an unlikely tale on Redemption,
Writing & Surviving in Tijuana
LUIS stands in Plaza Santa Cecilia enjoying the hot day. It is near mid-afternoon and the sun beats down in shimmering heat upon the concrete thoroughfare. The stalls were an arabesesque of multihues selling all types of candy colored curious. The air wafted with smells of spoiled garbage, automobile exhaust, and seared taco meat as local families strolled with their giggling children, bewildered tourists gawked, rent boys prowled and stood in cooling shadows as a band tootled and twanged music indigenous to Sinaloa on the stage under the Millennium Arch.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Hector with the crutches. His face grimaces into pain as he mumbles something about having a hard time standing. He stares at the passing throng, took a sip of his soda for dramatic effect, and begans his tale of woe.
HECTOR
I was walking home from work two days
ago - you know, out by Tiente Guerro Park.
A squad car pulled up and two officers
started harassing me. They had me sit on the
curb as they began going through my backpack.
I had nothing in there but my uniform, right? They
asked for my ID - which I had, it was current - but,
this one pendejo accused it as being fake.
He takes another sip of soda.
HECTOR
They started all kinds of shit that I looked like some
runner
for the Cartel that they had been looking for
and right in front
of me cut my ID up with a knife.
Then they threw me into the back of the squad car.
His eyes became misty
HECTOR
They drove me out to the middle of nowhere, man.
Still cuffed they dragged me out behind this building
and had me take my shoes off. I was sitting in the
dirt when they took their batons and began beating
my feet.
He lifts one pant leg and his skin was mottled with large purple and blue bruises. His tan skin ashy from scratch marks.
HECTOR
They threw me in the back of the car again and drove
me to my neighborhood and dumped me about six blocks
from my house.
Two police patrols meander through the Plaza - one hulking apish looking man and a stone faced dumpy woman.
HECTOR
That’s not all of it.
(spats, wiping his mouth with a napkin)
As I was walking home - the best I could - another patrol car
cruises up and they start their shit. I explained what happened,
right? They laughed, accused me of not having an ID after I
had told them what happened - threw me in the back of
the car and drove me around awhile - all along not saying
a word. Once at a substation, they put me in a cell and beat
my legs as other prisoners silently looked on.
As tears began to stream down his brown cheeks.
HECTOR
Then they let me go. They drove me a block to my place and
let me go.
All that time I was praying to God not to let my
anger
take over and not to break their necks. I am thankful
for God for he gave me strenght to withstand all that and not
to kill again.
* * * * * * * * * * *
LUIS (O.S.)
I walk alone down Avenida Revolucion to my room amid the
carnival of blaring neon and pounding discos - everyone looks
like a drug addict. Stopping to sit on a metal bench in front of
El Torito disco - wanna sit alone and smoke a cigarette and
think. Depression rising again. Moments pass and handsome
cholo pelon sits with me - smell of dirty linens and unwashed
bodies - we don't talk but he cackles and grins into his Styrofoam
coffee cup - he laughed, black insane laughter as patrol after
patrol roamed by eyeing us.
The muffled whispers of cars pass and somewhere in the distance a dog barks.
LUIS (O.S)
This is too tiresome, and I drift home lost without purpose or meaning.
(beat)
So I lay in my bed, naked, on top of the covers smoking a cigarette
watching a black cockroach scale the faded baby blue wall of my
room - national sponsored program in Spanish mumbles from the
radio - and I think I need to change.
But do I want to?
Tijuana has more faces than the Devil goddess.
A Flair of Tijuana / Video Tale on Tijuana Drug War.
Opportunity to invest in "A Tequila With God" here: http://beta.piratemyfilm.com/projects/44