For now, I’m grateful both he and I have got Tse. Judging by the suits she wears, Carissa’s fee won’t be cheap. I’ll never be able to afford it. How will I ever repay him? Then I realise I won’t have the chance if I’m deported penniless to Colombia. Will he stop paying her fee when he realises?
The door opens and my lawyer comes in. I push back my straggly, greasy hair, I’ve been unable to wash it in here. I used to pride myself on my appearance, but already my skin feels oily and neglected. Raising my face, I look at hers, knowing immediately she isn’t bringing good news.
Carissa sits down opposite, her eyes harden, and then she says, “You’re going to be charged with insurance fraud. They’re describing it as a felony. Not only, in their view, did you set it up as a deliberate attempt to defraud, you apparently caused serious injury to the person who crashed into your car.”
But it was him who caused injury to me. My head’s still hurting, and I know I’ve got whiplash as my neck has grown stiffer with each passing hour. I go to object; she raises her hands.
“If that was my only news, I’d be helping Tse get you a criminal defence lawyer. But I’m afraid that’s not all we have to contend with.” She places her briefcase on the desk and opens it. “Your fingerprints obviously exposed you as an illegal immigrant, currently with DACA status. The police have contacted ICE, and they have decided in the circumstances, and due to the crime you’ll be charged with, that immigration enforcement action is necessary.”
I feel her words like a physical blow. “But I didn’t do anything,” I protest, my hands covering my mouth. “I’m innocent. Surely I’ll have my chance at proving it at a trial? I’ve a right to be here, for now, anyway. I’ve done everything I should.”
“There won’t be a trial,” she replies grimly. “That’s the bottom line, Mariana. I’m sorry, I could string you along, but there are other factors at play here. ICE will be arriving very shortly, and I suspect they’ll take you into custody and send you to an immigration centre. I’m afraid being charged with a felony is as big a stain as being convicted.”
“They can’t,” I squeak. Deported back to Colombia? Leave Drew here? “My brother… I’m responsible for him.”
“Your brother is fifteen,” she says bluntly, but not unsympathetically. “When babies are being pulled from their mothers’ arms, why would the same people be worried about him?” The flash of her eyes shows she doesn’t approve. But her hands are probably tied, and there’s a limit to what she can do.
Oh Drew, I’m so sorry. She gives me a moment to process what she’s told me. I’m an immigrant without legal status. My hands clench as I realise I’m helpless. There’s no one to fight, or no one my protest would have any effect on. In a quiet, quavering voice, I ask, “What’s going to happen to me?”
She puts her hands on the table, palms down. “You’ll be taken to an immigration centre. The good news is you’ll be able to have visitors, so your brother and fiancé can see you. At some point, maybe after months, you’ll be taken in front of an immigration judge. He’ll listen to your case, decide whether to grant you asylum, but I won’t lie to you. Once the system gets hold of you, it’s unlikely it will let you go. The outcome is you will probably be given a deportation order. You’ll be sent back to Colombia.”
To my violent father. Or death, or to be raped at the hands of a gang in the streets. I’ve always known it was possible, though inconceivable to my very American mind. I was brought up in the US. Even without my father waiting for me, the thought of being alone in a foreign country is terrifying.
My fingers squeeze into my palms again, as I try to force thoughts of a fate I can’t even imagine out of my head. I focus on what I need to. “And Drew?”
“I’m hoping your fiancé will look after him. He could go with you, of course…”
“No. That’s impossible.” I don’t want my father getting his hands on him. A twisted madman who killed our mother? Who knows what he’d do. Those letters gave me a taste.
“If I’m deported, will I be able to apply to come back?”
Her lips purse. “Not once you’ve been deported. Not with this charge hanging over your head.”
“The charge they won’t even try me for. No chance to prove my innocence.”
“Even if you’re proven innocent, if you’re deported the judge will give you a time that needs to expire before you can reapply. That could be five, ten or twenty years.”
Five years at the minimum?
