Three years had passed since the trial in Laredo.  For a while the Pena family feared retaliation for Rush’s testimony that convicted two white men for murder, but Laredo was now experiencing the sublimation of another evil; drug running.  Violence broke out on the streets on a regular basis.  Some folks moved away just to avoid the chance of getting caught between the bad guys and the good guys and sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.

By this time Rush was in high school.  He delighted in learning, so his high school experience was the best.  As for the label of being a rat, teens in Laredo loved the romance behind the legend.  Rush was a hero.  His outrageous way of always looking outside the box for answers became his signature; his shoes, his trademark.

This was his sophomore year.  He had waited for this year with wild anticipation because it was in this year of magnificent acquisition of knowledge Rush got to take Sociology. The Soc teacher had a reputation for unorthodox teaching methods and Rush was up for that. But, besides the teacher, he loved the world.  He loved different cultures and groups and organizations.  Appreciating each new experience outside of his own realm of experience only made him crave further adventures about the differences in people.

Room 108 bore a euphoric ambiance that reflected the unique characteristics of its inhabitant – Charlene Bogimill.  Rush stood at the entrance where he smelled incense burning. Huge posters of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Mahatma Gandhi, W.E.B. DuBois, and Mother Teresa hung in estimable repose.  The Chinese proverb, If you want one year of prosperity, grow grain; if you want ten years of prosperity, grow trees; if you want one hundred years of prosperity, grow people hung directly over Bogimill’s desk where Rush found her drawn intensely into work.  The sensation of awe was broken by a crackly, hoarse voice, “Speak it!”

“Excuse me, Ma’am?”  Rush was mesmerized.  He had never come into contact with such a person.  Her hair was wrapped in scarves.  She wore dangling earrings and a Mexican peasant blouse and a long skirt with sandals.

Undisturbed by Rush’s presence, Bogimill said, “Don’t just stand there.  Enter the abyss and state your purpose.”

“Yes, ma’am …”

Still unmoved she said, “Okay, let’s get one thing straight.  I am not anyone’s ma’am.  I’ve been called lots of things, but never warmed to ma’am, so cut it.”

“Sure, okay. Uh … well, I guess I’m going to be in your next period class, and well, I just wanted to introduce myself.  I’m Rush Pena.”

Bogimill slowly looked up from her work.  Over her reading glasses impeccably balanced on the end of her nose, she eyed the boy from top to bottom.  “Oh, so you’re the guy that took on the Alliance.  Bravo, fella, good show.  Welcome to my world.”

Rush felt the words of admiration wash over him.  It was better than winning his writing award.   He was so entranced by Bogimill’s eccentricities that he could hardly utter a word in response.

“Do you like sociology, Rush?”

“I do, so much.  I want to study social research.”

“See all those banker boxes against the wall?  Those are my babies.  All research projects.  If you want to work alongside me, I could use a good assistant.”

“Yes, I would like that very much.”  Rush could not believe what he was just invited to do.  This was his dream.

The shuffling of feet rustled in the hall and class was about to start, so he anxiously took a seat in the third row.  He did not want to appear to be the kid who sucked up to the teacher; Bogimill would hate that kid.

The regular crowd of high school students filled the classroom.  Prom queen destined cheerleader sat to his right, football jock in front of her, pimple faced math geek sat all the way to the back, but the person he was most interested in walked right over and sat down in front of him.  “Hey, Rush. Didn’t know you were in Bogimill’s class.  I’m glad.  Maybe we can study together.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”  Holy crap, what a day this turned out to be.  I’m Bogimill’s research assistant, and my crush wants to be my study partner.  Janie Churchill was the typical girl-next-door.  She was blond, blue-eyed with a sweet personality.  Rush had known Janie his whole life it seemed, but really started to notice her last year.  She shed her braces and something changed.  She looked different somehow … a good different, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.  The ringing of the class bell interrupted.

“Okay, everyone.  Let’s settle down.  As most of you know, I’m Ms. Bogimill. Welcome to Sociology. I hope that you will learn much about the world around you and as C. Wright Mills nailed it, enhance your sociological imagination.  Today you are going to introduce yourselves to each other by describing your family ethnicity.  For example, let’s say your father is Native American and your mother is Irish.  Get my point?  Let’s start with, uh … yeah, Bradley Schmidt.”

