It might have been Pablo’s friendly attitude, or perhaps Juan was just relaxing after a long day working, but the question opened Juan’s heart about some issues that had been troubling him. “I think the Democrats stole the last election.”
Pablo smiled but said nothing. He just dragged on his cigar, the red tip growing brighter as he inhaled deeply.
“Maybe we need to play by the same rules now?” Juan’s passion was etched in his features. He spit. Then, with a curse, “Nobody went to jail. Why don’t we do the same things?”
Then Pablo laughed.
Juan wasn’t ready for that reaction. He’d expected that he might offend his uncle with his suggestion. His consternation must have shown on his face because Pablo held up a hand to calm him down.
“Oh nephew!” Smoke trailed from his nostrils like some fantastic dragon of old. He wiped a mirthful tear away from his eye, “I think I’m going to teach you how to sell tortillas!”
Several days later, a knock came at the door. Juan answered, and the large man standing outside greeted him in Spanish and introduced himself as Hector, “Pablo wants you to come with me.”
Juan went back inside to retrieve his baseball cap, and Maria clutched his arm, “Oh, cariño no!” she begged. “Please don’t go. Tio Pablo is very bad.”
Her plea embarrassed Juan, and he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Hector hadn’t heard it. “I’ll be back later.”
Hector parked the car a few blocks away from Juan’s house. It was a neighborhood Juan knew well. He had no relatives here, but he’d been to some parties in a couple of the houses. The two men strolled down the sidewalk until they came to a cluster of three mailboxes standing together. Hector quickly opened each mailbox and looked inside.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Juan protested. “That’s illegal!”
Hector’s eyes snapped over, locking with Juan’s. “Don’t ever say that again.” He held Juan’s gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then his face cracked into a wolfish grin. “Ah, relax compañero!” He laughed and put a companionable arm around Juan’s shoulders. “I’m not hurting nothing. You see, the ballots from the Active Early Voting List are supposed to be delivered to this neighborhood today. I’m just checking to see if this family,” he indicated a house whose driveway they were now walking up, “has received theirs yet.”
“Why?” was all Juan could muster.
“There was no ballot inside, right?” Hector pointed out.
“No…” Juan admitted.
“That tells me they didn’t sign up for early voting,” Hector released Juan’s shoulder and gestured with both hands like what he was saying was obvious.
“So?” Juan had no idea what was going on.
“So?” Hector repeated sarcastically, “So, I’m going to tell them it’s not too late to sign up. Our community needs to vote in this election, right? Pablo said you wanted to make a difference. Don’t you want to help our people out?”
Juan shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, OK,” he accepted what Hector was telling him at face value. “Yeah, I want to help.”
“Good,” replied Hector, knocking at the door. “Because you’re doing the next one.” With that, Hector greeted the elderly woman who answered the door, introduced himself and the non-profit organization he represented, and began discussing the importance of making her voice heard in the next election.
This looks easy, Juan thought.