OK, I take it back: some endings aren’t like running into a wall.
That pace may have worked for Good As Dead, but Death to Pachuco opts for another approach entirely. After building with measured intensity as Ricky Tellez tried getting Rosalinda off the hook for the murder of José Gallardo Díaz, we left issue #4 as all the pieces had locked into place. The end result was less like meeting a wall nose-first but rather setting a trap and laying patiently in wait.
And man oh man, is that option just as comforting and compelling as you’d wish it to be.
Variant cover by J. Gonzo. Courtesy of Top Cow/Image Comics.
That’s not to say that there wasn’t action galore in Death to Pachuco #5. Rather, as they’ve done across the previous issues, artist Rachel Merrill and colorist Lee Loughridge gave us plenty of kinetic feats of intrigue. I’ve said it before, but their combined style/approach to this “version” of 1940s L.A. made all the difference, and whether it’s the sailors battling the zoot-suited Chicanos, or Tellez finally catching up to Eduardo/Chuco Loco, all that brawling felt thrilling and chaotic as much as it maintained this warm, nostalgic style. The look of this book has mattered so dang much, and in these final “moments,” it was the thing that moved us through the story with peak commitment and intent.
Still, I’d argue that what mattered most wasn’t the momentum of this issue but when things seemed to “slow down” outright. Without spoiling too much, Chuco Loco does, in fact, get his just desserts in the end. But it happens in a way that is both impersonal (a fitting bit of commentary on the complicated morality of this tale) and in a way where we’re really left to contemplate the larger value of this moment. It’s also expertly contrasted to a similarly extended moment between Ricky and Esmeralda (Rosalinda’s sister), who have grown close over this caper and who see their relationship treated with the same “forced” meandering. It felt like a chance to really chew on these moments, and let their respective weight resonate.
Courtesy of Top Cow/Image Comics.
It’s structurally quite different from the more run-and-gun approach of this story, and how it used momentum to keep us immersed. Both instances, then, still play with the tone and temperature of Death to Pachuco (even momentarily) — comics is great for such “pauses,” and they were used to peak effectiveness. Not only is it ultimately a way to keep us better connected to the story (albeit in different ways and “speeds”), but it pushes this book forward and extends its identity for subsequent chapters. Whether we do get more Tellez tales doesn’t actually matter; what does is that Death to Pachuco has grown beyond its confines and historical “commitment” to feel bigger and bolder than ever. And that very much happens as the creators (including writer Henry Barajas) continue to exhibit maximum care/respect for this moment in history.
There’s also other decisions made that similarly respect that historical significance while pushing things forward. For instance, the issue begins with a speech by Eleanor Roosevelt that is then expertly layered with wild scenes of combat between the sailors and Chicanos. In that simple but hugely clever moment, we not only better understand the larger context of this moment (and how it was regarded/perceived), but how much of that moment resonates with the here and now. Those connections were always apparent enough, but Death to Pachuco #5 really draws out the emotionality, policy decisions, and general level of humanity (or lack thereof) that ties 2026 directly with 1942.
Courtesy of Top Cow/Image Comics.
And the book does so in a way that the parallels feel massively important without ever mitigating the “uniqueness” of either periods. The end result, then, is even more significance and relevance, a sturdy invitation for us to grapple with what this means and how so much has changed, how somethings haven’t changed at all, and what matters most: People trying to find a space for themselves that works for their lives and corresponding values. It’s a feeling best reflected in how Ricky opts to deal with Chuco Loco: Maybe it’s not obviously satisfying, but it lets Ricky maintain what matters most to him as person trying to do better when being worst is so much easier. His enemies could learn a thing or two from our badass lead.
And speaking of Ricky, he and Esmeralda get something of a happy ending. Not in the way that “everything is fine and they’ll never struggle/suffer ever again.” No, the team make clear that, by focusing on the fates of a couple sailors, the wraith of racism and ignorance will flourish forever. Rather, it is made clear that not only are there more stories to tell there, but Tellez won in a major way. He saved the day, kept his values and worldview in place, and is ready to keep up the good fight. And in that way, it’s another realization of this book’s dedication to interesting social justice. That whatever he gets up to after this, Tellez will be a worthy hero, and whether he wins or loses in the end, he’s going to move forward in a way that’s totally just, caring, a little bit exciting, and always with an eye toward goodness. That’s how you win: Not by killing dipshits that deserve it, but being human when it’s the hardest thing possible.
Courtesy of Top Cow/Image Comics.
At the same time, the book does a damn fine job in outlining the fate of Rosalinda. Without spoiling too much, we get a sense that she moved forward in her life in a way that will likely tend toward violence and outrage. And who can blame her in any way shape or form? After what she went through, to be locked up in one prison and carelessly tossed into another, slightly larger prison, we’d all have a planet-sized chip on our shoulders. It’s not necessarily a “bad” ending for her (but you could take it that way). Rather, it’s an ending that not only further hints at more story to tell but also that the world is more complicated than good/evil, right or wrong. It comes down to what we choose to do but also living with what’s been chosen for us.
And because of that respect and intellect displayed toward its readers, I will always adore Death to Pachuco. It made history come alive with new and interesting ideas, and then bound the past to our own fate with the utmost effectiveness. It gave us as many thrills and chills as these big ideas to mull over about race and justice in America. It even offered up a new hero in Tellez, someone who stands tall among the trope of hard-living, girl-chasing private eyes. And it did it all with ample grit, joy, and intent to make anyone a proper fan.
It wasn’t necessarily an easy or hard ending (maybe both?), but it was a conclusion that more than lived up to this story’s endless charm and power.
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