This Is for the Mara Salvatrucha by Samuel Logan

knucles on the glass and motioned for Ignacio to come out. Rodriguez was getting antsy and frustrated with Denis.
    He wanted to have a go at Denis but needed to run it by his colleague first. Denis had known Ignacio for a long time, so Rodriguez thought he could use that to their advantage. The plan sounded almost too simple, standard good cop, bad cop, but Rodriguez had found in his many years of investigating that a gang member’s anger was usually his number one weakness. He intended to tap into that anger full force.
    As the plan went, once Denis was good and fed up with Rodriguez, Rodriguez would leave the room and allow Denis to tell Ignacio whatever he wanted to say. Denis didn’t like Ignacio, but he knew him. The two had a long history, and a plausible foundation for trust. Rodriguez was counting on this.
    After hearing Rodriguez’s plan, Ignacio argued to hold off a little longer. He still had his own angle, with Denis’s mom and aunt waiting in another room. Ignacio was still betting on them. Both women were determined to talk to Denis, convinced they could get through to him as family, as blood. Ignacio was willing to give it a shot.
    First, Denis’s mother entered the room, her expression pained. She sat on the stool facing her son leaning forward, but she dared not reach out to caress his face. This was not the time or place to be soft. Denis would resent any physical act of emotion, she thought. Still, Denis’s mom looked at her son longingly, willing him to come clean—to become the young man she always wanted him to be.
    “Talk to the police,” she pleaded. “Tell them what you know.”
    Denis only stared forward. His silence pushed her further. It was a mother’s last chance to save her child from the possibility of life behind bars.
    “Don’t take the blame for things that you’re not to be blamed for. Please, my son, help yourself,” she begged in a terse whisper.
    Still, Denis didn’t bat an eyelash. They sat in silence for a long moment before his mother heaved a sigh and looked at the ceiling, trying not to cry. She rose to leave, realizing with resignation that she had gotten nowhere. As she stood, Denis also rose and reached out to give her a hug, as if acknowledging that it would be his last opportunity.
    As Denis’s mom left, deflated, Ignacio ushered his aunt into the cramped interview room. She was tough and direct.
    “If you don’t talk to the police, they’re going to mess you up,” she said. Her voice was like a taut wire, high-strung but strong. “You’re gonna be put in prison. They’re gonna put everything on you and you’re going to pay the price,” she warned. Nothing she said fazed Denis. He knew the stakes. He wasn’t going to talk for anyone, not for his mom, not for his aunt, or for anyone else. This was child’s play.
    Rodriguez, watching through the glass, turned to Ignacio.
    “Why don’t I go in there,” Rodriguez offered. “Let me get under his skin so maybe he feels it’s better off for him to speak to you or somebody else,” he said.
    Ignacio finally agreed. Rodriguez pushed the door open and entered the interview room looking directly at Denis. He sat on the metal stool and stretched out his long legs, crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall. He was relaxed on the outside, but inside he was ready to rip into this kid.
    Rodriguez started slowly. After a few easy questions, he folded his legs under the stool and shifted his weight to the front of his seat, so he was just a foot away from Denis’s face. Rodriguez got louder with each question, closer to Denis’s personal space, until they were nearly nose to nose. He wanted to know names, places, dates, plans, everything, and was using all the verbal force he had to squeeze information out of Denis.
    Still, nothing seemed to faze Denis. He looked right through Rodriguez, who couldn’t help but remind himself that Denis was a killer. He had stared death in the face and wasn’t afraid of