Catherine pushed half a sub under my nose. It looked great: turkey, ham, cheese, tomatoes. I rubbed my eyes and took a couple of bites. There just wasn’t time to worry about lunch. I shoved the sandwich back in its wrapper. Louisa Perez was seated next to Catherine’s desk.
“Louisa, you look great.”
“Well, you look like hell, Mary. You’re downright skinny.”
“You can never be too thin. Isn’t that what they say? I’m so glad you’re free to go with me this afternoon. I’ve told Catherine what a great interpreter you are. I think you’re a frustrated actress. You always capture the spirit of what you’re interpreting, even the tone of voice, the hand gestures, and the facial expressions.”
“Yeah, well, you’re right. I do community theater in little Havana. The abuelas love me, especially when I sing the old Spanish songs. Catherine is going to bring her boys one Sunday. Maybe you’ll join them.”
“Absolutley. As soon as I get my life back. I’m frazzled,” I said.
The ride down to the federal detention center was actually pleasant. We turned off the highway and down a city street that became a two-lane road. Soon we were in the Red-land, the last farming community in the county. We passed tree farms, nurseries, and fallow tomato and corn fields, waiting for replanting in the fall. Here and there the fields are interrupted by housing developments. The small houses appear planted in rows just like the tomatoes.
“Louisa, have you ever been down here to pick strawberries in the u’pick’em fields?” I asked.
“Of course, my whole family always did that every winter, and how about those great strawberry milkshakes? The little stand is still down here somewhere.”
We turned again down a narrow road. If you didn’t know the prison was there, you’d never notice it. It’s set back from the narrow road on a dirt lane of its own that is easy to miss. I missed it while Louisa and I gabbed. I made a U-turn, almost putting us in a ditch, found the turn, and soon we were at the high electric gates. I spoke to the guard through a voice box announcing attorney visit. He was in a tower overlooking the gates that he activated from his lookout.
The gates swung back revealing a vast parking lot where we left the car. After a walk of about two blocks, we arrived at the main gated entrance. Families of inmates were lined up outside the gate. It was a regular visiting day, which meant a long wait to finally get to our interview. The sun was hot and the humidity was so heavy, it felt like you could touch it and taste it. Kids of all sizes played, running and laughing with the anticipation of seeing their fathers. Wives and girlfriends tried to corral them. Some of the women were dressed in revealing halters and tight pants. Elderly parents fanned themselves. One woman who had been leaning on a cane suddenly collapsed. “It’s the heat,” her husband yelled. “Someone help us.”
I pushed my way to the front and told the guard I was here for an attorney visit. “An old woman just fainted. Please, can someone help her?” I asked.
The guard spoke into his walky-talky. “Send someone from the health center. We’ve got another crash case,” he said. Then he opened the gate to let Louisa and me in.
I showed our IDs to the guard. “You’ll go out in the next group,” he said. “Get in that line.” He gestured to a line forming on the lawn across from the administration building. Only a certain number of visitors are allowed into the buildings at one time, so the wait began for a group to be led out, so our group could advance to step two in the procedure.
Fifteen minutes later we were crossing the lawn and were admitted to the main building. We filled out paperwork: name, bar number, name of inmate, address, phone number, picture ID. We surrendered our briefcases, purses, and cell phones. The only items we are allowed to take into the visiting room are a pad and pen. The warden decided that lawyers could sneak letters out of the prison in their briefcases, so briefcases were put on the forbidden list.
Next we passed through metal detectors after removing jewelry, shoes, and belts. “They do a better job here than at the airport,” Louisa said.
After redressing, we waited again for guards to walk us to the visitors’ center.
“So far, so good,” I whispered to Louisa. Just then a loudspeaker called “Attorney Mary Katz. Report back to the main desk.”
The fat guard who had taken our paperwork was behind the desk. He smelled of cigar smoke and cheap aftershave.
“You’re here to see Luis Corona?” he asked.
“That’s correct. A copy of Judge Hammel’s order is attached to my application,” I answered.
“Well, I don’t show that he’s here. He’s not on the roster.”
“He’s here. He’s in an isolation cell. Look again,” I said.
“He’s not in the computer. You’re holding up your group from being moved to the visitor building.”
“He’s definitely here. Judge Hammel’s chambers called here and told the warden’s office that I was to be allowed to see Luis.” I could feel my face turning hot. Louisa put her hand on my arm. I guess she thought I was going to punch the guard.
“I said he’s not on the roster,” the guard said.
“Call the warden’s office, now,” I said. If I have to call the judge, he won’t be pleased, to say the least.”
“You’ll have to wait a few minutes,” he said.
“No, call there now. If we wait, it’ll be time for another head count and we’ll not be able to see my client. If you won’t call, hand me the phone. I’ll call.”
“Be my guest.” He dialed a number and handed me the phone.
A pleasant-sounding woman answered. I gave her my name and told her I was not being allowed to see Luis. I reminded her that the judge had alerted them that I would be here this afternoon. She asked to speak to the guard. I handed him the phone. He listened, then said, “Okay, okay.” He replaced the receiver and said, “Come on, I’ll walk you over there myself. No one tells me nothing. I didn’t know we had guys who weren’t on the roster.”
