Khan dove through the masses and pushed her weight along with the others, trying to stop the next van that was exiting the company premises.
From the corner of her eye, Khan saw three policemen beating a woman with a billy club. Then she spotted Uncle Ron just as the same three cops turned their attention to him. She left the van and ran toward him, against the crowd.
The vans were slowly retreating, but now the workers didn’t want the fight to end. Small groups began to chant, “Solidarity forever! We shall overcome!”
Sweat dripped from her nose and onto her lips. She quickly licked it off. It seemed as if that small little drop quenched her thirst. Full of anger, she moved forward.
“Fuck this shit! Bitch get over here, asshole!” someone shouted.
Blood spattered onto Khan’s face but she didn’t bother to wipe it off. She just kept pushing her way through the crowd.
Seeing all these angry people rushing to cause more violence just seemed to get in her way of getting out. And now just the thought of losing her job was making her angry. Annoying cries disturbed Khan’s thoughts. Just hearing all the angry sounds made them seem like a brick wall in front of her.
When Khan thought she came to an opening in the crowd, police cars swarmed in, blocking it. Khan stopped and looked around the deranged crowd and spotted her uncle. She ran over to him and saw a policeman grabbing his collar. Khan heard the officer say to Ron, “Get out of here before I have to take you to jail.”
“The hell you will,” she said, stepping in and helping her uncle ward off the blows. The wallop she felt on the side of her head knocked her on her heels. Struggling for balance, she grabbed the policeman’s sleeve.
Together, she and her uncle kicked and fought the policeman until he backed away.
Khan turned away from her uncle to see if she could spot anyone she knew who needed help. Then when she turned back, Khan noticed that Ron was battling with two more police officers. Sirens, shields, and sticks hadn’t stopped the union members from defending their turf. More police cars arrived, but no one seemed to care. It was too late to stop now.
Somewhere a gunshot went off with a roar that reverberated above the cries of the crowd. Men and women scrambled, falling on the ground to cover their heads.
Everyone fell to the ground.
Another gunshot!
Frightened horses reared, their nostrils flaring, their huge black eyes rolling back in terror.
Immediately, Khan fell to her knees, trying to crawl toward the fence, fear driving her. She felt a woman’s small hand tugging at her blouse behind her, trying to hold on. They had to get to safety.
When she touched grass, she tried to scramble to her feet. She had almost succeeded when a hand closed around her ankle, pulling her down. Crashing to the ground, her teeth bit into her bottom lip hard as she fell into a soft mush she realized was horseshit. She was dazed for a moment, but the taste of blood seeping onto her tongue assured her that she was still conscious. However, the man still held her ankle in a relentless grip.
Khan dug her hands into the grass, clawing out clumps of it, dirt encasing her fingernails. She held on. “Let go!” she said, kicking, trying to turn over on her side and ward the man off with her arms. “Let me go!” she screamed, kicking harder.
From a few feet away she could hear the thuds of fists pounding against the man’s back. She turned and looked into the eyes of her uncle, who was now attacking the scab worker.
More gunshots rang out. Just ahead Khan saw a pregnant woman being carried in the air and passed across uplifted hands to the fence.
Please, Lord. Please, Khan prayed silently, don’t let anyone get killed. Please Lord, don’t let that woman lose her baby.
Blood was flying in every direction. And when the emergency vehicles tried to enter the scene, shouts rang out. The crowd encumbered their movements.
Someone else grabbed her once again from behind; she didn’t know who. She felt a crushing blow against her shoulder, then heard a bone crack. She froze. Pain seized her in its vise and rushed to her spinal cord. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt tears singe her cheeks. She was certain either her shoulder or collarbone was broken.
Now someone kicked her in the abdomen, a punishing blow, and she doubled over in agony. The pain as unbearable. Suddenly, someone was pulling her back. Looking up, she saw Taco José lifting her up to the fence.
“Now you stay out of the way—you’re hurt bad enough as it is. We’ll handle this.” He went back into the fight.
“This shit ain’t worth it,” one of the scabs shouted from beyond the fence. “Champion ain’t paying us enough money for this shit.” One scab worker broke away on foot and managed to run from the riot. Knives were stuck in tires, and the whoosh and bump of the vans lowering filled the air. Those inside stayed, powerless to move.
Veils of light peeked through the sunrise as darkness began to wash out of the sky. Khan heard the cry of the morning’s first hawk. Then a group of birds swarmed, large ones, reddish brown, their wings arched. They circled lower, so low that Khan could see their yellow feet and eerie black talons. In this horrific setting, the sight frightened her.
When would the violence end?
Just then she heard a loud thud. A bottle hit one horse in the neck and it reared up, kicking its front legs wildly in the air. Khan attempted to shield her burning eyes from the cop’s blinding light, but nothing could protect her from the horse’s powerful legs and sharp hooves. Thwok! She felt a searing pain in her forehead. Then everything was darkness.
34
__________
Both R.C. and Tomiko were handcuffed, read their rights, and arrested by immigration officers.
“Officer, do you realize who I am?” R.C. asked.
“Certainly, sir. That’s precisely why we’re arresting you.”
