My name is Victor Salazar, also known as inmate 2235797. I thought one last heist, but there ain’t no such thing where I come from. There’s always a next hustle. It wasn’t as much a heist as a murder. It’s the same thing, right? They’re both commandments or whatever. I killed some sancho of a woman who was married to a very jealous and wealthy man. It was enough to make me think I could start over.

I had a baby on the way and I figured I could make an honest woman of my lady and we would go away to Texas together, but I’m here in this cell, a part of the suicidal tendency of American society. Twelve long years for murder. Could’ve gotten more, but like I said he was wealthy, and we had to make it “look real.”

I look at these pictures of my son as he’s gotten older, from sandboxes through elementary, and I wonder how many girls pass the house trying to get a glimpse.

It’ll be time to take them down soon. Today’s my release day and I miss the sound of my street. The sound of a warped recorded lullaby from the ice cream truck or the systematic honking of the panadero. I’m hungry, but I’ll wait to eat. Even if I ate a grilled cheese sandwich, my belly would still crave the asada burritos from Guadalajara Market.

I’ve already put off the luxuries of home for twelve years. What’s a few more hours now? Money bags himself vowed to stay true to his word and pay me what he owes me the day I get out. Fifty large for killing his wife’s on-the-side. The dude even sent his accountant to come visit me last week to ask me if I’ll be opening a bank account anytime soon for the wire transfer. Bank account? I don’t even know my social security number. I referred him to my homeboy Tweety Vong. I made arrangements with Tweety to take care of the bank roll until I get home.

People like me like to believe we have a code of ethics, an honor system. We throw phrases around like, “My word is my bond,” or “Respect,” but the truth of the matter is we make a living pissing on each other. The laws of men and the gods don’t mean shit. The moral divide is what the shot-callers in the pen say it is. If we obeyed Jesus Christ like we do them, there wouldn’t be enough room in heaven for us all.

Christ’s name sounds funny on my lips. He feeds the widow and the orphan and doesn’t chase fortunes of gold. He is even so unique in nature that He has a virgin as a mother.

I’ll be a rich man today then I’ll go home to my son. He’ll see me and recognize himself. The beefy frame of caged days and the furrowed brow of deep thoughts and introspection looking for a place to stay. He’ll see me and recognize himself.

I’ve been here long enough to speak with repeat offenders that have come and gone. I’d rather know what to expect when I get released. They’ll call my name at midnight to head down to the transfer center. I’ll wait in a holding cell for a couple of hours while my paperwork makes its way to the front desk. Once my file matches the warden’s magic list, they’ll send me to a warehouse building to trade me my street clothes for the state blues. No question it will be sunrise before I hit the gate to the other side of the fence.

“Number?” The clerk asked, not even looking up.

“Two-two-three-five-seven-nine-seven.”

Being nothing but a number is something not exclusive to being an inmate. You’re nothing but a number when you go to the D.M.V. or when you file your taxes, and that’s the reality of it. That’s how our government keeps track of population, the economy, and how much to jack up the gas prices at just the right time of year.

I gave them their raunchy blues back, eager to wear my own boxers and t-shirt. Now that they had what was theirs plus twelve years they escorted me to another holding area, this time to wait for my ride. When I entered the lounge, the burden of imprisonment had fled. I didn’t expect to feel free so soon, but I did. The lounge had cushioned chairs in rows of four, facing a mounted television on the wall and it had carpet. You believe that shit? Carpet!

I made my phone call to Tavo that I was ready for release. Tavo said it was gonna be about twenty minutes before they buzzed me to head to the fence, so I decided to see what this carpet felt like on the bare souls of my feet. The concrete in a cell is so cold it feels wet all the time. There ain’t no bearskin rugs in here; the blankets are barely warm enough.

The carpet was comfortable under the arches of my feet. It might as well have been feathers since steel is so hard. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be warm. You learn to generate your own body heat by doing push-ups or sit-ups just to keep from freezing in the winter. It’s a luxury to be warm, either on the inside or out.

“Salazaar, you’re up,” The C.O. said through the intercom.

I heard the buzz and I opened the exit where another correctional officer was ready to walk me to the gate. It’s custom to walk ahead of the officers here. That’s where I found myself walking, escort hangover from doing time.

“You gonna make your way back to us, Salazar? I bet you will sometime soon,” he said in a gruff sarcasm.