Brad, the school’s up and coming star quarterback stood up next to his desk and wringing his shirt said, “Yeah, well, ah, I’m white and proud of it.”  Everyone broke out in laughter.  “Yeah, let’s see, uh, Dad’s side of the family is German and Mom’s is Irish.”

“Welcome, Brad.  White and proud of it?  What does that mean?”

“You know, it means we were here first.  It means we have more claims on this country.”

“Well, does anyone beg to differ with Brad?”

Rush raised his hand, “Whites were not the first people to inhabit the North American continent.  Before Europeans settled here, there were aborigines or what is more commonly known as Native American Indians throughout this country.  As the early Spanish explorers married Indians, they produced a biracial culture, especially in the Southwest, which was labeled Chicano in the 1960s.”

“So what?  You’re still nothin’ but a wetback Mexican who should go back to where you belong.  You’re a cockroach.  You’re no better than those kids who were killed by the Alliance.”

The cheerleader’s cell phone went off with, You’re darker than dark / You’re like bark, bark / On a tree, on a tree why you looking at me? /I want to kill you, kill you, kill you, cutting through the mounting tension.  Shaken by the outright racism and eyes wide with shock, Bogimill swung around in a sweeping circular fashion, pointed to the cell phone and in a shrill voice resounded, “Kill it!  Kill it!  Kill it, now!”   This type of bigoted banter unnerved her and she used the cell phone as an excuse to vent.  “Listen, in this class we will discuss many areas that might not agree with some of your own personal viewpoints.  That being said, I want you all to know that I expect you to treat one another with respect and dignity.”

The rest of the class seemed lackluster after the wild interaction between Brad and Rush, but ended on a good note for Rush because he and Bogimill were already planning a social project. Bogimill, who did not speak Spanish, was concerned for the undocumented immigrants who found it difficult to live in Laredo and along the border, particularly with vigilantes roaming all over.  Many Americans do not understand that because of the poverty that exists in Mexico, mostly attributed to the drug cartels, many Mexicans cross the border into the United States for shear survival.  The old insipidity that Mexicans come to the U. S. because they want a taste of “the American dream” is too simple, too ignorant to explain their migration to the States.  Making a living in Mexico is hard and until their government does something about the organized crime syndicates that commit murder on a daily basis more and more people will flee. Rush knew firsthand about the violence within Mexico and how it leaves many in fear of their lives, not just for the men, but for the women and children.  When they come singly, they find work and send the money back home to their families who are waiting for their return.  Their migration and their anticipated return to Mexico only becomes a problem when they marry in the United States and have children who then are citizens.

Bogimill’s hope was to start a food bank where anyone could come and get free food.  She especially needed Rush, not only for his bilingual talents, but he understood the dynamic of poverty.  He also could lend advice about Mexican cultural norms and folkways. Rush left school happy with that and the fact that Janie chose to sit in front of him.  Right now, life couldn’t get any better.

Rush stared at his watery reflection, obscured as it was by the white porcelain toilet with which he had recently become well acquainted.  Trial anxiety produced vomit. This morning he had to face the monsters; the killers passing themselves off as patriotic Americans; the animals who kill children because of a foolish belief in white supremacy.  Rush was sickened by the fear clenching his gut.  He had to testify against them, not just for Jorge, Maria, and Elena, but for the hundreds of other undocumented Mexican immigrants who find themselves faced with unspeakable cruelties.

The killings made front page news in Texas, and it provoked everything from political animus by international human rights groups to cheers from Ku Klux Klan members. Hate groups seemed to crawl out of the dirt to defend the actions of the mall cops on trial for the murder of fifteen year old Maria Gonzalez, et al, and Rush was the center of attention.  He was the brown boy who outsmarted two racists and lived to put them away.  His testimony cemented life in prison or maybe even the death penalty for two good-old-boys from South Texas.  Yes, indeed, it was a hot day in Laredo, boy.

“Rush.  Are you alright, my son?”  Papi stood over him as Rush wiped his face with a wet cloth one more time.

“Yeah, sure, Papi.  Just a little scared, you know.”

“Jose, you are an honorable young man.  You are a strong American standing up for the rights of other Americans.  Our freedom is a precious thing, and one day all of this will be history, just like slavery is history.  Only you will have the pride knowing you were one of many who did what was right for our people, and you did it the right way – through the American Justice System.”

“Papi, those men … they will be there.  They will see my face again.  What if they send others after me?”

