So when Mateo had privately shown him the Smith & Wesson 629 he’d purchased from the alley behind the 7-Eleven, Juan had asked how he could get one as well. Mateo had made it happen, and Juan kept it with him at all times, contained in the side pocket of his cargo pants. The devil could come anytime, and Juan would be ready. And if Patrick decided to kick him ever again …

When he had such thoughts, he’d pray to Mother Mary for forgiveness and quickly pat the weapon.

Juan slid forward when the truck suddenly veered off the road and came to a rough stop beneath the citrus trees. He and the others knew what to do. They scrambled to lie down, throwing the filthy blankets Patrick kept in the bed of the truck over themselves. Even under the heavy blankets, they could hear the whirl of the military helicopter pass over and then fade away. When the sound was gone, the truck lurched forward.

It happened at least once a day. When they were picking in the orchards, all they had to do was make sure they remained deep in the foliage. Patrick always kept the truck parked beneath the leaves so it couldn’t be seen. At night, Patrick would choose one of them to go with him as he used one of the few back roads not blocked off by the military to make the delivery.

“Trust me on this,” Patrick always repeated. “These oranges are like solid gold. Stupid celebrities in LA will pay twelve times over for the last of the true fruit from the valley, just for the bragging rights. Got to keep the money flowing until these fires die down. Government can’t take everything from us.”

The truck turned into the grove and pivoted underneath the widest of canopies. Juan and the others slid out, their muscles already stiff from the jarring ride. One by one, they grabbed the ladders and set off for the trees.

Thankfully, Juan’s ladder opened easily underneath a particularly thick patch of mandarins. It didn’t always happen, for the ladders were constantly used and moved. As he climbed to the top, grasping the first fruit, he heard the commotion beneath.

Mateo was shaking his own ladder, angrily trying to pry it open. Don’t, Juan wanted to cry out. Treat it gentle–

With a loud crash, the ladder fell to the ground in two succinct parts, the worn-out hinges spilling out in the grass, nuts and bolts forever lost. Mateo stood above it, astonished.

Patrick moved like a bull from where he leaned on the truck. “Damn fool!” he charged. “Son of a bitch! You’re gonna climb that tree like a fucking monkey! No place for me to buy a new ladder at this point. You know how much money you cost me, monkey? That’s all you all are, a bunch of monkeys.”