The Dance of the Scorpions

By Sal Mirabal

The town of LAs Flores is home to a vibrant Chicano community, but drugs are flowing into the city at a dangerous rate.

The kingpin of this criminal enterprise is Mike Cotton, who hides his dirty dealings behind the respectable veneer of his construction company. The only thing Mike wants m

• Language: English
• Publisher: WorkBook Press
• Release date: Mar 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9781961845596

Sal Mirabal

Writer and therapist Sal Mirabal has dedicated his life to help at-risk youth. He studied at California State University, the University of Southern California and Loyola Marymount. He recived master's degrees in education, counseling, and educational psychology. Mirabal has lived in Los Angeles, most of his adult life. He is the author of Sotol, The Dance of the Scorpions and El Cerro de la Mancha Azul, in Spanish, all fictional novels. He incorporates Chicano culture in his novels. His fiction earned an honorable mention at the Writers' Day Festival at Mt. San Antonio College.

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The Dance of the Scorpions

Sal Mirabal

Copyright © 2023 Sal Mirabal

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ISBN-13:978-1-961845-60-2 (Paperback Version)

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REV. DATE: 06/27/2023

The Dance of the Scorpions

S ​A ​L ​M ​I ​R ​A ​B ​A ​L

For My Son

Joseph Mirabal

CHAPTER 1

The night was cold, and not many stars could b e seen in the cloudy sky. A slight breeze created distant sounds in the peaceful, moonless night. An adobe house, no different from the others scattered here and there, was nestled in the rural cal m. The house sat five yards off the dirt road. A white picket fence, not more than five feet above the groun d, encircled the house. The fence, with snagged and peeling stakes minus a gate, enclosed the old house like rotten teeth embedded in a decayed skull.

There was movement inside the house. Silhouettes of two men and a woman appeared against a white bedsheet covering the window that faced the road. Loud music and laughter echoed through the ancient wooden door and window of the house. The little party of three seemed to enjoy such a great time that they neglected the sounds out in the dark country night and allowed the serenity to soothe them into smug complacency.

A short distance from the house, three men waited inside a parked black car. The car had been chopped low, close to the ground, and had the look of a giant stingray—dark, sleek, and ominous in an ocean of night. The men inside the car studied the house with great interest and patience. A man in the back seat leaned forward and said something in a low voice to the two men who sat in the front seat of the car. The two doors of the car opened slowly. The men emerged, silent and determined.

Dressed in black, the men left the doors open with indifferent abandon. The leader of the group walked in front and supported a double- barreled shotgun in onearm, the barrels pointed to the ground. His eyes locked on the front door and window of the house. Nothing human or animal wouldrun by him tonight. No escape and no mercy. Death to all dopers flashed through his mind like wildfire.

They approached the house like good neighbors dropping in for a cup of coffee and a friendly chat. One man circled around to the back of the house and kept a close watch on a door that opened into the backyard.

The picket fence was in better condition, and that made it a little more difficult toget closer to the door. He was careful not toget too close andtrigger analarm for the dopers inside the house. He had a bottle of gasoline and prepared to light the soaked, limp rag that hung out of the bottle. He waited for the fireworks to start in the front of the house.

The man with the shotgun rested the barrels of the gun on the top rail of the brittle fence and pointed the barrels at the front door. The third man strolled toward the front window. He held a bottle ofgasoline in his right hand and a cigarette lighter in his left. A Colt Python .357 magnum revolver protruded from the pocket of his black leather jacket. A nod from the leader, and with one quick move, he lit the cocktail and pitched it through the window with remarkable accuracy. The bottle exploded, and fire and smoke erupted inside the house with ferocious intensity.

The woman screamed, and one of the men yelled at her to shut up.The front door flew open with such force that the hinges blew off. A shirtless man with long hair held a rifle in one hand and staggered out the front door. One barrel of the .410 buckshot ripped him almost in half. The impact forced his disjointed torso back toward the door. The second blast took away what was left of his knees and lower legs. The other man started firing the .357 magnum at the front door of the burning house and discouraged anyone else from running out.

Assoonasheheardtheexplosion,themanwatchingthebackofthehouselithisbottleandtosseditatthedoor.Thebottlehittheframeofthedoorandbouncedoffinto alargeplasticcontainerfullofrainwater.Itdidn’treallymatterbecausethehousewasalreadyinflames.Buttoensurethatthepeopleinsidewouldn’teventhinkoftaking ashortcutoutthebackdoor,hereachedinhisjacketpocket,pulledout a.45automatic,andemptied aten-roundclipatthedoor.Thefireandsmokepreventedhimfromseeing anakedmanand awomancrawlingontheirstomachsoutthedoor.Heheard asharpwhistleandwithdrewtothecartojoinhiscomrades.

He entered the car and sat in the front seat as before. The driver started the car, and they glanced at the house in flames for the last time before the car pulled away. They drove in silence. No high fives for these troopers.

Chapter 2

The mayor’s office was on the seventh floor of the new building and had wall-to-wall windows. Mike Montes, the temporary mayor of Las Flores, sat in his leather chair with his reptile-skin dress boots propped up on his desk. He sipped his morning coffe e and admired the panoramic view of the majestic Turquoise Mountains, a few m iles to the northeast. It was a bright, clear, and warm mid-autumn morning .

As Mike sipped his coffee, he noticed the wispy swirl ofgrayish cloudsdancing above the mountains. They seemed to be choreographed by the naturalforcesonthemassivestageofthesky.Onlyafewdaysago,herecalled,thedroplets ofrain that danced through the spears ofsunlight and drifting cloudshad crystallized like tears from heaven and given the mountains a golden hue.Thenasquicklyastheyappeared,thecloudshadfloatedsouthandleftthefragrance ofwet soil and the sun to shine unencumbered. He welcomed theclear view and bright sunlight after many years ofhazy, smoggy mornings inthe Los Angeles area. He was back. And this time to stay…unless—nothing.He refused to think about it. Not now anyway.

ThemountainscontinuedtoseduceMikeintoleavinghisoffieforashorthikeonthoserockycrevicesofhisyouth.Hedidityesterday,buttoday he had some important appointments he didn’t want to cancel. The jobofmayorwasnotassimpleashehadimaginedwhenhewashonoredwiththe office.Itwasonlyforacoupleofyearsorlessuntilthegeneralelection.Hewassurethepoliticosandtheirbusinessinterestswouldcallforaspecialelectionbeforehistwoyearswereuptogethimoutandelectoneoftheirown. The job ofmayor did come with a few perks, he had to admit. He hadreservedparkingonthefitierofthebuildingandallthefreecoffeehecould drink. But the best one was a vote on all city council resolutions. Sincethere were only four city council members, he was the determining factor onall tie votes. It was a fact oflife that could make him fast friends or treacherousadversaries, depending on where the cards fell. Mike was not easily intimidatedby childish games, but he was vulnerable to honesty and good manners.

LasFloreswasagrowinglittlecity,andthepopulationdemandedservices that an expanding municipality was not always able to provide. Themove to add two or even three city council members was on the books, butthesquawkerswerestillsquawking,andnothingwasaccomplished.Thelobbyistsrepresentingdiverseinterestgroupscameknocking,andMikeofferedthemanolivebranchbecausethatwasallhehadtooffer.Itwasnot up to him, he declared. It had to go through the city council and thenappearontheballotforpeopletovoteonit.Butthecitycouncilhadtodecide from what part ofthe city the new council members were going tobe elected. The Eastside wanted another member and believed they meritedonebecausesomefelttheirinterestswerebeingneglected.TheWestsideandthedowntownareaalsodemandedone,asdidtheNortheast,wherethepopulationwas expanding.Theonlyoneswhowerenotcryingwerethe citizens ofChiva Town. They were OK with their one and only…evenifhewasuseless.Theywererealisticandunderstoodtherewasnothingthey could do about it.

LasFlores—Mikerecalledhisnativehistory—wasabusyplacewaybeforetheSpanishortheMexicanssetfootinthearea.FromtheRio Grande on the west to the Eastside barrio, everything in between wasaparadiseofgentlestreams,lushtrees,wildflowers,verdantmeadows,andplentyofgame.TheearlyNativeAmericanscalledittheValleyoftheLostChildren.Raidersfromvarioustribescapturedyoungchildreninraidsandskirmishes,broughtthemtothevalley,andbargainedfortheir release or sold them as slaves. Some ran away, but most had no placetorunto.Thechildrensleptinacave,andfoodwasneveraproblem.Someremainedinthevalleyforyearsbecausethewarriorswhobroughtthemwerekilledordisappeared.Whenafewbecameadults,theylefttoclaimtheirtribe.Butsomenativespersistedandclaimedthatthechildrenneverreachedadulthood;theyremainedchildreninthevalleyandneverleft.AnotherversionMikealsoreadaffirmedthatthemedicinemanwhocared for the children enchanted them and promised them that they wouldremainchildrenandliveinthevalleyforever.Theraidersstoppedtakingchildrentothevalleybecausetheyfearedthepoweroftheshamanandweretroubledbecausethevalleyhadbecomeahometospiritchildren.Thechildrenofthevalleywereneverseenagainduringthelightofday.

