The Convict Chronicles

Smile Now, Cry Later

Frankie V. was a gang member long before I met him in 1989. I saw him once or twice while I worked at the county jail, but I never got to really talk to him until I left the jail in 1994. He was one of the most interesting characters I have ever met. Since his early teens all he ever wanted to be was a gangster. Most of his family were in a gang and that is how he grew up. He couldn't wait to be part of it. By the time I met him he was a seasoned "Tri-City Bomber", a local group of thugs intent on running drugs and doing drive-by shootings. He was tatted from top to bottom with your standard mexican gang and prison tattoos. Spider webs, mexican symbols, prison towers, clocks indicating the number of years you had done time, smile now- cry later faces, Virgin Mary tattoos, tear drops on each eye, etc. You name it he had it. And he was proud to wear them all. And that was one of the things Frankie taught me, "You don't have tattoos, you wear them Alvarez, just like you wear your badge".  He belonged to something and it defined him. It was something real to him. 

There was something different about Frankie that was unlike any other gangster I had ever met. He smiled and laughed more than any other person (not just gangster) I ever knew. I never ever saw him when he wasn't smiling or laughing. It was hard to believe sometimes that he was in a gang. Sometimes I would be driving down the street in my patrol car and I would hear "Alvarez!". Every time he saw me he would scream out my name to say hello. If ever I walked into to the police department and I heard uncontrollable laughter coming from a closed office, I knew Frankie had been picked up. He was a  seasoned burglar and would once in awhile get brought in for questioning. And he would gladly confess to the crime when you caught him and had proof. He would even smile while he did it.  I don't recall him ever trying to talk himself out of anything. Every once in a while I would bring him in for questioning just so both us could take a break. Me from being a cop and him from being a gangster. I would call some of the other investigators into my office who also knew him and we would just laugh and laugh for a couple of hours till ours sides hurt. He was a real comedian. 

There was also something very sad about Frankie. I did talk to him one time seriously about his gang life and he said there were things he and his gang did that he was not proud of. He would not say what they were though. And he didn't have to. I was well aware of his gangs activities and this particular gang was real vicious. They had been around for years and they were on the verge of exploding into a real solid crime syndicate. They had for years been involved in drug smuggling and even murders, but they were about to get worse. I think Frankie did not want to be a part of that anymore, but still wanted to be a gang member. Once I asked him if he would ever get out.  Frankie said he would never get out. He said as long as he was in the gang he was somebody. I told him he was wrong. He said "Oh yeah? Would you even talk to me if I wasn't a gang member?". I told him probably not. Frankie's self worth was woven deep into the gang and he did not have the strength to untie that bond. 

One Friday afternoon Frankie got brought in a burglary charge. He had been pulled over with some stolen property in the car and they were charging him with the actual burglary which he claimed he did not do. I talked to the investigator assigned to the case and I took it over. I talked to Frankie and he said he had gotten the stuff from some "prospect" and he was going to sell the stuff for him. A prospect is a sort of gang "intern" who does stuff for the gang pending membership to the gang. Frankie, of course, would not name the prospect. I bumped the charge down to possession of stolen property and got Frankie a personal recognizance bond so he could get out without having to hire a bail bondsman. Frankie was ecstatic. In court he was smiling from ear to ear and I swear he did a quick jig with his feet when the judge told him the bond was a PR bond. Frankie and everybody in the court couldn't help but smile or chuckle.  I told Frankie that I needed his help. I told him that we had a rash of unsolved robberies and for him to keep his ears open this weekend and call me if he heard anything. I didn't think the crimes were being done by his gang so there was a chance he might call. I gave him my card with my cellphone on it just in case.

On Monday morning I was in my office when my supervisor said that there were 3 investigators from the Sheriff's office wanting to talk to me. I knew each one of the officers who walked into my office and we exchanged hellos. Investigator Garcia said that there had been a double murder the night before and they had yet to identify the victims so they had some photographs for me to look at. They only bring photos like this when the victims or suspects are gang members because I know most all of them. It was Frankie V. He and his girlfriend had been found shot dead out by Tower Road just East of my jurisdiction. They had been shot execution style in the back of the head. Frankie had been beat up also. They were dumped there so they were killed somewhere else. I asked him why they came to me so quickly because they usually try to find out other ways before they come to me. The investigator pulled out a picture of my business card. Frankie had kept it in his right sock. 

That was 13 years ago and the case was never officially solved. There were two stories. Frankie went on a crazy burglary spree and robbed the wrong people. Frankie was found with 40 bucks and a quarter pound of weed in his pants when he was killed. He never had any money or weed so he must have scored during the weekend. Another story was that he somehow pissed off some of the higher ranking members of his gang and someone either ordered his death or just took him out. 

The case was not in my jurisdiction so I could not work it. But the truth, I discovered, was a combination of both stories above. Frankie did go on a spree and stumbled upon a load of dope in one of the places he burglarized. As a member of a gang, nothing that Frankie got a hold of is totally his. As a non-ranking member he is to share and pay dues. Frankie didn't that weekend. One of the more violent members found this out and hunted Frankie down. Unfortunately for his girlfriend she was with him when the killers found him. They were taken somewhere, beaten, and then killed. But before dying he was forced to watch his girlfriend being shot in the back of the head. He cried and begged for her life and they shot her anyway. He never begged for his own life.

Now normally I could never picture Frankie crying. He was always laughing and smiling. But I saw the pictures. You could see that two teardrops had cleared a path in the blood and dirt that was on his face, and the path ran all the way down to his neck. It was real strange to see that. They ran straight down from the gang teardrop tattoos on his face.