Hanging On — Barely

Garcia is the guy. Yes, he says, he was arrested on January 14 as reported, but he’d purchased what he thought was five “nickel balloons” of heroin from a dealer on Cesar Chavez. When he checked the balloons, he found they did not contain heroin. “They were filled with dirt.” So Garcia took off after the fraudulent dealer. According to Garcia, the chase went on for two blocks until he lost sight of the guy and began racing up and down open driveways, including that of the Aguilars. A block later Garcia was arrested. (Police lab reports confirmed that the balloons contained dirt, not drugs.)

Upon hearing that he purportedly told Officer Chavez he’d bought from Luis in the past, Garcia snorts, “If that’s what the cops wrote, it’s a lie. I know your husband. I knew him as a little kid. His tío and me were homeboys. But look. I’m a heroin addict. I buy heroin, that’s it. And I never bought it from your husband or at your house. And I sure never told no cop that I bought from Luis. If you need me to come to court,” he tells Frances, “just subpoena me. I’ll do it.”

Frances is elated. But when the information regarding Gus and Garcia is related to Bisnow, he is dismissive. “What you’re telling me,” he says, “is that these guys are perjurers who falsified evidence to the police, and now they’re saying something else because they’re afraid to implicate a gang member. Not very credible.”

Since Bisnow is Luis’ only chance at beating his case, Frances doesn’t want to alienate him. “But I’m not sure I understand where he’s coming from,” she says. “These guys aren’t saying they lied, they’re saying Chavez lied. Why doesn’t he get that?”

Nearly all of Frances’ waking moments are informed by the interweave of three pressing themes: Luis’ case, the well-being of her kids, of course, and money — namely, how to get by on less and how to make more. She still won’t apply for public assistance other than the WIC program in which her kids are already enrolled. (WIC is a federally administered grant program that provides low-income pregnant and postpartum women and children under 5 years old with certain nutrition-rich foods — mostly milk, eggs, cheese, cereal and a few odds and ends like peanut butter and canned tuna.) She is still able to pay the mortgage with her and Luis’ savings, but in a couple of months the savings will run out. “So I’ve got to make more money,” she says. “I love working for Homeboy. And nobody’s ever going to cut me the same slack in terms of letting my kids come here after school, but I’ve got to find a way to make more.” In mid-April, she comes up with a plan to pick up a little extra cash. “I’m going to become a notary,” she says. “My friend and I are going to do it together. I’ve already found a class and signed up to take the test.”

On Monday, April 26, Luis goes to court for yet another continuance. Although the court appearances last only four or five minutes, Frances’ presence makes a big difference to Luis, so she makes a point of going. Bisnow is in trial elsewhere, and an alternate public defender is present in his place. After court, the P.D. passes along a message to Frances. It seems that a group of community members have faxed a letter to the prosecutor stating that the Aguilar residence is a known drug house. Even more alarming, for at least six months a group of her neighbors have been holding meetings to complain to the police about Frances and her family, and to strategize about how to get the Aguilars out of the neighborhood. “So I guess Officer Chavez wasn’t just harassing you,” Bisnow remarks to Frances later. “I guess he was just doing his job, wouldn’t you say?”

“With all respect, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.

Privately, Frances is stunned by the news. “When I was selling drugs years ago at our other house, nobody bothered us. In fact, a lot of people were happy to take my dirty money, for drill-team outfits, for field trips, for a lot of things — even though they knew where it was from. But now that I’m doing good . . .” Her voice trails off. “If all these people think that bad things were going on at my house,” she says quietly, “why didn’t one of them have the guts to say something to my face?” Then, after a pause, “Maybe it’s time I went to one of these meetings.”

Since the gatherings include the police, she reasons they must be official Neighborhood Watch meetings. “And those are listed on the LAPD Web site.” Sure enough, there’s a meeting listed as taking place every Monday night at Resurrection Church.