I looked at this pendejo stiffly, but I held my peace. It happens, the guards talk shit trying to bait you into taking a swing to land you in the hole, lose work privileges, or in this instance, be back on the wrong side of the bars. I saw Tavo through the chain link fence standing by his ride with a smile I hadn’t seen in a long time. The guard slowly took out his ring of keys and slid the right one in the gate. I saw the gate open and when I walked through I found everything was so much clearer.

The air was so much more fit to breathe even though it was the same wind blowing through the fence into the state property. I crossed the street and shook Tavo’s hand tightly. I couldn’t believe it was him, wearing the same house shoes he had on a decade ago. His cliché ’64 had a light layer of road dust on it, but I knew Tavo had to have had his ride detailed before he left Fresno. It is standard procedure when a vato loco owns a classic car like this to always have it looking spiffy clean, because you never know who’s going to pull up next to you with a better ride and make you feel stupid. Tavo’s the kind of man that won’t settle for being outdone.

“'Sup, Tavo? Are those the same clothes you had on in court when they sentenced my ass or what, ay?”

“Not even, Senor Tamale. Since when have you known me to look for a bargain?” Tavo answered as we shook hands. Our handshake is not original or complicated, but it is how we tie ourselves to each other. Only we could perform such choreography with ease.

“Well, let’s get the fuck outta here, fool, before they change their minds,” I said.

I took a cigarette from Tavo and my blood raced underneath my skin. I was nervous. I just spent a little over a decade in a building full of murderers and rapists, but I was nervous to go home, to my son and to my mother.

“So tell me Tavo, what’s the haps since I landed in the bota?” I asked but I really didn’t want to know. The grapevine of break-ups, affairs, who’s gay and who’s dead makes all these problems everyone’s problem. I should’ve known better than to ask, but I wasn’t about to discuss the autobiography of Gandhi.

Tavo knew the latest chisme, not that he’s a busy body or nothing, just well informed. “Harvey and Marie finally pulled the trigger some years back, had a couple of little Harveys, tu sabes.”

“Harvey, Fat Harvey or Harvey who works at The FedEx?” I asked.

“Pues, Harvey that had a girlfriend named Marie, fool!” He exclaimed.

We laughed as the country passed by and the smell of ranches and manure was not the stench of inconvenience, but of freedom. “Rachel’s papa passed a couple of years ago also; I thought you would like to know,” Tavo said somberly.

“I know, her jefita wrote me about it. She said she moved to Arizona to be closer to her sister. She said she’d be damned if Fresno would swallow her, along with her daughter and husband."

“Forgive me for saying, bro, but I think it’s chickenshit the way she didn’t want to help care for little Ernesto. That’s yours and Rachel’s kid. If it wasn’t for your mom, who knows who would have him now.”

“Calm down, Tavo. Ya esta retired, and you know she’s not as mobile as my mother was at that time. Plus, between you and me, I think she went over the top when Rachel died. I couldn’t have someone who’s ready to be committed taking care of my son.” I explained to Tavo that as much of a grudge that my mother has against me, she was the best qualified to raise Ernie.

Rachel, how I miss you, my love. Those first few months I spent in the pinta, no other woman would’ve said they would’ve waited. You wrote like clockwork, and your letters smelled just the way you did after you get out of the shower. I imagined you with your hair in a towel and wearing that oversized car show t-shirt you used as pajamas. I pictured the day of my release with you and Ernie waiting for me outside the gate, you looking not a day over twenty and lil’ Ernie’s moustache beginning to sprout below his nose.

“So what’s the plan when we get back into Fresno, holmes?” Tavo questioned.

“Just take me to Tweety’s house and I’ll let you off the hook for the rest of the day.” Tavo didn’t know the whole story of the wealthy man and the sancho who had caused me so much trouble and that’s the way I wanted it. It’s not that I didn’t trust Tavo, he has a good heart. Having a good heart when it comes to things like blood money can be costly.

That’s one of the reasons my jefita has a problem with the way I do things, I didn’t always tell her the whole truth. I was a good little Catholic boy for the better part of my youth, but I wasn’t immune to the influences of older vatos in the neighborhood. My mother first had her suspicions when the style in my haircut changed from the Beaver Cleaver part on the right side to being combed straight back like I was a cast member in Zoot Suit or something. Her fears were confirmed when she got a call from the police station that was detaining me for breaking windows in a nearby elementary school. It was the beginning of the end so to speak. All she would tell me from then on is “What would Saint Thomas say if he were here?” My mother supposedly dedicated me to Saint Thomas when I was an infant, hoping that I would have no doubts or reservations about Jesus Christ being the Lamb of God.