Tears start to run down my face. She notices. “Ms De Souza, listen. I know some human rights activists. I’ll enlist them on your case. It might mean you spend months, years in detention, but at least you’ll be safe.”
“I did nothing wrong,” I repeat, aimlessly.
Her sympathetic glance doesn’t help. Nothing can help. Not unless someone can magically change my birth certificate for me.
ICE officers come the next morning, uninterested in anything I have to say. They waste no time. Soon I find myself handcuffed in the back of a prison truck and being driven away. I have no idea where they’re taking me, but do get an answer when I spy a sign on arrival. It appears my new home is to be the Service Processing Centre in Florence. I try to take comfort that I’m still in the same state.
Processing Centre. I’m processed alright. My personal possessions taken by the police are handed over to the people in charge, as are the clothes I had been wearing. I’m given a number and an orange prison jumpsuit. No belt, nothing that I could use to harm myself.
I’m allowed to shower before going to my new home, a windowless room with a bunk bed I’m sharing with a woman who knows no English.
I soon come to learn that while I’ve been convicted of no crime, being an immigrant is enough of an offence for them to treat me just like a prisoner. I might have lived in a tiny trailer but that doesn’t stop me becoming claustrophobic shut up in that bleak cell, longing for daylight. But for that, it seems one hour a day will have to suffice, when we’re allowed to go outside to stand around in a steel cage.
While there are many people who’ve been arrested at the border, and who haven’t had a chance to learn the language, I soon find there are a few others like me. People raised from a young age in America. One woman who swears she was born here, and that she is an American citizen, but no one believes her. Although she’ll tell anyone and everyone at every opportunity she was born and bred here, they are swayed by her Hispanic features and the colour of her skin. I gravitate toward her at meal times, both of us American down to the bone. But having heard her story, and having no reason to doubt her, I’m once again frightened for Drew. What if he were picked up, and no one believed him? Thought his birth certificate was fake? That’s the thought that really scares me.
From the time my mother died I’ve been all I could for Drew, raised him like my child rather than my brother. Used to give him the last morsel of food off my plate, even if it meant I would go hungry. Bringing him up as an all-American boy, giving him every chance he could have. It’s him I worry about more than myself.
“De Souza.”
I turn around at my name, grateful they haven’t called me by a number.
“You’ve got visitors,” the guard says.
Oh, to see a familiar face. Expecting my lawyer, I nod, but ask to confirm, “Who?”
She consults a piece of paper. “Tse Williamson and Drew De Souza.”
Drew can’t be here. What if they lock him up? How will it affect him to see his sister in a prison uniform? I start to shake my head. He’s got to get away from here.
“You can refuse to see them.”
I’ve the option, but as I open my mouth to say the words, I can’t get any refusal out. I know I’m weak, just wanting to see a familiar face. Wanting to see with my own eyes that Drew’s okay. Has he been eating? Who’s feeding him? I left him no money…
Oh God, it’s just like on TV. I wait, shuffling my feet along with the other detainees who have visitors, until at
last a buzzer sounds, the doors unlock, and then it’s my turn to walk in to a room full of tables, one chair on one side, two on the other.
Drew stands as I walk toward him. Tse’s hand shoots out and his eyes lock on his, and I hear his whispered word, “Sit.”
A brief creasing of his eyes as though in pain, then the boy I wish I could put my arms around sits down, nodding at Tse. Tse’s obviously tutored him. It makes me wonder whether he’s visited his brothers in prison before. He’s in a criminal gang after all, even though he denied it. His cut, I notice, isn’t being worn today.
My eyes drink in Drew. He looks healthy, a little pale, but who wouldn’t in this situation? His clothes are clean, and he’s shaved those few skimpy whiskers I tease him about. But seeing him isn’t enough. I need contact. Taking my seat, I reach my hand across the table. Drew grabs it and holds it fast. Until a guard walks by and coughs loudly, and reluctantly I pull mine back.