“They cannot, Rush.  Not without bringing more bad publicity upon their Alliance.  They need to be very careful now.  Besides, Detective Jimenez said he will make sure you are watched and protected; even if he has to do it himself.”

This case, unknown to Alex Jimenez, the Pena family and well, all of Texas, was about to energize every hate group in the United States, specifically, the Blacks for Equal Rights Committee (BFERC).  This group had stayed out of sight, but put its support behind the Federation for Immigration Reform, or FAIR, a group that liked to promote itself as a value-free research commodity whose assistance was hired by government officials.  It was the BFERC that would fade into the background to commit unsolved crimes against people and organizations in Texas.  However, for now, FAIR chose to create an image of itself that merely stood up for conservative citizens.

Rush was just a boy trying to do the right thing.  He experienced and witnessed heinous injustices and wanted to tell his story.  He combed his straight black hair, straightened his tie, and even sacrificed wearing his hot red cross-trainers given to him as a gift by Alex after Rush won an award for an article he wrote about poverty in Texas.  He wanted to give his testimony credibility and unfortunately, those red shoes showed a slightly different side of Rush’s personality.

It was time.  Alex Jimenez, Papi Pena and Rush arrived at the courtroom together. All were nervous.  All felt the pressure of the media, spectators, and the perpetuated infusion of hatred towards Mexicans in the border town of Laredo, Texas.  The courtroom was filled with concerned citizens; some sincere and others menacing.  It was tense.  Something up to this point in his life was unidentifiable, and now it caused Rush great anxiety and that something was called racism.

He sat waiting to be called to testify, filled to the brim with apprehension.  The defendants spotted him in the gallery.  Lawrence “Jinx” Calhoun and Jackson Schuler glared at Rush.  Their intimidating tactics only challenged the young Mexican-American to exert the power he held over them.  He glared back with steely indignation … “the prosecution calls Jose Miguel Pena to the stand.”

Rush, defiant, broke eye contact with the defendants and found his way, shiny black dress shoes and all, to the witness stand.  “Do you solemnly swear in this cause now before the court to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?”

“I do.”

“On the night of September 22, 1995, were you arrested by the defendants Lawrence Calhoun and Jackson Schuler at the Laredo Mall?”

“Yes, sir.”

“For what exactly were you arrested?”

“I hid in the shoe store, The Footlocker, in order to steal some shoes.”

“For the record, have you been granted leniency by the court in exchange for your testimony today?”

“Yes.”

“Could you please tell the Court what happened after you were apprehended at the Footlocker?”

“Mr. Calhoun handcuffed my hands behind my back.  He called Mr. Schuler on the walkie-talkie to join him.  Together they took me to an unmarked car and  threw me into the backseat … violently.”

“Objection, your Honor. I doubt if the defendants violently threw the witness anywhere.”

The judge looked narrowly at Rush.  “Sustained.  The witness will refrain from embellishing his story with unnecessary verbiage.”

“But, your Honor, these are the facts the way the witness experienced them.”  The prosecutor was a young attorney.  It was obvious that this trial weighed heavily on him, yet, if he was frightened, it didn’t show.

“No matter.  Continue, without embellishment.”  The judge was pandering to the press.  He did not want a riot in his courtroom and his only defense was to temper the testimony.

The prosecution resumed.  “Where did they take you?”

“The drive was a long way.  I was in the car for about forty-five minutes and when we got there, they took me into a barn all falling apart.  They unlocked a horse stall that had bars all around it and threw me in with another boy.”

“What did they say to you at this point?”

“Um, something like they were going to send me back where I belong and they accused me of murdering and stealing.”

“Did they ask you if you were an American citizen?”

“No, that never came up.”

“Were there others in the barn with you?”

“Yes, in the stall with me was a boy who told me his name was Jorge. He didn’t give me any other name.  In another stall, at the other end of the barn were two girls.  One’s name was Elena, and the other Maria.”

“How old would you say these children were?”

“Jorge was about my age, but the girls were a little older.”

“Were these children undocumented immigrants that you know of?”

“I don’t think that Jorge and Elena were documented, but Maria was an American citizen.”

“Jose, how could you know this?”

“Well, Jorge spoke only Spanish and so did Elena, but when Maria screamed as they were beating her, she spoke in English.”

“Hmmm, they were beating her, you say?”

