'From the Mexican border in Texas, we're now joined by Dr. Rincon.'
'Good morning. Welcome to Colonia Angeles.'
'Doctor, these colonias — these slums-they line both sides of the river, from here to Brownsville. Why?'
'NAFTA.'
'The trade agreement?'
The doctor pointed toward the river; the camera swung around to capture the Rio Grande and the slums on the far side.
'American companies relocated their factories across the river, for the cheap labor. Our cars, clothes, televisions, electronics, furniture… they are all made across the river. The factories are called maquiladoras. The word means 'to submit to the machine.' And submit the Mexican workers did. They are paid one dollar an hour for work Americans were paid twenty dollars an hour…'
Filthy brown kids gathered around the doctor, as if attracted by the cameras.
'Oh, look,' Jim Bob said, 'they put kids in the shot. He's politicking.'
'Maybe they live there,' Eddie said.
Back on the TV, the doctor was saying, 'Of course, they cannot live like human beings on a dollar an hour, so they live like animals in these colonias on both sides of the river, while the American managers live in fine houses in Laredo. But the jobs lured millions of Mexicans from the interior to the border. At the peak, the maquiladoras employed two million Mexicans. But the boom has gone bust.'
'What happened?'
'The American companies moved a million jobs to Asia. The poor Asians, they will work for twenty-five cents an hour. American companies troll the planet for the cheapest labor.'
'What happened to the Mexican workers?'
'Fired. The men went to work for the cartels, the women became prostitutes. NAFTA polluted the river and turned the borderlands into one big slum and an entire generation of Mexican women into prostitutes. Our leaders pass these laws but they do not foresee the consequences. Perhaps they do not even look, since they do not have to live with the consequences.'
The doctor waved a hand at the scene.
'This is the 'international trade' you hear about on the evening news. Maquiladoras and colonias, sweatshops and slums, drugs and death, prostitution and pollution, that is what our desire for cheap goods does to the rest of the world.'
'The factories polluted the Rio Grande?'
'Yes. And the pollution makes the people sick.'
'Why doesn't the Mexican government stop it?'
'Calderon cannot worry about pollution when he cannot feed his people. If he cracks down on the maquiladoras, the Americans will take all the jobs to Asia.'
'Governor Bonner cut funding for the colonias during the last legislative session and is expected to veto all funding in the next budget.'
'So I have heard.'
'Perhaps Governor Rincon would not.'
'I am just a doctor.'
'Well, Doctor, prominent Latinos in Texas are promoting you as a possible Democratic candidate for governor, like Mayor Gutierrez of San Antonio. I spoke with him yesterday in San Antonio. This is what he said.'
The screen switched to a video of the same reporter with Gutierrez.
'Dr. Rincon could beat Bode Bonner. My people will vote for him.'
'The people of San Antonio?'
'All Latinos in Texas.'
'But Governor Bonner's polls show strong support among Latinos in national polls after he rescued those Mexican children and survived an assassination attempt.'
'Yes, that was a good thing the governor did. And I am thankful that he and his daughter survived the shooting. But Latinos in Texas have been waiting a long time for a Latino governor. That time has come.'
Jim Bob pointed sharply at the screen. 'That fucking Gutierrez and his Mexican Mafia. This is his doing. He's still mad because we took Texas from Mexico. You'd think they'd fucking give it up-hell, we stole Texas fair and square a hundred seventy-five years ago. But they still bitch and complain and sue to get their land back. Mexicans actually sued to get back Padre Island, can you believe that?'
'What would happen to all the condos?' Eddie asked.
'Nothing. They're already owned by rich Mexicans.'
The screen went back live to the colonia. To the reporter and the doctor.
'Could Jesse Rincon be the first Latino governor in the history of Texas? Historically, Latinos have not come out to vote. But when they do, their numbers will decide who sits in the Governor's Mansion. That could be Jesse Rincon.'
The reporter put a arm through the doctor's and a devilish grin on her face.
'And ladies, he's thirty-eight and single. This is Carmen Cavazos, reporting live from outside Laredo, Texas.'
Jim Bob froze the frame on the handsome face of Jesse Rincon. He stared at his worst nightmare: a handsome, educated, articulate Latino. He felt like Apollo Creed's manager watching a young Rocky Balboa pulverizing a side of beef with his bare fists in that scene from Rocky. And he saw all his dreams dissolving into dust. Bode Bonner would not win the White House if he lost the Governor's Mansion. And James Robert Burnet, Ph. D., wouldn't be the next Karl Rove.
'I can't lose this election.'
'You?' Eddie said from the couch.
'You know what I mean.'
Eddie chuckled. 'I think I do.'
'Time to earn your pay, Eddie. Go down to the border, check him out, dig up some dirt.'
'He looks clean.'
'Everyone's got dirt, if you dig deep enough. And if you can't dig it up, you can always plant it.'
'You worried about that Mexican doctor?'
'I get paid to worry.'
'But the boss beats Obama-how can he lose in Texas?'
'Because he'd be running against a Latino in Texas.'
'Maybe he's gay?'
'The doctor?'
Eddie aimed a thumb at the TV. 'She said he's thirty-eight and not married.'
'We're not married.'
'We were.'
Jim Bob smiled. 'Latinos won't vote for a gay governor, would they? Even if he is one of them.'
Lindsay Bonner sipped her wine. She and Jesse sat on the back porch. The evening breeze was gentle and warm. The windows behind them were open, and the soft music drifted out.
'How did the interview go?'
'The reporter, she brought up my running for governor. Mayor Gutierrez, he is at it again.'
'On national TV. Jesse, I know Jim Bob Burnet. He won't let this pass. He'll look for dirt… your dirt. If he can't find any, he'll make some.'
'But I don't want to be governor. I told the reporter.'
'She was pretty, the reporter?'
Like a teenage girl.
'Yes, very.'
Jesse stood and held a hand out to her. She put her wine down and took his hand. She stood, and they danced. Then he kissed her.
'Jesse, it would be a sin.'