We came off the 99 South and took the exit that led past the zoo. The park surrounding it wasn’t as pleasing to look at the way I remember. It had the infamous diamond holes with the steel outline that ruined my entrance back into my hometown. It made me think of those Spring mornings when my son would be hunting for Easter eggs while I was surrounded by a bunch of hairy, tattooed vatos in the yard.

He told me of the new freeway in use and the extension they’re working on near Fowler Ave. He filled me in on the new shopping centers and how the old theatres went out of business because of something called stadium seating. It changed the way people wanted to see their movies.

I didn’t exactly know what street Tweety lived on anymore but Tavo said he knew. We cruised passed old bars and new gas stations, looking at the young women pushing strollers in the cross walk who looked younger than before. Tavo drove to a new development past Kings Canyon Ave off of Fowler.

“Orale, Tweety’s rollin’ like this or what, ay?” I asked. I wondered what he did to be able to afford this nice little bubblegum-factory house.

“It’s commonplace now, carnal. They’re easy to get, but harder to keep.” Tavo said.

“Is that right?” I answered back, interested.

“Everyone’s been living off of credit cards, even the big-wigs of Wall Street. People like us have just been pretending to be Rockefellers,” he said.

“Just pretending with big screens and new Nikes,” I said.

“New toys for the kids at the Wal-Mart, tu sabes. That’s all that money is spent on fool, bullshit. No one ever thinks they have to pay that back.” Tavo said. “You see everyone at Wal-Mart like you would at church, Vic. Smiling with their Starbucks, like those hienas on Sex in the City.”

“It’s easy to get caught up,” I said.

“Fuck it, ese. I wouldn’t know,” he said with a smile.

Tavo pulled up to a house with a manicured lawn and a nice little front porch that had two sturdy wicker rockers on it. I wasn’t sure which door I should knock on because they all looked the same on that whole block. At least when I was young we had the decency of making our house, ours, rather than getting confused when it’s time to head home at dusk.

“Don’t laugh at me Tavo, but, which house is it, ese?” I asked with the straightest face I could muster. I almost tried to scare him so he wouldn’t laugh. He pretended not to think it was funny and pointed.

“This one right in front of the car, fool.” He answered.

“Alright, holmes. We’ll kick it sometime soon.”

“We better, you owe me some gas money, ese.” He said.

We shook hands and I waited on the curb for him to pull away when I decided to face the house and walk up. I checked my reflection in the front door window then pushed the door bell. I knew I could trust Tweety, but the issue is that I didn’t know what he expected from me. Did he expect the man that went to jail all those years back or a crazier more hardened criminal to open the door to? Should I just pick a mask and hope it’s the right one? He knows about my son, the money, and everything in between. It shouldn’t matter which mask I decide to pick, to either of us.

“Fresno County Sheriff’s Department! Open up, Vong!” I yelled, just testing the waters.

The door opened slowly, and there he was. Pinche Bruce Lee knockoff. His head carried a fresh fade and his skin wasn’t as dark as I expected it to be. Having a lighter complexion in this valley doesn’t mean the sun doesn’t shine. What it means is that we’re up all night.

“Fresno County, I should be so lucky, cabron! George Bush left Bin Laden in the caves and is sweeping Blackstone looking for my ass!” He greeted me with open arms as he let the door swing open.

“Fuck that puto, Tweet. It’s on, holmes.” I answered back. Something in my gut felt different as he invited me in to sit with him. It was the laugh. My laugh. It was genuine, a relief I had done without for over a decade. Many jokes get passed around in prison, but few are received with good tidings.

Tweety’s interior had a smell of cigarette smoke and old tamales. I noticed a toy truck sitting on the sofa and held it in my hands looking for the memories that made me choose Tweety as the middle-man. He offered me a cerverza and my yes echoed in silence. My hands were not that of a child anymore, and the burden was heavy the way I remembered how naïve I was. Why should I forgive myself for being a child and asking stupid questions? No one comes out of the womb with a cuete in their hand. That’s just something we say to pretend those days of chasing frogs and building sand castles never existed.