“Objection, your honor, just because Maria spoke English does not mean she was an American.”

“Sustained.”

The young prosecutor raised an eyebrow, sighed and turned to Rush.  “Jose, how exactly do you know that Maria was a United States citizen?”

“Yes, sir. I … I know because as they were beating her,” Rush gritted his teeth in anger and tried to hold back tears, “she screamed at them that she was an American.”

“What did the defendants do after hearing that she was an American?”

“Nothing.  They ignored her as if she had said nothing to them.  They just kept beating her, and she screamed and Elena screamed, and we were all so scared.”  Rush’s voice cracked and tears rolled down his face.

“Do you want to take a break, Jose’?”

“No.  Please, let’s get this over with.”  Rush wiped his face with his sleeve.  “The two men left.”

“You mean the defendants.”

“Yes, the defendants left.  Elena told Jorge that Maria was beaten very bad and that she was worried she could die.  Jorge and I started digging the dirt out under the barn walls. He had already started it, so between the two of us we were able to dig a hole deep enough for us to squeeze through.”

“Where were the men while you were digging the hole?”

“They were drinking. I could hear them yelling things, and talking about how drunk they were getting, and how Jorge and I were next.”

“What happened next?”

“We squeezed through the hole and started running.  The defendants, um … chased after us firing their rifles at us.  All of a sudden Jorge fell to the ground.  I couldn’t stop running … I was so scared.  Then I heard two more gunshots.”

“Where did you go?”

“I found a tree to climb.  My brothers and I use to make a contest out of who could climb a tree the fastest and … well, I climbed a tree and hid in the branches.”

“What happened to the defendants?”

“They tried to find me, but couldn’t, so they got back into their car and drove away.  When I knew they were gone for sure, I hiked to the road and bummed a ride into town.”

“No further questions for this witness, your Honor.”

“Very well.  It’s almost lunch time. Let’s recess until 1:00 where cross examination of this witness will commence by the Defense.”

“All rise.”  As the judge and jury left the courtroom, Rush stepped down from the witness box.

Jinx Calhoun walked away, but Jackson Schuler broke away from the Marshals. He grabbed Rush by one arm.  “You little wetback!  You ain’t pumpin’ us full a poison.  Better watch yo’sef, boy!  You ain’t near as protected as ya think.”

The Marshals regained control of the defendant, but the attack on Rush acted as a contagion to send members of several hate groups sitting in the gallery into delirium.  One woman lunged at Alex while he shielded Rush from the descending herd of hate filled factions that would soon become a constant presence in Laredo as well as other Mexican border towns.

After Rush’s testimony, the circus at the courthouse lasted another week.  The trial finally came to a conclusion where the defendants were found guilty, and sentenced to life in prison with the possibility of parole in thirty years.  After four weeks of insane protests in the streets of Laredo from all sorts of human rights groups, immigration reform groups, Mexican-American rights groups, and of course, the Alliance Against Illegal Immigration, a twelve year old boy, by the name of Jose “Rush” Pena remained the center of the controversy. His family received threatening phone calls, hate mail, and their house was spray painted with graffiti renouncing the Pena family as American citizens. All of this, not to mention the endless stream of media coverage which haunted the Pena’s everywhere they went, affected Rush in ways even he did not recognize.  It sealed his future, but not in the way one might think.

On the day of sentencing, Rush wanted to be in the courtroom.  Against the advice of Alex and the prosecuting attorney, he planted himself directly behind the prosecution’s table.  As the sentence was delivered, Calhoun and Schuler looked at Rush, and Schuler said, “No matta’ whea’ ya go … you dead, boy.”

The Marshals pushed the murderers toward the exit, but Rush could feel their burning hatred.  From that point on, Rush’s life took on a new purpose which was searching for and practicing social justice.  Forever branded you dead, boy into his brain, he remained conscious of killers lurking behind him.

Lacing up his shoes; bringing down the house, Jose Pena tracked through the world of despair and hopelessness to leave a little truth and righteousness.  After the trouble, his academic career soared, but during those difficult times he thought himself to be a coward because he was not allowed to participate in the prevention and exposure of the heinous acts of violence set upon his family and friends.  He was too recognizable, too much of a target.  But after, he showed no mercy to those who made their life hell.  Those unknown kidnappings, rapes, murders, and acts of oppression came out and appropriate culpability identified.  What he accomplished, was the rooting out and exposure of hate groups all over the United States through his research.

