Step Out

Peace cannot be achieved through violence, it can only be attained through understanding.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Theme Song: "Step Out" by Jose Gonzales

Part I: México

Chapter I:

Panchito Gonzales

Pátzcuaro, México

The day my life changed forever was not the day I walked down the aisle or when I held my boy in my arms for the first time. That honor goes to Wednesday, March 24th, 2004. Why Wednesday, March 24th, 2004? Well, I'm getting to that.

It was already seventy-two degrees by the time noon rolled around. The sun was high, the air was dry and for the most part, Pátzcuaro was quiet. For those of you who haven't been to my hometown, it's a lake front resort town that still revolves around fishing and religion. You go to church on Domingo (Sunday) and work Lunes through Sábado (Monday through Saturday). Todo el mundo tiene un trabajo de nueve a cinco. Oh, apologizes, I'll try to remember which language I'm speaking in. Anyway, everyone has a nine to five job and everyone takes the autobús de la ciudad (city bus) mañana y noche. Sure people drive their cars and ride their bikes up and down the quaint back roads and parks, but mostly, there's the city bus. If you're a visitor, be prepared to be bombarded with offers to buy fish in the marketplaces, ammunition and drugs from the drug cartel in the alleyways, and of course, food from the vendors and restaurants (stay away from the water).

Anyway, back to the story. It was seventy-two degrees by noon, which wasn't too odd for March but it was reason enough to suspect an early summer. The past couple of weeks were relatively cool thanks to cold front so it was nice to have a change in wardrobe. At noon I was in a Bed in Breakfast near the center of town. I was evicted from my house because Uncle Vito thought it would be a good idea to not pay the electrical bill (or the water bill, the phone bill, the internet bill, the mortgage, the car payment and the credit card payments). At the time, he and I had a fallen out (and not because of the overdue bills). If you ask him the reason, he'll say it was my fault, if you ask me, I'll say it was my fault but with the addition of "also his fault" at the end.

It all started at my niece's quinceañera. It wasn't a grandiose occasion but we made it special for her. We held it at the local church. The preacher was there to bless the occasion as well as white flowers, a cake, a few presents and a red 1997 Honda Civic. It wasn't fancy or in great condition by any means, but it could get her from point A to point B which was all that mattered.

Her boyfriend, Pío, who is, according to My Contacts in my phone- "The Bane of All Existence", bought her a dog as a surprise, specifically, an Akita, also known as, one of the most expensive dog breeds in the world. Guess who's taking care of said Akita now? Not my niece.

"Oh Pío!" She said excitedly at the sight of the dog.

Well, I thought, standing there in my best dress, which was a simple tuxedo, at least someone is happy.

"He's beautiful!" She bent down and petted It. I say It in capitalization because that's the best name she could come up with. Seriously. I know she's my niece, but I'm not afraid to admit that she isn't the brightest in the coop.

It smiled at me, or at least, I think he did. He was one of those dogs that you couldn't help but love and hate at the same time. His face was calm, loyal, the kind of face you want in a dog, but the thought of the expenses made me cringe.

We spent three and a half years earnings on this party of yours, I thought, fake smiling at Pío and reaching down to pet It as if I really wanted to, and you buy her this? I mean, I don't mind that it was a dog. It's the fact that it's this type of dog that makes me mad.

I stood, reached out to shake Pío's hand in thanks, for it is customary to do so, but did so in a way that let him know that I wasn't the least bit satisfied. I shook his hand lightly.

"Mr. Gonzales," Pío said, "I can see that you're not happy with this."

I smiled a bit bigger if I wasn't smiling already. "No," I lied, "I'm overjoyed." Loose translation: if this dog messes up my house, I'm going to kill you.

Pío nodded, "Understood sir."

After that everyone went to the bar and as I figured I would be, I was left with It. My niece and her amour went off into town to celebrate the occasion somewhere else, a local club I suppose. When I was alone with the dog I walked it down the street and towards the Bed and Breakfast.

"Come on Luis," I said, calling the dog by the name I would've given him had he been mine to name. "let's go for a walk."

He walked beside me, his tongue flapped in the wind and his tail wagged. I could tell that he was genuinely happy to be with me which was comforting I guess. We walked for about five minutes until we hit the intersection of Dr. Coss and Navarete Street. The Bed and Breakfast was a block away but for some reason It wanted to stop.

"Come on," I said, pulling on the leash a little. "let's go this way." I started walking in the direction of the B&B when It began to walk down Dr. Coss toward the direction of the freeway.

The neighborhood we were in was full of one story buildings with brown singled roofs and 1970's paint jobs. Chips in the brick and a bit of graffiti showed me that this wasn't exactly the best place to be no matter what time of day so I tried pulling It back in my desired direction. He stopped again, this time sitting down.

I rolled my eyes, "What is it boy?" I asked.

It looked back at me, his eyes spoke of fear, as if he knew something was happening or about to happen. I couldn't look away, those eyes were inescapable pools of adorableness. I guess he saw through me and whimpered out of spite, that or he really did sense something wrong. Looking back on it, I could see why.