We walked down a long sidewalk to the visitors’ room. “The warden is sending for him. Just have a seat in one of the attorney rooms.” The guard went over to the desk on a high platform where three officers stood watch over the families and inmates. He talked to one of the officers, pointed to us, and left.
Louisa and I settled into one of the attorney cubicles. There was a table with four chairs around it. Glass windows covered three sides of the cubicle. I knew we would be locked in with Luis and would have to push a buzzer when we were finished. If you are claustrophobic, this is not the profession for you.
Some of my past clients have told me that the little rooms are bugged and the feds listen to all conversations between lawyers and their clients. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but there aren’t any other choices, so we keep our voices low and try not to say more than is necessary. Since this was my only chance to hear Luis’s story, I would have to forget caution and ferret out every fact.
A few minutes later, Luis was escorted in. He wore leg irons and the guard attached him to a chair. For a minute, I wasn’t sure it was Luis. He looked very different than at our first meeting in the Dade County Jail. For one thing, his head had been shaved. He had several bruises on his face. He was wearing a clean shirt and pants, but he looked like he had lost a lot of weight.
“Luis? Do you remember me? I’m Mary, the lawyer who came to see you a few weeks ago. I’m Carlos’s friend. This is Louisa. She’s an interpreter, here to help you talk to me.” Louisa was speaking in rapid Spanish.
“Mary, thank God. I thought I’d never see anyone to help me.” Louisa translated swiftly. Luis began to cry.
“Luis, I’m going to get you out of here. We have a hearing before a federal judge next Wednesday. You have to hold on until then. We’ve all been looking for you. Your parents are here in Miami. I always knew we’d find you. Right now, I need you to tell me anything you can about the time when you were arrested, anything that the officers said to you, anything that happened on th
e plane. Even if it seems unimportant, it may end up being helpful to me. Now start by telling me about the plane trip.”
Luis wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “My parents, they came to Miami? When can I see them? Are they very angry with me? They always think I’m going to screw things up. I guess they’re right.”
“I’ll try to arrange for them to be able to visit, but I can’t promise. No, they aren’t angry. They’re scared and worried about you. They love you very much. Now, please, try to tell me everything you can remember about the plane trip. We don’t have a lot of time before the next head count, and that’s when they’ll make Louisa and me leave.”
“Okay, sorry. I’ll try to remember how it all was. Everything was fine. I went through security and got on the plane. We took off on time. The guy in the seat next to me, that’s where everything started to go wrong.”
“What do you mean? Was he talking to you?”
“I asked if I could buy him a drink. He just wanted a coffee. I had a couple of drinks. It’s a long flight. We got our dinner trays, and I got some wine. I was telling him about some places that were fun in Buenos Aires and asking him if he had been to any of them. Then we started talking about the War on Terror, or maybe that was before dinner. It’s hard to remember.”
“That’s okay. You can think about the way it all happened between now and the hearing. Did the man speak Spanish? Was he Argentine or American?”
“He was American, but he spoke good Spanish. We got into an argument. I told him I thought the United States was, well I guess I said crazy, to get in a war in Iraq, and that there would always be terrorists somewhere. He kept asking me stuff about what I knew about the war, and he got really angry when I said that intelligent people in my country were laughing at the U.S. and its president. I didn’t know he was one of them.”
“What do you mean, one of who?” I asked.
“One of the guys that arrested me. But he looked just like any other passenger. I didn’t know he was a policeman.”
“You mean he was a sky marshal? You picked a fight with a marshal?”
“Well, it started to be a fight. I guess I pushed my fist in his chest once, but it wasn’t like a fistfight.”
“Okay, what else happened?”
“The flight lady came by and told me to stop shouting, so I quit talking to the guy. I guess I fell asleep for a while. When I woke up, I was just dying for a cigarette. I went into the bathroom, and I lit a cigarette. That’s when everything went crazy.”
“Didn’t you see the signs that said ‘no smoking’?”
“I guess so, but it’s a long flight from B.A., so I lit up. Then an alarm went off. Someone pounded on the bathroom door. I opened it a crack, and that’s when they dragged me out of there and threw me in the aisle.”
“Who dragged you out?”
“I guess it was the pilot or the copilot and the guy in the seat next to me. They took me into the back of the plane and sat me on the floor, in the place where the attendants prepare the food.”
“You mean the galley.”
“I guess. Then they all started asking me questions. What was my purpose in flying to Miami? How was I able to start a fire? I tried to tell them that I wasn’t starting a fire. I was just trying to have a smoke.”
“How did you light the cigarette?”
“I had my lighter in my pocket.”
“Didn’t they take that away from you when you went through security?”
“No. It’s in the shape of a pen. I put it in the basket with my other stuff, but they gave it all back, so I thought it was okay. I showed it to the people when they asked me how I started a fire. They took it then. Then they brought my carry-on bag from my seat and started going through it.”
“Did they ask your permission to look through it?’
“No, they just tore it open and started pawing through it.”
“Okay. What did they look at?”
