Tío was a man of a certain reputation. His father had been a local fisherman. He had taken out his youngest, Tío, on fishing trips in a small vessel, whose rocking motion made the lad deathly sick. This earned him teasing and mocking from his father, who called him sissy and paleface and kicked him around like a dog, with the reminder that “you’ll never amount to anything,” much to the amusement of the father’s friends.
To prove his worth, Tío began to deal with drugs at fifteen, and although he had been on the police’s wanted list for years, he was smart enough to stay in the shadows and let others do the dirty work for him. Nonetheless, one thing was certain—he had proven his father and his father’s old fishermen friends wrong. Tío had become one of the richest men of Comayagüela.
He had influence. He demanded respect.