Buttherewasplentyofevidencetosuggestthatthechildrenfrolickedatnight,returningtotheircavebeforedawn.Nooneeversawthecave,andits location remained unknown.

Mikesippedthelastofhiscoldmorningcoffeeandplacedtheemptycupontheexpensivemahoganydesk.Whatawasteoftaxpayers’money,hethought.ThenherecalledahistorianwhohadwrittenthatCoronadoandhisdogs,insearchofthecitiesofgold,spentacoupleofdays in the valley on their way north. The historian also wrote that one ofCoronado’ssoldiersonguarddutysawthelostchildrenastheyplayedinastream,nakedasthedaytheywereborn.Asdawnadvanced,thesoldierfollowed the children to a cave between two hills. He observed only youngchildren and no adults, with the oldest not past ten or eleven years and theyoungestthreeorfouryearsold.Hedidn’tfollowthemintothecave.Heclaimedhewasexhausted,havingbeenupallnight.Thetruth,assumedthehistorian,wasthatthesoldierwasnotaltogetherthatbrave.Inthemorning, he disclosed to the captain ofthe guard what hehad witnessed,and they searched for the cave but never found it. The captain accused thesoldierofbeingdrunkondutyorfallingasleepanddreamingofnakedchildren.ButthenativeguidesandtheslavesCoronadohadcollectedbecamerestlessandwantedtoleavethevalleyassoonaspossible.Theycomprehended they were treading on sacred ground, and the spirits couldprovechallenging.Eventually,settlersfromMexico,wearyfromtrudgingacrossthedesertontheirwaytoSantaFeandpartsnorth,settledinthefertile area close to the river.

Mikegotoffhiscomfortablechair,walkedtothelargewindowsinhisoffice,andfacedeast.Hestudiedthepatternofdevelopmentasitspread east–northeast toward the mountains and southeast instead ofwesttoward the river, as many speculated, even though there was growth in thatareaalso.Hecouldseenumeroushousingtracts.Hesawparks,schools,and a new hospital. An extension college and new roads were coming andgoing. He could see construction at a busy pace. Some people were makingmoney, he thought, bundles ofit.

RafaelCandelariastruttedintoMike’soffice.HeignoredMike’s secretary.Heworeadouble-breasted,light-blue,Italian-cut,tailor-made silk suit with a black tie and a white linen shirt. The white shirt accentuatedthe stocky man’s singed complexion. His hairwas thick, long, and grayingbut styled down, slick, and sassy.

Mr.Mayor,myfriend.RafaheldoutamanicuredhandtoMike.Iapologize because I am early. I have a busy, busy day ahead ofme. I receivedyourmessageyesterdayasIwasunpackingfrommytripabroad.Nowtellme, what is this urgency that cannot wait that you must see me about?

Mikeshookhandswiththeoldermanandofferedhimachair.HewalkedbacktohisownchairandfixedhiseyesonRafaelCandelaria,orRafa,ashewascalledbyhisintimatefriendsandothers.MikestudiedRafa’sthinpurplishlips,whichoftenpartedinanamicablesmileandrevealedtobacco-stainedteeth.ButheknewthatRafawasquickofmindandruthlessinhisarticulationanddeliveryof insultsaswellaspraise.And that Rafa represented the Eastside barrio as a council member, whichdidn’t help matters any.

Welcomeback,Rafa,Mikefinallysaid.Youhadagoodtrip.Icansee.Aboutthemessage—Idon’trecallsettingaspecificday.Iapologizefor any inconvenience, but you’re here, bright and early.

Don’tapologize,myfriend—noneed.Ihavedonethesameonmanyoccasions.IdidvisitCapriandSorrentowhenIwasinItaly.Youwereright,Mike;theyarebothbeautifulplaces.Iwanttogobackandspend some more time in that paradise.

Don’t we all, thought Mike. I’m glad you had a great time, Rafa, but thereason Iwanted to talk toyou is this. And he placed half a dozen color photographs ofa dwelling in need ofserious repairs on the desk in front ofRafa.

Rafa picked up the photos in vibrant color, and his smile disappearedas his charcoal, deep-set eyes scrutinized the photos as ifthey were photosofhiswifewithayounglover.Buthekepthiscool,atleastonthesurface.Thehouseinthephotosshowedaleakyroofandadirtfloor.Theopenceiling exposed water-stained beams and no plaster on the walls. Unprotectedelectricalwiringcrisscrossedthehouse.Therewasnoevidenceofrunningwater…but plenty ofevidence that people occupied the slum dwelling.

That house belongs to you, right, Rafa? Mike asked, in as moderateatoneaspossible.Yourentitout,andit’sintheEastsidebarrioon—letme guess—Mesquite Street, not far from the tracks, right?

Rafacontinuedstudyingthephotos.Hedidn’tsayaword.Andthenheplacedthephotosonthedeskandattemptedasmile.Heclearedhis throat, as he did when addressing the council members, out ofnecessityor habit; it was difficult to say with Mr. Candelaria. Where did you get thesephotos,Mike,andhowoldarethey?LookslikeahouseIgavemysonorders to repair sometime last year. I’ll check on it. That doesn’t look right.

Iagreewithyouthere,Rafa,Mikesaid.HewasrelievedthatRafahadatleastadmitteditwashisproperty.Itlookslikethird-worldhousing.CommunityImpactbroughtmethephotoswhenyouwereonvacationinEurope.Theythreatenedtotakethemtothenewspaperifyoudon’tmakesomerepairs,andrealpronto.Now,asyouknow,Rafa,itain’tgonnalookveryappealingforthecitizensofLasFlorestosuspectthatthecitycouncilman from the Eastside is a slumlord. The more damaging photos ofyoung children inside the house and out, they kept. They are willing to meetwith you in private and discuss the complaint. Ifyou refuse, they will engagean attorney and let a judge decide ifyou are indeed in violation ofcode—

Iknowthecode,Rafainterrupted.Hismoodturnedsour.IhavealwayssupportedCI,always.Everytimetheirgrantcomesup,theyhavemyvote,butiftheythinktheyaregoingtoplayslop-barrelpoliticswithme…they are out oftheir league. I will not stand by and let a—

Before Rafa completed his sentence, the Cotton brothers, Mike andhisyoungerbrother,BillyBobCotton,alsoknownasPorky,interrupted.TheyjustwalkedinasRafahad.TheyalsoignoredEstrellaGallo,Mike’syoungandinexperiencedsecretary.TheyhadnorespectforMikeorhisoffice,especiallyMikeCotton.BillyBobjustfollowed.Intheoldmayor’sofficedowntown,theformermayor,EddieCanDoMoreno,hadaprivateconcealeddoorinhisofficethatledtothebasement.Ifhedidn’twanttoseecertainpeople,hejustdisappeareddownthestairstothebasementandcrossedthestreettoFatHenry’s,wherehesippedcoffeewiththecustomerswhilethevisitorswaitedandwaitedforhimintheoffice.EventhoughBudaHenrywastoofattoplaythattrick,noone justwalkedintohisoffice.EddieMorenohadbeeninofficeasmayoronlyacoupleofyearsafterBudaHenryretired.Eddiewassoonofferedapoliticalpositioninthegovernor’sofficeinSantaFe.Hejumpedatthechance,andMikeMontes,havingrecentlyarrivedfromCaliforniawithalaw degree on his résumé and money in the bank, was offered the mayor’sgig.Neitherpartywantedtoriskarivaltocastthetie-breakingvotewhenitcametocitybusiness.SoMikeMontes,atagethirty,wasfavored—theyall figured he would be easy to manipulate, naive and young as he was, untila more seasoned political animal could be sworn in.

WhentheCottonbrothersbargedin,Rafafishedupthephotos,placedthemintheinsidepocketofhissuit,andsmiled.Hispencil-thinmustache plastered to his upper lip was barely evident.

Oh, the brothers with the original names, Rafa announced. Come on in, why don’t you? It’s open-door hours at the mayor’s office. And he chuckled. Mike Cotton, the taller ofthe Cotton brothers, an orange baseballcaponhishead withblackblocklettersthatread,PraytoJesusorGotoHell, looked at Rafa with clear, steel-blue eyes and ignored him. He turnedhis square jaw to Mike, who sat behind his desk.

Look,Mike,MikeCottonutteredbeforeanyoneelsesaidaword.Igotabeefwithyou.Itoldyouseveraltimesthatthecityistaxingusoneveryloadwepulloutoftherockpit,alongwiththecountytax.That’sadoubletax,andthat’snotfair.Before,weonlypaidthecounty.Nowthecity wants a cut, and you didn’t bring it up for a vote before the full council.I was there.

AndasItoldyoubefore,Mikesaid—hewasalittlepissedattheintrusionbutmaintainedaciviltone—thecityownsacoupleofacresoftherockpit,andthecityneedsthemoney.Thecountywasthesolecollector ofthe tax, but not anymore. To change it back to the way it was,youneedaunanimousvote.HowamIsupposedtogetaconsensusandaclearmajoritywhenthemoneyisearmarked,mostofit,tofinanceourpublic schools?

TheCottonbrotherswerethelatesttojointheracetomakecement into concrete and fill the needs ofthe growing construction boom.Rafa had been in the business for years and had even built his own cementplant.Constructioncontinuedunabated,andconcretewasindemand.EventhoughtheCottonbrotherswerehomebuilders,theywantedsomeofthe action in the booming concrete market.

