While all this was going on, I stayed with Rocky, who was seated in the backseat of the cruiser, handcuffed but smoking mad.
"You okay?" I asked him, concerned about the half a dozen kidney shots he'd already taken.
"Fuck you, chcimorro," he growled.
"Listen, Rocky. You're in a lot of trouble here. Do yourself a favor. Calm down and do what you're told."
He sat there, staring straight ahead. He didn't answer, contempt for us fueling the already deadly mixture of rage and injustice burning inside him.