Pilar, is uhm--is Amado okay?
Okay? He's not here?
No. Is he sick?
He's going to wish he was dead.
EXT. STREET -- DAY -- CU VAQUERO PICTURE
On the door of a deluxe pickup truck is an airbrushed picture
of a Pancho Villa-looking vaquero with bandoliers crossing
his chest and a gun blazing in each hand. We hear LOUD MUSIC --
Luis! Give me that Phillips-head
A small group of teenage Chicano BOYS hang around the truck
in the bed, on the hood, leaning against it. A BOOMBOX placed
on top of the cab blasts RANCHA MUSIC out at the neighborhood.
Somebody's legs are hanging out the open passenger-side door.
The kids suddenly look as a Sheriff's Department car slides
into the f.g. A Deputy Sheriff, TRAVIS, gets out
Trying to look tough and unworried as we TRACK across the
street toward them. Travis's hand reaches out from behind
the camera to flick the MUSIC OFF.
Amado CRUZ, Pilar's 15-year-old son, lies on the front seat
installing a compact disc player into the dash slot.
He reaches up to the dash, can't find what he wants
Somebody hand me the CD player--
He looks up and we TILT to see Travis leaning in the window,
examining the new radio
They come a long way from those
old 8-track jobs, haven't they?
This is stolen property. Alla
you fellas are coming down to the
INT. CAFE SANTA BARBARA -- AFTERNOON -- ENRIQUE
Sweat beads the forehead of a thin, tired-looking recent
immigrant, ENRIQUE, as he delivers platters of chile rellenos
to a booth. MEXICAN MUSIC plays on a jukebox in the b.g.
We HOLD on the booth, where HOLLIS POGUE, in his 60s
entertains two GOOD OLD BOYS--