The Founders' Plot

“I hear your wife is due pretty soon,” he said to Carlos.

“That’s right,” Carlos responded and began walking toward his pickup truck parked at the edge of the job site.

“Congratulations,” Cortez said.

Carlos turned, his head cocked to one side, confused by Cortez’s unusual friendly behavior. “Thank you,” he said.

Then, Cortez said loud enough for others to hear, “I’m surprised you can make babies. Didn’t think you had the equipment. Are you sure it’s yours?”

Julio saw Carlos’s stare Cortez directly in the eyes, unblinking, teeth clenched, muscles tense. His face paled as blood funneled from his head to the muscles and organs used to fight or flee. But Julio knew Carlos wasn’t readying himself to flee.

Julio jumped in front of him. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t do it, my friend. Let it go. It’s just words.”

Carlos looked past Julio at Cortez and started to say something, then turned to walk away, rankled by some of the men laughing at him.

Cortez stepped past Julio and pushed Carlos. “Don’t turn your back on me, asshole! I’m tired of that!” he shouted, then shoved Carlos again.

Until now, it had only been insults. Cortez had never laid a hand on Carlos.

Julio got between them again. He held his hands against Carlos’ chest. “Don’t, Carlos. Don’t. It’s not worth it. Let it pass.”