“Well, tell me, Vic...” he began to ask.

“Not as good as you are, apparently, ese.” I answered. Tweet knew what it was like to do time, not twelve years like me, but he knew. Maybe it’s awkwardness, but better to say something than being awkward in silence. I cracked open the can of beer and took a sip. I pretended that I had waited 12 years for the experience. The sofa was soft and the volume on the television was low, but I decided not to get too comfortable.

“I was there when she died, ese.” Tweety’s words hit me like I was a window pane being shattered between frigid air.

I looked at him stunned. She was left comatose for two weeks after the car accident. Her mother decided to pull the plug on her respirator when the doctors told her that her chance of recovery was slim to none. Ernie was only five, I remember because that was his first year of school. After I found out, I never thought I would get through those first months in the pen without killing someone. Maybe it would be best if I took little Ernesto to visit her grave before we leave town.

“We were coming back from the Selma Flea and Rachel rode with Dora leading the way. She let Ernie ride with me and Florence because he wanted to play with my boy, Junior.” As he began to recount that day, I felt just how I did in prison when I received word, sick and angry. I leaned forward, no longer noticing the products being displayed on the home shopping network. I saw past the images of diamond rings and electronics through the digital pixels of colors until they blurred into a swirl of psychedelic oblivion.

“We took an early exit off the freeway because wouldn’t you know it, Vic, one of the kids had to go pee.” He continued. “We weren’t back on the highway five minutes when we heard on the radio that a diesel had jack-knifed through three lanes headed northbound. There was no word on the number of casualties.”

“Didn’t you think to call her?” I questioned.

“This was before the cell phone movement. We got to Rachel’s mother’s house to drop off Ernie, and we found it strange that she wasn’t there yet. Her mother didn’t get a next-of-kin call until three hours later. We figured they went grocery shopping or some stupid shit like that.”

My eyes began to sting when he mentioned something about cell phones. I couldn’t bare to look at him with my face contorting to strange positions of grief. I put my thumb to my temple and shaded my eyes with my fingers closed tight. The light of the TV and the open windows reflected harshly through the salty tears that tried to trail down my cheeks.

“Which hospital did they take her, Tweet?”

“V.M.C. was open then.” He answered as he finally acted like he was talking to me and not the television.

“We showed up for the novena, but her mother didn’t welcome us. I would’ve excused it if it had been something that doesn’t happen to gringos,” he said.

I sat there still blurred by the light and colors that confused my vision. My beer was warm now, but I took a sip anyway. She was the reason any vato loco would want to envy me. I had something worthwhile in her, I had something rational in her, and I guess I didn’t even realize that she was gone from the world until I came back into it.

“Let me get what I came for, holmes,” I said.

“It’s in the garage. Vamos.”

We walked through the kitchen door that connected the house to the garage. He had hung Tecate posters and Corona pin ups of the most beautiful women in the world in there. Tweety even had a neon Bud Light sign that he failed to plug in. We walked over to the corner that had old boxes closed by criss-crossing the top flaps. Old water stains and dust decorated these containers that only God knew the contents of.

He passed a box into my arms and I set it to the floor. Between the stack of boxes was a crevice just big enough for a VCR. In the opening was a black duffle bag. He pulled it out and held his hand out, carrying it by the straps.

“This is yours, holmes.”

“It’s all there?” I asked nervously.

“Yup. If you come up short, you can put it on my bill,” he laughed.

I bent down and unzipped the bag. The flaps popped open and I reached inside. I gripped one of the bundles that laid on top. The money was stacked in groups of two-grand a bundle. My eyes widened as I wiped my thumb over the label that held the bills together.

“Don’t get a paper cut, Vic. Small cuts hurt more than big ones, they say,” Tweety said.

I looked at Tweety with the wild eyes of a wolf. This is for us, Ernie. Suddenly everything that had brought me to this point didn’t even matter. The pinche District Attorney, the alcoholic foreman of the jury, the fagot correctional officers, they can all kiss my Mexican ass! I failed to realize that I was still in Tweety’s garage. When I looked up again, he had already walked into the house. I zipped up my new life and headed inside with him.

“Hey Tweet, I hate to ask this of you, holmes, but can you give me a ride to my mom’s?” I felt stupid because I had a small fortune by two black straps and I had no way to make it back to my mom’s house.

