Daniel Macias

     Jimmy Butterfly didn't get his name for being pretty.  The word "butterfly" referred to his weapon, and he could twirl that navaja and pitch it to a wall before your eyes could even blink.  The blade always struck the target.  He would never stab another guy, though.  Jimmy had a nicer method for people.
     A couple weeks ago Boca Gonzales got in a fight with Brian Baldridge.  Boca and I were on our way to class.  A group of cowboys walking the other direction nearly trampled us.  The leader was Baldridge.  He was about half a foot taller than Boca and me and weighed about seventy pounds more.  Neither he nor anyone else in that crowd cared if they knocked us down or not.
     "Pinche s***kickers," said Boca.  "I'll make him swallow that hat."  That about the nicest thing he could say about someone who made him mad.
     Baldridge heard what Boca said (so did the entire hall.) The cowboy walked over to Boca and pinned him to a locker.  Mi compadre hit the cowboy in the gut.  Believe me, it was a pretty big gut, and it could absorb a lot of pressure.  Baldridge stepped back and said, "I heard you talking about me, you spic."
     "Chupame, pendejo," was Boca's reply.  I wish he didn't say that.  Baldridge knew what that meant because he's been in fights with other Chicanos.  Once he heard that he swung at Boca so hard and all two hundred-however-many pounds of that hick just landed on Boca's jaw. I think Boca didn't see it because the cowboy used his left hand.  Anyway, Boca's lucky nothing broke.  He was knocked out for quite awhile though.  He was out of school for the rest of the day.
     Now here's where Jimmy Butterfly comes in.  After school he came up to me and asked me what happened.
     "Brian Baldridge clocked Boca and he hasn't woke up since."
     "I think I should have a word with that cowboy.  He needs to learn how to treat people with respect."  Jimmy was always direct like that.  He told you what he was thinking of doing and then he'd do it.  But I didn't know if Jimmy could beat Baldridge.  He was as tall as me and didn't weigh much more.  Besides, I thought this thing was over.  The cowboy hit Boca and that was the end.  "You do what you want to do," I said.
     I didn't see Brian Baldridge in school the next couple of days.
     One night I was cruising and I decided to stop at a convenience store.  I saw Baldridge limping to one of the booths, carrying a drink in his right hand.  His left hand was bandaged with a roll of gauze.  It looked like he put a pillow on it.
     The next day I looked for Jimmy Butterfly.  I found him in David Cordova's garage. Jimmy was putting in a new alternator.    He said, "I took care of that cowboy.  Now he won't hurt nobody."
     "I saw him last night.  He looked pretty bad."
     "I wish he hadn't have hit mi compadre."
     Then I asked him why Baldridge's  left hand was bandaged so much.  That was the first
time he showed me his butterfly.  It was shiny silver and very cold.  He let me hold it for awhile then took it back.  He flipped his wrist and suddenly the knife appeared.  The thin metal handle was longer than six inches and the blade was very thick.  Jimmy took a piece of paper from his pocket and rubbed it against the sharp end of the blade.  The navaja sliced the paper in half. Then Jimmy flipped his wrist again and the blade hid in the handle again.
     "You see," said Jimmy, "when I take care of someone who hurts a compadre, I take this butterfly and I cut his left hand.  That way, if he gets ready to hit another guy, he'll look at his left hand and think again."
     I decided not to tell him that Brian Baldridge was left-handed.  Instead, I nicely asked him what the point of his actions were.
     Jimmy said it was an act of humanity.  He said, "If everyone remembers the mark they receive for the bad things they do, for their sins, then they will remember and not do it again. They will repent."
     As he put his navaja away I saw a bundle of red lines across his left forearm.