Shadows Across America

by Guillermo Valcarcel

  “Look, this is the guy. Twenty-one. A two-year-old daughter.”

  “Fuck, I’m sick of these people. Why do they even have kids if they’re going to treat them like shit? They leave them to grow up on the street, like Ari’s mother: three kids by three different fathers, and she didn’t raise any of them. They’re the worst. And I say that with all due respect, may she rest in peace. Where do you want to start, with the mother or the girlfriend?”

  Eighty percent of the time, the search boiled down to finding one of the two. Most of the punks lived with their parents well into their thirties. They didn’t have anywhere else to go and in any case had no idea what to do with themselves on the outside. Their plans for the future rarely stretched beyond the upcoming weekend. Meanwhile, they loaded up on video games and sports clothes and spaced out, living a day-to-day existence.

  “The mother. After that we’ll go see the girlfriend, but the baby’s there. Let’s avoid that if we can.”

  They rolled out. When they got to the neighborhood, Ethan parked two blocks away from the house on a hill so they could assess the lay of the land. Bringing in someone who had jumped bail wasn’t about high-speed chases but spending hours in your car on stakeouts, surveillance, listening to police reports about the suspect’s whereabouts, and, when they were unlucky, absurd fights.

  “Look, that’s his car. He has a Toyota.”

  “He parks it around the back? The guy’s really looking out for himself.”

  Bear neatly folded up his jacket and put it in the back seat. They went down the hill in their high-visibility vests, their weapons in full view. They walked down the alley without coming across anyone. The silence grew more oppressive the closer they got. By the time they got to the porch, it was almost tangible. They could feel unseen eyes trained on them from either side of the street. The front porch was full of children’s toys, a couple of beach chairs, and a deflated wading pool, while the paint on the house’s facade had long begun to flake. The kitchen window was dark. Ethan found the bell and rang. Nothing happened. He pulled back the screen door and rapped on the front door with his knuckles before shouting, “Hello? Knock, knock! Hello?”

  “They’re in there,” Bear said confidently.

  After waiting for a few seconds, Ethan slammed his fist against the door hard enough that the frail carpentry shuddered. A weak voice mumbled something unintelligible from inside. Ethan answered quickly.

  “Good morning! Tyrone?”

  The voice of an elderly woman came over to the door. “Huh?”

  “Good morning, ma’am. How are things?”

  “Huh?”

  “We need you to open the door.”

  “Who is it? Who’s there?”

  “We need you to open the door, please.”

  “Who is it? This is my house.”

  “We’re officers of the peace. We have our IDs right here—if you open the door, you can take a look.”

  “This is my house.”

  “Of course it is, ma’am. But we need—”

  “I’m right here.”

  While Ethan spoke to the old woman through the door, Bear stepped back and looked up at the upper floor.

  “We know that Tyrone is with you. We need to pick him up so he won’t get into any more trouble.”

  “I’m here!”

  “It’ll go much better for him if he cooperates, ma’am.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “We know that he’s with you.”

  “No, he isn’t.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “Oh, my poor boy, my boy. He hasn’t done anything wrong—who knows him better than his mother?”

  “We believe that he’s innocent, but if he doesn’t come to court, things are only going to get worse for him.”

  “He hasn’t done anything!”

  “That’s not what we’re discussing right now, ma’am. Could you please open the door?”

  “My boy hasn’t done anything. The judge hates him. He wants to lock him up.”

  With one ear on the conversation, Bear stepped back onto the road to get a better overall view.

  “I know that he has to go see the judge, and I’d tell him if he was here, but he ain’t.”

  “I see. What about his girlfriend? Is he still seeing his girlfriend?”

  “Oh, no, my poor son. He has no time for a girlfriend. He’s being persecuted! And then there’s the baby.”

  “So you have no idea where he might be.”

  “Yes, yes I do. He left for Alaska. He was always complaining about the heat down here.”

  Ethan couldn’t help but laugh. “And of course you don’t have an address or a telephone number.”

  “I sure don’t! My poor boy . . . he’s in Alaska!”

  “Listen, ma’am, this is a criminal investigation. If you say that your son isn’t hiding in your house and the neighbors say otherwise, that’s obstruction of justice. Do you understand? I need you to listen to me because I know that you think you’re doing him a favor, because you love him. But I need to explain what’s going to happen if you keep—”

  A brief whistle from Bear cut him off. He turned and saw Bear waving from the sidewalk opposite. The kid must have jumped out the back. Ethan gave up his speech, and they ran back to the car.

