A man with a mustache walks out of the bank on Spring Street, across from City Hall, Downtown.  A lunch truck parks in the alley.

The cook's head sticks out the window.  "Lunch time, come on."  She points at the painted menu on the side.  She wears an Angel Cap.

The man smiles, checks his watch, and walks over to 'Maria's Taco Perfecto.'

"Why not, Amiga," he says.  "Un Perfecto Taco.  Let's make it two, por favor."

"You got it." she says.

The man points to his forehead.  "An Angels Cap.  You an Angel fan?"

Over the hissing of the grill, "Sure am.  Give them some time, they'll start winning.  You want chilies with your tacos?"

"Sure, why not, Maria.  Jalape??os?"

"My own special sauce.  I use both Ancho and Anaheim Chilies.  Muy Sabor."

"Anaheim, sounds good."

A Young Man walks up.  He looks at the menu, opens his wallet, then looks over at the man.  He blinks, and points.   "You sure look familiar?  Wait.  Angel owner.  Right?"  He has a large smile.  "Right?  Arte Moreno?"

The man smiles and nods.  "That's me."  He extends his hand.

"Wow," says the Young Man.  "You're sort of in enemy territory, up here.  We're not far from Dodger Stadium.  It's just over the hill, you know?"

Maria looks out.  "What.  Arte Moreno?  No way."  She looks at the Young Man. "No way.  I watch the Angles all the time."

"You spent a ton on Pujols, and that pitcher," says the Young Man.  "Hope it works out."

"Yep." he says.  "$240 million, for ten years.  I figured that's what it would take to get a team together that had potential."

"Mr. Moreno," says Maria.  "It's okay,  Angles are in last place now..."

"Please, call me Arte."

"Arte, it's okay.  They'll start winning soon."

"It's return on investment," says the Young Man. "Must be hard to take, spending all that money, and they just can't get going.  I think it's your relief pitching."

"Well, I'm thinking long term.  Once I bought the team, I needed to trade for a few players that could make it happen. He smiles. "We're just getting started."

Another man wearing a Dodger Cap moves to the window.  "Two Burritos.  Quickly, I gotta get back."

"Gotcha," says Maria. "Chicken or Beef?"

"Chicken, and I gotta go.  Can you make it quick?"  He reaches into the ice on the side of the truck, grabs a root beer, opens it and gulps.

Arte raises his eyebrow.  The Young Man shakes his head.

Maria says. "Arte, just about done.  Get a drink...on me."

The Dodger Cap stares at Arte.  The Young Man introduces them.

"Owner of the Angels, huh?  If that's true, you wouldn't be eating at no roach coach.  And you sure wouldn't be up here.  This is Dodger Country."  He takes another drink.  "You spent all that money, for what?  Another losing season, probably.  Pujols doesn't have it anymore.  Anyone can see that.  Stupid, all that money."

"Well,  I'm a businessman.  It was a good investment."

"You can wait for them to start winning if you want.  The Dodger the ones in first place.  And everybody else better stay out of our way."  He finishes the bottle, and pushes the empty back in the ice.

"Come on," says the Young Man. "Matt Kemp can only hope to have a career as good as Pujols.'"

Others arrive at the truck.

"My Burritos?  Ready yet?"  Dodger Cap looks at Arte, and shakes his head.

"I think I'll wait until the Angles jell,"  says Arte.  "Shouldn't take long.  You're right though, the Dodgers are off to a fast start."

"Got that right.  We're a Dodgers, and Lakers city.  Like the other day, when Matt Kemp invited that Clipper guy Chris Paul to the game.  He got booed, like he should.  Kemp should've known.  Coming onto our sacred grounds.  Clippers, Angles, Ducks, whatever, better stay out of our way."

"Dodgers would love to have Albert Pujols?" says one in the crowd.  "Worth every penny.  It won't take long, he'll be back where he was a few years ago.  Give him a chance."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," says the Dodger Cap.  "His glory days are over.  The Dodges are young. We're going to tear 'em up this year."  He sticks his head into the truck.  "Burritos?  My burritos, what's going on.  You're making me late.  Come on.

"Of course he doesn't care about his slow start," says Dodger Cap.  "A 10 year deal for $240 million?  And he gets paid no matter what.   It's crazy.  Why should Pujols care anymore, he's got somebody crazy enough to pay him."   Again at Maria, "Come oooooon."

"She's making taco first for Mr. Moreno," says the Young Man.  "You shouldn't be yelling at her, or anybody like that?"

Dodger Cap looks around.  "Who are you?"

"Just saying. We were hear first."

Dodger Cap clenched his fists.  He blinks.  "Don't get me started.  I got work to do.  And I don't have a lot of time to fool around here."

"We're not fools, my friend," says Arte.  "You're attitude is very rude."

"Arte, your tacos with my Special Chile Sauce.  Anaheim Chilies."

"What?" says Dodger Cap.  "Anaheim?"

Arte leans in front of the Dodger Cap, reaches in and takes two tacos.  "Gracias, Maria.  Muy bien."
"What, are we in Mexico?" says the Dodger Cap.  His voice rises. "My burritos.  Let's go."

"Relax now, " says Maria.  But before she could say, 'Just about done,'  he says.

"You people don't know what you're doing, foreigners taking over here.  We speak English in America, if you didn't know."

"You're in downtown Los Angeles," says one in the crowd.  "English is the second language here, pal."

Arte smiles at the Young Man. "I think I'll trade for Vince Scully next time.  That would be the Ultimate Coup."  He then looks at Dodger Cap.

"If I wasn't such nice guy, you'd be eating those words, old man." says Dodger Cap.

Arte looks at Dodger Cap in the eyes.  "Never happen, my friend."

Maria yells from the truck, "Hey, what's the mater with you?  You know, I don't like you."  She bounces out of the truck, holding a large wooden spoon.  It drips with her special sauce.   "Why don't you go get your burritos some place else."

"What?  You can't...What is this?"

"Go away," she says.  She waves the spoon, "Or I call for back up.  You Understand?"

Arte and the Young Man move toward the Dodger Cap.

 "Andale," says Maria, a tight grip on her spoon.

The commotion draws the attention of others on the sidewalk.

Dodger Cap freezes, stands there, scowls, and stomps off, back toward the bank.

"You'd really trade for Vin Scully," asks Maria.

"He would never leave.  His blood runs 1000% Dodger Blue. I wouldn't even try.  If  Dodger fans would Boo a hard worker like Chris Paul, think what they would do to me."

Arte Mareno, watches the Dodger Cap leave, picks out a taco, and bites into it.

"But, you know what?  I'd trade for you, Maria.  I'm always looking for a good cook.  This is really good, Muy Sabrosa."

The Young Man aims his iPhone, and as he takes their picture, Maria says, "And Arte, you don't have to pay me no 240 million dollars either."

They all laugh.

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