by Anne Schraff
CHAPTER THREE
As they waited for the police, Ernesto couldn’t remember his mother being so angry in a long time. Juanita was in her arms, and even brave little Katalina was wide-eyed with fear. “Luis,” Mom commanded, “your first obligation is to your family—the safety of your family!”
Maria Sandoval was shocked by the attack on her home and her family. She was frightened for her husband, her children, Abuela. Ernesto didn’t blame his mother for feeling as she did. Yet he sympathized deeply with what his father was trying to do. Ernesto now regretted telling his parents what those punks on the street said. He felt he shouldn’t have said that they were ticked off at Dad, that they resented his walking the streets and talking to kids. Ernesto realized now that saying those things was like tossing a can of gasoline on a fire. But he had spoken without thinking. At the same time, he wondered whether Dad wouldn’t be better off just sticking to teaching and giving up on his crusade to rescue the dropouts and the gang wannabes.
“Maria,” Dad spoke softly. “I keep remembering my friend Eddie Garcia. He saved my life. I would have drowned that day in the rip tide if Eddie hadn’t risked his life to save me. Then Eddie fell in with the gangs. If only there had been an adult, a teacher, a cop, or somebody to turn Eddie around. .. I tried, but I was just a kid like him. I didn’t know the right moves. He had a good mind. He was a whiz in math. He might have been an engineer, an inventor. Instead he’s doing time, rotting in prison. And Rueben. .. if somebody had tried to help Rueben, he might not have OD’d. He wouldn’t have died at twenty, before he had begun to live. If somebody had taken the time, the risk . . .”
“Luis, I understand what you’re saying,” Mom responded in a less angry voice. “But you made somebody out there so mad that they threw a chunk of concrete into a window. Our little girls might’ve been killed! What will they do next? We’re not dealing with bad little boys who put graffiti on fences. We’re dealing with hardened criminals who are so anxious to protect their dirty crimes that they’re willing to hurt people who look too closely.”
“We don’t even know for sure that a gangbanger threw that chunk of concrete,” Dad protested. “Maybe I gave a bad grade to some kid in class who’s got a terrible anger problem that I never noticed. Maybe whoever threw that concrete didn’t even know why they did it. A few years ago a kid tossed a big rock over a freeway overpass. It crashed through a sunroof and paralyzed a brilliant young college student for life.”
“Luis, you’re grasping at straws,” Mom persisted. “It had to be one of those creeps out there on the street. They’re only interested in dealing drugs and selling guns. And you made them afraid by shining too bright a light into their dirty little secrets.”
Then another thought crossed Ernesto’s mind. He remembered the hatred in Clay Aguirre’s eyes when he looked at him with Naomi. Could Clay have thrown the concrete? Was he that furious over losing Naomi? Ernesto didn’t think Clay would go that far, but who really knew anybody else’s mind? How many times after a horrible crime do friends and family insist that the guilty person was not capable of such evil?
The police car pulled into the driveway, and two officers came to the door. One was a woman with close-cropped hair and a grim face. The other officer was younger, in his twenties, almost boyish.
When the officers were inside, Mom described what had happened. “We were just sitting around after our dinner when we heard the glass break, then a thud. There was this mess here in the living room. When we looked outside, there was no sign of a car or anything.”
“You didn’t touch anything, right?” the female officer asked, as she studied the scene and took some pictures.
“Nothing,” Dad replied. He looked so sad, and Ernesto felt sorry for him. No father loved his family more or strove harder to protect them. It was breaking his heart that some good actions of his somehow put him and his family in danger.
Juanita was still whimpering, but Katalina looked angry. “I hope you guys catch those bad guys and put them in jail forever and ever,” she fumed.
The older officer almost smiled at the little girl before saying in a terse voice, “We’ll do our best.”
There was no note on the concrete chunk, which the officers put into a bag. Then they went outside to check for footprints in the front lawn and tire tracks in the driveway. They took pictures. When they came inside again, the younger officer asked, “Do you know of anyone angry enough at you to have done this?”
“I’m a history teacher at Chavez High,” Luis Sandoval answered. “I’m not aware of any serious problems with any of the students.”
