"It makes me kind of frustrated that people are bringing that [violation of church and state] up," Castillo adds. "The problem is they're not Catholics."
The swearing-in ceremony, though, is only one of Castillo's ham-handed attempts to build a Hispanic political base in Oak Cliff, Castillo's detractors say. They say he has let the basic purpose of his office--serving court papers--lapse while he has pursued a high-profile law enforcement role that his men are ill-trained and -equipped to carry out.
Precinct 1's Mike Pappas, who was a veteran deputy sheriff before he became a constable, says his office focuses on doing its primary job, serving the J.P. courts. "We are the civil end of the criminal justice system," he says. Getting aggressively involved in law enforcement can lead to problems, he says. "Just because you're a licensed police officer doesn't mean that you're an experienced police officer," Pappas says.
Castillo deflects speculation about his future political aspirations, "I just want to do the job I have now to the best of my ability," he says. But he admits he is a politician, and he has heard the talk of him building a Mexican "empire."
"They call us Los Federales," he says with a grin. Over his shoulder, on the wall of his office, hangs a large photograph of Pancho Villa and Zapata. Below it is a painting of Jesus standing behind the helmsman of a ship in a stormy sea.
"I am Mexicano," Castillo says. "I am proud of that."
Castillo's attempt to turn his office into a high-profile law-enforcement agency isn't all that new. A county official who asked not to be named says that constables come in two flavors. Those who realize a good deal when they see it simply hire a handful of good deputies, set up an efficient system, and sit back and collect their salary. Then there are the "cowboy" constables. "There's a cop in every kid," the county official says. "Apparently, Castillo's got more than a little of that."
Other county officials say that a rumor was going around that Castillo tried to "shake down" a merchant. Castillo denies it, but says that he has heard about it in a very pointed way. "[Assistant DA] Tom Keever asked me point blank, 'Are you selling protection?'" Castillo says. "Maybe he's asking all the Hispanics that. Personally, I found it insulting.
"He [the DA] is hearing things. I'm sure he's heard a lot more other things. If they are [investigating]; they are. Let them do their investigation."
Sitting in his auto-body-shop office, Julio Perez is forlorn. He only wanted to help, and now everything is a mess. He has betrayed Aurelio Castillo--who was willing to give Perez a break even after he found out that Perez had lied to him--and his old friend Mike Dupree, who he says had offered to help him expunge his criminal record.
"He [Dupree] told me that he was going to work out a deal with the DA," Perez says. "All he did for me is create more problems for me. Now, they don't even want me as a deputy there. I helped him [Castillo] with the computer--now he probably won't let me touch it."
In his own office, Castillo wrestled with the ramifications of the revelations about Perez. The constable seemed honestly stunned.
"I called to check on him [Perez]. They (people in Precinct 1) said he's a nice guy," Castillo says. "I figure that from one law enforcement agency to another--they would at least tell me something about the guy."
As for Perez's criminal record, and the explosive affidavit in which Perez claims to have bought his position, it's just starting to sink in with Castillo.
"What am I going to do?" Castillo says bleakly. Then he laughs, "Yeah, Jesus Christ. I'm going to consult with an attorney, that's for sure, and that would be Domingo [Garcia]."
A reporter tosses the question to Chief Deputy Kirby: "What do you think ought to be done about Deputy Perez, Chief?"
Kirby laughs, then draws his finger across his throat.
