Here's chapter two! Note: I'm not familiar with how police procedures went like in 1920's Mexico so forgive me for any inaccuracies. If you know the proper way an investigation would go then feel free to contact me and I'll make the necessary changes. Enjoy!


Oficial Gabriel Gutierrez is a tall man, fit without being too muscular, with sharp eyes that take in every detail and a clean cut mustache over the serious frown his mouth is in. He has been part of the Mexico City police for almost ten years, joining shortly after his father had been murdered and the perpetrators never caught and convicted. Ever since then, he has vowed to do everything in his power to give people the justice his family was denied and tonight was no different.

He and a few other officers from the night shift had been busy with some paperwork when the man had bursted into the station.

"Oye, necesito ayuda!" he had shouted, getting everyone's attention. "There's some guy who dropped dead near the train station and someone tried to rob him!"

Gutierrez and a few other officers had risen from their desks and rushed to follow the shorter man. They had arrived to the crime scene to find the man's wife trying to disperse a small crowd that had formed around the body. Some of the onlookers scattered when the police arrived but most remained, standing some distance away to watch curiously. Among them was the owner of a nearby inn who recognized the man as one the inn's guests.

"His name is Héctor Rivera," the man had said when questioned. "He and his partner, Señor Ernesto de la Cruz booked a room about a week ago."

"I bet that's the pendejo that we saw!" the short man had stated when he heard. "He was wearing a mariachi suit."

With that information, Gutierrez had sent a pair of officers with the innkeeper to search the musicians' room while the rest of the scene was processed before the body was transported to the station. He then had addressed the short man and his wife.

"I'm going to need you to accompany me back to the station," he had told them. "So we can take your statements as you are the only witnesses at the moment."

Now, sitting before him, side by side, are Señora Juana Maria Cristo de Santos and her husband, Señor Federico Alfonso Santos, though the man insists on being referred to as 'Chicharrón' (not the strangest apodo he has encountered). Apparently, the couple had traveled to Mexico City for the week to celebrate their anniversary. To most people, the pair would appear to be quite ugly and Gutierrez can understand why. Señor Santos (or Chicharrón) is short and squat with a constant look of amargura present in his face, looking at oficial Gutierrez with annoyance. In contrast, his wife is taller than average with a very 'beefy' thickness to her, not really fat but more like possessing more muscle than a woman should have. Her eyes are also unusual as they are two different colors, the left bright green and the right a sky blue while her lower jaw sticks out in a slight under bite. But despite these traits diminishing her physical appeal, her eyes shine with kindness (though there's a slight hunted look in them as well), and there is a motherly aura that surrounds her. Still, Gutierrez has a feeling that despite her gentle nature, Señora Juana Cristo de Santos is not a woman to mess with.

Either way, Gutierrez is not here to analyze the looks and personality of these people but to ask them what they had seen.

"We were coming back to our room after a day out in the city," begins Señora Juana Cristo, her composure excellent "and Cheech "she gestures to her husband "suggested that we take a short through some of the alleys."

"It was getting late and I didn't want some ladron to attack us," grumbles Señor Santos as he tries to justify himself.

"By creeping through dark alleys were ladrones lurk," his wife snarks back before continuing. "So as we came out to the street we saw de la Cruz taking a red notebook from the suitcase while poor Senor Rivera was tirado en el piso just a few feet away."

"What was he doing with the notebook?"

"He looked through it for a moment then put it inside his jacket," Señora Santos continues. "We found it very suspicious that he was taking Señor Rivera's things while his partner was lying unconscious nearby. That's when my husband confronted him." Señor Santos took this as his cue to speak.

"The maldito pendejo ran," he nervously shrinks when his wife glares disapprovingly at his swearing. "I chased him and would have caught him if the bas- MAN!" he corrects himself quickly when his wife glares again. "The man hadn't thrown that guitarra at me," he growls at the memory. "By the time I picked myself up, de la Cruz had escaped."

"And you are certain that man was Señor Ernesto de La Cruz?"

