by Dave Daren
Wet, sweltering heat rushed over me as I slid into the driver’s seat and tossed my briefcase into the passenger seat. I turned the key then listened for the purr of my engine before I turned the AC to full blast.
There was no one else in the parking lot at the moment, not even a guard on patrol, and no other family members or lawyers hung around their cars to discuss their next steps. Everyone who came out of the building just hurried to their vehicles without looking back, though one woman glanced back toward a camera near the front door.
I shrugged out of my jacket and tossed it on top of my briefcase, and then saw that the woman had climbed into an old white Ford. I let the icy tendrils of the AC work their magic, and then I followed the old Ford as it pulled out of the parking lot.
The barbed-wire gate rolled open as we approached, and I gave the guard in the gatehouse a wave and a quick smile as I pulled through. He glared at me in return, and when I checked the rearview mirror, I could see that he was still watching me as I drove away.
It was unsettling, but not nearly as scary as Alvaro’s stare, and definitely not as terrifying as Osvaldo’s death glare. I shrugged off the guard’s attempt at intimidation and turned my attention to the drive back to the city.
Rush hour was already under way, and by the time I neared the city limits, traffic was at a standstill. I was checking my mental map of the area as I tried to come up with a way around the mess when I spotted the red and white lights of an ambulance. That usually meant I would be stuck in traffic no matter what sideroads I tried to take, so I sat back and tapped my fingers on the steering wheel in frustration.
Rather than waste the time, I reached for my phone and dialed my old coworker from the Public Defender’s Office. Stephen had been right next to me when the judge had waved us off and sentenced our clients to the maximum sentence for a joyride. He would want the updates I had on the Everson Juvenile Detention Center, and it wouldn’t hurt to see if he had any information that I didn’t.
“Rob!” the middle-aged lawyer greeted as he answered his cell.
He huffed and puffed, and I thought I heard the sounds of the community center in the background.
“Hey, Stephen,” I said with a grin even when the car in front of me slammed on their breaks. “Are you at the center?”
“Yeah, you finally gonna stop by?” the jovial man teased.
“No,” I replied. “I’m headed home from seeing my client at Everson’s.”
“The Fuentes kid?” the older lawyer asked.
His voice had lost the light-hearted tone, and the background fell away as he put some distance between himself and those around him.
“Yeah,” I said. “Have you been to see your kid?”
“Not yet,” he responded with a hint of guilt. “It’s been a hard two days with you gone. But I’m going to see him by the end of the week.”
“You should start the appeal now,” I told him. “That place is sketchy.”
“That bad?” Stephen asked.
“I didn’t see any abuse, but the guard was a little too eager to grab his baton,” I warned my ex-colleague.
“Damn,” the middle-aged lawyer muttered. “Alright, thanks for the heads up. That judge was too harsh. It shouldn’t be hard for us to get the boys out of there.”
“Hopefully,” I replied.
“Has Fuentes threatened you?” the ex-prosecutor asked.
“I just don’t like to lose,” I said. “And I hated to see my client there. I don’t think he’s slept at all. He’s fourteen. He shouldn’t have to be in juvie for a joyride when the car was fine.”
“True,” Stephen agreed, and I could almost picture him nodding his head. “I gotta go. But thanks for the heads up. Let me know if you find out anything else?”
“Sure,” I said. “Talk to you later.”
The line disconnected, and I put my phone in its dashboard holder. After another long stop and go stretch, I finally neared an exit that was close to my apartment. I made my escape from the highway and darted down the sidestreets to my building. Miraculously, my parking spot was open, and I swung in before anyone else could take it. I gathered my briefcase, suit jacket, and phone, then stepped out into a gentle breeze that chased away some of the Miami heat.
There was a black SUV across from my building, and I recognized the driver as the one I’d met the other night. He was in the driver’s seat with a cigarette in his mouth while another goon leaned against the hood with his arms over his chest. They didn’t even try to hide the fact that they were watching my apartment, and the man outside of the SUV clearly had a gun on his hip.
I gave them a wave as I went inside, since they would probably be there all night, and I debated whether I should bring them some of the arroz con pollo as I climbed the stairs. But they were there as a reminder that my life was in danger, and I just couldn’t bring myself to give them some of my mother’s homemade food.
Maybe I’d gotten too comfortable with my watchers, because I barely reacted when I started to put the key in my lock and the door swung inwards. I peered inside, but the hallway was still dark and the blinds were closed. I couldn’t feel anyone inside, but then, someone like Alvaro could make himself invisible when necessary as I’d already learned.
I don’t know exactly how long I stood outside my door, but I finally mustered enough courage to step across the threshold. I managed to walk all the way to the kitchen without keeling over, and I calmly placed my briefcase on the counter.
I took one deep breath, then glanced around again as I moved toward the light switch. Not that I needed it by then, because I’d spotted the unmistakable form that sat on my couch. The giant of a man had one leg crossed over the other, and even in the dim light that managed to filter through the blinds, I could see that Fuentes’ second had a switchblade that he flicked it open and closed.
