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The following is a transcript of the media file my people found there. Done by a transcription class AI, that listened to all of this, and insists that the thing he is talking to is not human. It refused to transcribe nonhuman words. Which worries me. BUt yea, in the original, it sounds like he is talking to someone on a phone. >>

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Okay, this thing on? Hello? Hello?

No, I am telling you, I have pressed record, and it is….

The fuck do you mean that it allready is on? You can see the thing recording? ….

I tell you, hand me my glasses, ay Mojo, Stop bugging that nice man, he was only trying to rob us…. See, he pissed himself…

Fuck those fat headed white people fucks with their fucking manbuns and their pinche ironic tshirts, standing at the apple store, drinking their white girl coffee… Should arrest some of them, and put them in maximum security, would scare them straight right away…

Okay, and now I just speak into the top part here? Feels weird, like one of those fucking tontos I see down at the bus depot, that got the white people shakes, and that talk to people that aren’t really there.

For the record, I only do this because Walter has said I should. Makes a lot of sense, if you can get past his attitude of german ness. Okay, he can? I can still hear him over the ear button?

Fuck my life, why …

Okay, you know what, ready or not, here goes nothing. Stupid fucking white people idea, To record this, on the electronic devices, I have told you, Back in Guadalajara, I saw a Vato come out of a carphone…

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OH, well, if you made it so that he can’t come out no more, fine by me. Just, if someone comes out of the phone, and yo le vis, BAM, I break the phone, the table, any bystanders, the fucking phone again… Told you, I don’t like the electric shit. No, I don’t care for you going on and on about how it is safe, I fucking saw what I saw, and if this changes into something else, or moves, or speaks to me all sensual like, ayudame jesus, I will empty the gun into it, beat it into a fine powder with the butt, roll it up in a Taco, and feed it to Gordita. Nothing survives the fucking stomach of her.

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Just so we are clear. Because I don’t like when you cry out, “ay no, we have to do it again, because the pinche computer was bad, and we have to get the second Take”, no, we do it one time, and my way. One take, that freaks me out as it is.

Why do I like “the Motus”?

Well, I have to wind up a bit, so you get where I am coming from, Vato.

You see me, and you think to yourself, damn, Vato, he is like old and shit. You get the wrinkles, you get the scars, you get the tattoos, you don’t get the why. Old borracho, you tell yourself, and you stop looking.

I like that. Kept me alive thus far.

See, let's start with what you see. You see some Vincente Fernandez looking Vato, that is currently on a bench, watching the dog at his side dig into a bucket if Taco Bell like it is fucking delicious. Dog got a fucking weight problem. Does not mean she has a few pounds too much, fool. Means at 400 lbs, she is an unironic gordita, munching on gorditas. Cost me a lot of money to feed her, but she is worth every gram of fat and muscle. I am kidding. Mojo is mostly muscle. Muscle on top of muscle, to be precise. I would call it prison muscle, if Mjo would understand what a prison was. For her, it would be just a place where she gets to sleep all day, fart up a storm, and be extra nice to people.

It’s got something to do with her people. See, back in the day, her people were not in america, being frijoleros for pay, like the fucking rat dogs from chihuahua. Her people were down in Africa, putting down lions and shit. Her breed never forgot that when the going got tough, they came running to them for help. And when she wants to play, and crouches low, enough muscles to bodycheck a fool into a brick wall, and teeth and jaws strong enough to tear a motorcycle in half, she is Negro, black ad the night is dark, and if you looked at herlike that, Vato, she looks like un perro demonico, but she has the temper of a Saint. NO shit, I checked. Dog got blessed repeatedly. Also, it is a retarded saint, like one of those white people dogs, the golden retrievers, that loved everybody. Good dogs, individually, but more useless than a white bitch at being quiet.

See, I sit at the sidelines of the society, and look inwards, my dog at my side, my guitar over my legs, my Oldsmobile parked nearby, all proper and shit, with a ticket…. Last things I have left in this world. Don’t wanna risk them because I was too cheap for $3,50 for the parking meter.

Others come into what people like Walter call the nightshift with their family. You know, the whole pinche brigade. Everyone out to get you, support you, love and care for you, give you money, a leg up…. And they wonder why they have so many of their new folk walk into the sunlight, crying like a tonto, about having the feeling and the angst. Not me and my people.

I got my last breath in on the warm asphalt of a backwater gas station in Durango. I remember not much from that, but I kept thinking, the asphalt is still warm….

See, I don’t come from one of the famillias of the society that has a lot of pull in the society, I come from the “dad ran away after a couple of days, and just never returned” side of the family. Not that I call him dad, or sir, like the nortenos do, but I still remember him. You never forget the one that embraced you. Blood in blood out, sangre por sangre, that stays with you.

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Had to fight for myself, pretty much all the time after that. Got n connections that could be gentle to me, so good old boys club that could make it easier for me… I was handed what I am, and told to start running.

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Well, anyone who has ever seen an old coyote run can tell you that they can run surprisingly far, even on a good hit. Back then, my way was different…

I just thought about money, and dope a lot. Got back to killing for the cartells, found out that the christenos, the Kane Thumpers never were happy just taking it better for someone, it was just the same sort of fucking as if the society had taken the place. The exact same.

