Miguel's Gift

by Bruce Kading

  When they were all seated, Miguel said a short prayer in English and then very rapidly in Spanish, thanking God for food and blessings, and for introducing his family to Mr. Hayden. The family all crossed themselves and then quietly waited for Nick to fill his plate from the large, steaming bowls. Rich food aromas filled the room.

  “This is quite a feast, Carmen,” said Hayden.

  Carmen was wearing a light green dress. Her hair was swept back, which accented the largeness of her brown eyes. She smiled, but her blank expression told Nick she didn’t understand. He repeated the words in Spanish, and she nodded agreeably.

  “Thank you,” she said softly in English.

  “Her English is improving,” said Miguel. “Is hard because she is home all day. Paco already studies English before he comes here. Maria learns also.” Maria, wearing a flowered dress, was sitting next to her mother in a high chair, staring at Hayden.

  “Please go ahead, Mr. Hayden,” said Miguel, who began serving the others.

  “You have a nice family, Miguel,” said Hayden. “You’re a lucky man.”

  “Yes, is true. Perhaps you someday have family. You would be good father.”

  “I don’t know about that, but thank you,” said Hayden. It was one of the kindest things anybody had ever told him, but he wasn’t at all sure it was true. He’d already concluded that it was unlikely he would ever get married.

  After dinner, Paco helped Carmen clear the table, while Miguel and Nick sat down in the living room with cups of coffee.

  “Have you known many guys like Rico?” asked Hayden.

  “Yes. I am not so different when I am younger.”

  “That’s hard to believe.”

  “I never go so far as him, so far bad, but before I find the Lord, my life is different. I was very foolish,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I not say I am smart and wise . . . just not so foolish like before.”

  Nick looked at Miguel inquisitively, waiting for more.

  “I love the tequila,” said Miguel finally. “And women. I live for the body, what the body wants. It was, how you say . . . shallow, very shallow life—has no meaning. I no keep any job. I live like child. One morning I wake up in alley in city of Morelos, many miles from home. I no remember how I come there. And I find wound in my stomach and was bleeding. It is long cut, right here, from knife.” He motioned with his finger across his abdomen. “I get up and walk down street. I am very thirsty—my mouth feels like desert. I need water, but everything is closed. Then I come to small chapel and door is open. I go inside. I think maybe priest give me water. But there is nobody there, no priest. I am alone. I sit in back of chapel, and I look up and I feel very small. He is there up on cross and something happen. My heart come open, and He speak many things to me. He say nothing of stupid things I do, just I should trust and follow His way, and He protect me. And I feel like I am hit by . . . how you say . . . the lightning! Life is never same since that time. Men who are blind think those who follow God are weak, but is not true. I am stronger. Maybe because I am stronger, the Lord give me Carmen, the children. He let me come here—to this country. And He bring you to our family. Many good things come to me. So I am very blessed.” He smiled warmly at Hayden, who was lost in the scene Miguel had described. Nick had always respected those who could sift some higher meaning and order from what often seemed the arbitrary chaos of life.

  “Yes,” said Hayden finally. “I can see that, Miguel.”

  A sharp knock rattled the front door. Miguel looked up with an expression of mild concern. “I take care of this,” he said calmly. Carmen stepped out of the kitchen and looked nervously at Miguel. When he opened the door, Tom Kane was leaning against the wall next to the stairway.

  “Mr. Kane. Please, come in,” said Miguel, opening the door wide.

  “No,” said Kane coolly, staring past Miguel at Hayden, who had risen from his chair. “Something came up, Nick. We have to take care of it.”

  “Carmen, please get Mr. Kane a beer,” said Miguel.

  “No,” said Kane. “I can’t stay. We have to go right away. It’s important.” Hayden was now at the door beside Miguel.

  “What’s up?” inquired Hayden.

  “I’ll tell you about it outside,” said Kane.

  “Mr. Kane, please, you must meet my family while you are here,” said Miguel.

  “Maybe some other time,” said Kane, already starting down the stairway. Hayden stood at the doorway, annoyed with Kane’s brusque manner.

