text: (WP) The Scorpion’s Children El Scorpio was a huge name in my neighborhood; he was more a living legend than an actual person, to me. But his men and women, his children, as he called them, were different, just like he was. “We might be a gang, but we aren’t thugs. A gang may be what we started out as, but we’re a family now.” The voice was husky and soft, faintly accented; there was a musical quality to the man’s words. The day I found him in the kitchen, talking to my parents, I was already in a foul temper. School had run long and track practice had been especially brutal that day. “Come in here, son, won’t you? And watch it; I already told you to stop slamming that damn back door.” My father scowled at me, but it faded when he smiled at the man that was sitting at our worn kitchen table. My mother placed a cup of hot, steaming coffee in front of our guest, smiling sweetly. I watched our visitor, unable to help it, curiosity moving to replace the irritation I felt. “This kind young man has come here to make you an offer,” My mother said, and she smiled at him, her eyes misting over. I looked between the three of them, confused. “I don’t understand.” The man smiled at me, taking a cautious sip of coffee. “I’ve heard much about you, young man.” He said. To my untrained eye, he looked like a bruiser, someone who stood in dark corners waiting for orders from a loaded, mysterious boss. His tanned olive skin was almost entirely tattooed; there were even a few on his face. A bird, with its wings spread to take flight, peeked out from his shirt collar. When he realized where I was looking, he grinned, his cheeks warming as if he was embarrassed. “I’m El Scorpion, and I wanted to ask your parents if you wanted to intern at the youth center, once track ends. It would look good on a college resume, but I won’t force you.” Up this close, he didn’t look so threatening. Still, I was wary. I didn’t know El Scorpion from anything but rumor. So why was he interested in me to begin with? My suspicion must have showed on my face, because he laughed. “You’re not the first person I’ve asked, kid, and you definitely won’t be the last. But I’ve seen you around the neighborhood. You always help your neighbors. Hell, just a few weeks ago, you helped a kid fix up his broken bike chain, no questions asked.” I blushed, rubbing the back of my neck. I wasn’t anything special. I was just a kid in a huge town, a running junkie that fed my addiction through track and cross-country, looking for a fresh start. “I’m nothing special. Honestly. I was just being a good neighbor.” He was shaking his head before I was even finished with the sentence. “Think on it, will you? I can help you achieve your dreams.” Leaving his now cold and half drank coffee, he smiled and thanked my parents for their time, saying that he would come back soon on the way out.