For one thing there was no one around. It was like a ghost town of decrepit buildings. The only thing missing was a bit of fog and the Scooby-Doo soundtrack. Another thing that was off was the fact that there was no wind. It was completely silent. The only thing missing was a Rod Sterling narration to make it an ideal episode for The Twilight Zone. We stood in eerie silence for ten whole minutes. We didn't move, we didn't breathe (noticeably that is, I can't hold my breath for that long), we just stared down an empty silent street.

The first thing we heard was three taps on a window. The dog instantly barked and headed towards the direction of where he thought the noise was coming from.

"Keep it down!" I said. It instantly calmed down, he was apparently trained, which is good I guess.

I tapped my foot on the ground three times in response. It was apparently loud enough for the tapper to respond back. I looked over to my left and down a bit and beheld a basement window. I crouched down on the sidewalk and tapped on the window pane that was covered in dirt and grime. It looked like it hadn't been cleaned in thirty years.

"Ayúdame." A frail voice said.

"¿Qué pasa?" I asked.

"Estoy atrapado." The person replied. They were trapped somewhere.

"¿Dónde estás?"

A man came in from around the corner. Save for me and It, he was the only other person on the street. He wore a blue Hawaiian shirt, American Eagle khaki cargo shorts and Hollister flip-flops. A cigar in his mouth, sunglasses over his eyes and a face of raw ambition told me to be weary of him. He had the outlaw look in his eye and when I turned around to see who he was he looked at me too. It was almost as if he understood why I was there and from the looks of things he thought I understood why he was there. We both had the same idea. I stood and walked towards him and he to me. He was about a foot or so taller than me, but then again, I'm a rooster and he was an adult human being so everyone is about a foot or so taller than me.

It growled a bit, he didn't trust him either and looked like he was about to bite. The man removed his cigar, blowing the smoke in my face and said in a bassoon voice. "Call off your bitch."

"For your information señor, the dog is a male." I answered.

The man leaned into my face and smiled. I got a good look at his teeth and they were a horrible gold color mixed with gingivitis and God knows what else.

"Really?" He said, "Apologizes for the misconception."

I backed away, insulted at his gesture and his breath. "Three words: toothpaste and mouthwash." I blew the fumes of his fish smelling breath away from my beak. He then barged into my personal space again.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" He asked.

"Panchito Gonzales," I answered as quickly as I backed up, "No, we've never met before. May I ask who you are?"

The man smiled again. It barked defensively, moving up a bit, daring this weirdo to come any closer. I was beginning to like this dog the more I saw him. For all I know this guy could have a knife or a gun and this dog wouldn't flinch. I could see it in the way that he stood- courageous and loyal, just what a good dog should do and I was, pardon the pun, playing chicken.

"Aw," the man said, "your dog is here to protect you- how sweet."

He reached down to pet him, the dog barked and bit his hand. The man backed up a bit, pulling himself out of harm's way and pulled a gun from his back pocket, specifically, a Makarov pistol PM, a Russian semi-auto that was purchased from "a guy". In any case, no matter where the person got this weapon from, he was pointing it at my dog's head. Fortunately for It, they don't call me Pistoles for nothing. As soon as this malhechor pulled out his semi-automatic I already had my index fingers on my reliable Smith and Wesson 586's- a six shooter that is stylish, slimming, and functional.

The gringo, I could tell he was a tourist, looked my way and laughed a bit. "Go ahead," he said. "Shoot me."

"Get your gun off my dog first." I said.

"Alright," the man replied. He raised his hands in the air, weapon still in hand. I whistled for the dog to come over. He barred his teeth and backed off.

"Tell me something," I said, not lowering my guard for second, "what exactly are you doing here Señor?"

The man smiled again, this time a bit more deviously for I think he hissed a bit. "The same reason you're here."

"What's going on here?" I asked, a bit confused as to why someone was trapped in a basement of a building and why this guy seemed to care. He took a step forward, I didn't move an inch, the only thing that moved was a cat who was sleeping on a nearby windowsill, other than that, the street retained its silence.

"Something that you shouldn't get involved in." The man said, he walked a bit closer, going so far as to place his right hand on my shoulder. That was apparently a signal to start breaking something and begin a ruckus because as soon as he placed his cold, reptilian hand on me the person that was trapped in that room began to scream as if they were being abducted.

Ceramic pots and porcelain dolls fell from their shelves in the scrimmage as two men, each roughly the size of a Pinto barged in and drew the poor soul into a hallway and beat them with the butts of their rifles and shot them square in the chest. I knew this because I heard the screaming and when the shot was fired I was about three milliseconds from pulling the trigger ending this seemingly psychopathic character's life. I didn't though. I simply glared in disbelief and sheathed my revolvers.

The man laughed, "That's better." He said. "Walk away, don't mention this to anyone alright?"

I nodded and we parted ways. All the way though, I kept an eye on him. I realized that I never got his name but I foolishly gave him mine. I gave him a name when I noticed him laughing over and kicking the dead body of a young girl of thirteen with a bullet hole in her chest- Segador. Loose translation: the Grim Reaper.