Mike Cotton was fully aware he couldn’t muster up the votes in thecitycouncilwithoutMikeandRafa.HeturnedhisattentiontoRafa.Hepointed at Rafa with a meaty hand. And then, scarcely moving his thin lips,hesaid.Nexttimeoneofyourdriverspullsinfrontofoneofmytrucksat the pit, there’s gonna be hell to pay.

Rafastoodupandmovedbehindhischair.Thesewerefighting words, but he kept his cool.

Yousureusehellalot.Oh,Iforgot.Yourpastorpreachesthereligionofhate,hewantedtosaybutchangedhismindandsaidinstead.Your pastor preaches hell and damnation.

Fuck you know about my religion?

Oh.Me!Youknowthatword.AndRafausedhishandstocoverhismouth,mockingtheupsetMikeCotton.Yourpastor,Rafacontinued.He dropped his hands from his mouth. He is gonna whip you on the buttwith his big belt, but you probably like it.

MikeCottonlookeddownattheshorterRafa.Hiseyeswereblazing, and his face flushed red. He said in a hateful voice, You’re nothingbut a floor scrubber, Rafa, and that’s all you’ll ever be.

That’s what your mother screamed when I nailed her in her stinkingass, Rafa blurted out in a loud, clear voice and did not back away from thelarger man.

Mike Cotton’s face twisted, and his wire lips trembled as he made a move toward Rafa but was held firmly from behind by his brother, Billy Bob.

BillyBobwrappedhisarmsaroundMikeCottoninaclinchandrestricted his arm movement.

A big mistake, thought Rafa. Lightweight amateurs. You do not cutoffthe only weapons the man has, his arms andhands, especially ifthereisachancehemightbepokedinthegutbyashank.WhenRafasawthelook that Mike Cotton gave him for the remark he made about his mother,hisrighthandslidintotherightpocketofhistrousers.Heslippedhishandaroundthepearlhandleofthesix-inchItalianstilettoswitchbladehehadbroughtbackfromItaly.Histhumbcaressedthebuttongently.Ifthebeastattacked,hewouldusethechairtotamehimlikeatigergoneberserk.Ifthefoolplacedhisgrubbyhandsonthechairandpulledonit,Rafawouldslicehimwiththeblade,justabovethebellybutton,likeheslicedapremiumwatermelononahotsummerday.HisbloodandgutswouldspilloutlikemeltingcrimsonJell-O,andMikeCottonwouldtaste the Italian importinall itsgrandeur. Rafawasnot worriedabout thebrother, Porky.Porky hadcowardtattooed on hisforehead likeablinkingneonlampadvertisingboobnightatatoplessjoint.Theonlythingthatbothered Rafa was that his new suit was going to get bloody, but what thefuck, he thought. He had a closet full.

MikeCottonwasforevergratefulthathisbrotherheldontohim.Hecouldhaveputhimdownwithanelbowtohisbiggut,buthehadn’t.HehadseenRafa’srighthandgointothepocketofhistrousers.Hehadbeen around greasers all his life, and he was aware that a blade in the handwasbadnews.EventhoughRafawasolder,andhewasbuiltclosetotheground,hewasstockyandheavyinthechestandshoulders.HewassurehecouldputRafadownandmaybeout,butwiththechairbetweenthemandablade,itcouldbeastruggle.Andhemighthavetopayahighpriceforthehonor.Besides,MikeMonteswasfromtheEastsidebarrio,aswasRafa,andhedidn’tknowMikewellenoughtodependonhimstayingneutral.Asforhisbrother,hisbrotherwasjusthisbrotherandunpredictable as rain clouds in the desert.

Mike finally stood up and said, That’s enough. Stop the crap. Havesome respect for the office, ifnot for me. This is not a cantina where youcan throw blows at will, for Chrissake.

Rafaalmostburstoutlaughing.MikeMonteshadthefightinhimwhenhewasyounger,Rafarecalled.Hewasatoughlittleass-kickerandcouldpunchitoutwiththebestofthem.NowMike,withhisjet-black,thick mustache merging with his goatee, perfectly trimmed, and not a hairon his ruddy lips entering his mouth, was not the same, thought Rafa. Helooked more like an underwear model. Tall, slim, and fit. He could displaybikinibriefsinaglossymagazinefortheincrowd.Mike,inhisopinion,Rafa pondered, was a paper tiger, declawed by the mistress ofthe mansionsoasnottoscratchtheexpensivefurniture.Hewasspoiledbytheyearsin the mild climate ofSouthern California and the soft living. Rafa figuredthatMayorMikewouldn’tdoshit.Allhewoulddowastopickupthephoneandcallforanambulancetocomeandcollecttheguttedmoosebeforethegutsandgorestainedhisotherwisetidyofficeandsplatteronhis tailor-made suit and expensive urban-dude boots.

AftertheCottonbrothershadleftinahuff,fasterthantheyhadbargedin,convincedthattheyhadlostthistime,Rafaremainedstanding.Mikesatinhischairagain,attemptingtorelax.Thiswasridiculous,hethought.Grownmenactinglikeboysonbooze.Itwouldn’tlookgoodifRafacutMikeCottoninhisoffice.Andeventhoughhedidn’tseeablade, he was certain Rafa had one and would not hesitate to use it becauseRafawasaproductoftheEastsidebarrioandstillcarriedthatdare-meattitude.Whatamess,hethought,closetoanall-outfight,andwhatwashesupposedtodo?Hewasnotgoingtogetbetweenaragingbullandamaniacwithablade.Hellno.Hewasn’tbornyesterday.Hetriedtocalmdown, at least as calm as Rafa was. The man didn’t seem to be bothered atall, Mike thought.

So,Rafa,yougonnatakecareofthatbusinesswiththehouse?Mike finally asked, after Rafa just kept staring at him with a silly grin on hisdark-chocolate face. What’s your message to CI?

Rafawasallsmilesoncemore.Hewashappyhe’dheldhisownagainstthewhitedogs.Hewasnotintimidatedbythewhitedogsoranydogs.Heknewmostofthemwouldneverfight—justtalkthetalk.Thebig Rottweiler might be different, have a little more bite than snarl, but hedoubtedit.ThedogwantedtoimpressMike,buthehadtogetthroughhim to do it. And Rafa would never bend the knee to any asshole, dead oralive.

Tell ’em I’ll take care ofit. OK, Mike? I’ll talk to Max. He’s alwaysbeenareasonablechap.RafaglancedathisCartierwatchandsaid,Gottago, Mike.As hewalkedout ofMike’s office,hesaid tohimself,Fuck Maxand CI. In a voice dripping with honey and a grin showing teeth, he said tothe secretary, Estrella Gallo, See you later, pretty woman.

Chapter 3

The young students marched like soldiers in cadence, going south on Santa Fe Street to the corner house on Calle Catolica, which ran east and west. They all had blue baseball caps on with lightweight matchingjackets. In front ofthe cap-s was stenciled the letters, CI, and on the backofthejackets,animageofatreegrowinginthepalmofanopenhandwiththewordsaboveitinlargeblackletters,COMMUNITYIMPACT.Theymarchedinpairstothebeatofaninvisibledrum,ledbyWilliamMoreno, nicknamed Red Dog.

Whenthestudentsarrivedatthehouse,theystoppedandbrokeformation. Max Luna, the director ofCommunity Impact, addressed theminformallyandthankedthemforshowinguponaSaturdaymorningtohelp.HegaveWilliamalistofjobsandadvisedthestudentstoputtheirjacketsinthefrontseatoftheCItruckparkedinfrontofthehouse.OthermenfromtheEastside,allvolunteers,unloadedacementmixerandbagsofcementfromthebedofthetruck.Thestudentsspreadoutaround the small house and talked and laughed as William gave them theirassignments.Somestudentsstartedmixingpaint,whileothers,cleaningutensils in hand, entered the house to tidy up. A few with large plastic bagsandrakesdisappearedtothebackyard,whilethemenmixedthecementandadjustedthenewwindowfacingthestreet.Theoldonelayontheground to the side in charred pieces, broken and useless.

Max, after seeing that everyone was on task, continued his conversation with Rodolfo Acosta, a reporter for the Daily News ofLas Flores.

See the pieces ofthe old window, Rudy? The cocktail hit the wood and exploded on impact. The wood on the outside took most ofthe hit. Ifit hadcrashed throughtheglassintothehouseandlandedonthewoodenfloor—forget it, man—the whole inside ofthe house would have gone up in flames.

Was the widow in the house, and is she OK? Rudy asked, adjusting his glasses as they slipped down the bridge ofhis nose.

Fortunately,shewasvisitinghersister,wholivesinthesmallerhouseintheback.Itwasn’tthatlatewhentheythrewit,butlateenoughfor her to bein bed, whichshe wasn’t. Itwas a loudcrash, and the smokeandflameswouldscarethecrapoutofanyone.Idon’tcarehowoldoryoung one is.

Cops have any leads yet?

Ha!Thecops,Maxresponded.Ohyeah,theywerehereandputuptheirfamousyellowtape.Wecouldn’tgetinthehousetoassessthedamage until yesterday. Ofcourse, they have no leads—do they ever?

