This story is not unique. It's honestly all too common.
It's 2019 in Tampa, Florida. It's summertime, and it's hot.
Jose was born in Xicoténcatl and came to this country looking for milk and honey. He loves his family more than Trump loves putting k...
It's still early. Heat percolates off the fresh-cut grass. Green and brown clippings pepper Jose's hands and face. He edges around a fountain that sits center in a vast rolling lawn. The sweat drips into his eyes. He's careful not to lose his line or let the head dip in the dirt. His forearms bulge like the hard, twisted, roots of an oak tree. His wrist hurts. The one the cartel broke. It always does when he's trimming, but what's he going to do? He grits through it and keeps going. The hum of Marco's leaf blower appears behind him. Once he's finished, Jose heads back to the truck to start loading the walk-behind and zero-turn onto the trailer— carefully aligning the tires with the arms of the skinny metal gate ramp. Once the mowers are loaded, he tosses the bright orange tie down across to Marco and grabs one for himself. Sliding the hook through the anchor, he feeds the strap across the body of the walk-behind, "Where's Jorge?"
"I think he's still finishing up with the hedges."
"He's been back there for half an hour."
"Well, you know why— their daughter is home from college— she is laying by the pool."
"If he spent half as much time working as he does creeping on girls, we'd be done by lunch."
"Cut him some slack, he doesn't have a good thing waiting for him at home like you do."
"Some days are better than others."
"What's that supposed to mean."
"It's nothing—"
It's something.
"You sure?"
"Yeah, it's fine— she's just pissed at me."
"Uh oh, what'd you do?"
"I told her about Marco and got scared and suggested we move."
"Like where?"
"Vegas."
"Listen, it doesn't matter if they are a sanctuary city. Every place in America has assholes in MAGA hats—"
"I just don't want to come him to an empty house one night."
"You could get a gun— that way, if those motherfuckers show up at your door, you have something to greet them with."
"Are you insane? I'm not going to pull a gun on federal agents—"
"They can't arrest you if they're dead— I know people who could hide you."
The half-full gas cans slosh as Jose loads them into the back of the truck, "They'll catch me— and then they'll drag me out into the street. I'm not trying to die in front of my daughter."
"Suit yourself."
"I wouldn't even know what to do with a gun."
Marco walks to the passenger side of the truck, "I can teach you. It's nothing," He pops open the glove compartment and removes a black 9mm Lugar.
Jose takes a step back, "What the fuck— where did you get that?"
"I know a guy— here hold it."
"I don't want to."
"Just take it."
"I said no— get that fucking thing away from me."
Marco tosses the gun back in the glovebox, "You'llsing a different tune when they take your wife and put your daughter in a whitefoster home."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
New chapters released every Monday and Friday (Chapter 10 of 28)