Tomiko watched as R.C. was put into a separate squad car.
“Where are you taking us?” she asked the officer driving her car.
“To the police station here in Lexington.”
“But what are we being arrested for?”
“You are under arrest for illegal immigration, and your husband for employing an illegal immigrant.”
“But why?” Tomiko asked. “My papers are in order. My husband and I filed over six months ago. I have a green card.”
“It’s a forgery, ma’am.”
“What?”
“You will be sent back to Detroit to be processed, and then you will be deported.”
“Deported to Japan?”
“Yes, Mrs. Richardson. According to the United States Government, you are an illegal alien.”
Tomiko was stunned. What was going to happen to R.C.?
* * *
Later that day, Tomiko, in prison scrubs, was put on a state bus and sent back to Michigan. Looking out the grimy windows, she felt embarrassed and degraded.
Once she arrived in Michigan, she was put in a lockup among women who obviously had been picked up for prostitution. Tomiko tried to make herself inconspicuous. After about an hour, her name was called.
She followed an enormous female guard to a small inspection room, where a female police officer waited.
“I’m going to strip-search you. It’s procedure.”
“What? Why? Where’s my lawyer? This is awful! I’m not a criminal! I want to speak to my husband.”
After a brief strip search, Tomiko was put in a private holding cell. Once alone, she burst into tears.
Anticipating deportation was like waiting for the executioner to throw the switch. She did not want to go back to Japan. All the racism she had experienced while growing up had embittered her to her homeland. And with just five months of being in her father’s homeland, she knew this was where she belonged. And she wanted to be with her husband. She prayed that R.C. would find a way to straighten out the entire mess and get her home, to Kip, where she belonged.
Tomiko didn’t know where or through whom R.C. had had her green c
ard forged. But what was killing her was that he wasn’t all to blame. Looking back, she realized that she had pushed him in her need to acquire fame, and that wasn’t any better than R.C.’s greed for gambling at the crap tables.
It happened sooner than she expected. The door to her cell was unlocked and the guard said, “You’re free to go, miss.”
“What do you mean?” Tomiko asked timidly.
“The charges have been dropped and your husband is waiting for you downstairs. Here are your clothes. You can change in the women’s room.”
The tears in her eyes, which she didn’t wipe away, felt good; they were tears of joy.
Twenty minutes later, she rushed into R.C.’s arms. “What happened? You had them drop the charges? How?”
“Whoa, slow down,” R.C. said. “Thank your grandparents, not me.”
Tomiko was surprised to see both of her grandparents coming from around the corner, each carrying a can of soda.
“Hi, baby,” her grandmother said.
“Glad to have you back,” her grandfather added.
“It’s so good to see you two,” she said, hugging them. “How’d you know I was here?”
“Your husband called us.” Grandma Johnson looked sad for a moment. “It’s all my fault.”
“Take it easy, baby,” Papa Johnson said to his wife, and helped her to sit down. “Let me explain, Tomiko.”
Grandfather Johnson summed it up quickly. When Tomiko had come to their home the first time and they gave Tomiko her father’s letters, they had neglected to give her something else: her original birth certificate. This document proved that Tomiko had always had dual citizenship.
It was part of the reason Tomiko’s mother had refused to speak to them. The grandparents had filed a suit with the Japanese consulate on their son’s behalf and were given the document. Tomiko’s mother always feared that she would be taken away from her and had refused to file her true parentage with the consulate.
Tomiko felt transported by this news. She was truly reborn.
It was time to celebrate. All four left for the Richardsons’. Bonnie and Kip were at the front door to welcome them back home.
Together, they all drank sake. R.C. had a thimbleful but refused to drink any more.
The evening was magical, with R.C. his most charming, affable self. Grandma and Grandpa Johnson were impressed with Tomiko’s surroundings, but not overly so. Tomiko sensed strongly that these were people with the right values. And they were her people. That resonated inside her. The Johnsons were the kind of people she would search out from now on—to help her grow.
After they’d left with hugs all around, Tomiko and R.C. retired to their bedroom.
Knowing her husband pretty well by now, she could tell that he was happy that she was home but he was still withholding something.
As Tomiko gathered up a newspaper R.C. had been reading on the bed, she noticed Sydney’s picture in the bottom corner. She was leaving a courtroom. “I forgot to ask you something. Why do you hate Sydney so much?”
R.C. was taking off his clothes. “It’s a long story. She had her husband fire me when I worked at Cadillac. She caught me shooting craps on company property. I was already enrolled in the dealer-ownership program, a much more successful program than Champion was offering at the time.”
Tomiko was relieved. She thought they’d been lovers.
R.C. was stroking Kip now as they sat together on the bed. She knew he was about to reveal what he’d held back earlier.
“You’re well aware of my gambling habits. I never tried to hide them from you. I’ve been a con artist all my life, though I never planned on hurting anyone. My dream was to become rich. And now I am.” He cleared his throat. “I was.”
Tomiko sat down beside him, listening.
“I had no idea how deep I’d gotten in debt until recently.” He stopped. “That’s a lie. I did. I just denied it.”