Rudypusheduphisglassesagain.Helickedhislipsandstudiedthemenfittinginthenewwindow.Theyhadremovedtheoldframeand patcheduptheancientadobearoundthewindowsothenewonewouldfitinsnugly.HefeltthefrustrationinMax,alongwiththeanger,buthehad to get some answers to his questions ifMax expected a write-up. Bad-mouthing the Las Flores PD was not going to get anything published. Maxhad given him a tour inside the house, and the damage inside was not bad.Thequestionremained,whywouldanyonewanttofirebombawidowinher late seventies?

So, Max, Rudy said. His hands were in his pockets. He didn’t wanttotakenotesbecauseitmightseeminsensitive.Whodoyouthinkpulledthis off ? Some young punks acting crazy or…

Notonmywatch,Maxwantedto say. Insteadhesaid,Theyhitthewronghouse,Rudy.Youcanseeitfromhere.AndMaxpointed.Seethethirdhouseon thesamesideofthestreet?Seeit? Thathousewasoccupiedbysomelowlifessellingdrugs.Wecomplainedtothepoliceonseveraloccasions.Theyfinallystoppedby.Afterthevisitbythecops,thescummovedouttothecountryside,notfarfromLasFlores.Andtheycontinuedtodowhattheyweredoinghere.Thepeoplewhothrewthegasbombdidn’tknowforsurewhichhousetheywantedtohit,buttheyknewwhotheywantedtosendamessageto.Andtheywentforthefirsthouseonthecorner,thewidow’shouse.Theyhadtobepeoplefromoutoftownornotfromthebarriotomakethatkindofmiscalculation.That’swhatIthink, Rudy.Idon’tthinkthepaperwillprintthatbecauseit’ssomethingI can’tprove.Butithastodowithdrugs.Andaboutthat,I’mpositive.

Bothmenremainedsilentforacoupleofminutes.Finally,MaxputouthishandtoRudyandsaid,Thanksforcomingby,Rudy.Writesomethingupifyoucan.Themorepeopleareaware,thebetterforthecommunity. The Las Flores Sun will never do it.

Did they at least come out, Max?

Areyoukidding?They’restilltryingtocompetewiththeElPasoHeraldortheAlbuquerqueTribunal.Whatajoke,huh?Anyway,Ibettergettowork.Ineedtohelp.Themenseemeyappingsomuch,they’regonna think I’m trying to take over your job, Rudy. And both men laughed.

Maxputonhisworkglovesandjoinedthementohelpwiththewindow.Isitgoingin,Frank?FrankCamposhadanoldwoodenlevel inhishands.Asheplacedthelevelonthewindowframe,hesaid,Theyalways go in, Max. You just have to work with it a little.

WasFranciscoMonteshereyesterday?askedMax.Hehelpedtheother two men hold the metal frame ofthe window in place.

Oh yeah! He was here yesterday. He was here the day after the cowardsthrew the firebomb. But the men in blue had the tape up, and we couldn’t doanything but wait. Until we put up a fuss, they even refused Alma’s request totakesomefoodtothesistersatthehouseintheback.YouknowFranciscoandAlma—theyarealwaysthefirstonestohelpout.Whatabouttheirson,the mayor, Mike? Frank asked, a big smile on his face. Has he been out here toassess the damage and get the city to help fix up the place?

Yeah, right. And Max laughed. It’s Saturday. Maybe after he plays acouple ofrounds ofgolfhe might take the time to get over here. I doubtit. Who knows, Frank? He might be in Santa Fe visiting his girlfriend.

Youknow,thatnewgolfcoursetheyopenedintheLomas—itissomething.Eighteenholesofpurebeauty.Wedidsomeworkuptherebefore it was completed. Man, what a place. You play, Max?

I will when I retire, Max said without hesitation.

Theyclosedtheoldcountryclubgolfcourse,saidFrankashe worked the level. What do you think they’ll do with all that property?

Homes,answeredMax,holdingontothesideofthewindow. Homes and more homes. And as long as the snowbirds continue to freezein the northern states, they will retire here and buy homes in the sun.

That’smoreworkforus,Max.Andtheresheis.She’sinperfect.HoldthebabyrighttherewhileIanchorherass,Franktoldthemanwhowas holding the window from inside the house. The other man used a shovelto fill up the foundation with concrete around the window, and Frank leveled the concrete with a spatula on the sides ofthe window frame.

Youknow,Frankcontinued,Franciscodidmostoftheworkyesterday.He’stheexpertonoldadobebuildings.See,withthedoubleadobe, we had to scrape out a lot ofthe damaged wood and crushed adobefromthesidesandtop.Franciscousedspecialfillerandadvisedustosetthe window in the center and leave a ledge on the inside and outside. I wasthinking ofleaving a larger ledge onthe outside. I wasn’t sure ifwe couldcenterthebabyinthemiddle.Nowthewidowcanhavealedgeforherpotted hierbas inside and outside.

Wow, Max said, impressed. I never gave it that much thought. The man touched it up with concrete.

Youdon’thavetoholdontoitanymore,Max.It’sin.Seethetopofthewindow?That’sthemostdifficultpart.Inthenewhouses,it’sjustwood,sheetrock,andstucco.Onanoldadobe,theframehastobesetinperfectwithnospacestoholdair,ortheconcretemightbucklewhendried.Therainwilleventuallysoakthroughtheplasterandcreateproblems in the future. The old-timers were pretty good builders with thetoolsthey hadtoworkwith. We have togive them credit, andmanytimeswe don’t. That’s what Francisco does, and that’s why we always have work.Every house you work on is different. Just like women. And Frank lookedaround to see ifthe kids were in hearing range.

Max,WilliamMorenocalledoutfromthesideofthehouse.Do you have a minute? We’re here in the backyard.

Maxpeeledoffhisworkglovesandwalkedtothebackyard.Largeplasticbagsfullofweedsandjunkwerepiledinacornerofthegood-sizedyard.

Hey,guys,youalldoingagreatjobouthere,Maxtoldthestudents,andhemeantit.

Bobby,aboyoffourteen, lookedathisshoes,thenlookedatMaxandsaid,Ithoughtwewereheretodosomework,Max.IsawGracedoinghernails.

You’rejealousbecauseshedidn’tdoyours,youlittle—Brenda!Williaminterrupted,beforeshecompletedhersentence.Bobbygrabbedhiscrotchwithhisrighthand.

Youwish,Brendamouthedwithawhisper.

BobbysmiledandaskedMax,Hey,Max,arewegonnagoto classafter?Ifeellikekickingsomeass.

Doesthesunshinein LasFloresduringsummer? Ofcourse,weare,myfriend.

Where’sJerry?Hesaidclasswasafterwefinishedhere.Idon’tseehimorhearhim.

That’sbecausehe’snothere.Hetooktheothertrucktopickupsomestuffweneedandgetyouhardworkingguyssomefood.

Soundsgood,chimedintheotherstudents.

Max.Williamgotcloseandsaid,It’sGrace,youknow?I’lltakecareofthingsouthere.

Maxwalkedintothehalf-paintedkitchenandaskedthekidsforGrace.Thekidswerepaintingthekitchenwallsandpointedtothelivingroom,half-doneinbluepaint.Grace,agefifteen,wassittingonametalstoolwithherhandscoveringhereyesandherlongblackhairoverherhands, sobbing.

Maxgavealongsighandenteredthelivingroomandsatonthefloor next to her. He said nothing. He wished that William’s wife, Ruth, hadcome along.

Why?Why?Gracesobbed.Whyher,Max?She’smyabuelita’sfriend.Icallherabuelitaalso.Sheisgentleandkind,Max.Sheisold;shenever hurt anybody, never. What ifshe dies? She’s still scared. Who can besowickedandsomean?Findthem,Max;you…andJerrycanfindthem.Iknowyoucan,and…andhurtthemplease,Max.Youcandoit.Iknowyou can.

Ifit was only that easy, Max thought, but he said, Grace, the policewillfindthem.Thatistheirjob.YourabuelitaisOK.Yousawher.She’sgonnabefine.Andyouknowwhyshe’sgonnabefine?Becauseyou’rehere. Because your friends are here. Because we are all here to help her andtoshowherthatwecareandthatweloveher.Thebadguys—don’tgivethem a thought; love is stronger than hate. You proved your love today andevery day you give her a big hug, and that means more to her than anythingelseintheworld.Youdon’twanthertoseeyoucrying,Grace.Shewon’tunderstand, especially around your friends. Now go wash your face and goto the back house. Then give her a hug with the biggest smile on your facethat shows you are here for her and will always be.

Yeah,Max.Yeah?Graceasked,asshewipedthetearsfromher face with her hands.

Sure. Do it, Max assured her as he helped her stand up.

Grace gave Max a shy smile, walked to the kitchen sink, washed her face, and ran out to the house in the back.

William walked in as Grace ran out. She OK? he asked Max.

Hope so. That’s a tough one. Max sighed.

Hey,Max,Iwasthinking.Sincewearepaintingthelivingroom,maybewecanpeelofftheoldlinoleum.Wecanstripthewood,stainit,polish it, and seal it. What do you think?

That’s a great idea, William. Let’s do it, man.Do you think the widow would mind?