  “Paco, please get Mr. Hayden’s jacket,” said Miguel.

  Hayden thanked Carmen for the meal and apologized for the hasty departure. He promised Paco he would return to see more of his baseball cards and bring his glove so they could play catch. Miguel insisted on going down the stairs and outside onto the porch with Hayden. Nick again thanked him for his hospitality, while Tom Kane stood next to his car and watched, scowling.

  Hayden strode toward Kane, making sure Miguel had closed the door before speaking. “How’d you find me?”

  “I was checking things out on Twenty-Sixth, to see if Rico’s guys were out on a Friday night. Saw your car when I was driving down Eighteenth Street.”

  “So what’s the emergency?”

  Kane glanced around the neighborhood, apparently concerned their conversation would be overheard. “We can’t talk here. I’ll meet you at the usual place on Cermak.”

  The lot was nearly empty as they parked next to each other along an old railroad embankment a good distance away from the front of a large grocery store. It was darker now, and an overhead streetlight at the center of the parking lot cast a pale light that barely reached them. Hayden had spent the drive over telling himself not to jump to conclusions, but his adrenaline was pumping when he stepped out of the car and advanced toward Kane, who was casually leaning against his Camaro.

  “What’s this all about?” demanded Hayden.

  “The question is, what was that all about? We can’t be socializing with informants,” said Kane. “You know as well as I do that you can’t get too close to them or—”

  “So that was a lie about there being something urgent—is that what you’re telling me?”

  “Would you feel better if I told Miguel you were putting him and his family in danger?”

  “We need these people to trust us if we ask them to risk their lives.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Kane retorted. “All we need is for them to be frightened enough to do whatever we want them to do. We’re supposed to handle ’em, not coddle ’em.”

  “I’ll deal with him as I see fit,” said Hayden sharply, his chest bumping against Kane’s.

  Kane shoved Hayden as though he were weightless, sending him reeling awkwardly back on his heels. “He’s not your informant, you know,” said Kane, his face red with anger. “We both arrested the son of a bitch.”

  Hayden gathered himself and drove into Kane with his shoulder, pushing him hard against the hood of the Camaro. Kane, though off balance, quickly righted himself and pushed Nick aside with a thrust of his powerful arms. Suddenly a bright spotlight engulfed them, and there was the squeal and skid of a fast-moving car as it came to a stop. Two uniformed cops jumped out of a squad car, one grabbing Hayden, the other Kane.

  “OK, up against the car,” said the cop who had grabbed Hayden, pushing him toward the Camaro.

  “Hey, guys, we’re cops,” shouted Kane, as he grabbed the roof of the car. “Check my inside pocket.” The officer reached around Kane’s back and inside the leather jacket, slipping out the shiny black credentials case, the gold badge embossed on its cover. He flipped it open and pointed his flashlight down to view the ID and photo. Hayden’s cop did the same, and the two, both rangy men in their thirties, relaxed and stepped back.

  “So, you guys been partners too long or what?” said Kane’s cop, now amused by the situation.

  “Just a little spat,” Hayden said between deep breaths. “You know how it is.”

  “Oh, yeah
. . . we know,” said the other cop with a knowing grin. “It’s not unusual in our precinct, but we try to keep it out of public view.”

  The cops were looking at Kane, the spotlight from the squad car on his face. He squinted against the light but said nothing, still catching his breath. They seemed to be waiting to hear something conciliatory so they could be on their way.

  “We’ll be fine, guys,” said Kane finally, pulling his jacket back into position. He forced a weak smile. “Sorry we caused you any concern.”

  Kane’s cop flipped the credentials back to him. “Don’t make us come back, all right?”

  “Don’t worry,” said Hayden. “We know you’ve got better things to do.”

  The spotlight went off, and the police car peeled out of the lot, leaving Hayden and Kane facing each other.

  “It’s good for you those guys came along,” said Kane, pushing his wildly tousled hair back into place. “You were about to go down.”