“No problem, ese. I don’t want to be here when Flo gets home any goddamn way,” he answered.

I shoved the black bag under the seat of Tweety’s Trailblazer and I couldn’t believe how much I was sweating. Good thing I had a black shirt on or the pit stains wouldn’t be so shy. All I have to do now is just make it across town to my mom’s pad without having Tweety get pulled over. Pinche chota is just waiting around one of these street corners to send a dumb spic back into the fire.

“Looks like you’re set for life, fool,” Tweety said.

“Does it make you think about a career change?” I asked him.

“Chale, ese. I know what you had to go through to get where you’re sitting right now.” He said. There was nothing but silence for the ride uptown.

That corner of Harper and Alpine gave me palpitations within my chest. The last time I was here I would’ve never guessed it would’ve been twelve years when I saw this place again. Tweety parked in front of the fire hydrant and looked at me with a certain relief. I don’t know if it was because of the loot inside the car or my journey in general that had him silent and wound so tight.

“End of the road, Tweet,” I said when I finally looked at him.

“Not even, homie,” he responded. “There is no end of the road, Vic. It just changes course.”

We shook hands like we would see each other soon. We never think of tomorrow like it’s running away from us. It will always be there for us to drink from, it will always be there to catch us, and to think otherwise is to admit to one’s mortality.

I walked on the sidewalk right up to the front door. To stop in front of the house for a quick reflection of the chain of events that carried me to my mother’s would make me too much of a drama-queen. If I acted like I was only gone for a few days, maybe that would numb the uncomfortable grudge that my mother insisted on placing upon my shoulder.

“Ma, open up! It’s Victor, Mama,” I said. She knew today was my release day, but I don’t know whether she expected to see me the same day or just after I decided to blow off steam with my homies. I banged on the security door and waited. What if she wasn’t home? What if Ernie answered the door?

The wooden door creaked open and there was her face, dark and wrinkled with tired eyes hidden by the wear and tear of a decade. Her voice was tender and in no way reflected the folds of skin that lapped over around her eyes.

“Victor? Hijo?” she said from behind the wooden door.

“It’s me,” I said.

She flipped the lock on the black iron door and pushed it out to let me in. My head leaned forward to see around the doors inside the house. I stepped on the carpet and it was the musty smell of home, of my mom’s home. Dust particles danced in the air as a beam of sunlight peaked in through the curtains. There were pictures of me on shelves, of me and mama, of Ernie and mama, and the various breeds of dogs that we’ve housed through the years. The painting of los abuelos hung right where I remembered it, above the long sofa that was positioned in front of an old television set that probably didn’t work anymore.

“Well, aren’t you going to give your mami a hug?” I gripped the black straps tightly and leaned down to hug my shrinking mother. “It’s good to see you, mijo. Gracias a Dios.”

“You seem to have lost two feet since I been away, Ma.” I patted her curly hair on the top of her head.

“No, son. I still have both feet.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Close the doors hijo, Ernie should be home any minute.”

“He’s not here?”

“He says he’s looking for work, quien sabe que pasa con eso.” She practically whispered. “Let’s sit at the kitchen table; the sofa’s not fit for company anymore.”

Company.

“Would you like some coffee, Vic?”

“Sure, mama. Cream and sugar is fine,” I said acting like I’ve been drinking coffee all these years. “Are you nervous to see me again? Is Ernie nervous to see me?”

“We both were, Victor.” She began. “All that he knows of his father is that...well, the reason you went away.”

“I’ll be taking him off your hands, mama. Sabes que, you’ll finally be able to enjoy your retirement.” Saying this was like peeling the layer of the onion that keeps your eyes from crying.

“Enjoy my retirement? Is that why you think I’m angry with you!”

I sat in silence like I was a child again, a child with a distorted version of family and friendship. I tapped my fingers by the steaming cup of coffee she had placed before me.

“Mataste! You killed someone!” She shouted weakly and showed the drained woman I left behind. “And do you think I get those years back when I took care of your son!” Her tone had given out and she couldn’t maintain the level of hostility that she wanted. She breathed deeply and continued.

“Instead of spoiling Ernie as my grandson at Christmas time or on his birthday, I was too busy cooking and washing his clothes wondering if he was stealing from me or worse, ending up like you.”

