Rudy and Frank went outside to deal with the brothers. Oscar and Guillermo went back to politics—while I listened, sensing a downhill drift on all fronts. Nothing was going right. He was expecting a decision on his Grand Jury challenge in the “Biltmore Six” case. “We’ll probably lose that one, too,” he said. “The bastards think they have us on the run now; they think we’re demoralized—so they’ll keep the pressure on, keep pushing.” He shrugged. “And maybe they’re right. Shit. I’m tired of arguing with them. How long do they expect me to keep coming down to their goddamn court-house and begging for justice? I’m tired of that shit. We’re all tired.” He shook his head slowly, then ripped the poptop of a Budweiser that Rudy brought in from the kitchen. “This legal bullshit ain’t makin’ it,” he went on. “The way it looks now, I think we’re just about finished with that game. You know at the noon recess today I had to keep a bunch of these goddamn batos locos from stomping the DA. Christ! That would fuck me for good. They’ll send me to the goddamn pen for hiring thugs to assault the prosecutor!” He shook his head again. “Frankly, I think the whole thing is out of control. God only knows where it’s heading, but I know it’s going to be heavy. I think maybe the real shit is about to come down.”
Later that week, the Los Angeles Board of Supervisors voted to use public funds to pay all legal expenses for several policemen recently indicted for “accidentally” killing two Mexican nationals—a case known in East L.A. as “the murder of the Sanchez brothers.” It was a case of mistaken identity, the cops explained. They had somehow been given the wrong address of an apartment where they thought “two Mexican fugitives” were holed up, so they hammered on the door and shouted a warning to “come out of there with your hands over your head or we’ll come in shooting.” Nobody came out, so the cops went in shooting to kill.
But how could they have known that they’d attacked the wrong apartment? And how could they have known that neither one of the Sanchez brothers understood English? Even Mayor Sam Yorty and Police Chief Ed Davis admitted that the killings had been very unfortunate. But when the federal DA brought charges against the cops, both Yorty and Davis were publicly outraged. They both called press conferences and went on the air to denounce the indictments—in language that strangely echoed the American Legion outcry when Lt. Calley was charged with murdering women and children at My Lai.
The Yorty-Davis tirades were so gross that a District Court judge finally issued a “gag order” to keep them quiet until the case comes to trial. But they had already said enough to whip the whole barrio into a rage at the idea that Chicano tax dollars might be used to defend some “mad dog cops” who frankly admitted killing two Mexican nationals. It sounded like a replay of the Salazar bullshit: same style, same excuse, same result—but this time with different names, and blood on a different floor. “They’ll put me in jail if I won’t pay taxes,” said a young Chicano watching a soccer game at a local playground, “then they take my tax money and use it to defend some killer pig. Hell, what if they had come to my address by mistake? I’d be dead as hell right now.”
There was a lot of talk in the barrio about “drawing some pig blood for a change” if the supervisors actually voted to use tax funds to defend the accused cops. A few people actually called city hall and mumbled anonymous threats in the name of the “Chicano Liberation Front.” But the supervisors hung tough. They voted on Thursday, and by noon the news was out: the city would pick up the tab.
At five fifteen on Thursday afternoon, the Los Angeles City Hall was rocked by a dynamite blast. A bomb had been planted in one of the downstairs restrooms. Nobody was hurt, and the damage was officially described as “minor.” About $5,000 worth, they said—small potatoes, compared to the bomb that blew a wall out of the District Attorney’s office last fall after Salazar died.
When I called the sheriff’s office to ask about the explosion they said they couldn’t talk about it. City hall was out of their jurisdiction. But they were more than willing to talk when I asked if it was true that the bomb had been the work of the Chicano Liberation Front.
“Where’d you hear that?”
“From the City News Service.”
“Yeah, it’s true,” he said. “Some woman called up and said it was done in memory of the Sanchez brothers, by the Chicano Liberation Front. We’ve heard about those guys. What do you know about them?”