Idoubtit.Shetoldmetodowhateverneedstobedone.Justmakeitlivable.

Jerry,Jerry,Jerry’shere!thekidsyelled.TheywereallexcitedasJerryRivera,Max’sassistantdroveupintheotherCItruck.Theotherstudentsrushedoutofthehouseandfromthebackyard.Hebroughtusfood! they yelled. What did you get us, Jerry? the kids asked as ifstarving.

I gotyouguysburgersandburritos,Jerryanswered,ashe gotoutofthetruckwithtwolargepaperbags,onestuffedwithburgersandtheother one with burritos. He was wearing a black tank top, and his tattooedbiceps bulged as he carried the bags to the kids. Jerry Rivera was a big man,almost six feet, and lean—one hundred eighty pounds ofsolid muscle.

Did you get us some Cokes? asked a skinny kid with glasses.

No,sir,Jerrysaid,exposingwhiteteethwithabigsmileonhispecan-colored face. You can drink water from the tap. I’m not going to addtoyourparents’dentalbills.Youdrinkthatjunkallthetimeanyway.Youcan go without it for one meal. Sure you can.

Uh, moaned some ofthe students.

Do the burritos have meat or—

No!Jerryshotbackbeforethestudentcompletedhissentence.Last time some ofyou picked out the meat and chucked the rest. This timeI got you bean and cheese. Take it or leave it.

Asthestudentswerehelpingthemselvestotheburgersandburritos, Bobby yelled out, Hey, Jerry, are we going to practice today? I feellike kicking butt.

Beforetakingabiteofherburger,Mercysaid,Yeah,likethelasttime. You had tears in your eyes when you sparred with Brenda.

Bobbymadeafaceandsaid,Theywerenottears,you…you…I had something in my eyes.

Yeah, Brenda’s gloves. And Mercy laughed out loud.

Thestudentsgiggledbetweenbites,allstandingaroundJerry.It was obvious they liked him and wanted to be close to him.

Grace came running from inside the house. Jerry! Jerry! What tookyou so long? she asked in a loud and excited voice. Before he answered, sheasked, Can I take a burrito to my abuelita and one for her sister?

Sure,ofcourseyoucan,andtakesometoMaxandWilliamand the men over there by the window.

Thank you, Jerry, she said, a cheerful smile on her face. She walkedaway with the food to where Max and William were sitting close to the newwindow and talking with Frank and his men.

I’mgoingtocheckoutyourwork,Jerrysaidandwalkedintothehouse.Thestudentsfollowedhim,eatingtheirburritosandhamburgers,as ifhe were the Pied Piper ofHamlin.

Jerrycameoutofthehouseandintothebackyard.Youguyshavedoneafantasticjob,andlookatallthosebagsoftrash.Wow,I’mimpressed.

Thekidsbeamedwithpride;therewasnothingthattheylikedbetter than impressing Jerry Rivera.

Can you beat up Max? asked Nelson Sola, the skinny kid with glasses.Shut up, stupid, said one ofthe kids, his mouth full ofbeans and cheese.

Jerry looked at Nelson. Skin and bones. Nelson was the smallest kidin the group for his age, but he was smart and always needy for attention.

No.AndJerrysmiled.NoonecanbeatupMax—atleastnoonethatIknowof.

He looks older than you, Nelson added. He loved the attentionhewasgetting.

OhmyGod!Brendaexclaimed.Yapendejo.Andhereyeswere daggers aimed at the wimpy Nelson.

No, Jerry answered with the patience ofone who has been bulliedfor years. We’re the same age. Maybe because Max has long hair and I haveshorthair,andhehasondarkshadesandIdon’t.Ageisonlyanumber,anyway. So don’t get hung up on it, because it can mess up your life.

But you can take him? insisted Nelson, with a half-eaten burger in one hand and a burrito on the other.

Listen, Nelson, and the rest ofyou, asserted Jerry. No one can beatMaxbecauseMaxusesreverse psychologytowinhisfights insteadofhishandsandfeet.Letmegiveyouanexample.SayaguywalksuptoMaxall mad and blurts out, You are acting stupid, Max. Max, instead ofhittinghim, would ask in a calm voice, What is your definition ofstupid? Tell mesothatIknowwhatstupidisandmakesureyouarenotactingthesameway. Then we will both be the better for it. The guy is confused and thinks,see what I mean?

WhatiftheguysaidsomethingaboutMax’smother?continuedNelson, kno wing Jerry wouldn’t shut him up.

Shut up, fool, several students said aloud.

No,it’sOK.AndJerryraisedhismusculararmstoquietthemdown.IftheguysaidsomethingbadaboutMax’smother,Maxwouldaskhimifheknewhismotheronfirst-namebasis.Ifnot,perhapshewasangryathisownmotherforslappinghimwhenhe ate his younger brother’s candy. That is reverse psychology.

Youguysshouldtryit.Anditworks,I’dsay,inmostcases.

What ifthe guy slapped Max in the face? asked Nelson, still on a roll.

UUUOOO! came the taunt from the kids. You gonna get it now, idiot.

Wellthen,Maxwouldasktheguyifhefeltbetter.Ifthatwasgoing to make the rest ofhis day a happy one. Ifthe guy said no, then Maxwouldputouthislights.AndJerrylaughedoutloudandcouldn’tstop.Finally,hesaidbetweenlaughs,I’monlykidding,guys.Onlythendidthestudentsgetthejoke.TheybrokeoutlaughingandpokedNelsonontheshoulder, but not hard. IfI could only tell them the truth about Max, Jerryreflected, rubbing his eyes with his hands, they would have nightmares.

Stopit,Nelsonwhinedasthestudentscontinuedtopokehimonthebackandshoulders.Theylaughedandjumpedupanddownlikejumping jacks.

Canyouleadusbacktothecenter?Nelsonasked,stillconfused about Jerry’s reply. William is mean; he put me in the back ofthe formation.

That’s because he doesn’t know his left foot from his right, Brenda said, laughing. He kicks people in front ofhim.

Idonot,respondedNelsonandgaveBrendaadirtylook, twistinghismouth.

Williamisnotmean.Heisstrict,butheisnotmean,Jerryclarified.Learntouseyourwords,myfriend.Wordscanbedangerous.Anyway,I’llpracticewithyoubeforewegoback.You’lldofine,Nelson;practiceisallyouneed.

Andcoordination,yelledoutoneofthestudents,andtheothersgiggled while placing their trash in the plastic bags.

Checkoutmykick,Jerry,Bobbyshoutedasheattemptedaright- leg roundhouse kick and almost fell on his ass.

Don’tgosohighontheleg.Trytokeepthehandshigh,andyou’llgetit,Jerrysaid.

While Jerry was in the back with the young soldiers, Max and William were sitting around the almost-finished window, talking with the men.

Max,sittingonanoverturnedmetalbucket,waseatingthelastofhis bean-and-cheese burrito. He said to Frank Campos and his compadres,whowerealsoeatinganddrinkingcoffeefromthethermostheyhadbrought along, William thinks it’s a good idea to redo the floor in the livingroom, Frank, what do you think?

Taking a sip ofcoffee and putting the burger wrapper in his pocket,Franksaid,Itcanbedone.Icheckedthewoodundertheoldlinoleum,anditseemstobesolid.Theproblemwouldbepeelingofftheold,thinlinoleum.Iwouldn’tusechemicals.Itmightdamagethewood,andthecleanupisdifficult.ThechemicalstuffisOKtouseonconcrete,likeonthekitchenfloor.Onwood,Idon’tknow,butthat’sjustmetalking.I’vebeen with Francisco Montes too long. He took another sip ofcoffee.

Iwasthinking,Williamsaid,alittletooexcitedwiththeidea.Wecould peel offthe old linoleum, strip the wood, and put some stain on it.

FranklookedatWilliamandthenathistwocompadres,whoremained silent, and he worked hard not to smile.

That’sagoodplan,William,butifyoudon’tmindmesaying,Iwouldattackitthisway.Iwouldcarefullyremoveallthelinoleumfromthe wood, and I mean every bit. Do not use any ofthe chemical solutionssold, as I mentioned. They make a mess ifyou’re not careful and can leavechunksofmeltedlinoleumonthewood.Thisisanall-the-way,on-your-kneesscrapejob,withnoshortcuts.Afterthat,Iwouldremovetheshoemoldingaroundthefloorandwall,andagain,verycarefully.Youmightbe able to reuse them, but ifyou crack them or break them, you will needtobuysomenewones.Thenyouhavetonaildownanylooseboardsandsand the wood with a vibrating sander. Use sixty-grit sandpaper ifyou canget it. After you have cleaned the floor, use a clean cloth to coat it with thestain. Allow the stain to penetrate the wood, and let it dry. When the woodis dry, you can apply a thin coat ofpolyurethane on the floor or any othersealer you choose. And here is the trick, William; many don’t do it becauseofthetimeandtosavesomemoney,especiallyonalargefloor.Butona small floor like this one, I would go over the floor with fine steel wool afterthe poly is dry. The steel wool fills in the open pores left on the wood andleavesitsmooth.Youcandoanothercoatofpoly,ifyoucareto.Placeanice rug in the center, and you got yourselfa floor, my man.

