Loaf and Disorder

 

The loaf

I'm hungry, Manuel. That was the last thing Ricardo said to his brother as they sprawled on the thin mattress in their cramped one-room apartment. The place was a dump—peeling paint, cracked walls, and a mattress so thin they might as well have been sleeping on the cold concrete floor. Times were brutal. Jobs were nowhere to be found thanks to the kind of government corruption that made everyone fend for themselves. It felt like anarchy with extra paperwork.

“Beat me if I know what to do about it,” Ricardo groaned, yawning and rubbing his stomach. “I’m starving too.”

“Do you think we could boil some old socks and eat them?” Manuel asked, half-serious.

“Beat me if I know. We’ve eaten everything in this dump already. We need to find something out there. You know… we could always rob somebody.”

“Not me,” Manuel snapped, frowning. “It hasn’t gotten to that level yet.”

Ricardo laughed so hard he started coughing. “You fool, it’s way past that level. We’ve eaten the paper in the house, Manny. I saw you eyeing the door. Don’t even think about it.”

“What? It could be edible. Looks like tree bark.”

“Stop it, Manny. That door is the only thing keeping the wind from freezing us to death. You want us to die of hunger or die of frostbite?”

Manuel snarled, “And you want us to starve?”

“Just shut up and let me think. I can’t concentrate with your stomach rumbling like a garbage disposal.”

“Me? Yours sounds like a full choir practicing for the apocalypse.”

They kept bickering, stomachs growling in harmony, when Bonny—passing by their door—heard the whole thing. A wicked grin spread across his face. “These fools would do anything for food,” he muttered, already hatching his plan. He raised his fist and knocked.

“Did you hear that?” Ricardo asked.

“Hear what? All I hear is your stomach doing the Macarena.”

“Shut up and listen,” Ricardo growled, clamping a hand over Manuel’s mouth. Another knock. Ricardo struggled to his feet—weak from hunger—and shuffled to the door. He opened it and did a double take.

Standing there was a tall, well-fed guy with a neatly trimmed mustache, dark sunglasses, and a black leather jacket that screamed “I eat three square meals a day while you eat air.” He looked menacing, but in a polished, mob-movie way.

“Who are you?” Ricardo croaked, leaning on the doorframe because his legs were shaking.

“I’m a friend, man,” Bonny said, flashing a grin.

“I don’t think so,” Ricardo said, starting to close the door.

Bonny reached into his jacket and pulled out a fresh, crusty loaf of bread. Ricardo froze. The smell hit them both like a punch. Bonny waved the loaf slowly, watching their eyes follow it, watching Ricardo’s Adam’s apple bob like a yo-yo.

“Like I said,” Bonny continued, stepping inside without asking, “a friend. And this loaf is all yours… if you do one little favor for me.”

Manuel and Ricardo exchanged a look that said, “We’re screwed, but we’re also starving.”

“What kind of favor?” Manuel asked, voice cracking.

Bonny’s grin got wider. “There’s a diamond. Pretty little thing. Stolen fair and square. I need it delivered across town to a guy in a warehouse. You two take it there, hand it off, and walk away with this bread—and maybe a little extra cash. Easy job. You’ll be eating like kings by tomorrow.”

Ricardo licked his lips. “And if we say no?”

Bonny shrugged. “You go back to eating the wallpaper.”

They didn’t even last five seconds.

“Deal,” they said in unison.

The plan went off without a hitch—until it didn’t. They made it to the warehouse, handed off the diamond, and even got the promised extra twenty bucks. But as they stepped out onto the street, still clutching the loaf like it was the Holy Grail, two squad cars screeched up. Cops swarmed them before they could take another bite.

Turns out Bonny had sold them out. The diamond was hot, and the buyer was an undercover cop. Bonny had pocketed the real payout and tipped off the police.

Now Ricardo and Manuel sat handcuffed in the back of a patrol car, the loaf of bread sitting mockingly on the seat between them, untouched.

“Why’d we do it?” Ricardo moaned. “All for a stupid loaf of bread!”

Manuel started crying. “We fell because of bread, man! Bread!”

The cop in the front seat glanced back, a smug grin spreading across his face.

“Relax, boys,” he said, chuckling. “You’re headed to prison. They give you three free meals a day there. No bread needed. You’ll be eating better than you have in months.”

Ricardo and Manuel looked at each other, then at the loaf, then at the cop.

And for the first time in weeks, they didn’t feel hungry anymore.

They just felt stupid.