· 27 ·

The son of a bitch has had his hooks in me since the day I was born (Lito said, with a con man's easy command of the vernacular). That's the way it is on a hacienda. You own nothing, not even yourself.

     You may think you do. You think you have a life, even if it's not much, it's yours. But there's the amo, that's the big boss, the owner of the hacienda, and what you think is yours is really his. All of it. If he sees something of yours that he likes, you can kiss it good-bye. I don't care what it is. Your water jug, your dog, your daughter. If he wants it, it's his.

     He doesn't necessarily even have to like it. Sometimes he'll take it just for the hell of it.

     I'm telling you this so you'll understand the mentality of somebody who was brought up on a hacienda. The amo, the hacendero, he's God. The amo giveth, the amo taketh away. Mostly he takes. You do not question the amo. What he wants, you give him.

     In my case, what he wanted was me. I look at myself, I can't blame him. Not to brag, but let's be realistic. I've got brains, I've got balls, and I've got nothing to lose. It's an unbeatable combination. Fucking Luis is not stupid. He knows a good thing when he sees it.

     What got me noticed, I was eighteen years old, cutting cane, living in the barrio. My cabo, that's like a crew boss, an assistant foreman, had a brother that was a peeper. He'd hide in the bushes by the creek when the girls were out taking a bath. One day Precy comes home crying. She was alone at the creek, and she saw the guy doing his thing, you know, choking his chicken, shuffling his cards. She was all upset. These barrio girls, they're sensitive.