Operation Sancocho

The rooster was not a pet. It was an alarm clock from hell.

“¡KIKIRIKÍ!”

I jolted awake, hitting my head on the wooden headboard. It was 5:30 AM. El Diablo, the rooster who lived on the balcony next door, was screaming his morning anthem.

"I'm going to kill him," Tony mumbled from the floor, pulling a pillow over his head. "I'm going to make him into nuggets."

"Don't antagonize the locals, Tony," I groaned, rolling off the thin mattress.

Welcome to Day 2 of "The Bet."

My back hurt. The apartment was sweltering even at this hour. I walked to the bathroom—a closet with a drain in the floor—and turned the knob for the shower.

A sad, brown trickle spat out, then stopped.

"Bucket it is," I whispered.

I filled the blue plastic bucket from the kitchen sink (which inexplicably had pressure), dragged it to the bathroom, and used a plastic cup to pour cold water over my head. It was shocking, primitive, and strangely invigorating.

I dressed in my "local" uniform: jeans and a fitted black t-shirt. I made coffee in the greca on the stove, watching the dark liquid bubble up.

There was a knock on the door.

I opened it. Sofía was standing there, holding a bag of pan de agua. She looked fresh, wearing a yellow sundress that made her skin glow against the peeling paint of the hallway.

"You survived the night," she noted, looking past me at the sleeping lump that was Tony.

"Barely," I said, leaning against the doorframe. "Your neighbor's rooster has strong lungs."

"El Diablo is a tenor," she smiled. "Here. Bread. You look hungry."

"I'm always hungry here," I admitted, taking the bag.

"Good," she said, her expression turning serious. "Because today is the real test. If you want to survive two weeks, you need allies. You need protection."

"Protection?" I asked, sipping my coffee. "From who? Cata?"

"From the city," she said. "You need the clan."

She checked her watch.

"Be ready at noon. Wear something nice, but loose. We are going to my Abuela’s house."

"Your grandmother?" I choked on my coffee. "Sofía, meeting the family... that's... significant."

"Don't get excited, Gringo," she rolled her eyes. "It is not a wedding proposal. It is a vetting process. Doña Tata decides who stays in the neighborhood. If she likes you, you get fed. If she doesn't... well, good luck finding a taxi."

She turned to leave, then paused.

"Wake up the cousin. Yulissa is coming too. She says he needs to learn how to be useful."