“I heard you saw Camilo,” Alvaro’s deep, soft voice murmured as I turned on the light.
“Yes, I did,” I said as I retreated to the kitchen.
I opened a cabinet, pulled out a clean glass, and then moved to the sink to fill it. I needed the time to get my racing heart under control, and it helped to have at least a small obstacle between me and the scary figure that had taken over my living room. He didn’t move from his spot on the couch, though he did drape one arm over the back while he continued to open and shut his switchblade.
“How is he?” the tall goon asked.
He tilted his head to the side as he watched me down my glass of water, and I could feel those dark eyes peer into my soul while I tried to come up with an answer that wouldn’t get me killed.
“About as good as can be expected for that place,” I said.
“Oh?” the dark-eyed man said with that small smirk that always seemed to be on his face.
“Yeah,” I replied.
I could feel his stare boring into me, and I debated how much I should tell him. I needed him to understand that I was working on Camilo’s case, but I also needed him to see that Camilo wouldn’t be coming home tomorrow.
“The place is a mess,” I continued. “The guards are a little too eager to grab their batons.”
“Has he been injured?” Alvaro asked.
His entire body tensed, and he’d paused his routine with the switchblade as he pondered what injuries Camilo might have. He watched me with an intensity that made my palms sweat, and I suddenly had no doubt that the knife would find its mark even from across the room.
“No,” I answered with a quick shake of my head. “But I wouldn’t doubt that others have been beaten.”
The giant relaxed a fraction and resumed flicking his knife open and shut in lazy movements that didn’t waste energy. I leaned against the counter as casually as I could muster and let the cool surface cool my sweaty palms.
“He said the mattresses are thin,” I continued. “And that the food is old, possibly out of date. There’s a petition to have the place shut down. And that reporter I talked to is trying to ex
pose the conditions.”
Alvaro just nodded as if he’d known all of this before I’d said anything.
“He did mention that a few other kids have paid their way out,” I added. “It's definitely something worth looking into. I have another meeting with the reporter tomorrow. She’s gathering information tonight on Everson’s financials. We’re looking into their spending, political ties, basically, anything that will prove that they’re corrupt.”
A painful silence filled the room, so I held my glass under the faucet again and took another long drink. My mouth had suddenly gone dry again, and I didn’t think I could finish my report without another sip. It also bought me time to work out how I would explain my plan to Alvaro and make him understand that I would get Camilo out.
“I’ve already submitted the appeal,” I said once I’d finished my water. “It’s pretty strong, but that can take weeks or even months, and I don’t want Camilo in there one second longer than he has to be.”
Alvaro bobbed his head in agreement but added nothing to the one-sided conversation.
“So I’m hoping that Eloa, that’s the reporter, can publish her story about the conditions at the place,” I explained. “And I’m working on some research into the judge as well. He’s sent a lot of teens to Everson’s for maximum sentences, so I think he’s on their payroll. I just need to get the proof so we can overturn his ruling.”
That was it, I’d told him everything I knew, and I hoped that it was enough for him to spare my life a little longer.
He watched me for several long heartbeats that seemed to last for an eternity, but finally he nodded, and air rushed into my lungs as he flicked his switchblade closed then stuffed it into his pocket. He stood, and without another word, he left me alone.
The apartment seemed too small even after he left, like the walls had somehow moved closer together, and I had to take several deep breaths in before my heart slowed to a more normal rhythm. I had no idea what his nod meant, but at least he hadn’t killed me. It hadn’t felt like a nod of approval, either, so all I could hope for was that he was on his way to tell Osvaldo that I was doing a good job.
I was so deep in thought that I almost jumped out of my skin when my phone rang. I lunged across the counter to where the device sat next to my briefcase, and I nearly knocked it to the floor. I was sure that it would be Alvaro or Osvaldo, or maybe even Stephen, but I wasn’t prepared to see the name that popped up.
It was my mother’s best friend, Laura, and she’d marked the call urgent.
Chapter 12
“What’s wrong?” I asked without even bothering with hello.
“Es tu mama,” Laura said. “Vine a ver como estaba--”
“Laura,” I interrupted. “I need you to take a deep breath and say it in English.”
She and my mother always spoke in Spanish when they were upset, and while I could understand what she said, it was a little hard to translate around her hysterical sobs. But if she had to speak in English, then she would have to think about each word, and it would force her to calm down.
“Lo siento, Roberto,” she took a deep breath and then let it out.
“It’s okay, Laura,” I told the upset woman. “Just start from the top. In English. You came to visit my mother.”
“Si,” the older Cuban woman said. “I came over… I came over, and she no respondio a la puerta when I… what’s that word?”
“Knocked?” I supplied as she floundered for the English word.
“Si!” my mother’s friend exclaimed. “Ella no respondio a la puerta.”
She had started to cry again, and I balled my hands into fists as I tried to wait for her to gather herself together.
“Okay,” I said after a few seconds. “So she didn’t answer the door when you knocked. What happened?”
My need to know what happened with my mother overtook my will to let her best friend regain her composure, and I had to use all of my self-control not to yell at her to tell me what was going on.
