“Two hundred dollars?” Juan’s uncle Pablo doubled over in a coughing fit, cigar smoke erupting from his nose and mouth, washing over Juan in an acrid haze. Waiving away Juan’s offer to help, Pablo regained his composure and leaned heavily with one elbow against the table for balance. “In the old days, they’d be lucky if we gave them a twenty-dollar bill. Usually, it was just a ten…”
“I’m sorry, uncle,” Juan stammered, “But I was gonna get in trouble if I didn’t think quick.”
Still wiping tears, Pablo patted Juan affectionately on the shoulder, “No problem nephew, don’t worry about it. I’m not worried about the money. Our new clients have so much cash, you wouldn’t believe it!”
The headquarters of the nonprofit organization, Latinos por la Libertad, was a cheap, rented building located in a crumbling commercial district of south Phoenix. Despite the empty parking lot and the ‘Closed’ sign prominently displayed out front, the tiny building was swarming with activity. A stream of men kept arriving from the alleyway entrance, queuing to talk to Pablo.
“I don’t mind if you take it out of my pay…” Juan began, but Pablo cut him off.
“Nonsense!” He took another long pull on his cigar and held it for a dramatic moment before blowing out a long stream of smoke. “Now show me how many tortillas you’ve gathered for me.”
Juan emptied the contents of his satchel. Quickly sorting them into stacks of five ballots each, he counted out twenty-two ballots. “Four of these were already filled out,” he said.
“Were they filled out for Democrats or Republicans?” Pablo asked, leaning closer.
Juan shrugged, "I don't know. They've been sealed and signed.”
Pablo picked up the nearest envelope. “Let’s take a look,” he said, tearing one open.
Even though Juan was routinely breaking laws now, the utter disregard for the security of official documents nevertheless shocked him. “They already voted! Isn’t it too late?”
Pablo spared Juan a quick, condescending glance before returning to the ballot. “Republican,” he announced, tossing the ballot carelessly in a pile before reaching for another one.
Juan stared wide-eyed, “But now we can’t use it! They’ll only take it if the envelope is intact.”
The tip of Pablo's cigar glowed red. "We've got lots of extra envelopes."
“What about the signatures?” Juan couldn’t wrap his mind around what was happening, “They won’t match.”
“Another Democrat,” Pablo smirked as he tossed the ballot on a separate pile. “No one’s going to check the signatures. We just wait until the last night and turn them all in at once. It’s very easy to overwhelm the poll workers. We do it every election.”
“OK,” Juan shrugged, “how many did I lose?”
Laughter rumbled from Pablo’s enormous belly like distant thunder, “You didn’t lose any, nephew. For our client, a Democrat tortilla that doesn’t get cast is worth as much as a tortilla we fill out for the Republicans. I’ll pay for all of them!”
Pablo turned towards a skinny, studious-looking man typing quietly on a tablet. “Twenty-two,” he said. The man nodded and entered the number. Then Pablo produced an enormous wad of cash and started peeling off bills. “Here you go, nephew,” he said, handing Juan a thick stack of bills. “$4,400, plus a little bit extra for your trouble. OK?”
“OK.” Juan accepted the money gratefully and started to get up to leave.
Pablo placed a hand on Juan’s forearm, “One more moment, please.”
Juan sat back down, casting a furtive glance at the line of men waiting to speak to Pablo.
Pablo didn’t seem to care how many people were waiting to speak to him. He tapped off a long bit of ash into a nearby ashtray and gave Juan a long, penetrating stare. "You're not like these other cabróns,” he said. “You’re smart, Juan.”
“Gracias, Tio.”
Pablo continued, “You’re not doing this just for the money, are you? You’ve already got a good job at the metal fabrication plant. No?”
Juan nodded.
“Then why?” Pablo lifted his chin to indicate the other people gathered in this building. “Why are you here?”
Juan thought about this for a moment. He struggled to articulate his thoughts. "Mmm… well, sir, I just think that if the other side is doing this, then my side has to do it too. It’s just the way the world is.” Juan grimaced. That wasn’t a very good answer, he thought.
“I’ve heard you talking,” Pablo said sagely. “You’re a true believer. These other guys, they don’t care who pays them or why. But you really want Trump to win, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
Juan inhaled deeply and immediately regretted it. The stale cigar smoke was sucked up with the breath that he immediately released with a choking sigh, “As you know, Sir,” he began formally, “just a few months ago, I held a little girl in my arms as she was slowly dying from a gunshot wound. My neighborhood is full of vagrants, and I worry about my family’s safety. It didn’t used to be this way. So yes, I’m here. And I’ll do anything to get Trump re-elected. Anything.”
“Good, good,” Pablo smiled and took a long drag on his cigar. “Then I think you’re just the kind of man I’ve been looking for. I think I’ve got a different job for you now.”
“What is it?”
“First,” Pablo waved one of the waiting men away. He leaned forward so that Juan was staring at his jagged teeth, “Tell me what you know about Arizona’s Electoral College.”
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