We all heard as children about Eskimos having 100-ish words for ice/snow. (Right?)
When I was told that in Mr. P’s 5th grade class, I didn’t think, “Wow, they must really like the frozen stuff.” It was, as a child who already hated repetitive words in writing even back then, that I could write a whole book and never repeat a dang snowy phrase.
That’s a lesson about why I was a lonely child. But it was also my first lesson that we are all, and I’m boiling down sooo much of the human experience, effectively the same. Cultural traditions, language, and identities are important, but at the end of the day, we could all just use more words for ice/snow.
It’s a lesson that I continue to find in the pages of Death to Pachuco #2.
Courtesy of Top Cow/Image Comics.
In last month’s excellent debut, the creative team (writer-letterer Henry Barajas, artist Rachel Merrill, and colorist Lee Loughridge) laid the foundation of a most interesting slice of Chicano noir tied to the very real case surrounding the Sleepy Lagoon murder. Here’s all you need to know going into this second issue: the LAPD had enacted a dragnet across the city looking for the killer of Carlos Urbano. In their efforts, they arrested Rosalinda Garcia, and her twin sister, Esmeralda, has hired PI Ricky Tellez to help clear her name. Maltese Falcon, eat your heart out.
And I earnestly mean that — Death to Pachuco is this robust lesson in all the things I admire about/want in noir. Merrill’s art is the perfect baseline, this deconstruction of ‘40s pulp where the world itself is caked in layers of grit and sex appeal and rugged power. From there, we get to see Tellez bed beautiful dames, make an amateur boxer squeal, outmaneuver the cops, and generally everything else that’s funny, moody, and thrilling that makes these tales so intoxicating.
The team does it all as true students of the game, but clearly with their own bent and influences, and so it feels as exciting and fresh as it does stoke the same nerves and feelings as other storied tales. That was clear in issue #1, and here it’s this masterful encapsulation of why the PI “model” is so appealing.
Courtesy of Top Cow/Image Comics.
And why is that really? Well, on some sturdy level, who doesn’t want to be a proper PI like Mr. Tellez? Sure, he’s got his own issues and concerns (which are expertly laid out in #2), but he’s a man who knows what’s he’s about, has the courage to seize his fate, and faces any consequences with a smirk and a sweet fedora. If I were to extrapolate that further, say, to how that related to the identity of immigrants in this country, the PI is the true American Dream — a self-actualized person thumbing their nose at The Man and making it work on their terms.
That’s why Death to Pachuco remains like a crime story above all else — it’s the great American language that unites us all in this desire to seize the opportunities of this country and be our own person with whom we can make a difference even when social systems have failed us. Even if you never heard of, say, Zia Summer, we all want to be Tellez-esque, and we all want to think the gumption will be there when the need actually arises.
Courtesy of Top Cow/Image Comics.
At the same time, Death to Pachuco never forgets its Chicano roots — it just filters that through noir and uses that genre as a tool of shimmery excitement and engagement. They’re smaller gestures, but the book does bring us into this volatile moment in L.A.’s history, showing us the fear but also the determination of a people trying to hold on their corner of America.
Issue #1 used Spanglish to foster our immersion, and while that continues in issue #2, there’s also scenes with just Spanish. I’d like to think that is the creative team’s subtle way of bringing us in even further and to tiptoe even more into a culture we may not know all that well. Even something as simple as a convo with Tellez and Esmeralda gives us not only a neat wrinkle to this case, but it shows the way your average young Mexican person of the time saw themselves, their social “balancing act,” and what it meant to be at war (to a degree) in your very own home.
Courtesy of Top Cow/Image Comics.
But you can’t have a war without a foe, and the characterization of white people in Death to Pachuco is interesting to say the least. Here, we were introduced to a young white sailor who has a connection to what’s basically the Klan of Southern California. And where there’s warmth with the aforementioned Tellez-Esmeralda stuff, the sailor and his father have a, um, “heart-to-heart” that is dripping with disdain and rage. (Even the art here feels more unsettled and confrontational, as if the very emotions are warping the page itself.) We also get shots of some of the brethren at a kind of celebration, and Barajas’ own lettering is so big and bold that it struck genuine fear in my heart even more than their actual words (which is saying tons).
In some ways, it’s about humanizing the sailors and LAPD and others — but never in a way that garners our sympathy. Rather, it’s just an expression of how alive this world is, and how real people are making very real choices that will come to define their home and their cultures for decades to come. Everyone of them is struggling for their own piece of the pie, but only one group are trying to do so in the name of community, grace, and true diversity. I’ll let you ponder the real-world implications for America in 2025.
Courtesy of Top Cow/Image Comics.
This novel ability to thread the needle — between crime stories of today and yesteryear; past and future of American “discourse”; and the eternal struggle for justice — is at the very center of Death to Pachuco. With more case to unfold, new conspiracies to unfurl, fresh fist-fights to engage in, and maybe a few pretty hearts to further break, I have full confidence that this book will continue to show the true heart and passion of its creators. Whether you know its essence and history or not, it’s exactly the rich, gritty, and potent mystery that we all need more of in our lives.
Now, help me come up with 100 different words/phrases for “this book rocks.”
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