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I mean, down to the way the shit rains down the steps of the ladder. You call this shit by any other name, and you go, ay, fuck you, pendejo, why the fuck you wanna do this, but fact is fact, not all about growing up with no family is bad. No family means that they can not hold you down, they can not demand that your papa beats you with the belt for being naughty, they have to go and chase you down themselves.

And if you ever made the run down to the border while trying to outrun a huge howling thing, at 4 am in the morning, and your oldsmobile barely gets the RPM to keep up the distance…. Running away from an abusive cousin is easier and easier.

So yea, I played for the independents most of my life, and this colored my perception. I was the all laughing, all dancing fool that slipped through their nets. Mind you, you treat me well, I can play by the agreeable rules. I can be nice and shit, get permission before I take Mojo to taco bell, not rip out the arm off some maricon, and beat him with it, because he stepped on the tail of mojo…. I mean, sometimes, you got to whoop some ass. Get some of those habitual line steppers under control, and nothing better then to separate their arm, wait till they realize, and then beat them with it. Comprendes ,mendes?

I know. You hardly see this level of control and sociability from my side of the family.

The trick is, my side of the family does not precisely fit into the society. We fit into the margins more. And even within my family, I don’t fit in. Lots of Vatos y Vatas wanna take me out, because I am not pure, and shit in the woods, and like living on the road, and I wear pants indoors…….

I know Vato, chill. Relax. Go to the cvs, and buy yourself a cream for your chaffed and hurting nipples, because I can’t have one of my skonkas running their mouths like that. I can wait, guey. Remember, I have the loaded gun next to me, and I loaded big ass slugs.

So, where was I? Relax, I made a joke. Take your time, you fucked up Russki. You and your German friend asked me, I said yes, you get your piece.

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So, Motus….

I know, don’t rush me. I told this so you get a picture of why it made such an impact. I was used to have to defend myself, not from some Vato who thinks I look a bit too much like a white bitch, but from some fool that thought, because I can wear a suit, I forgot what side of the family I am from. You know, my side of the family is a bit rough in that regard.

So, imagine my surprise, when I come to Y town, and the locals tell me, hey fool, the society is on the way out, we got ourselves some eggheads in seattle that can run the biz real good like.

I go, okay, like, so what are we talking about?

They go, they want you as a coyote.

I am out the door, and halfway to the car, until they explain the rest to me. About the idea that lots of people felt like me, but the eggheads grabbed the steering wheel, and said, IF we wanna survive, and thrive, we all got to work together.

I like that.

They go, you know, the brujeria that we do, and we kept close to our side of the family? We toss that in the ring for everybody.

I don’t like the brujeria, but I go, okay, that sounds good.

I hear that others also toss their shit in. The snake fucks, the venetians, all of them go, to make things even, no more secrets.

I like that even more.

They go, we even reach out to the independents, and we want representation, and we know, you guys get kicked around a lot, but we would love to have you on board, and we are even willing to break down some rules. We are willing to have a position just for you, to steal the position from the fucking religious fanatics.

You know, I liked that a whole lot. My independents had been kicked around a lot, and we were happy for our lot, but a club that was ready to accept us? Rare, fool, very fucking rare. Rare like rooster teeth.

But the best thing? The Vato with the biggest head, you know, big E himself, only at the time he was not big E yet, took me to his house, which was white people nice, you know, tiled floors a lot, good neighborhood…. Told me, mano a mano, that he was not going to force me to do anything that I didn't wanna do, that included learning the brujeria. I could even keep my family's side of the secrets, because he knew that my side of the family was special about that sort of stuff. But if I wanted access to what the others had tossed in the ring, it was only fair that I tossed in some shit too, shit that was just as valuable. But in exchange, if I did not even want the brujeria stuff, my membership was voluntary.

I agreed, because I liked that a lot. Voluntary membership. Really rare.

You gotta understand, when the society or the white kids playing socialists with the label rubbed off catch you, it’s always, “you are eternally bound to us, swear this blood oath, drink that, pay your membership fees, accept me as your king…”

But to finally have someone go and not only break down what kept us separated, to really put that edge in, and make any association voluntary… I think that was when I knew those fools are serious about making change, and not in the bad way.

I mean, the side bonus was that I got it in that we had proper titles. Not some pinche Prince, like the gender singer, or the pinche Baron, what is lower than the Prince, or the Bishop, what sounds like something that you pick up at the white girl hot topic...…. But Emperor. I had to look that one up. That is white people crazy, but I like it. Still do.

That Vato, the Emperor… you seen him before by now, yea?

Normally, when you go and meet the heads of Movements, it is always where they wanna impress everybody. Come up in the throne room, fall on the knees, face in the dirt, face down ass up….

IN these situations, there is the little demon inside of me, that says, that is how you wanna play this, Vato? Allright, clothes off, everything flopping in the wind, it is the naked Luchador, let's see if I can pick up a motherfucker to use as a weapon against another motherfucker.

Not the Emperor.