Wow,Ineverconsideredallthat,Williamadmitted.Inevereventhought about removing the molding around the walls.

Youdon’thaveto,butyou’lleventuallystainthemolding,andthejob would look half-finished.

Maybe you can come and give us a hand, Frank, ifyou’re not too busy.

Maybe, Frank replied. He was ready to change the subject. Work is alittle slow right now. Ifwe all dig in, we can knock it offin a couple ofdays. Hey, Max. Frank turned to Max. Does the widow have any family nearby?

Maxwasawakenedfromadeepthought heseemedto get lostin.ShehasasoninColorado.Hecomesonceayeartovisither,Ihear.Hestays a couple ofdays and leaves. She also has a daughter somewhere. ButI don’t know ifshe ever visits.

That is sad, Frank said. Did the widow tell them about this…this incident?

Thewidowtoldmethatshedidn’twanttoworrythem.ThatshewasallrightbecauseGoddidn’twantheryet,andherchildrenknowingabout it wasn’t going to change anything. Her words.

Iwonderifthey’llcometoherfuneralwhenGoddoeswanther,Frank said, and he scratched the stubble on his sunburned face.

Oh,they’ll come.Rushin.Burythewidow,selltheoldhouse,and split. What else is new, Frank?

ThekidshadpiledupthebagsoftrashfromthebackyardonJerry’s truck. The tools and cement mixer were cleaned up. The men werehavingahardtimepushingupthecementmixeronthebedofMax’struck.Theboardstheyhadusedtounloaditwerewobbly.Jerryliftedthemixerwithbothhandsandplaceditonthebedofthetruckwithoutbreaking a sweat.

¡Hombre fuerte! exclaimed Frank Campos.

It’s a small one, Jerry said, a little embarrassed and not wanting to callattention to himself. OK, boys and girls, let’s go back to the center and havesome fun, he called out to the kids and escaped the looks from the men.

The students were all giddy. They pushed and shoved until William walked up to them and shouted, Formation!

Nelsonyelledout,Uh,Jerry.Yousaidyouweregonnalead usback.C’mon,yousaid.

Get your jackets. Put them on. Straighten your hats, and get readyto march, soldiers, William ordered, ignoring the whiny Nelson.

A couple ofthe students were already handing out the blue jackets.They had their names stitched on the front, so there was no confusion onwhat belonged to who. They put their jackets on and were in formation ina matter ofminutes. Frank and his compadres were impressed.

Formation!Williamshoutedoutagain.NelsonSola,tothebackoftheformation.

Chapter 4

It was Monday morning between ten and eleven, and the director of Community Impact, Max Luna, and his staff were having their weeklystaff  meetinginhisoffice.Outside,theskywasclearblue,andpuffy white clouds floated by like large luxurycruise ships taking the luckyfewtotheendoftheworld.ItwasthemiddleofOctober,andthesunhadalreadyoutgunnedthemorningchill.Themorningsunbroughttheolder folks, the retirees, and the housebound out to sit with neighbors andfriendsintheirfavoritespotandtakeintheraysofthesun.Itwascalledlasolanera,asunnyspotwheretheycouldrelaxandexposetheirachingbonestothesun.Butveryfewwoulddoitinthesummer.Hereintheseheavenly sunny spots they gossiped, smoked, and joked. They commentedon the silly and the serious. They enjoyed the sun for an hour or two, untilthe conversations became redundant or the sun burned too hot. Then theyshuffled back to their jacales until the following day. It was a ritual exercisedby the native New Mexicans for centuries during the winter months.

InsideMaxLuna’soffice,thethreemensatdrinkingcoffeeandjoking around. Max Luna and Jerry Rivera were playing the show-me-what-you-knowgame.Moviesweretheirfavoritesubject.Onewouldnameafilm, and the other would give the name ofthe director, year, and actor oractresswhoplayedthepart.Iftheyknew.Theolderthemovie,themore challengingthegamebecame.WilliamMorenodidn’tparticipatebecausehe couldn’t hang with Max and Jerry. He knew only the latest movies. Andthat wasn’t much fun.

White Heat, Jerry called out to Max.

Let me see, Max said, and he pulled on his lower lip with his fingers.Let me see. White Heat, OK. And his eyes lit up. It was directed by RaoulWalsh in1949, and the actor was my man James Cagney.

Very good. And Jerry smiled. Hit me.

Tristana, responded Max quickly.

Ohyeah,Jerrysaidashelickedhislips.Tristana,1970,byLuisBuñuel,theSpanishfilmmaker,andmyhard-ongirl,CatherineDeneuve,when she was younger.

Excellent, my man. Max grinned, and his white teeth sparkled. Your turn.

Christopher Strong, Jerry called out.

Oh,goingdeep,huh,Jerry?Letmesee—ChristopherStrong.Givemeaminute,myfriend.Maxsaidnothing,andthatledJerrytothepossibility that Max had no clue. Christopher Strong, Max repeated slowly.Ofcourse!HisfacelituplikeakidseeingthelightsofaChristmastreego onforthefirsttime.DirectedbyDorothyArznerin1933.Andbytheway, she was the only major female director working in Hollywood duringthattime.TheactresswasayoungKatharineHepburn.Abeautifulandtalented actress in anyone’s bed—I mean book.

Jerry gave Max a high five as they both laughed like silly kids jumpinginandoutofmuddypuddles.Isavedthatoneforyouforalongtime,brother. And by the way, that one was a pre-code movie by all accounts.

William also chuckled. He didn’t find it funny, but he didn’t want tobe the odd man out. What’s a pre-code movie? he asked, unafraid to ask.

Thosewerefilmsdoneinthetwentiesandthirties,Maxadded.Then the Motion Picture Production Code, also known as the Hays Code,wasadoptedin1930butnotentirelyenforceduntil1934.Manybelievethat it seriously stifled the American cinema for over thirty years.

See, William, Jerry jumped in. During those years, pre-code movies hadstrong-willedfemalecharacters,racyplots,andsnappydialogue.SomeweregangsterfilmslikeThePublicEnemy,donein1931,starringJamesCagney.Another one was Red Headed Woman with Jean Harlow in 1932 and others.

Arzner,inChristopherStrong,Jerrycontinued.ShewasthefirstonetoputtheyoungKatharineHepburninpants,andofcoursethatturnedher,manybelieve,intoaniconforfemaleindependenceinthatmovie.Anyway,by1968,televisionandforeignfilms,whichwerenotbound by the production code, had practically nullified the code.

Max turned serious. He didn’t want to leave William out ofthe loopand changed the subject. Do you guys think the scumbags we hit the othernight had anything to do with the firebombing ofthe widow’s house?

WilliamMoreno,theassistantdirectorofCI,calledRedDogbecause ofhis red hair, also serious, said, I believe some other dopers wereafter the same scum, but they didn’t have the balls to confront them.

Whatdoyouthink,Jerry?Maxasked,ashescratchedhisbeard with his fingers.

Jerry Rivera, who was in charge ofathletics and maintenance, said,The dopers knew they were on a hit list, so they moved out oftown. Theythought they were safe and out ofreach in the countryside.

Yeah,pitchedinWilliam.Buttheywerestillbuyingandsellingfrom someone and to someone close by. Maybe someone in Las Flores—maybe someone in the barrio.

And, that’s the someone we have to find, Max added.

Ruth Moreno walked into the small office without knocking. Ruthwasapetitewoman.Shewasprettybutnotbeautiful.Shehadatightlittle body and was evenly proportioned, and that made petite women lookprettierthantheyusuallywere.Sheworeherblondishhairinaponytailand no makeup. She was wearing tight jeans with high-heeled black leatherboots that made her look taller than she actually was. Ruth was married toWilliam and was not intimidated working with three strong-willed men. ShehadadegreeinbusinessadministrationandaminorinsocialworkfromUNM. She was pleasant and upbeat and had a smile that would melt steel.The kids loved her, and the parents respected her for her good nature andhonesty.ShewasthefinancialofficerforCIandinchargeofvolunteersand tutors, among other things.

Goodmorning,guys,Ruthsaid,breathingheavilyasif shejustcompletedalong-distancemarathon.I’msooexcited.Guesswhosignedon with us as a volunteer tutor.

Tell us, the three men said in unison.

You will not believe it, Ruth continued. She placed her small handsonherfacetocontainherexcitement.Claire,ClairedeLune,today,thismorning, in my office.

Who’s that? Jerry asked, not knowing why everyone seemed so pleased.

That’sClairisaAmadorCotton,Maxanswered.KnownasClairede Lune. The wife ofMike Cotton. The self-made million-dollar man andowner ofCotton Construction, among other enterprises.

