Read Online Shadow Boys by Harry Hunsicker - Free Book Online Page A

least I could do. The man had saved me from prison.

    Dallas, Texas
    1984
     
    Three years after the racist cop blew his brother’s head off, Raul Delgado, fourteen years old, again found himself in a squad car, this time in the front passenger side.
    He was not handcuffed.
    And this was not his first time in this particular vehicle. But today the texture of the vinyl seats and the crackle of the radio brought back unpleasant memories of that summer afternoon when everything about his life changed.
    Bobby, the lieutenant with the kind eyes, was driving. Bobby’s eyes weren’t very kind right now. They were angry.
    They’d spent a lot of time together these past few years, and Raul knew Bobby as well as any person he’d ever met, maybe even better than his brother or mother. Raul saw anger in the man, but he also saw sadness draped over him.
    But mostly there was the anger.
    They were leaving the fairgrounds just east of downtown Dallas.
    It was October and the state fair was in session.
    Carny barkers on the midway, stuffed animals for prizes, roller-coaster rides, and a giant Ferris wheel. People having fun.
    Bobby drove down a pedestrian esplanade past the booths selling corny dogs and cotton candy. The squad-car lights were on, flashing red and blue, but the siren was off.
    Fairgoers moved out of their way, staring at the squad car that contained a gringo cop in his forties and a teenage Hispanic boy riding with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.
    Raul wished he gave a shit how Bobby felt, like he used to, but he didn’t.
    He still liked him—the man saved Raul from those in the DPD who would have crucified an eleven-year-old boy for merely being a Mexican American—but he realized Bobby was also part of the problem.
    Bobby worked for an organization of oppression, according to speakers Raul had heard at the Chicano Liberation Center on Oak Lawn Avenue. The Dallas Police Department was a tool of the white man, designed to enforce the imperialist policies of the federal government.
    Why everyone didn’t acknowledge this was beyond Raul Delgado’s comprehension. It was all so clear if you knew where to look.
    “You really stepped in it this time,” Bobby said.
    Raul didn’t speak.
    “Nearly broke that boy’s jaw.”
    Raul pointedly turned away from his mentor and stared out the passenger window.
    “You wanna tell me why?” Bobby stopped to let a woman push a stroller across the esplanade.
    A few moments passed.
    Raul said, “He called me a wetback.”
    The boy whose jaw might or might not be broken—Raul didn’t really care one way or the other—was from North Dallas, the most racist part of the city. He was a symbol of all that is wrong with the system. The boy was a preppy. Dressed in a pink knit shirt with a tiny lizard on the breast, khaki pants, Top-Sider boat shoes.
    The preppy had been a few years older than Raul. He’d been drunk, of course. Many gringos had issues with alcohol, according to the books Raul had read.
    The problem started when the preppy had made a remark about Raul’s Che Guevara T-shirt, and Raul had decided to teach him a lesson.
    “If more Chicanos stood up for themselves,” Raul said, “then perhaps the mistreatment of my people will lessen.”
    “Your people?” Bobby cut his eyes to the passenger seat.
    “The Latino has been denied a place at the table.” Raul tried to keep his voice from rising. “Texas was settled by Chicanos hundreds of years before the white man came.”
    Bobby sighed. “Son, I’m all for you getting in touch with your roots—”
    “Then why did they stop me?”
    “Aw, c’mon.” Bobby shook his head. “They had to stop you.”
    Raul didn’t reply.
    “You were beating that kid’s ass into the ground,” Bobby said. “Has nothing to do with you being Mexican.”
    The Dallas police maintained a large presence during the state fair. Several officers had pulled Raul away from the preppy kid before he could do any permanent damage.