Maria Sandoval spoke up. “My husband is very dedicated. He really cares about the kids, and a lot of them drop out of school before graduation. So he goes around the streets and strikes up conversations with kids who’ve dropped out, trying to get them back to school. Some gangbangers just told our son that they resent my husband getting too close to their turf. Ernie, tell the officers what you told us.”
Dad looked pained, but Ernesto relayed what he was told by the boys with shaved heads.
The woman officer asked, “Do you know the names of these young men?”
“No,” Ernesto replied. “I’d never seen them before. But they had shaved heads and lots of tattoos on their arms and shoulders.”
“Tattoos of what?” the younger officer asked.
“I don’t remember exactly, but one of them had this big vulture on his shoulders. I remember that,” Ernesto told him.
The two police officers exchanged a look. The woman said, “Condor.” The young male officer nodded.
The officers told the Sandoval family that they would be in touch if they learned anything. In the meantime, they advised that maybe the family should get a security system. Then they left.
“Ernie,” Dad suggested in a crestfallen voice, “let’s you and me get some plywood from the shed so we can patch that hole in the window. We’ll get new glass in as quickly as we can, but tonight it needs to be closed up.”
“Sure, Dad,” Ernesto responded.
“Maybe we need steel bars for the windows,” Abuela said. All during the time the police were here, she had said nothing. Now she stood there, arms folded, with a worried look on her face. “I don’t say this because I’m afraid for myself, but for the children,” she explained. “I am a mujer anciana, but they are young.”
Maria Sandoval looked at her mother-in-law. “I agree, Mama. That would be a good idea. Many of the houses around here have burglar bars.”
“It makes the house look like a prison,” Dad remarked in a forlorn voice. “But if that will bring you comfort, we’ll ask the landlord.”
Ernesto went with his father to get the plywood. As they walked to the shed, Ernesto spoke.
“Dad, I’m sorry I mentioned those gangbangers.”
“No, no, Ernie. It’s all right,” Dad assured him. “You had to. You heard them say that stuff, and it may be relevant. The police needed to know. They seemed to know of a boy with a vulture tattoo. Did you notice the knowing looks they gave each other? They called him ‘Condor.’ I’ve heard that name myself. He’s a violent drug dealer. He’s hardcore. The police haven’t been able to bust him yet. If they could, I think the whole barrio would be safer.”
Back in the living room, Ernesto and his father removed the broken glass and fit the plywood into the window frame. The room turned dark and depressing. When Ernesto went to his room to do his math homework, he heard his parents talking in the living room until very late. They were talking softly, sadly. Eavesdropping in the darkened hall, Ernesto saw that they had come together, sitting on the couch, very close. Dad’s arm was around Mom’s shoulders.
Back in his bed, Ernesto tried to sleep. But troubled thoughts crashed through his mind. He had not told the police about the one boy in the group of four whose name he did know—Manny Martinez. Ernesto had deliberately neglected to name the boy because he was Naomi’s brother. Now Ernesto felt guilty about not
telling the police.
Maybe Manny hurled the concrete chunk. He looked like a weak, easily manipulated kid. Maybe the others had given him the job of tossing the concrete into the Sandoval house. They often picked the newbies for some act of criminal violence so they could prove they were worthy to join the gang. Telling the police about Manny could have been a valuable clue.
Ernesto tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He kept trying to convince himself that Manny wasn’t out there in the darkness. He hoped Manny wasn’t the one who hurled the concrete that could have seriously injured Katalina or Juanita. What if they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time? By Sunday morning, Ernesto was drenched in perspiration.
After school on Monday, Ernesto jogged over to the Martinez house on Bluebird Street. He was using the pretext that Mom was writing a book about a nice pit bull and his friendship with a cat. The dog was based on Brutus, the pit bull the Martinez family owned. Ernesto figured he’d take a couple pictures of Brutus for the illustrator of his mother’s book. Then, once he had a pleasant conversation going with Felix Martinez, he could maybe segue into Manny’s situation.
Felix Martinez usually spent some time in the afternoon playing with Brutus, tossing him a ball. As Ernesto walked up, he was glad to see the man and the dog in the front yard.
“Hi Mr. Martinez,” Ernesto called out.
