Driving back to Ray Dominguez' house down the dark street, his gut was conflicted. The little voice inside his head had turned schizophrenic.

"This is a bad one, call it a day and go see Jen, get those hamburgers and watch those movies. Just say nobody was home."

"It's my job, this is what I do. You start running from the bad ones and lying about it...you're done."

"What are you doing with that gun?"

"You know...if the shit hits the fan."

"But you don't have a carry permit anymore and you know how Pembroke feels about guns. You want to see shit hitting fans, you pull that gun tonight."

"I'd rather be tried by 12 than carried by 6."

"You're a fucking idiot."

"And you're a pussy."

"You like shooting Mexicans don't you?"

"The fuck? Where did that come from?"

He was in the driveway now, his headlights illuminating the tailgate of the big Ford pickup. He gave the horn a couple honks and was greeted by the old McNab dog. This time he gave out a couple of barks but his tail was wagging. He killed the lights, shut down the car and got out leaving the doors unlocked. Once again he held out his palm and let the dog sniff and lick then waited awhile for somebody to come out of the house with the summons ready to go in his left hand.

There were lights on inside but nobody came out. He thought about going through the chain link gate and knocking on the front door of the house but he remembered that pitbull and decided to check out the garage.

The old F-150 had it's hood up now, blocking his view of the garage until he was actually in, where he was immediately startled by a deep bark from his right as the pitbull lunged at him. He instinctively jumped back before his brain registered the dog was wrapped in a heavy chain harness clipped to another chain being held fast by a young Mexican man. Two other, younger men, boys really were in the garage all three kind of semi circle around an ice chest on the cold concrete floor.

Startled really wasn't the right word. Scared shitless was more like it and it must have shown on his face as they all started laughing. The boy on the left, a chubby, baby faced Chicano with long hair set his beer down and said "What are you doing here Mister?"

"I have some paperwork for Ray Dominguez is he home?"

The older guy holding the dog said "You don't need to be telling this pig anything J.R." He had short cropped hair, a pock marked face and a pawprint tatoo on his neck. The unmistakable mark of the various Bulldog gangs.

"Are you a cop mister?"

"No but I am an officer of the court, and I need to give Mr. Dominguez some important information on his case."

The gangster began moving out of the garage with the dog into the drive way. Then he squatted down and began talking to dog in Spanish, winding him up with the tone of his voice. He even gave him a couple more feet of chain.

This was not good at all, not only was his escape route being minimized, the dog would be on him almost instantaneously if the cholo let go of the chain. The dog was all but frothing at the mouth now, growling and straining at the chain.

He hoped his voice wasn't trembling as he said "Sorry to have bothered you gentleman, I'll be going now."

The guy with the tatoo gave the dog a little more chain and said
"Panchito...queremos matar este gabacho?"

The other boys got a big kick out of that and started laughing again. He took two steps back then stopped and squared up on the gangster and the pitbull. He heard himself say "Listen up ese' if you make me shoot that dog, I'll kill all three of you."

Nothing.

Nothing but the dog growling and straining against the chain. Nothing but the tunnel vision beginning. Focusing on the dog and tattoo boy's face. Nothing but the little voice saying "Put two in the dog and one in the Bulldog, swing left and get the other two."
His mouth was moving but he only heard the roaring in his ears as his weight shifted to his left foot and his right arm began to brush back the windbreaker.

Then from behind him, very loud he heard "PANCHITO! ABAJO!"

The pitbull immediately relaxed on the chain and now instead of looking at him was focused on someone behind him to his left. The damn thing was even wagging his little stub of a tail just like that.

He turned and saw a man limping into the garage. "Junior what's going on here?"
"This guy says he has some information...some papers to give you." The chubby kid said.

"It's OK, I've been expecting him. Junior, Dave you guys take Pancho on inside now, this is no problem at all."

Dave wasn't too happy but he didn't say anything as he walked by with the dog. Once they were all inside he began to litererally, unwind. The adrenalin gone, his muscles wnt slack. He put his folio on the fender of the old pickup and sat back on the front bumper.

"Are you OK mister?"

"Yeah just got a little too wound up there, you're Ray Dominguez right?"

"Yeah, I guess this about my accident..."

"It is."

He got back up and took the summons out of the folio. He noticed his hands were trembling as he handed the trucker the summons. He'd fill out the Proof Of Service form later in the car after he'd settled down some.

"Thanks for stepping in and calming things down here Mr. Dominguez."

"I would have come out sooner but this damn leg...did you really mean what you said."

"What do you mean?"

"You said if you had to shoot the dog you'd kill the boys. Then you said you liked to shoot Mexicans."

"Like I said I got too wound up."

"Would you have shot my boy."

I pulled my windbreaker open and showed him the gun on my hip. "That Dave is no good and he's going to get your boy in all kinds of trouble. He almost got him killed tonight."

"He's my nephew, my sisters youngest. He can't stay in Fresno anymore."

"I'm sure there's a good reason for that Mr. Dominguez. You know I was trying to leave tonight but that Dave...he wasn't going to let me get out of here in one piece. I was here earlier today, nobody was home...I was feeding Pancho chicherones through the fence...I'm really glad nobody got hurt tonight."

He was rambling and his lips felt numb. The trucker was looking at him again saying"...you gonna be OK?"

"Yeah it's just the adrenaline and it's real cold tonight. I've got to get going, good luck Mr. Dominguez."

Back in the car headed west then north toward Fresno it was so fucking cold so he turned the heater up and let it blow hard. God he was tired. All of a sudden he just wanted to close his eyes and rest his head on the steering wheel just for a second. Shit he was only 40 minutes away nobody stops that close to home.

It was just all that adrenaline and probably low blood sugar or something. Gotta get to McDonald's and get those burgers. He stuck another stick of Doublemint in his mouth and turned the stereo up loud over the heater fan.

...drinkin ice tea back at the hotel
tarheel boogie got a western on the cable...

Yeeeeeeah that's more like it! He sang along with the chorus a bit and tried grooving along with the cugga chugga beat, but it was a losing battle. His problem was he wasn't really sleepy, he was bleeding to death.

Back in the garage his heart was pumping so hard it had popped a tiny hole in his bulging aorta. Then when he got back in the car, the little hole opened up a bit more. When he struggled around to unsnap his holster and put his pistol back in the satchel, it got even bigger. It was going to happen one way or another, sooner or later.

He realized he was in trouble when he tried to make a left turn on Manning Ave. He saw the intersection but his arms weren't working fast enough. He blew right through the intersection making a feeble attempt at a turn that simply angled him onto the wrong side of the road and then into an orange orchard.

He wasn't that concerned though, it was almost like one of those drive through car washes. They were only orange branches, it would all just buff right out. He came to a stop a good twenty five yards deep into the orchard, all the orange blossoms settling back down on the car like snow in the headlights. He would have liked that but he was fast asleep, nothing left running but the stereo.

she's got long brown hair tied in a ribbon
when she holds me in her arms
i'm betrayed and forgiven
sand in my shoes
salt on my tongue
gonna lay my burden down
'neath the Mexican sun
allright

smugglers, vets, cheap housing
waves breaking right and left
purple mountains
pack up the kids
fill up a sack
catch ya next Christmas
if I ever get you back
allright

la paloma, la paloma
left my burden in california
la paloma, la paloma
left my burden in california...*



*La Ploloma: Prophet, Klipschutz, Kingsblood Music