America Libre Read Online Free PDF Page B

intentional?
he wondered. He ambled along the pile of books and, at about three paces from the front door, he saw another gap with a view
     toward the west.
Is there a purpose for these peepholes?
    Before he could explore this mystery further, Mano heard the steel door open behind him. Emerging from the office was a tall
     woman with long honey-blonde hair. Even across the shadowy room, Mano could see her ice-blue eyes. She appeared to be in her
     early thirties, with a complexion and features he would have expected to see in Beverly Hills instead of East Los Angeles.
     Despite a drab T-shirt, faded jeans, and spare makeup, her raw beauty would have turned any man’s head.
    “Buenos días, Señor Suárez. Bienvenido a nuestra tienda,” the woman said. Although Mano spoke only a handful of words in Spanish,
     he’d grown up hearing it and knew immediately Spanish was her native tongue.
    “Hello, ma’am,” Mano replied. “As I told Mr. Herrera—”
    “I’m sorry. There’s no Mr. Herrera here,” the woman interrupted in flawless English.
    “But I’m certain Father Johnson told me to come see Joe Herrera… at the Cielo Azul Bookstore.”
    “Yes, he did. I’m Jo Herrera…
Josefina
,” she said, pronouncing her first name—
Ho-say-FEE-nah
—with its Spanish inflection.
    “I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect, ma’am.”
    “It’s OK—you’re not the first.”
    “When Father Johnson said ‘Joe Herrera,’ I figured—”
    “Mark—
Father Johnson
—has a sense of humor. And besides, he may have thought you might be reluctant to apply for work at a business run by a woman.”
    “No, ma’am. That’s no problem. My last CO in the Army was a woman. But I’m a mechanic. I’m not sure what I can do in a bookstore.”
    “Besides this bookstore, I own a recycling business. We keep our trucks in a garage on the other side of the alley,” she said,
     gesturing toward the back door. “The business is growing and we’re going to need another driver soon. We could also use your
     skills as a mechanic to keep the trucks running.”
    “I have a California CDL, so I’m licensed to drive up to thirteen tons,” Mano said eagerly.
    “Yes, I know.”
    “You didn’t ask about my CDL on your application. How did you know?”
    Jo tapped her fingertips together. “For now, let’s just say we have certain resources.”
    Although Mano found this answer puzzling, the prospect of finding a job overrode his misgivings. He was elated at the chance
     to work again. “Is there anything else you need to know?”
    A soft smile crossed Jo’s face. “Can you start Monday?”

    Mano walked home with a jaunt in his stride that had been missing for quite some time. To celebrate their good fortune, he
     stopped for a modest bouquet of flowers for Rosa and a cake for the children. After six months of scrimping, the time had
     come to splurge a little.
    Since losing his car, Mano had grown closer to the soul of his barrio. The riots had not changed the daily pulse of life amid
     the bungalows, bars, body shops, apartments, and weedy vacant lots. Dusk was a time when those heading home from work crossed
     paths with the ever-present teens and people of the night—the gangbangers, drug dealers, pimps, and prostitutes.
    Near his apartment, Mano saw the Jimenez twins playing hopscotch on the crowded sidewalk with a crushed Budweiser Tall Boy
     can.
    “Hi, big guy!” one of them called out, giggling.
    Mano waved, feeling a pang of pity. Although the girls were only five, they were on the street alone. Both their parents worked,
     and their nana—as grandmothers were called in Chicano households—often let the twins wander outside while she did her chores.
    Mano had no such worries about his own children. Each day at five, Rosa would bring the kids inside, prepare the food, set
     the table, and wait until Mano was home before serving their evening meal. The family ritual was now unquestioned.
    Entering the courtyard to his