"Of course," says Señora Santos. "We actually saw them performing at the plaza while we were out earlier so we recognized de la Cruz immediately."

Gutierrez nods as he accepts that and goes back to questioning them. "So what were you doing while your husband went after de la Cruz, Señora?"

Señora Santos becomes a bit uncomfortable at this question, the haunted look in her mismatched eyes intensifying slightly as her hands shake slightly. It's only when her husband places his hand on hers that she answers.

"I-I went over to Señor Rivera to see if I could help him," her voice trembles slightly but is clear. "I turned him over to his back, there was blood on his face, probably from hitting the ground but he was still breathing a little." She falters a bit before steeling herself. "He suddenly began convulsing and vomiting blood then went still just as suddenly. I checked for his pulse but found nothing, he was already dead."

She sags slightly as she finishes speaking, as if reliving the memory drained her energy.

Señor Santos glares as he stands to wrap an arm around his taller wife's shoulders in comfort. "Are we done with these preguntas tontas?"

"Just a few more questions, then we only need a description of the suspect and you can be on your way," Gutierrez reassures them.

"Good."


After giving the police a throughout description of de la Cruz and what the man had been wearing, Chicharrón and Juanita exit the police station back to Mexico City's dark streets. It was way past midnight and the streets were cold and deserted, the couple pressing close for warmth. They walk a few feet before Juanita stops and sighs sadly.

"I should have tried to do more."

Cheech hears the guilt in her voice. "Is not your fault; that poor bastardo was already at Muerte's door." He worries when she doesn't scold him for swearing.

"Still, I wish we could have done something more to help him." His wife falls silent as they resume their slow walk.

Chicharrón is not the soft and comforting type but he really loves his beautiful wife and hates to see her this way. He too wishes that they could have done more for that young músico. Cheech may have never spoken with the young man but when he saw him playing his guitar, he felt a sense of kinship. While he didn't think of himself as having amazing musical talent, Chicharrón has a great deal of respect for the art and can easily tell when others are the same. And while he could admit that de la Cruz was a talented performer, Cheech could see that he was only in it for the attention, the music being only a means to an end.

But not Héctor Rivera! No, the young man was a real musician as he played from the bottom of his heart and the deep of his soul. He clearly enjoyed music for its own sake, it was obvious to Chicharrón and he feels the injustice that such a kindred spirit had been snuffed out so young.

But there's nothing more than they can do but be there for each other as family must do- wait, that's it!

"I know what we can do!"

Juanita stops walking again and turns to her husband, confusion and some hope in her dazzling eyes. "What is it?"

"We can go find Rivera's family and let them know what happened to him. Those músicos said that they're from Santa Cecilia, right?"

"Yes," Juanita looks a bit skeptic. "Wouldn't la policía be able to do that on their own?" She likes the idea but isn't sure it would work.

Cheech snorts. "You saw how little people they have in there and I bet that they will be busy with other cases."

"Still..."

"We can ask is they need help, we lose nothing if they refuse."

"Oh, alright," but some determination creeps into her eyes and together they run back into the station.

Gutierrez is a bit skeptical about letting civilians help in a police investigation but relents, admitting that they do have so lots of cases and very few people.

"Rivera's case would likely get pushed back by a more 'urgent' one," Gutierrez scowls at this. "And is no family comes to claim him then he'll get buried in a common grave."

Juanita scowls at that. "In that case, I better stay here and make sure that doesn't happen." There would be no dissuading her from it.

That's how Chicharrón finds himself in a train towards Santa Cecilia with Hector Rivera's guitar in hand as well as a picture of the man that was found in his pocket, on a mission the find Rivera's family to give them the sad news of his demise.


Yes, the witnesses are a younger, alive Chicharrón and his wife, my original character Juanita (I know is common for people to give Cheech a wife named Juanita but I don´t care). If Chicharrón seems a bit out of character, is because this is the past before whatever made him be like his in the movie happened.

I'm going to try to make the chapters short and simple so I can update quickly but my real life is a factor so don´t expect weekly updates.

Next up, Chicharrón finds Héctor's family to tell them what happened and it won't be easy.