This was the plan for his life and he knew that he would be successful in his efforts to right the social injustice around him. He was an academician and proud of it. Yes, he was a little eccentric.  But, that was all part of his charm, and Janie kept him grounded.  Thank god for Janie.  They were a team, and their children were definite reflections of the team in every way imaginable.

Jose “Rush” Pena was grateful for the acts of kindness shown him as a child and later this assisted in obtaining his coveted scholarships to Harvard.  As immigrants from Mexico, his parents only hoped for the chance to feed and clothe their children.  School was a happy byproduct of the American dream. His mind was always active, always looking at the conditions surrounding him and his family and neighbors, especially recognizing the inequalities because of the color of their skin.  Brown was a common skin tone in his hometown, but the people in power were white.  Their progeny were never taught the ideology of inclusive equality among all Americans, and it was easier to implement business as usual.  Mexicans were accused of crimes, stopped on the street for no reason, held back for employment promotions, and treated like second class citizens in school.  These were all injustices that Rush vowed to abolish when he could.  This oath was strengthened when he and his family endured brutal prejudice and the heartbreak of violence.

There was a span of time, from his age twelve to around nineteen, that Rush and his family suffered the most hateful acts Mexican-American immigrants and undocumented immigrants bear at the hands of vigilantes and bigoted hate groups.  In addition, the drug cartels from Mexico had a profound effect upon border town communities.  This trifecta created violent living conditions and increased poverty and despair.  Even though a common belief was that hate groups dominated the Southern states, Rush discovered that many of these prejudices prowled all over the United States and were not confined just to his part of the country.

His neighborhood was in the Mexican community of Laredo, Texas; a border town affected by the drug trade.  They lived and loved together and celebrations were a clear celebration of the Mexican identity.  The neighborhood Catholic Church was led by a Hispanic priest so all of the baptisms, weddings and sacraments were celebrated Mexican and the quinceanera was incorporated into the church landscape as if it were a sacrament originated by Jesus himself.  Our Lady of Guadalupe was its patron so her prominent image was present in most Mexican-American homes.

Rush’s most peculiar characteristic was his sense of style.  He loved the color red; like a red hot chili pepper.  Red tennis shoes, jogging shoes, running shoes, were his trademark, and oh, who cared, he loved them.  Owning seven pairs of various styles and brands, he jazzed through high school, college, and graduate school in his hot, red shoes.  Even when money was short, Rush found a way to buy his shoes.  Nothing, not anything could stop his soul’s eruption; a signal that a brilliant comet had arrived on the scene.

This mission to clarify his identity was what got him into trouble in the first place. It was this constant hustle to distinguish his essence that christened Jose Miguel Pena with the simple but appropriate name of Rush.  The development of his persona began after an encounter brought about by his own impatience.  He was twelve years old.  In the mall, the Footlocker had the juiciest, reddest, cross-trainers Rush had ever seen, and that lightning bolt appliqué on the side just sweetened the deal.  He yearned to own such a unique label of his bold and powerful personality.

The problem was they were $89.95 and a poor, twelve year old Mexican immigrant didn’t have that kind of money.  Selling blankets, his mama still worked a stand in Mercado Maclovia Herrera in Nuevo Laredo, and his father found work in Laredo as a janitor.  They managed to make ends meet without financial help from their children, and they were proud of that, and so was Rush.  He never felt denied anything, except when it came to his shoes.

He waited outside the Footlocker in the mall until near closing.  About five minutes before, Rush walked in checking the inventory out like a regular customer.  The clerks were already busy with counting down the cash drawer and cleaning the store for lights out. Rush found a way to slip into the stockroom and hide behind a stack of boxes.  When the lights went out and the store was locked for the night, he stumbled out of the back room, walking into counters and knocking over displays.  Man, its pitch black in here.  Didn’t think this through real well, now did I?   A startling oot-oot-oot pierced the unnerving darkness.  Footlocker had a motion detector.  Before Rush could think about an escape plan, the doors sprang open and two mall cops were all over him.  As he was dragged out of the store, he took one more longing glance at the red hot, hot-tottiest shoes he had ever seen.