  Hayden knew Kane could make short work of him in a real fight. Besides, it was no time for a rift that would permanently undermine the partnership, both of them being keenly aware that there were only about three weeks remaining in their detail. They leaned against the Camaro, silently looking down at their shoes when Kane remembered the six-pack of beer in the trunk.

  Sipping the warm beer, Kane eventually conceded that “maybe” it hadn’t been wise to barge in on the Chavez family, regardless of his misgivings. It could have been discussed later. Hayden acknowledged that he’d been wrong to suggest he had sole control of Miguel and that he should have informed Kane of his plans. By the time they’d each had a couple of beers, they were trading office gossip, and the heaviness had lifted. As they prepared to leave, Hayden gave Kane a brotherly pat on the shoulder to suggest that there were no hard feelings.

  They got in their cars and pulled out of the parking lot but headed in opposite directions on Cermak Road.

  12

  Chacon had cleared away the empty bottles of Corona and was wiping off the counter when he noticed a man standing at the bar watching him.

  “What can I get for you?” asked Chacon in Spanish.

  “I’d like to see Mr. Rico, if you don’t mind,” replied Miguel.

  “It’s not like before,” said Chacon impatiently. “There are people on the street that can help you. Not here anymore.”

  “No, this is something else. I must talk with Mr. Rico, please,” said Miguel firmly. “I am Luna.”

  Though he was under orders from Rico to get rid of such people, there was a forthright, serious quality about the man that made Chacon consider him for a moment.

  “Wait here,” said Chacon, who disappeared through a beaded curtain into a room at the end of the bar. Miguel looked around. The place seemed to have undergone a facelift since he’d been there two years before. The dusty wood floors had been replaced by black and white tiles arranged in checkerboard fashion. There were sleek-looking tables and chairs, fresh curtains, and an elevated square of parquet flooring in a corner with a stand-up microphone on it. Clearly there was more money coming into the bar these days.

  Chacon returned. “Through that curtain,” he said curtly.

  Rico was sitting behind a large mahogany desk, about twenty-five feet from the door. There was an oblong banker’s lamp on the desk and a single light bulb overhead that cast weak, grainy light throughout the room. Two small windows against the wall behind Rico’s desk had been covered with black paint, blocking the light from outside. Miguel noticed that Rico’s face was heavier, his hair expensively styled. He wore a tan blazer of thin leather over a black shirt, open at the top to reveal a heavy gold chain.

  “I understand you have business,” said Rico gruffly in Spanish.

  Miguel stood inside the door, respectfully waiting for an invitation into the inner sanctum, his eyes adjusting to the frail light. There was a sofa against the wall to the left and two wooden chairs in front of Rico’s desk.

  “Yes, Mr. Rico. That is correct,” said Miguel.

  “Well, come closer,” said Rico. He motioned toward the chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat here.” He was alert and studying Miguel intently.

  “We met a couple of years ago,” said Miguel, sitting down. “It was out there.” He gestured toward the bar.

  “I remember you now,” said Rico softly. He paused and leaned back into his chair. There was an aura about this man that encouraged Rico to defer to him, to seek his favor. Self-conscious under Miguel’s calm stare, he needlessly picked up an ashtray and set it on a stack of papers. “Well, then . . . you are Luna?”

  “Yes, Miguel Luna. I bought the documents. You were kind enough to help me with this.”

  It was a reasonable statement, but directness of speech was not a desirable attribute in Rico’s business. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” said Rico. “What sort of business do you wish to discuss?”

  “I am a Mexican. I know many people on the South Side. Many are afraid to buy the documents from those on the street.”

  “Is that so? Why are they afraid?”

  “Some are still afraid to do these things in the open. If you give me the opportunity, I can sell many of the documents quietly and professionally.”

  Rico considered Miguel thoughtfully. Was he wearing a wire, or was he just plainspoken by nature? Rico pointed toward the wood-paneled wall to his left and rose from his chair. “Put your hands up against that wall,” he said evenly.

  Miguel looked at the wall and then back at Rico with the hint of a smile. “You don’t have to worry about me, Mr. Rico.”