I don’t know what to say. We’ve such a short time every moment is precious, every word spoken mustn’t be wasted. There’s too much I want to ask; I don’t know what’s most important. My mouth opens and shuts but there’s a disconnect with my brain.
“I’m working to prove you are innocent.” It’s Tse who breaks the torturous silence. “Know where this Todd asshole lives, but I haven’t caught him at home yet.”
“Tse. It’s useless. Even if you get him to retract his story, it won’t help.”
“How are you, Ma?” Drew suddenly finds his voice. “How are they treating you?” His voice breaks.
It kills me to know how much this is hurting him. I force a smile to my face. “Three meals a day. A bed. Yeah, a bed, Drew. Better than sleeping on the sofa.” I try to sound light-hearted, making the most of what I have here. The last thing I want is him worrying about me.
“I can’t stay with Drew indefinitely,” Tse says looking concerned.
“Of course you can’t,” I interrupt, trying to give Drew a confident look while wondering what the hell is going to happen to him. How can I arrange anything from here? Should I ask Tse to call social services? Is that me giving up? Risking losing Drew…
“I’m arranging for Drew to go and stay on the Rez, with my family.” Tse’s eyes rise in challenge as if I’m going to object. “He’ll be able to go to school there, so he can continue his education.”
“Same one as Tse went to,” Drew butts in. They’ve obviously been speaking about it. Drew doesn’t look worried, more interested it seems.
“I don’t know about that,” I start, then stop, realising there’s no other option. How can I argue with the man who’s proposing to care for my brother for me? But a Navajo reservation? “Will there…?” I want to ask if there would be issues, a white kid on a Native American reservation. My question fades as I don’t want to insult Tse.
“Yeah.” Again, it’s Drew who answers, knowing me well and reading my mind. “Tse’s told me what to expect. He’s not sugar-coated it, Ma. But it’s better than getting Social Services involved, or being homeless.”
“Look at it as a life experience,” Tse gives a quick smile to my brother who I realise seems to have grown up. His considered nod showing that. Then Tse looks at me. “Your neighbours tried to break into the trailer. They’ve heard you’ve been detained and expect you to be deported. If I hadn’t been there…”
“Tse was great, Ma.”
Tse brushes his comment away as though he’d done nothing at all. But when he speaks next, all my fears come back to me. “Seems your kindly neighbours think Drew’s illegal.” He presses his lips together, and now the reason for his suggestion becomes clear. “Don’t want him mixed up in trouble. So I thought the best idea was to get him away. Spoken to my mom and she’s looking forward to havin’ him stay. Navajo like to adopt strays.” His quick smile at Drew softens his words, then he focuses on me again. “Carissa Beacham couldn’t give me any idea how long you’d be here.”
She couldn’t tell me either. “No news on a court case yet. But others I’ve spoken to have been waiting months.”
Tse looks down at his hands with those long slim fingers I remember admiring before, in another lifetime it seems. We’re all ignoring the elephant in the room, that apart from this facility, I might never set foot on American soil again.
“I’ll arrange to have some funds put into your facility account. You can make phone calls, send letters.” Tse seems to know more about how this works than I do. “It might make your life easier.”
“Thank you.” I’m in no position to refuse. “Tse, thank you for everything. You don’t know me; I don’t know you. Yet you’re helping me, helping Drew.” For some reason, I trust him. Then, I suppose, I’ve no one else even pretending to be in my corner.
Now it’s Tse’s strong warm hand that covers my own shaking one, and a quick grin flits over his face. “What else would I do for my fiancée?”
“Yeah, about that…” I’ve got to put a stop to this now. Him saying I’m his fiancée makes me think things I shouldn’t be thinking. Not when the likelihood is that I’ll soon be thousands of miles away.
“Listen, Mariana,” he hisses. “You’ve got an American fiancé waiting for you, okay? Don’t tell anyone any different. Every little thing might help.”