Rush imagined his mama and papi; so ashamed of their middle son.  The mall cops put him in an unmarked car amid attempted explanations and pleas for reprieve.  The jig was up and Rush felt stupid.  His parents, man, oh, man – his parents were going to kill him.  It seemed like they drove forever before reaching their destination.  They pulled into a deserted stretch of land where the only building seen was a decrepit barn leaning in the moonlight.

The fake cops pulled him out of the car.  “Come on you illegal brat.  We’re gonna send you back where ya belong.  Can’t be here in our country, stealin’ and murderin’.”

“Hey, man. I’m not illegal; get your hands off of me.”  The cops threw Rush into a horse stall that was now a jail with bars and a lock, and one of them spit his direction.  Rush turned to see another boy around his age in the stall with him.  “My name is Rush.”

The boy spoke to him in Spanish. “My name is Jorge.  You speak English.  Are you from Mexico?”

Rush responded in Spanish.  “My papi and mama are from Mexico, but they immigrated to the States before I was born.  I am an American citizen.”

“Oh, this is not good.  You need to get out of here.  These men are very bad.  My parents sent my sister and me across the border to get away from the killing, and you know, the kidnappings in our town and we met our cousin, who was waiting for us and who is American.  These guys caught us and brought all of us here.”  As Jorge spoke, a girl’s blood curdling scream came from the other side of the barn.

“No, don’t, don’t do this. I am an American.  You have made a terrible mistake.” There was a struggle and screaming and the sound of clothes ripping and flying fists punching and slapping against human flesh.  The girls’ screams were chilling and desperate.  The beatings went on and on.  During this insanity, a girl shrieked in Spanish.  “Stop, stop it. She is not illegal.”  The cries and screams of both girls were deafening, but they dissipated into the barren, rural air heard by no one of consequence.

Rush sat frightened and stunned while Jorge shouted threats and obscenities until there was silence.  The men left and muffled sobs could be heard from the unseen girls.  Jorge called out, “Elena, are you alright? Are you conscious?”

“Yes, but I think Maria is not and she is so bad she might die.  Oh, god, she is not conscious … Jorge, you must help us.”

The men were outside the barn drinking.  Jorge knew that any minute they would return to inflict their misguided, drunken wrath on them.  He had to work fast.  As anger flared in Jorge’s eyes, he began to dig in the corner of the stall where he had already started a tunnel under the barn.  Rush, adrenaline pumping, scrambled to help him and together they managed to dig a hole big enough to squeeze through.  Tearing skin and snagging clothing as they wriggled under the rough barn boards, they crammed themselves one at a time through the small opening.  The boys ran as fast as they could and gained only the length of a city block ahead of heavy running footsteps behind them.  A gunshot echoed loud and threatening in the black night.  Jorge’s fleeing body dropped.  Rush surged on frightened as he ducked into a wooded area.  He wanted to turn around to help Jorge, but he couldn’t.  They needed help.  As he ran, he listened for the sound of those heavy running footsteps behind him, but instead two more shots rang out; then silence.  Rush’s heart hammered against his chest as he gasped for breath.  Terror engulfed him.  Blood pumped through his eardrums, but not far away he heard the voices of the two men.  Frantic, Rush found a tree to climb.  High into the atmosphere she cradled him in the sanctuary of her leafy bosom.  He prayed that she would keep him safe from the savage men still looking for him. Down below, the men came closer.  He held his breath and froze.

“Little bastard can really run.  No matter, the Alliance will catch up to him.  Let’s go.  I’m tired and hungry.”  They walked away sporting shotguns over their shoulders as if they were merely hunting coyotes.

There, nestled in the tree’s branches, Rush found asylum until he was certain the beasts chasing after him got into their car and drove far away.  He was hesitant to leave the security of the tree, but he forced himself to work through the fear and somehow climbed down and started his hike to the nearest road in order to report the murder of his new friend.  The brambles of the woods clawed at his ankles and the anxiety he felt labored his breathing.  It seemed he would never reach his destination, and after what seemed like hours, the two lane highway trekked by the fake cops on the way to his confinement appeared.  A truck came rumbling by and stopped when Rush flagged it down.  The driver was a young Latina, a reassuring sight after his visit to hell.

“Hey, Niño.  Aren’t you a little young to be out here so late?  Can I give you a ride somewhere?”  Rush looked straight through the woman and before he could speak, passed out on the side of the road.  When he came around, the woman was holding him and patting his face.