“Hey Ernie,” Mr. Martinez said in a cheerful voice, “How’s it goin’?” He seemed in a good mood. He had already had two cans of beer, which put him in a jovial mood. With the third beer, he usually started getting ugly.
“Good!” Ernesto said cheerfully. “Naomi’s told you about my mom’s book about a nice pit bull, right?”
“Yeah,” Mr. Martinez recalled. “She said something about it. She said you guys got the idea from old Brutus here. That’s pretty cool. All the idiots out there who think all pit bulls are dangerous, they need to meet Brutus. He’s like a poodle! Even my scare-dy-cat wife likes him now. She was so afraid of him at first that she locked herself in the kitchen. But now she wants him to sleep in our bedroom!”
With permission, Ernesto snapped a few pictures of Brutus on his phone. Then he figured he’d make his move. “You know, Mr. Martinez, me and Naomi are good friends and I like your son, Zack. But I never got to know your other two sons ’cause we were living in Los Angeles when they moved away.”
“You didn’t miss nothin’, not knowing those lousy bums,” Mr. Martinez sneered, his mood turning sour at the mention of his older sons.
“I uh. .. met Manny, your son, the other day when I was walking home from school,” Ernesto blurted.
“He ain’t my son,” the man raged. “He ain’t my son no more. Him and his older brother. I washed my hands of them two a long time ago. Trash is what they are. It’s her fault, her in there.” He nodded toward the house.
“That idiot wife of mine,” he began to rant. “She spoiled those boys. When they started goin’ bad, they needed the strap. She’d be yammerin’ about child abuse and stuff. They didn’t get the discipline they needed. So they turned into garbage. Wanna beer?”
Ernesto murmured a “No thanks.” And Mr. Martinez reached into a cooler by his lawnchair and fetched a cold can.
“When I was a kid, I was the same way,” the man continued. “I sassed my old man, but I done it just once. My old man, he stood me against a tree without no shirt on, and he whipped me bloody. Blood was runnin’ down into my trousers. That made a man of me. I got a job now, I’m the best heavy equipment operator they got down there. I earn good money. Guys respect me. I’m a foreman. I make a good life for us, for that stupid woman in there and Naomi and Zack. I’m a respectable member of the neighborhood. If I’d had my way with Orlando and Manny, they’d be fine now.” Mr. Martinez seemed as contemplative as a man like him could get.
“Mr. Martinez,” Ernesto began, “Manny looked really down. He’s skinny and sick looking and—”
“Yeah, he’s probably on drugs,” the father nodded. “Cocaine, meth, the whole enchilada. I know that. You ain’t tellin’me nothin’ I don’t know. Pretty soon we’ll get a call from the cops that he OD’d and he’s dead in some alley. She’ll expect me to fork over the money for some nice funeral, and I don’t even want to do that. I don’t need for that Padre Benito down at the church to have some maudlin service for the bum, like he was a decent kid. Let them put him in an unmarked grave for all I care. But her in there, she’ll make a fuss. Then I’ll end up sittin’ there in that church where I don’t never go, and listenin’ to them singin’ about angels and stuff.” The man shook his head furiously.
“You don’t want to try to contact him or anything, huh?” Ernesto asked.
Mr. Martinez laughed. “Ernie, I don’t want to insult you or nothin’. But you’re a wimp, like your father. Luis Sandoval was always one of those bleedin’ heart wimps who thinks everything can be solved by a little love and kindness. It ain’t that way in the real world. Manny’s a lost cause. Nothin’ anybody can do now. Not now. Not after her in there ruined him with her coddlin’.”
Felix Martinez took a step toward Ernesto and unexpectedly put a hand on his shoulder. “Lissen up, boy, because I’m talkin’ turkey to you now. You got the hots for my girl, Naomi. And you ain’t been able to figure out why she don’t feel the same way about you. Lemme tell you. Lemme clue you in. Clay Aguirre, he’s macho. He’s a real guy. Chicks like that. They like a masculine guy who isn’t afraid to be a little rough and tough. Y’hear what I’m sayin’? You gotta get a little backbone, Ernie. If you show Naomi you’re a real guy, not a wimp, you just might get lucky. And listen, I wouldn’t mind if you and Naomi clicked. You’re a weakling, Sandoval, but you’re a darn good kid. Luis Sandoval’s done all right by Maria. And I know you’d take good care of Naomi. But first you gotta toughen up, muchacho.”