“A man called here last week. He said that you owed him money and if you didn’t pay—”
“Damn! That was Alexander. I paid him just before I came down to Kentucky. But it must have been too late. He must have turned you in already.”
“R.C., is everything going to be okay?”
“No. I neglected to pay someone that I should have paid first. The IRS. Because I didn’t keep up with my payment agreements with them, they wouldn’t extend my payment deadline. Now they’ve seized my accounts.”
“How much do you owe them?”
“Millions.”
“Can you cover it?”
“No. Not even after I sell the ranch.” R.C. ran his fingers through his short Afro. “I’ve been trying to think of a way to come up with some capital.”
“How about the jewelry you bought me? We could sell it.”
“I didn’t want to ask. But thanks. That will probably have to go, as well as some pieces I own.”
“I have some money, R.C.”
He hugged her close and kissed her on the forehead. “Baby, you earned that money. It’s not mine to take, but thanks. What I get for the ranch will hold us for a while, until I can get things worked out with the IRS.”
“Will they take the house?” Tomiko queried. She thought about all the memories she had here in so short a time and how much she loved this home.
“I don’t think so, if I declare bankruptcy. Even the IRS has to allow us a home to live in.”
He held her close to him. “Baby, whatever I lose I can get again. I’m not scared to start over. But you want to know something?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m a little relieved. I feel like I got what I deserved for screwing Oxford. I’m free now. I’ll probably sleep like a baby tonight. And then tomorrow I can finally call Oxford and face him like a man.”
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No, just trust me, Tomiko. I’ve done some terrible things to people. Even when I tried to make people happy, it was for selfish reasons.”
“Khan?”
“Yes, Khan. I truly cared for Khan, loved her in my own way. But I was never faithful to her, to anyone, not even, my love, to you. I never understood why fidelity was meaningful. Now that I’ve lost all I thought was important, I understand more about what matters.”
“And now, are you and I going to make it, R.C.?”
“You know, Tomiko, I’ve taken you for granted. But no more. I always trusted you to be there for me. I thought of you as a child; the silly sex games you love to play that I’ve finally learned to enjoy. But you’re a woman. A good woman. And I love you.”
Tomiko looked at her husband, her eyes again brimming with tears.
“I bought you a welcome-home present.”
She frowned. “R.C., we shouldn’t be spending any money right now.”
“I know,” he said, kissing her. “But this is well-spent money. Hold on.” He left the room and came back with a big wicker basket that had a small pillow inside. “It’s a bed for Kip.”
“Oh, R.C.!” She hugged him.
“We’ve got to break him of the habit of sleeping in our bed.”
Tomiko took Kip and his new bed and sat them outside the door. “I couldn’t agree more.”
35
__________
“The only thing black women are good for is fucking,” Cy heard John Sandler saying.
“Excuse me,” Cy interrupted Sandler and another man—someone he didn’t recognize, probably from outside the company. “Was that meant for my benefit? Because I didn’t see a damn thing funny about it.”
Sandler grunted. “Oh, no. That was just an inside joke I was telling Murphy.”
“Look, Sandler,” Cy said, reaching inside his pocket for his letter of resignation. It was October 1, and Cy had waited weeks for this moment. He handed it to him. “There’s something I’ve wanted to give you.”
Sandler unfolded the paper and read the contents. “What the hell is this? Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Positivel
y. Hell, I was planning on giving the company the customary two weeks’ notice. Fuck it. I might as well leave now.”
Sandler spoke briefly to Murphy, who promptly left. Then Sandler said to Cy, “You should go back to work. You’re making a big mistake. Do me a big favor, Tyler, think about this before you do something you’ll regret.”
They were in the executive cafeteria. The two of them were the only ones left in the area. They could shout to high heaven and no one would hear them.
“Not a chance. This mistake was made when you insulted my wife. We both know you were talking about Thyme.”
“Pardon me, Cyrus. You’ve got the whole thing backwards. Maybe you haven’t heard. Your wife—”
“Yeah. Yeah. I know. She won a huge settlement against Champion Motors.”
“Hrrmph.”
“I wish I had the balls my wife had to bring you bastards to your knees. She’s got more guts than the both of us and you know it.”
An odd look registered on Sandler’s face before he spoke. “I agree that Thyme Tyler has guts, but it’s a shame she’s not one of us.”
“What the fuck does that mean? She’s worked her ass off for over twenty years for this company.”
“The fact remains—”
“Oh, hell no. I get it. I knew it all along. You’re planning on getting rid of her.”
“We’ve had a meeting his morning. Frankly, Troy Trim has to be closed . . . Cyrus,” Sandler said in the falsetto voice that Cy detested.
You son of a bitch.
“Your wife is as good as gone.” Sandler held up his hand to silence Cy.
“You low-down son of a bitch.” Cy grabbed John Sandler around his neck and tugged his tie tight, shutting off his oxygen.
Sandler pressed his hand into Cy’s chest and fought to push him off.
Cy clamped his left hand beneath Sandler’s neck and backed him up against the wall. Sandler was a good four inches shorter and forty pounds lighter. Cy lifted the smaller man’s body up off the floor.
Sandler’s face turned purplish red. Sweat began to bead on both their foreheads.
Blue Collar Blues Page 30