My eyes widen. Here I am, a girl who’s kept so far under the radar I’ve never dared have a boyfriend before. Now this handsome man is telling me he’s my fiancé, and we’ve not even kissed. Let alone knowing anything about each other, except for a few basics.
Tse stares at me. When he sees I’m not going to voice an objection, he chuckles softly, lightening the mood. “I have threatened Drew with bodily injury, though, if he starts calling me Pa.”
Chapter 12
Mouse
Drew keeps it together until we’re in the truck that I borrowed from the Satan’s Devils compound, and we’ve put a couple of miles between us and the detention centre. Then there’s a loud sniff, followed by a couple of sobs, then more which just keep coming. Allowing him some dignity, I concentrate on the road ahead.
It hadn’t taken me long to decide the safest place to take him. With nosy neighbours threatening to call the cops, I wanted him well away from that trailer park. Sure, he’s got his birth certificate, and with my skills I can help him easily prove he was born in the States, but why put the boy through all that? Taking him out of his school and spiriting him away to the Rez, where no one would dream of looking for him, would be better. A phone call to my mother and it was arranged, it seems both she and Gramma wouldn’t object to someone filling their empty nest, even just for a short time. Long term I’ve no idea what to do with him. But I’ve decided he’s my responsibility. I can’t abandon him, or make any permanent plans until we know what’s going on with Mariana. I like the kid. And giving his sister peace of mind is the least I could do.
As Florence is between Tucson and the Rez, it makes sense to go straight there after visiting Mariana. Drummer wants me back at the compound, and I need to give some time to helping my brothers make sense of the shit that they, and by association I, am in. So I’m wasting no time, taking Drew there today. Hoping that as the miles go by beneath us, he’ll have time to pull himself together after seeing his sister, and start looking forward to what lies ahead.
While giving him time to process, I let my mind think about Mariana. I hadn’t told her, but one of the security cameras revealed dividends. A clear view of her car properly stopped at a red light, the Ford ploughing straight into it. I’d shown it to Carissa, the lawyer, who’d taken it to the cops.
The assholes hadn’t even arrested Jenkins, and had shrugged when Carissa suggested it had cleared her name, said the tape was too blurry to make out.
Pack of lies, but the truth is, Mariana’s case is in the hands of the immigration authorities now. Her proof of innocence, or otherwise, has no bearing. The cops have washed their hands of her. The evidence I’d discovered would at the most mean she’s deported without a criminal recor
d, but it’s apparently no argument against her being detained. Whether ICE picks you up or detains you is a lottery, Carissa had explained, and once they’d set their sights on you, it’s almost impossible to secure a release.
But the lawyer is still working on it. Trying to get her hearing before a judge brought forward. If they leave it too long her DACA protection will run out, and who knows whether she’ll be able to renew it? Even recipients on the outside, Carissa has confided, aren’t registering again, fearing that giving the authorities updated details just makes it easier for them to be picked up off the street.
The only thing I can do is give Todd Jenkins my own form of retribution. Whatever Mariana says, I’ll be delivering some punishment. He can’t get away scot-free. If I get my way, he won’t be getting any insurance money.
Drew’s still sniffling, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Parental responsibility doesn’t go so far as me calling him out on it, so I think about the reasons why Mariana can’t go back to Colombia instead.
Those letters. Yeah, personal letters, but I’d read them, chills causing the hair on my arms to stand on end.
Dear Mariana
I arrived safely, but your father is as I remember him. In fact, he’s worse. He’s a powerful man now, he calls himself General and rules a corrupt empire. Do not on any account get in contact with him. Whatever happens, whether you hear from me again or not.
He’s trying to find out your address. Mariana, I believe he has connections outside Colombia as well as within, men he can call on in the States. Whatever he does, I’m not going to be telling him where you are.
Keep safe, watch Drew for me. I can’t tell you how much I love you and miss you. Kisses to you both. Stay safe.
Your loving mother
Dear Mariana,
Your father is getting worse. He was violent toward me last night. I only just managed to get out to post this letter.
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