“I went to a la puerta lateral,” she managed. “And...and--”
Laura broke into another round of tears as terrible scenarios started to race through my mind. The side door from the garage had a clear view of the living room, the hallway, and even part of the kitchen, and I started to imagine my mother collapsed on the kitchen floor with a pot of hot rice spilled on top of her. Perhaps she had passed out from too little sleep, or maybe just tripped and fallen because her body was so fragile these days. I had to close my eyes to rein in my overactive imagination, though Laura’s continued sobs made that difficult.
“And what, Laura?” I asked when the woman’s sobs had become softer.
“She was en el suelo,” the woman said, and the vision of my mother on the floor covered in rice forced its way back to the forefront of my mind.
“The floor,” I repeated. “Was she okay? Was she in the kitchen? Did she hurt herself?”
I bit back the rest of my questions as my tone became more hysterical. I needed to keep calm for Laura’s sake, or I would never have the story from her.
“Mi hijo,” my mother’s soft voice said from somewhere near Laura. “Mi hjio, I’m fine. Don’t let Laura worry you.”
“No estas bien!” Laura snapped. “Te desmayaste.”
“It was only for a minute,” my ama defended.
There was a moment of silence followed by a rush of noise as Laura switched me over to speakerphone.
“You passed out,” I huffed. “That means you’re not fine. Laura is right to be worried, and she was right to call me.”
“I was just a little tired,” my mother grumbled, and I could almost picture her waving her hand dismissively at both of us.
“So you should have taken a nap,” I scolded. “What were you doing anyways?”
“I was just vacuuming the hallway,” my Cuban ama said.
Relief washed over me as the image of her covered in scalding rice was replaced with her on the soft carpet with the lightweight vacuum next to her.
“Didn’t I tell you to pick a hobby that was restful?” I asked as I rolled away some of the tension in my shoulders.
“Ella nunca escucha,” Laura grumbled.
“I do listen!” my mother snapped. “Cleaning is relaxing for me.”
“But it’s tiring for your body, mama,” I said as I pleaded for her to understand that cleaning would not be helpful to her recovery.
Exhaustion washed over me as it sank in that my mother was still alive.
“La ambulancia is here,” Laura said. “We’re going al hospital.”
“Which one?” I asked as I dragged my briefcase over to pull out my pen and paper.
“We’re going to Jackson Memorial, mi hijo,” my mother said.
“Mrs. Torres?” a young man’s voice came over the line. “My name is Sam. Why don’t we get you onto the gurney?”
“I can walk,” the Cuban woman huffed.
“Yes, ma’am,” Sam responded in a gentle voice. “But it’s my job. And you don’t want to get me in trouble, do you?”
There was a long pause as my ama decided what to do, and I could picture her pinched face as she battled between her pride and her need to help the younger man with his job.
“Alright,” she finally huffed. “But Laura is coming with us.”
“Si,” the other Cuban woman agreed.
I almost felt bad for the poor EMT who was faced with two of the most stubborn women I had ever met. My mother would not be an easy patient, and Laura would hang over his shoulder every second with advice on what he was doing wrong.
I could hear the two women talking rapidly in Spanish with each other while Sam and another man spoke to each other. There was the sound of the house door slamming shut, wheels rolling across the hard concrete of the driveway, and then Sam telling my mother that it would be a quick job to lift the gurney into the back. Laura and my mother argued again, and then I heard Laura huff as she climbed into the back of the ambulance with my mother
over Sam’s protest.
“Excuse me, Sam?” I asked after the sound of metal and clanging had died down.
“Oh,” the young man said as he realized someone was on the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi,” I greeted the paramedic. “My mother is going to Jackson Memorial, right?”
“Yes,” the voice responded.
“How are her vitals?” I asked.
I had to speak up as the ambulance took off and the siren blared into the speakers of Laura’s cell phone.
“She’s doing really good,” the man responded, though I was sure that his answer was more for my mother than for me. “I’m going to have to have her hang up now. You can see her at Jackson Memorial.”
“Thanks,” I muttered before the line went dead.
I took a deep breath in as I steadied myself. My mother was well enough to complain about Laura and I now, but the simple truth was that she’d passed out while vacuuming. And I had no idea how long she’d been alone in the house like that. I needed to see her for myself and talk to her doctors to find out what happened.
Jackson Memorial wasn’t too far away, so I had time to change into more comfortable clothing. But I was still clean enough, and I didn’t want to make my mother wait any longer than it took for me to actually drive over.
My stomach growled as I stuffed my wallet and keys back into my pockets next to my cell phone. I sighed because I didn’t have anything that I could eat quickly, but the hospital would have a vending machine that I could snag something out of. It would have to hold me until I was back in my apartment.
I turned off all the lights, locked my doors, and then hurried down the stairs and across the lobby.
The black SUV was gone when I burst through the building doors out to the street, so it must have been Alvaro’s ride. But there was still a black car parked down the street. The driver watched me as I unlocked my old blue Honda, and as I revved up my car, he threw his cigarette into the street and started his own car.