In shock, Rush tried to speak. “I’m sorry.  It’s awful.  We, we were chased by cops and they shot and killed Jorge and … help me, please.”

“That’s okay, Niño.  Maybe the best thing is to get you to a police station.  My name is Lupe, by the way.  Come on; upsidaisy.”  Lupe struggled to help Rush to his feet, but once in the truck he was able to tell her everything that happened.  After a while, Lupe picked up where Rush left off.  The burden of conversation was too much for him, so her incessant talking proved to be a pacifier.  He was lulled into a state of sweet boredom by her even Texan cadence.

At the police station, Rush sat bewildered.  He needed to tell them about the murderous jack asses, but did he have to admit his guilt in an attempt to steal those shoes?  As his chin hugged his chest, he knew that not only his parents, but his brothers would be so disappointed in him.

The door flung open to the interrogation room.  In walked a tall Latino man.  His demeanor was bold but calm.  “Hello, Jose. My name is Alex Jimenez.  I’m a detective with the Laredo PD.  You want to tell me about these murders?”

“I, I still can’t believe it happened.”  Rush told the detective everything about his capture, and about the shoe store and how the mall cops put him into an unmarked car and drove him out to that horror-filled prison.

“Boy, you were caught in a shoe store?  Why?  There was no money there, so what did you want from that store?”  Detective Jimenez loomed over Rush like God himself.  He was an intimidating man, but Rush believed that there was concern in his voice not blame.

“Shoes.  There’s this cool pair of red shoes with a lightning bolt on the side.  I just wanted them so bad and, well, I have no money.”  Rush did not look at the man standing beside him.  He was too embarrassed.  All he could think was that he was a Mexican thief.  Was he a murderer, too, just like those brutes?  But, what was most important was what happened out there in that desolate place under the moonlight.  “The shoes don’t matter anymore.  What matters is what those men did to those kids.  The boy’s name was Jorge, and the girls were Elena and Maria.  I don’t know anything more about them, but I can take you there.  The men said that something called the Alliance would find me.  Can they do that?  Can they hunt me down like that?”

“Slow down, Jose.  You are safe.  Are you sure they said the Alliance?”

“Yes, I’m sure.  I don’t think I will ever forget it.  What is the Alliance?”

“It’s an organization we have been tracking for a while now.  The full name is the Alliance Against Illegal Immigration, but what it really is, is a license to kill.”

Rush felt sick to his stomach.  After everything he had witnessed he still was just another Latino kid destined to be seen as a thief.  Stereotypes were to be avoided and he stepped right into a big one.  There was no room for childish mistakes in judgment.  Perceptions of Mexicans were unfair, and now he would be seen as lazy, not working for anything, and taking whatever he wanted.

“Really … red shoes.  Why?”  Alex scoured the boy’s expression realizing that there was more to this act of thievery than sheer greed.

“Look, are my parents coming?  They are going to be so mad at me.  I have never done anything like this before.  I, I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m sorry is a good start.”

“Yeah, okay.  I am sorry.  I don’t know what came over me.  Those shoes just called to me.”

“Why?  Why outrageous red shoes?  Some might think they are ugly.”

“No, man.  They are flashy and cool.  They make me want to go fast, run through life, you know?”   As he spoke, his parents burst through the door.

“Rush!  Are you alright?  It’s no wonder you weren’t killed, too.  What did you do?”   Mama Pena was shaken.  She had been wringing a hankie with one hand and holding her rosary in the other.

“Rush!  This is not the way of the Pena family.  You are an American citizen and you must be grateful for your freedom.  You have a responsibility to our culture.  What were you thinking, Nino?”  Miguel Pena was a stout man, and a righteous one.  He raised his children with calm and firmness and always included honor as part of the lesson.

“Mr. and Mrs. Pena, my name is Alex Jimenez.  I am a detective with the Laredo Police Department.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, but I’m so sorry for the circumstances.  Rush is a good boy.  This is not like him at all.  And see what came from this?  Estupido!”  Rush’s father was mortified to the core.  His face was sullen, but he was upset by the thought that his son could have fallen prey to such horrific acts of terror used against undocumented immigrants.

