On Monday morning, I was told by my cow-orker that there had been a murder in South Austin, at the corner of Stassney and Congress, an area that I know well. You see, there are two taco stands that are my customers down there, with two more customers spitting distance from there. When I found out that somebody shot and killed a taco-stand worker, my heart sank. I hoped, first, that it wasn't Juan from Chilangos, and then I found out it wasn't and felt guilty for trying to pick which taco stand worker got shot and then felt even worse when I found out it was the guy from La Sureña, who I liked, but not as much as Juan.
They were newcomers to the area, and made some good tacos, and were regular customers, I saw them twice a week.
Part of my job is meeting new taco stand customers and introducing our propane deliver service to them. Yes, you can find cheaper, but they don't show up at your doorstep regularly to free you up for customer service, and fifty cents per tank is not that much cheaper when it comes down to it. That's what I do.
Monday was busy, but not as busy as usual. A small thought hung over my head, though. "What made someone want to shoot and kill the guy from La Sureña on a Sunday at 3PM?"
We got there at 3PM, today. We got to see the police "crime scene" stickers and the bullet holes. I got to talk to the shop owner, dressed in all black, whose parking lot they occupied. "Why?" we asked each other. It's all so senseless.
Three tortillas and two little heaps of meat sat on the grill, waiting to be made into tacos. A vent over the grill had an incongruous hole in it. "He must've been shot in the head. I hope he didn't have to suffer," said my coworker.
I took several pictures with my phone, then deleted all except the "police crime scene, do not enter" sticker with the handwritten word "homicide" and the appropriate numbers to call on it. Sorry, but you can't share this shock and lack of understanding with me.