“As you consider buying one of my stories, I wanted to tell you a little about myself. I am a thirty-eight year old man of Mexican descent. I was born in Boyle Heights, an area east of downtown Los Angeles. Although I came from a poor family, I had the luck and brains to get scholarships to UCLA, both as an undergraduate in political science and then a law student. After the deaths of a close friend (and lover) and my father, I needed to leave L.A. I also wanted to help my people so I decided to specialize in immigration law. That’s why I moved to Salem, Oregon several years ago and set up a practice.
“Last year, I helped an old friend in the DEA break up a drug gang. After the gang kidnapped me, the leader of the gang was killed by DEA agents in a shootout. That made me a marked man because some of the gang members blamed me for his killing. As time went on, I decided I needed to leave Oregon for my own safety and peace of mind. The chance came when I was offered a position to teach immigration law at my own alma mater, the UCLA School of Law. I moved to L.A. I enjoyed my new life for a time. Soon, however, two problems came up: there were signs that the drug gang might still be after me and the amorous and unwanted attention of the dean’s wife complicated my law school work. Both strands came together back in Boyle Heights in the ruins of my father’s old nursery when I closed my eyes as a gang member cocked his gun and fired it.” — Lorenzo Madrid
“I don’t really think those guys I saw out here are anything to worry about,” said Greg Nettles, Lorenzo’s friend from the DEA. “As far as I know, we wiped out the whole Robles gang in the desert. But watch your back. It’s a good thing you’re leaving town.”