  “Maybe not, but you’re not walking out of here until I search you.”

  Miguel paused for only a moment. “Yes, of course,” he said, standing. “It is always wise to take precautions.”

  Miguel spread his legs and placed his hands high against the wall. Rico gently patted him down. Miguel was wearing work pants and a thin nylon jacket over a long-sleeved work shirt, the type of loose-fitting clothing that could easily conceal a recorder or transmitter. Finding nothing suspicious, Rico stepped back, staring at Miguel’s midsection.

  “OK, now take off your jacket and shirt.”

  Miguel removed them and faced Rico. He was wearing a ribbed undershirt with narrow straps over the shoulders. There was a tattoo of a heart with an arrow through it on his upper right arm. Rico lifted the undershirt, exposing a ten-inch diagonal scar across Miguel’s stomach just below the ribs. Rico looked up with a smile.

  “What do we have here, my friend?”

  “That is from an accident,” said Miguel. Rico looked at him for further explanation, but Miguel offered none and pulled the shirt back over his stomach.

  “OK . . . unbuckle your pants,” said Rico.

  Miguel wasn’t expecting a crotch search. He looked at Rico for several moments in defiant contemplation.

  “Do you think I like doing this?” barked Rico. “Pull ’em down!”

  Slowly, Miguel released his belt buckle and dropped the pants down to his knees with one hand, revealing a pair of boxer shorts. “Turn around,” ordered Rico. Miguel shuffled awkwardly in a circle, holding his pants at his knees, until he had come fully around. Rico, finally satisfied, turned away. Miguel pulled his pants up, refastened his belt, and put his shirt and jacket on.

  “We must be careful,” said Rico triumphantly, stepping behind his desk. “Men are tempted if their circumstances are desperate.”

  Miguel knew the word “we” represented an important shift, and that he probably had Rico where he wanted him. Rico appeared relieved as he settled back into his chair. “These federal cops don’t seem to care about what we do. But that could change, and we must be ready.”

  “Yes, I understand,” said Miguel, sliding his jacket back on and returning to the chair.

  “Now we can talk freely,” said Rico. “Do you want some coffee? A beer?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “So, what do you have in mind?”
>
  “Perhaps I could buy a couple hundred documents to start—green cards and social securities. I believe I could sell them quickly.”

  Rico could feel his reservations melting away. This fellow was a leader—no posturing or game playing. He almost felt complimented that Miguel would come to him. If this deal worked out all right, perhaps he would hire him to keep the wild Mexican vendors in line. He opened his top desk drawer and removed a copper box of cigarettes, opened the lid, and pushed them toward Miguel, who politely declined. Rico quickly lit a cigarette and exhaled a line of smoke.

  “Do you have the money already?” asked Rico.

  “How much?”

  “Let’s say nine thousand. I’m giving you four hundred documents altogether, when you include the social securities. Those two hundred sets are worth at least thirty or forty thousand on the street if you do it right. You’ll quadruple your money. But you have to stay away from where my people are working on Cermak and Twenty-Sixth Street.”

  “As I said, I would not work openly on the street. But I was hoping the price would be a bit less,” said Miguel.

  Rico broke into an open smile that clearly showed his deformed lip. “Where did you get that idea?” he asked. “If this becomes a regular thing, I can drop the price some.”

  “By Wednesday of next week I will have the money. Is Thursday all right with you?”

  “It doesn’t matter to me what day.” Rico scribbled a note on a calendar that lay open on his desk. “I’ve put you down for ten in the morning on Thursday, September 27.”

  “OK.”

  “Use this number if you need to contact me.” Rico pulled a business card from a plastic holder and flipped it to the front of the desk. “But don’t say anything about the documents when you call. If you do anything stupid like that, the deal is off.”

  “Of course,” said Miguel, who looked briefly at the card and shoved it into his jacket pocket.

  “One other thing,” said Rico. His small eyes had gone hard and cold as he leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the desktop. “If I ever find that you’re working against me in any way, I won’t hesitate to do what is necessary to you, your family, anybody close to you. Do you understand?”