Shecalledmyofficethismorningandaskedifshecouldcomeinandtalktome,Ruthcontinued.Sheleanedforwardinherchairasifconfessingadeepsecrettoapanelofmonksinafifteenth-centurymonastery.Ithoughtshejustwantedtodropoffsomedonations,likeused clothing and other items, things, you know? But then out ofthe blue,sheaskedmeifweneededvolunteertutors.Iwasgoingtosayhellyes.Anddon’ttellmeyou’reinterested.ButIsaid,withmybestsmile,oh,wealways need tutors. And she surprised me when she said, in her soft, calm,andeducatedvoice,Ihavesomesparetime,andIwouldlovetohelpoutwith the children, ifit’s OK. I wanted to jump up and hug her right there,butIdidn’t.Isaid,inacalmvoice,eventhoughIwasbusting,OK,Mrs.Cotton, I’ll show you our schedule for tutoring, and you can select the timeyou want to come in. Claire, she said in that sweet voice. Just call me Claire,please,andyouchoosethetime.Shesignedupforthreedaysandmaybefour during the summer. I’m so excited, William. Wait, there’s more. She islicensedasaneducationalpsychologist.Shecandotherapywithchildrenandadults.Canyoubelievethat,youguys?Ourprayersareanswered.Wedon’thavetoreferoutordependontheschoolsanymore.Shecandoin-housetherapyrighthere.Andonemorething:Iknowyouguysareanxious to start the meeting, but hear me out. We talked, and she admiredthe blue jackets our students wear. Guess what. She offered to buy twentyforourguys,thewinterjackets.Sheknowsaplace,andtheywillputthelogo on, and ifwe like them, she’ll get twenty more. Ifwe like them, ifwelike them—we’re gonna love them. She knows a place; you know what thatmeans? Guys. No cut-rate hand-me-downs; that’s what that means.

Williamleanedoverandgavehislovelywifeakissonthemouth.Shesatnexttohimintheoffice,facingMax.That’sbig,Ruth.That’sbig.Andhesaiditinthesincereandtenderwaythatonlynewlymarriedcouplescanexpress.I’msoproudofyou,babe.Andthere’sno hurry forthe meeting, ifyou need more time. He held her hand. It was obvious thathe still loved her and loved her very much.

No, Ruth, take your time, Max added. No rush. You care for some coffee?

No thanks, Max. I just got carried away. But Claire de Lune! Wow! She is so together. OK. I’ll stop now.

Jerry, the new kid on the block, couldn’t get why Ruth was gettingall emotional about a rich socialite volunteering to help out. Isn’t that whatrichwomendidtogetoutofthehouse?hewondered.Well,anyhow,he wasstilllearningtheinsandouts.Hewassuretogetitintime.Butfornow,hedidn’tknowwhattosayordo.HewantedtocongratulateRuthandgiveherahug.Buthewasnotsureifthatwasappropriate,withherhusband and all.

OK.I’mgood,Ruthsaid.Andshepattedherlight-browneyes with her open hands.

You want to start? Max asked. Or do you need a few more minutes to…

No,no.I’mgood,Ruthinsisted.Andshetookoutapenandpadfromherpurse.Wehaveabouttwenty-fivegrandinthebudget.Thathastolastusuntilthenewyear,whengrantmoneyrollsin,andthecityandstate match up, ifthey are. With Mayor Mike Montes as the tiebreaker, westandachance.TheACandheatingweregoingtoruntwentygrand,butwenegotiatedandgotitforten.RayLara,thecontractor,willtakethewrite-offthat I was sure he was going to take; he just needed a little bit ofconvincing.Thisisaverylargeandoldbuilding,andthat’swhythecityleased it to us for a dollar a year. The ceiling is high, and the pipes are bad.Andtheroofleaks.Butweneededabiggerspace.AndRuthsmiled.Wecanworkwiththekidsthewholesummerandwon’tfreezeinthewinter.I’msoexcited!Andsheclappedherhands.Oops.Sorry,sheapologizedand blushed.

Anyquestionssofar?Shewantedtolaugh,shewassohappy,butshe held it in.

Whatabouttheredevelopmentmoney?Maxasked.Howmuch came in for the roof ?

Onlyafractionofwhattheypromised,Ruthreplied,allseriousagain.AndthathappenedbecauseofMikeMontes.Hearguedthatsinceitwascityproperty,thecityshoulduseredevmoneytoproperlyrepairandpayfortheupkeep.Butbeforeitwenttothefullcouncilforavote,thecommitteeallocatedsomemoney.FranciscoMontessupervised,andFrankMorenoandhismendidtheheavylifting.Wepaidthemwhatwecould,anditwasn’tmuch.I’msureitcoveredmaterials.Theroofneededto be repaired before anyother work got started. Threeclassrooms are inoperation.Thecollegekidsstillhelpoutwiththetutoring,andtheyareagodsend.Oh,beforeIforget.Thehighschoolwantedustohelpexpandtheir teen pregnancy program. To have the girls over here, and they wouldshareexpenses.Isaidthanksbutnothanks.Imean,Ifeelforthegirls.Our program at this point is not equipped to have a nurse on hand, specialcounseling, nutritional needs, and with time, child care.

Andbesides,wemighthavetoprovidesomeabortioncounselingifweexpectsomefundsfromtheproabortionorganizations,Williamadded. And that will bring the antiabortion fanatics to ourfront door andscare the shit out ofour kids. You did good to refuse, babe.

Let me see, what else? Ruth studied the notes on her pad. Oh, thecommunity meetings during the evenings—I’ve had requests for more fruitand veggies, less sugary junk, and to hold the meetings earlier, especially inthe winter months, and make them shorter. Any questions? I’m all ears.

OK. William, your turn, Max said as he turned to William.

Williamclearedhisthroatasifhewaspreparedtogiveafarewellspeechtohisgraduatingclass.HeplacedhispenandpadonMax’sdeskandsaid,First,Iwouldliketothankmybeautifulwife,Ruth,forallthehardworkshehasdone.Ibelievewearealldoingourbesttomakeourproject work, and it is working. Saturday was a very productive day. We did our best to help an elderly woman restore her modest home and uplift her spirits. The kids were involved, and they did a hell ofa job.

Sorry I missed it, babe, Ruth stated and touched William on the arm.

No, Ruth. You don’t have to apologize. Youwere here gettingthings done.

Shit. Jerrythought. IsWilliampracticingforaLabor Dayspeech? Get on with the report, dude.

Ourhomeandfollow-upvisitswillhavetoincrease,ifwearetomeet the objectives on the federal grant, William added.

You gave them too high a number, William, Max objected. We canonly do so many visits with the limited staffwe have.

That’swhyyoushouldhaveneverhiredthatlunkheadJerryRivera,Williamtoldhimself,anex-conpinto,toboot.Whointheirrightmindisgoingtoopentheirdoorto a tattooedpintoin a tanktop?Andaparolee,totopthat.

It’s OK, Max, Ruth jumped in. Those are rolling numbers, projectedwith growth ofthe program. That’s the way we wrote the grant.A rollingpredictability is commonly used in writing grants to mean we will grow theprogram—withthegrowthwillcomemoreresources,andthataddstomore home visits—instead ofgiving numbers anchored in cement that wemight not achieve in the short term.

Which means what? Max asked, more for Jerry’s benefit.

Whichmeans,whichmeans,Williamsaid,buttingin,thatitwillkeepthefedsandthestateawayfromourbooksfornow.Wehavetoincrease our home visits and follow-ups. I didn’t mean today or tomorrowbut gradually…until we meet the objectives in the grant.

OK,Maxconceded.HowaboutChivaTown?Theircouncilmemberhasbeenaskingme,andnotinaniceway,whyweneglectChivaTown.Andweneedhisvoteforthematchingfundsfromthecity.Whatare we going to do about keeping someone to represent those folks?

Thelastorganizerwasacollegestudent,Williamsaid,alittlecalmer.HewasrunoutofChivaTown.TheSnipersmustacceptanyonewe send over there.

Excuseme,William,Ruthsaid,politeasalways.HisnamewasBobby,andhewasarealniceguy.WetookhimtoChivaandintroducedhimtoTinyTim.TinyTim,ifyoubelievetherumors,isnottheleaderoftheChivaTownSnipersanylonger.HespendsmostofhistimeonaranchooutsideBelen,breedingfightingroosters.TherumorsarethatNeto, his nephew, the crackhead from El Paso, runs the show. Anyway, one night, the Snipers put the guns on Bobby for no reason and told him to getlost, and he did. I would have done the same.

I know all that, Max said. He tried to be patient. How are we goingto keep a staffmember working there so as not to lose the vote for fundsfrom the unreliable councilman?

Maybe,Jerrybrokein.Hescratchedthescorpiontattooontherightsideofhismuscularneck.Maybe,wecangetoneoftheSniperstobeourmaninChivaTown.Andthenaskthecouncilmantobegthefullcounciltofundtherepairoftheirrottingcommunitycenter.Wecantrainthevatoonthebasics,andtheSniperswillhavetheirman.TheSnipers,correctmeifI’mwrong,alwayshadaveryefficientmethodofhelpingtheirownwithfoodandotherstuff.Lockintothat,anditmightsolvesomeproblems.

AndhowareyougoingtorecruitaSnipertojoinourstaff ?interruptedWilliam,alittleannoyedthatJerryhadcomeupwiththeideabeforehedid.

MaybeoneofourhighschoolstudentscanstartaconversationwithayoungSniperatschoolandrecruithimorherintothecause,Ruthinterjected, optimistic as ever.

No.Theygroupinhighschool,inmiddleschool,andeveninelementary.Theytendtostayamongtheirown,Williamresponded.Theydojustliketheydidwhenwewereinschool.Someoneisgoingtohave to go to ChivaTown, sit down with the leaders, put the plan on the table,andthenaskthemtopicktheirman.And theyalllookedatMax.