“Let me tell you what is going to happen.  An attorney is going to be appointed on your son’s behalf.  Since it is his first offense, he most likely will be placed on probation.  More importantly, we want to nail the mall cops for the murder of those children.  If what Rush says is correct, one of the girls was an American citizen.  The other two were for sure murdered, and the men will face charges for that, but the case is strengthened if the one girl was American.  Then we can really go after them for murder here in Texas.  The only thing is that Rush must testify to what happened tonight.  Can you do that Rush?”  Rush nodded his head up and down furiously.  “As for the charges that will be levied against him for the attempted theft at the mall, I think Rush’s attorney can get the county prosecutor to drop them in exchange for his testimony.  Do you have any questions?”

“Wait.  Did you find the bodies?   Are they really dead?”   Rush wanted confirmation.

“As soon as you were brought in, the young woman who found you gave the police directions to where she picked you up and it was easy to find the barn you described.  It is the only structure for miles around – a good place for the Alliance to hand out their sanctimonious form of justice.”  Alex swallowed hard.  “I am sorry, Jose. The children were found dead.”

Rush felt sick and he now appreciated the enormity of the position he had been in and what could have happened but didn’t. “Did you find those cops?  They will come after me and kill me, too.  Did you find them … are they locked up?”

“We did find them, but let’s make one thing clear.  Those men are not cops, but sick, perverted bigots.  They were in a bar drinking and bragging about how they stopped three more illegals from entering the country.  Rush, those sonsa’ bitches are locked up away from decent people.  Now, it is your responsibility to put them away permanently with your testimony. Will you do it?”

Blood raced through Rush’s veins causing his head to pound with rage for the loss of three innocent children.  In other circumstances, they might have been his good friends. They might have laughed and shared stories and played games.  But, their lives were snuffed out – just like that.  He didn’t know them well, but he knew them well enough to conclude they didn’t deserve to die at the hands of those animals.  In a cold and determined voice Rush replied, “Yes, I will testify.”

“When does he have to go to court for his mistake?”  Mr. Pena’s voice was stern.

“They haven’t set an exact time, but within the next few days.  Since Rush has agreed to testify against those men, his appearance before a judge will be short and he won’t be incarcerated.  You can take him home after his initial appearance.  Mr. and Mrs. Pena, can I have a word with him alone?”

“Of course.”  Rush’s mother and father left the room feeling the burden placed upon their shoulders by a son they did not understand.

After they left, Alex said, “Rush?  Where did you get that name?”

“My mama always says that I am in such a rush to get places and to understand everything.  I guess I don’t stand still very much, so the nickname stuck.”

“Oh, I see. Well, Rush, can I call you that?”  Rush nodded.  “What do you think about all of this?”

“I want to make it up to my family.  This is not something that I ever thought about doing.  I’ve seen others in my neighborhood steal, but that was to survive.  Sometimes the old people will boost tomatoes from the market, or some fruit.  There are others who make a living from stealing, but those are gangs.  I’m not into that.”

“No one has ever asked you to join a gang?”

“Sure, plenty of times.  I try to stay away from their street corners.  Books are my thing.  I love to read about other cultures, other places.  I see how Latinos are treated.  It’s unfair. We just want a better life in America.  Someday, I am going to make a difference for people.”

“Yeah?  How do you think you can do that?”  Alex was starting to like him. Rush’s confidence in himself was inspiring and Alex could see why no one called him Jose.

Rush’s inner energy exploded.  “I don’t know.  I haven’t figured that out yet.  But I will.  It’s out there, somewhere.”  His face looked tired from the ordeal.  One he never expected to experience in his life, and one he never wanted to experience again.  He could not get the saying his grandmother used around the Day of the Dead out of his head, “Se me subió el muerto,” or, “the deceased climbed on me” (they really scared me).

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

Deathlinks, Revised Edition, by E. M. Duesel now available on Amazon.com

Fort Wayne, IN (August 18, 2017) –Deathlinks, the revised edition, by E. M. Duesel, is now available for purchase by Kindle Direct Publishing on Amazon.com.  The revised book (KDP, $19.95) captures life as the world must face the approaching Apocalypse.  It addresses the purpose of living, the sixth sense as a gift from the Creator, and a deeper perspective of predestined relationships and reincarnation.

Deathlinks has been reviewed as “ … a good EOTW thriller, one wrought with real-life apocalyptic horrors that can actually happen, to anyone at any time …” and “E. M. Duesel has conjured up a true winner.”

As of June 4, 2018, the revised edition of “Deathlinks” is now an ebook.  It can be purchased on Amazon.com for $2.99.