Ernesto looked at the man with disgust. Felix Martinez had seen his own daughter with a black eye. He had to know what Clay Aguirre did. Yet he admired the boy and wanted Ernesto to be more like him.
“Mr. Martinez,” Ernesto replied coldly, “I don’t think Naomi wanted to be punched in the face by Clay Aguirre like she was. I don’t think any girl or woman wants that.”
A strange looked came over the man’s face. “Sometimes,” he spoke slowly, “a man has to show his woman who’s boss. Sometimes, if the woman is lucky, her man doesn’t have to do that too many times until she gets the message.”
Ernesto’s disgust deepened. Zack came out then, and Ernesto used that as an excuse to leave. “Hey Zack!” Ernesto hailed, returning to the sidewalk and jogging away.
Zack, Brutus, and Mr. Martinez, with his cooler in tow, all went into the house.
In the distance, Ernesto spotted Naomi coming in the opposite direction, riding her bike home. She’d stayed late at school to help Yvette Ozono sign up for the girls soccer team. Yvette really wanted to play soccer. Her friends thought that was just the thing to get her more involved at Cesar Chavez High School.
Ernesto lingered a few moments until Naomi arrived. She smiled at Ernesto and asked, “What’re you doing here, Ernie?”
Ernesto held up his phone. “I needed some pictures of Brutus. Mom’s book illustrator is working on the dog in the story and, after all, Brutus was the inspiration.”
“That’s cute,” Naomi said.
“You know, Naomi,” Ernesto told her, “a really horrible thing happened at our house last night. Somebody threw a big chunk of concrete through out picture window.”
“Oh my God!” Naomi gasped. “Oh Ernie, nobody got hurt, did they?”
“Thankfully no,” Ernesto answered. “We’d just finished eating in the dining room. No one was in the living room. We heard the crash, and the whole window was splintered all over the floor.”
“You called the police, didn’t you?” Naomi asked.
“Yeah, they came and took evidence,” Ernesto replied.
“Oh Ernie, who would do such an awful thing?” Naomi cried.
“I don’t know,” Ernesto shook his head, befuddled. “My dad has been spending a lot of time walking around talking to kids who’ve dropped out of school, trying to get them back on track. This one dude told me some of the homeboys are ticked off at him. They think he’s gonna stumble on their rotten deals and bring the law down on them. Maybe what happened last night had to do with that.”
“I’m so sorry, Ernie,” Naomi sympathized. “Your dad is such a great guy. I don’t know another teacher at our school who cares so much for the kids. It’s so fabulous that he brought guys like Dom and Carlos back to school. They were about ready to ditch school, and now they’re really excited about it. And look what he did for Yvette. You can’t believe how bright she is. She’s even into math! If your dad hadn’t taken an interest in her, she’d just be lost.” Naomi seemed near tears. “Oh Ernie, I feel so sad for your family and for you.”
“Mom is really scared,” Ernesto remarked. “She wants to put up burglar bars and stuff.” Ernesto wondered whether he should tell Naomi now about her brother being with those guys who warned Ernesto about his father. Ernesto thought for a moment. Then he said, “Naomi, your brother, Manny, he’s out there on the streets, you know, with those gangbangers.”
Naomi hung her head. “I know. I haven’t talked to him in years. My father said I couldn’t. I think by now Manny has forgotten all of us. Mom hasn’t heard from him, and neither have I. He’s two years older than me, two and a half. He’s about nineteen. Manny got kicked out of the house when he was sixteen. I was almost fourteen. I remember crying and crying.”
Naomi was silent for a while and then spoke again. “You know what, Ernie? My older brothers, Orlando and Manny, they had this little garage band. They let me sing sometimes. We had make-believe gigs in other kids’ houses. Manny wasn’t bad to me at all. He was a good brother. Orlando too. I miss them, Ernie. But by now, Manny probably doesn’t even know who I am. If he saw me on the street, he wouldn’t recognize me.”