Her face broke and her eyes disappeared behind her loose eyelids, which released a flow of long streaming tears down her cheeks. When me and mama fought like this, I would puff my chest out and look her right in the eye, showing how remorseful I wasn’t. This time I didn’t. I actually felt guilty for the years and times I essentially stole from my own mother’s life.

Would I have done this to Rachel if she were here now? Would she feel disgusted and wasted away also with her twenty-something beauty forever hidden behind lonely nights and empty checking accounts? I could not cry for mama. There was too much between the times I was in the pen and this steaming cup of coffee.

There was a sudden draft flowing into the kitchen from the living room. I looked in and the wooden door was open and in walked little Ernie. My heart sank as I laid my father’s eyes upon my only son. He looked at me and then at his grandmother as if waiting to be introduced.

“Ernesto. It’s me. Your father.”

I stood up and finally released the black straps. They slouched over the body of the duffle bag and I stepped forward towering my son. He looked up at me with wide eyes. It wasn’t the thousand yard stare that I was used to seeing in the eyes of young men and women who live around here. There was a thirst in his expression, not of money or respect, but of comfort and shelter.

“It’s you.” He was afraid to step forward for his share of the distance between us. Why should I make him? I was the one who left him alone in the first place after all. I took another step with my arms aching to hold the flesh of my flesh, the extension of my spirit.

“It’s me, Ernesto.” His arms tried to grasp around me, but I was too wide. I knelt before him as his arms wrapped around my neck more comfortably. My hands connected behind his back to make one big fist locking us together. I stood up breaking our embrace and he put his head down crying. He sobbed freely and it scared me.

I never felt so free to show my emotions the way he was doing right now. We stood there in silence and I thought I should be so lucky as to resemble my son. He said as his tears gargled his voice, “How long will you be staying?”

I picked his head up by his chin and said, “I’m here to make a new life with you.”

I looked at my mother who restrained her weeping. She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief and looked down at her grandson. She then glanced up at me and her eyes told me that redemption was mine.

“He’s here to move away with you, Ernie. Would you like that, to go live with your papa?”

“When will we leave...” he said stopping short, unsure how to address me.

“You can call me dad, or pop. Whatever you like.” I’m surprised he didn’t call me by my first name, or even an asshole. “We’ll be leaving today, Ernesto. Today.”

He nodded his head and came in to hug his grandmother. They met at eye level and she embraced his firm body as tightly as if she was forgiving me. I stood in the doorway and noticed how the ends of his hair curled up like that of his mother’s. His elbows were dry and his eyes had gotten swollen from crying.

He walked past me and into the hallway into his room. The door was left open and the sounds of dresser drawers and closet doors opening and closing left the room gently. I picked up the receiver of the phone hanging on the wall and called for a cab. My mother walked into the living room and looked on the shelves and walls as if she was lost. She grabbed a picture off the television set and one off one of the bookshelves. I said thank you to the dispatcher and hung the phone up without much sound. She brought the pictures to me with her arms outstretched.

“For you and Ernesto. So you both know that you had a mother once.” She said as I took them and acknowledged her gift with a shake of the pictures in my hand.

Ernesto came out of the room and I handed him the pictures that his grandmother had given us. I told him to put them in one of his bags because mine was full. The silent somberness of the three of us passed from one of us to the next with little pause and it spared us no heartache.

The taxi came to break our bond and as soon as I heard the driver honk the horn, I slid through the doorway not giving my mother a second look or giving her a chance to make me feel guilty for old time’s sake. I assumed Ernesto hugged his abuela one more time, but I didn’t turn back to find out. I opened the door to the taxi and slid behind the driver. I wet my lips and cleared my throat to whistle towards the house I grew up in, for my son to follow.

He ran out of the house with a backpack in each hand and nearly crashed in the back seat where I was sitting. He closed the door to the cab and I left my street forever. It confused me because Ernesto didn’t once ask me where I was planning to settle us down. Not once in two state lines. I figured that’s how much he trusted me. Twelve years and a murder wrap and my boy trusted his father.

I decided that was truly a blessing. He’ll have the same comforts as the other children he goes to school with. He can trust his parent, never have to steal for what he wants, or fight for his life on unforgiving concrete. I told him eventually, I mean where we were settling. The great city of Houston; home of great football, car shows, and a quaint body shop I decided to make my own. Freedom Custom and Repair.