Don’t know if he got that, or felt that, or read about that… but he asked me to the balcony. Nobody around, just the two of us, y Mojo.

He knew I was feeling uncomfortable, so he petted Mojo, made a compliment about how symmetrical her fur was, and how much work it was to care for someone so much that they turn out so well….

I think back then, it was the first time I spoke to an Egghead mano a mano. And I did not even feel fucky.

Not with him trying to sound more into it then me, or anything. Not trying to impress me. He just asked the right questions. About Mexico. About my, well, I guess you call it Sir, and If I had any idea what had happened with him. About my experiences with the other ones. Asked about where I had been, what I had seen, and how I got in and out.

Most people look at me, and just see an old borracho, with a big dog, and a love for big old cars. He was the first one that gave me the feeling he saw something more. Something underneath all of this, that was very fucking good at surviving, no matter what you threw at it.

He himself let his mask down, and told me how he felt. That he did not want to step forwards, but someone had to do it. The fact that he had children, not like real ones, but ones he embraced, and that he did right by them, but the fucking system was not meant for them to get what they need, and that he had known, if he stepped forwards, and did it for himself, for him and his own, maybe others that wanted to tag along could have it just a little bit easier. He said, he was willing to stand at the front, he was willing to respect all prior arrangements, as long as we respected his, and until I had something to throw in the ring, there would be no official office, and I have to say, at that point, not only Mojo was wagging her tail. TO be fair, Mojo would also wag the tail at George Bush, if the Gremlin was holding a bucket filled with KFC.

In regards to the fucking “throw something in the ring? ”

Fool, allow me to paint a picture. Two days later, Mountains near Seattle. Underground installation. Some sheet wearing putas decide to stop jerking each other off, and go for Brujeria lite some white bitch in a small town.

I get send in there, with a couple of people, and we stomp those dirty fucks. I could tell you about Señor Hentai who inked the entire place, I could tell you about the Psychos…. Lets just say, I was not the most violent one, I was the stable one, and that says a lot.

It comes to an end, and we get out. I notice that weird room at the side, and with the special eye, I look in, and see a lot of the brujeria trinkets. So, I get one of the dresses that the putas we just stomped wear, pinche gender brigade, I make the knots into it, and I take every fucking item I see and that makes Mojo sneeze, and I stuff it into the improvised backpack.

I am not kidding. Picture the scene. We come back, and the others have like, some armor, a few guns….

I managed to jack their entire stockpile of highly magical artifacts, before it could be disappeared. Plus guns. Plus armor. Plus wallets, because you never forget some skills.

So, I just take off the bundle, tu sabes, like one of the bad vatos in a telenovela, weigh it once, and hand it to him. He starts looking at me like I just handed him a bag full of money, and makes like a white bitch when she sees a boyband and starts opening the mouth like a fish. I go, fool, that is what I toss in the ring. In front of everybody.

I did not understand, until very much later, that most of the brujeria people have like one, maybe two things, that they toss in. things they made themselves, things that they carefully crafted, and it costs them a lot of nerves. I could have probably sold the bag, and never have to work a day in my life. BUt on the other hand, that would mean I would have to deal with the brujeria.

And here I was, someone that did not know any brujeria, at the foot of a mountain, showing the Emperor what it meant to have a Mexican cartel certified coyote in the ranks.

Nowadays? Sure, there are other coyotes, and they do their shit well. Hordes of them. Taught some of them myself.

But if you go to Seattle, and find where the eggheads have their library, and their store of Brujeria things, you can see a plaque of who has donated how much. And at the top, they have a special plaque that I made, with “Hector and Mojo” on it, and a number behind.

That number is higher than most of the numbers behind it, taken together. By a lot.

So, you can say that I like the Motus because I make them a lot of the brujeria shit…. But if I had to put the finger on the why I hang with them, I would say that it is because the Emperor took his time, and spoke to me, not like un tonto, but mano a mano, and he was ready to take a risk by inviting me to the table. I could possibly ask him for pretty much anything from the library, and he would give it to me gladly. But at the same time, he asks, I answer. I don’t feel the need to answer to his children, or sit in some meetings, on the modern computers, and all that. And after Panama, I am pretty much retired. Not even the white Shebitch of Iceland can find me, when I do not want to be found. But if they need shit? And the Emperor asks? Fool, expect me to arrive 5 minutes after the smell of Taco Bell.

I have a spot to defend. I am not kidding, they actually need something, and not just wanna see some mexican backside again, I will be at their front door, with an arm full of goodies, helping out. NO strings attached, because I can not guarantee that I will be able to help, but I will.

I have been to Seattle for Motus, being their Number one Coyote, to the Funny Farm, until I got picked up from there, to Iceland on Expedition, to Panama on a diplomatic mission, and to Hawaii to save the world, I have met ancient Vatos who are also the hugest fucking squirrels with a weight problem, and I have gained my Honor name as a Skald by the old Rite and the new, so they don’t have to worry about me not having their back.

I now have more duties than just Motus, but my side of the family is known for taking stuff seriously enough. They helped me deal with my side of the family, and in return, I help them deal with theirs.

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