“They pulled out the pouches with the money for my new shop. They asked what it was for and I explained that my parents gave it to me to purchase the boutique. I gave them the name of the woman who we were buying it from, but they didn’t write it down or anything.”
“What else was in there?”
“My shaving kit with my electric razor and some little bottles of shampoo and cologne. In the bottom of the kit they pulled out my little mustache scissors.”
“How did you get the scissors through security?”
“What do you mean? I didn’t do anything special. Do you think I was sneaking my mustache trimmer onto the plane?”
“No, calm down, Luis. I’m on your side. It’s just that I had nail clippers taken away from me on a flight last year. It was in my purse, and security made a big fuss over removing it. I just wondered why they didn’t take your scissors.”
“I don’t know. I took my little bottles out in the plastic bag, like I was told to package them. Everything else went through the x-ray machine, including my shoes and my belt.”
“Okay, was there anything else the marshal pulled out of your bag?”
“Of course. They pulled out everything that was in there. Some magazines. chewing gum, and the white powder.”
“What white powder?”
“Our housekeeper, Juanita, she put it there. She follows Santeria and the powder is to keep someone safe. She buys it at the bodega. I think it is just flour or talcum powder, but she wastes her money on it.”
“What did the feds say when they found the powder?”
“I tried to tell them what it was. They said, yeah, yeah. We’ve heard it all before. They said they would send it to their lab. Oh, and they took my paper that said I had a reservation at the hotel. They passed that around and nodded their heads at each other. Then they handcuffed me to the back of the plane. I kept asking, what did I do? And they just laughed. The guy that I thought was a passenger, he said don’t ask us stupid questions. I thought it’d all be cleared up when we got to Miami, but they took me off the plane in the handcuffs and took me to jail. I couldn’t believe it.” Luis was fighting back tears.
“Tell me about what they’ve been asking you since you’ve been here.”
“They showed me the magazines over and over; the ones from my suitcase. They asked me why I was reading them.”
“What were these magazines?”
“Just sort of graphics, maybe you call them comics. They were like funny stuff about a gang that blew up some places in Japan. Sort of like my video games. But the policemen here, they are cruel, hitting me across the face and blowing smoke in my face but they wouldn’t let me have a cigarette, and they took away my clothes and played loud music in the middle of the night, and every day the questions, over and over, and Mary — I can’t tell you some of these things they did.” Luis buried his head in his hands.
At that moment, a guard appeared at the door. He unlocked it and walked in.
“I didn’t buzz the buzzer. I’m not through yet,” I said.
“Yes, you are. We’re going into lockdown, and all visitors must leave right now,” the guard said. He smirked at the three of us.
“I’m sorry, Luis. When we go to court Wednesday, I want you to tell the judge just what you’ve told me. Louisa and I will be there to help you. This will all be over very soon.” I gathered up my notes and we were escorted through the maze of buildings and walkways once again. When we got to the first checkpoint, I stopped and asked the officer to connect me once again with the warden’s office. I made it abundantly clear that no one was to question Luis any more without my being present.
“He is represented by counsel. A further violation of Luis’s rights will most definitely trigger very expensive litigation and bring publicity that I don’t think you or any of the government entities involved in this false arrest will want to deal with.”
Louisa and I made our way to my car. It felt like being put in an oven when we got in. The leather seats burned through my pantsuit and panty hose. Sweat ran down my l
egs, but it was still a relief to be out of the prison. Even hot air is better than the air of oppression we had just left. I beamed up the air conditioner to high and hightailed it out of the parking lot.
I glanced at Louisa, who had her eyes closed and her head back against the headrest. I knew she was exhausted from interpreting without let up.
“Mary, I’ve never heard anything quite like what Luis just told us,” Louisa said. “I’ve heard a lot of things in courtrooms and jail cells, but this is outrageous. How could they hold him without charges and with such flimsy evidence of terrorism? Why didn’t they just charge him with disobeying airline rules or disorderly conduct?”
“I don’t have a clue. I guess it’s part of our current ‘injustice system,’ ” I said.
We fidgeted through the stop-and-go traffic of Friday afternoon as the rain began once again. I turned on a CD of Anita Baker. Singing the blues seemed appropriate for our mood and the weather.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
By the time I delivered Louisa to her car at the office and turned south to Carlos’s house, it was raining bullet-sized drops. The wind had picked up and lightning filled the sky. It was after seven when I dashed up the driveway and into the house.
The house was dark, and the only greeting I got was from Sam who had been sleeping in the kitchen. I poured his food and watched him scarf down his dinner. I couldn’t imagine where Carlos was. I checked my cells but the only message was from my mother wondering why I wasn’t answering my home voice mails.
The message light was blinking on the kitchen phone so I checked there thinking Carlos had left me a message.
A woman’s voice came on. “Carlos, dear, I’ve had a call from an attorney who says there is a lawsuit against you by your condo buyers. He wanted me to join in the lawsuit, but I told him probably not since you gave me such a good price. So what’s up with this? Call me.”
I recognized the voice after a minute. It was Margarita. Carlos let her have a condo in his building? I shivered from the air conditioner or the rain or the thought that Carlos might be getting back with his ex-wife.
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