst-case scenarios, he’d get dark. Gilbert never raised his voice. If you have to scream, you’ve already lost. Instead, Gilbert would call someone who was late on their debt and say, “Tomorrow, I want you to call your wife and tell her that so-and-so, your oldest son, died. We can work out how it goes down, but it’s going down. Decide what kind of accident it will be, because you don’t want to have to tell your wife her child died because you didn’t pay your bill.”

He’d do it so calmly and matter-of-factly that whoever was on the other end of the phone would move heaven and earth to make their debts right.

But Gilbert himself was in a free fall. I knew it. He was living in Sylmar but would ride his Harley all the way down to Venice every night to see me and George after we got off work. He’d be waiting for us in my apartment with takeout from the pizza joint down the street.

Gilbert always carried a knife, a sword, and two pistols. One night he told me that even though he had thirteen grand in cash on him, he’d robbed a liquor store for eighty bucks on his way to my place. He was as addicted to the adrenaline spike he got from robberies as he was to drugs. It was a line crossing I knew well. At the end of my running days, I didn’t know if I was pulling robberies to support my drug habit, or doing drugs to support my robbery habit.

Gilbert was in full-on fuck-it mode, the way I was when I was on the run with Dennis, the way my dad was when he was racing in that Mustang. You’re doing everything you can to push it till you get stopped by a tree, by the cops, by a bullet.

We had a conversation about him selling cocaine. He said it was no big deal.

“No big deal? Remember Chuey’s?”

Chuey on Temple Street had been our connection for heroin back when I was fourteen. A few years later, Chuey had something new for us.

Gilbert picked me up early to head down to Temple Street. When we pulled onto his block, we saw Chuey’s whole family out on the front porch. His old lady was in her housecoat with curlers in her hair. The kids were crying. Gilbert parked.

“Where’s Chuey?” he asked.

She pointed inside. “Oh, Gilbert, he’s on that shit.

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