Free America Libre by Raul Ramos y Sanchez

Ramon replied, the corners of his mouth arching slightly.
    “He’s being modest, Maggie. Your husband was magnificent!” Jo called out. When Jo had moved to Los Angeles three years earlier,
     she’d sought out Ramon Garcia for his connections within the Eslo community. His power as an orator had been a pleasant surprise.
    Ramon angled the vu-phone toward Jo.
    “That’s wonderful, Jo,” Margaret said from the small screen. “I wish I could have been there.”
    Jo flashed a smile into the display. “Somebody’s got to keep those flamboyant directors in line,” she said.
    “This one likes to spend money like he’s van Gogh heaping paint on a canvas… except he doesn’t have near the talent. If he
     keeps it up,
I’m
the one who’s going to cut off his ear. In fact, I might even start lower on his anatomy,” Maggie said.
    “Hang on, I’m going to switch over to secure mode, Maggie,” Ramon said, pressing the button that encrypted their connection
     and blacked out their visual contact. “Everything went according to plan,” he said into the vu-phone’s mike. “The gangs kept
     their truce.”
    “That’s good,” Maggie said with relief in her voice. “Frankly, I was worried—especially when you told me there would be families
     at the rally. God knows enough people have been killed in East Los Angeles lately.”
    “The last thing we wanted to do was to jeopardize innocent lives,” Jo said hurriedly. “If we’d had trouble break out in front
     of the media, it would have looked like we were inciting violence. That’s not the public image La Defensa del Pueblo needs
     to cultivate right now.”
    “You have a gift for politics, Jo,” Margaret said. “I’m just glad no one was hurt.”
    “I wasn’t surprised the gangs honored the truce,” Ramon said. “They can be vicious, but they also value honor. Each mero gave
     me his word there wouldn’t be trouble, and they all kept it. Of course, spreading a little cash among them always helps.”
    Jo’s expression turned grim. Ramon’s words reminded her of the business with Nesto and the cops. The mero had taken things
     too far; she’d never intended for him to kill the cops. Still, the results had been good for their cause—today’s turn-out
     was proof of that.
The momentum for justicia is growing—but does that justify murder?
Jo buried her remorse once again and turned her attention back to Ramon and Margaret.
    “Did it help to have Benitez there?” Margaret asked.
    “You were right about inviting him, Maggie,” Ramon replied. “He really brought out the cameras.”
    “Every share point in ratings is worth a thousand bullets,” Jo added.
    Margaret laughed softly. “You certainly have a colorful way of putting it, dear.”
    Jo smiled. Maggie’s celebrity connections had once again helped their cause. “I wish you could have seen your husband on the
     podium, Maggie. He was in total control today.”
    “Thanks, Jo,” Ramon cut in. “But let’s give credit where it’s due. I don’t think the responses from the audience would have
     happened on cue if you hadn’t arranged for a few of our friends in the crowd to get them started. It was a brilliant idea.”
    “Well, congratulations to you both,” Margaret said. “It sounds like you pulled off a minor miracle today. Look, I hate to
     run, but I’ve got to lean on my little prima donna. If he doesn’t get this crew back to work soon, we’re going to lose the
     light and fall another day behind schedule. I’ll call you again tomorrow, Ramon.”
    “Bye, love,” Ramon said and disconnected. After returning the phone to his pocket, he looked out the window. “You know, Jo,
     our cause hasn’t had an opportunity like this since the sixties. I feel like a young radical again.”
    “That’s a good thing, viejo. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. Getting La Defensa del Pueblo in place is going to be a
     grind over the next few months. But today, I think we seized the