Well,we’regonnahavetoworkonthat,Maxsaid,andwroteit down in his folder. Anything else, William, before we pass to Jerry?

No.Oh,onemorething.Therewasaproposalcirculatingthatweopenafoodbank and cookfood for the needy.Prepare it and serveitherefivedaysaweekliketheydoatthecommunitycenter.ButIdon’tthinkso.Thecostisprohibitive.Tobuildakitchenandstaffit…Ithinkwillbetoomuch,Isay.

What do they want, a restaurant? And Max laughed.

Maybe some entertainment like dancing girls. And Jerry chuckled. He wanted to say strippers but decided not to.

Williamwantedtojoininandsaysomethingfunny.Insteadhelookedathiswritingpad.Hewastalkingaboutaseriousproposalbyserious-minded people who wanted to feed the hungry. He kept quiet anddidn’t even glance at Ruth. An awkward moment indeed.

Anythingelse,William?Maxasked,somegiggleleftinhiswords.Wedon’tmeantotakeitlight,William.Butyouhavetohaveasenseofhumor,oryou’llgonutsinthisbusiness.Anyway,wereferthehungrytothe community center.

OK,Jerry.Youon,myman,andmakeitquick.Wegottaget rolling.Dutycalls.

Let me see, Jerry said. He scratched the scorpion tattoo on the leftsideofhisneck,asifhisnailswouldwakeupthebeast.Hedidn’thaveapenorapad.Thegirls’bathroomisfinished;theydon’thavetousetheboys’ anymore. The bathroom at the end ofthe building for guests is alsodone, shower and all. The door outside the bathroom that leads to the alleycanbeopenedandclosednow.Thefiredepartmentgaveusahardtimeover that door on the last inspection, you might recall. There is an exit signon top ofthe door, legal size. The basketball backboard was lowered, andnewnettingwasfittedonthehoop.Weonlyhaveone,buthalfacourtisbetter than no court. We got new basketballs, mats, and jump ropes, thanks toRuth.AndhegaveRuthasmile.Wedecidedtoleavetheboxingringinsidethebuildingwhereitstandsnow.Iknowit’saneyesoretosomepeople, but the kids love it. Our martial art classes are coming along; we’reuptofifteenkidsinthreelevels,andagain,thankstoRuthforthecollegekids. They really help out. And Ruth is right; the AC is going to help duringthesummer.Thekidscanstayandworkontheirskillsinsteadofbeingbored at home. That’s it for me, folks.

Thanks,Jerry.Ihaveonemoreitemontheagenda.NelsonSola. Does he stay, or does he go? Ruth, you go first.

Oh. He stays. Nelson can be a little obnoxious at times, but he is socute and very smart. He helps the slower kids with high-end fractions andprealgebra problems. And now that we have Claire to help, she can talk tohim. He needs that. No, the parents will be devastated ifwe kick him out.Theytoldmethattheyhadseenanimprovementinhisbehaviortowardhis siblings. And even in school, his behavior is improving.

Jerry?

Isaykeephim.IfIunderstandtheconceptbehindthisprogram,it’stohelpkidslikeNelson.IagreewithRuth.Heiscleverandlovestorattlecages,buthe’snotmean.Heneedsourattention,andheislearninghowtobalancehisphysicalitywithhiscognitivestrengthandgetalongwith others.

William?

William was a little uncomfortable. He had given the name to MaxtoconsideranexitforNelsonSola.Buthesaid,IagreewithRuthonehundred percent, and ifRuth says he stays, then he stays.

He stays. Max closed his folder and placedit inside a desk drawer.Thanks again, you guys. Ruth, William, Jerry, you guys are doing an excellentjob and making me look good. I love it. We have a long week ahead ofus,buttheprojectiscomingtogether.Iwasnervousaboutmovingintothisbuilding.ButnowIfeelcomfortablehere.AnditwasRuthwhosoldmeon the idea. She pleaded. She threatened, and she insisted, until I said, Let’sgo for it. And here we are. Thanks again, guys.

Ruth and William exited the office first, and Jerry lingered behind.Hey, Max, he said when Ruth and William were out ofthe office. I have anappointment with my PO in halfan hour. I’ll see you later, OK?

OK, Jerry. Good luck with that asshole.

Chapter 5

Jerry Rivera drove west on Santa Teresa Street from the CI Center to downtown to report to his parole officer. It was a task he didn’t look forward to. He drove west for a couple of miles all the way to Armijo Avenue and cut a right, going north to downtown. He drove an older car Max let him use until he bought his own ride. He drove slowly. He was aware he had plenty of time and did not want to get there too early. He was amazed at the growth of Las Flores. He had been away in Santa for almost ten years; take away a month or two. The barrio seemed more congested, with more people driving around. He hadn’t even considered the growth on the east and northeast. Homes all the way to the mountains, expensive homes, and not just adobe jacales. There was a lot of employment opportunity in construction, and he knew that. The decent jobs with benefits were the jobs to be had employed by the feds. The state senators had thrown a lot of pork to Las Flores. And since the feds owned a lot of property close to Las Flores, new facilities opened up. There were testing facilities for rockets and warehouses for military weapons and other stuff too secret to know about. Too bad he couldn’t get one of those jobs, he reflected. He was a pinto on parole, and the feds would never offer him a job. That was a fact of life he lived with every day.

JerrypassedtheLasFloresCommunityCenteronSantaTeresa.Henoticedtheparkinglotwasalmostfull.Closetolunchtime,hetoldhimself,andpeoplearehungry.HewasgladtheCICenterdidn’tservefood.Itwouldbeacircusatalltimeswithpeoplehangingaroundwhilethey waited for a hot meal. The church was still standing on Calle Catolica,butthechurchwasgoingtostandtalleveniftherestofLasFloreswenttohell.Andhechuckled.MaybeheshouldpayavisitonaSunday,hethought.MightlookgoodtothePO.Naw,ain’tgottimeforchurchrightnow—maybe later? he considered. Who knew? He might get the bug.

JerryapproachedtherailroadtrackswhenhepassedMoraStreet.MoraStreetrannorthandsouth.Henoticedthenumerouswarehouses,machineshops,andweldingoperationsalongMoraclosetothetracks. Thisused to be junkyardalley,heremembered.Numerousjunkyards,orsalvageyards,somesmallandsomelarge,hadpopulatedtheareaforyears.Theareawasnowblightedwithsplotchesoftainted,darkenedoilonemptylotsandempty,greasy,broken-downoiltankersdozinginthesun, gathering dust. Skeletons ofabandoned trucks and cars could be seen,once with colorful scrawls, but now the graffiti was diminishing like tattooson old, wrinkled skin. The junkyards were gone, he agreed. But, Jesus, lookat what replaced them. No wonder the Eastside had such a bad reputation,he reflected. People see this, and they see the barrio. He crossed the tracks,stillonSantaTeresa,andenteredtheWestsideneardowntown.Thisareawasstillalittleshabbybutnothingcomparedtowhathehadjustseen.HereachedArmijoAvenue.Hegotagreenlightandturnedright,goingnorth.Thetrafficherewasheavyonbothsidesofthestreet.HedroveslowlybecausehehadnochoiceuntilhereachedChurchStreet,whichraneastandwest.HemadealeftturnonChurchandheadedwest.Hedrove a couple ofblocks, found a parking space, and walked up to the oldcourthouse building on Church and Main.

Jerry waited in the PO’s office, which happened to be the old officeofthemayorofLasFlores.Thewaitingroomhadadozenorsofoldingchairs and a few dated magazines on top ofa cheap card table. The carpethad seenbetterdays, andthe printsonthe wallswereturningyellowwithage. There was no secretary, no sign-in sheet, no instant coffee, and only aclosed doorthat led to the office ofthe PO, a man who had the power toalter your life—and pronto. In this case, the creature was Ulises Fuentes. Ashort, bald-headed asshole with thick eyeglasses. The kind oflittle shit youslap around in school and take his lunch money. The kind oflittle shit whogoes to college and takes on a job with a little power and plays at payback,forever thinking that it will make his miserable life a little happier.

Jerryturnedtohisleftashesatdownandsaid,Shit,inamutedvoice.Sittingacoupleofchairsbehindhimtohisleftwasamanhisage,hissize,andthecoloroflightchocolate.JohnSlaughterwasablackmanbutlighterthanJerryinskincolorand,inhisowneyes,betterlooking.Healsohadatattooofalargescorpiononbothsidesofhisthickneck.Theybothworeshort-sleeved,whitecottonshirtswithheavydirtaroundthe collars—the same shirts they always wore for their monthly visitations.

Theyworedark-bluedresspants,butJohnhadondirtywhiterunningshoes, and Jerry had on black, scuffed-up dress shoes he’d borrowed fromMax.

Hey,Jerry.JohnSlaughterfinallybrokethesilencethatlaythick between the two warriors. Ain’t you gonna say hello, at least?

We ain’t supposed to talk to each other, John. You know the silly rules.

Herewecantalk,man.Outthere.Andhepointedtothedoor. Maybe not, but here the man is in his office. We’re cool here.

I know, man, but I don’t want to provoke him.

IhearyougotacushyjobwithCI,Jerry.Howdidyoupullthatoff ?