  “Do you think she would have opened up?”

  “Never.”

  “So why did you keep talking?”

  “How else were we going to flush him out?”

  When they pulled away, Ethan accelerated to the corner, but the fugitive was nowhere to be seen. He thought he saw something to his right, a glint off the asphalt and an almost imperceptible gray streak in the air.

  “OK, I’ve got a hunch. It’s all or nothing—what do you think?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Ethan followed his instinct. A couple of streets farther on, they caught sight of the target’s beat-up Corolla. They stopped at a traffic light a block away to give him some space, then followed for just over a mile, apparently undetected, before he parked outside a bar and disappeared inside. The building was just one story, but it took up the whole block.

  “Let’s split up. I’ll go in through the kitchen,” Bear said.

  “He doesn’t know that we’re following him. There’s no need.”

  “Amateurs . . .”

  They pushed open the bar’s door. Behind it was a black curtain. Beyond that the place was large with Irish decor and had a long bar to the right that came to an end just before the bathrooms. There was a crowd of tables, each with its own lamp, all of which were empty. At the back was a door marked PRIVATE and smoked-glass windows that almost completely blocked out the sun. The waiter turned to look at them, while in one corner a pair of shadows appeared to be enjoying a late breakfast. Ethan and Bear took note of all three and brandished their Remington 870s, which were loaded with nonlethal bullets.

  “Good morning, we’re looking for Tyrone, the kid who just came in here.”

  The barman pointed toward the bathroom. They smiled.

  “Well, well, well, he didn’t get time to take a piss.”

  As they approached, one of the customers stood up.

  “Well, who would have thought it—Bear and Ethan!”

  They recognized him immediately.

  “Tony!”

  “I don’t believe it, Tony!”

  “How long has it been?”

  Tony gave Bear a hug. Everyone knew Bear, and in spite of Bear’s intimidating appearance, Ethan didn’t know anyone who had a bad word to say about him. They talked happily for a little while until they heard the sound of the hand dryer, and the kid came out, eager to find out what all the commotion was about. Suddenly he saw the two vests and went pale, as though his girlfriend had told him that she was expecting another baby. He stared at the scene, completely confused. Then he looked at Tony, who just stared back while his pursuers calmly lowered their guns and grabbed him.

  “Hello, Tyrone. We’ve
been looking for you. You need to come with us.”

  “Hands behind your back, please.”

  Bear took out the cuffs. The prisoner allowed himself to be turned around but then kicked out and ran off through the tables. Ethan sighed, threw his gun to Bear—who hadn’t even felt the kick—and set off after him.

  Tyrone ran as fast as he could, turning over chairs as he went, until he got to the heavy curtain, which he furiously pulled out of his way. He shoulder-charged the door, and the momentum tipped him over onto the sidewalk, but he got his hands down in time to stay upright. Instead of going for the Corolla, he decided to cross the street.

  Confronted with a forest of overturned chairs, Ethan jumped onto a table, hopping from one to another. The first two were sturdy enough, but the third folded up, spilling him onto the floor. He got up feeling pain but rushed to the door in time to see the curtain fall heavily back in place. Untangling himself, he was able to jump through the still-swinging door. He saw the kid push himself back up on his feet, but the delay gave Ethan enough time to dive for Tyrone’s shins just as he was about to cross the street. Tyrone kicked out instinctively and immediately fell forward. This time his hands weren’t fast enough to break the fall, and his face smashed against the asphalt, scalding in the midday sun. Ethan straddled and cuffed him, meeting no more resistance. The kid ran his tongue around his mouth, checking for broken teeth, completely disoriented. Bear caught up with them, and they shoved Tyrone into the SUV.

  “They run because it’s what they see on TV. Fucking reality shows are the bane of our lives.”

  They went on talking as though they were alone.

  “After we hand him in, I’ll buy you lunch. I was thinking about this before,” Bear said. “Have you ever known a mother to hand over her son?”

  “No, never . . . no, that’s not true. One did tell me where he was hiding once, but she wasn’t trying to be helpful. It was to keep him away from his girlfriend. She blamed her for everything and figured that if the kid spent some time behind bars, the girl would lose interest. That was what she wanted most of all.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. She was willing to lock up her son just to get rid of a girl she didn’t like. People are fucked up.”

  “What happened?”

  “How the hell should I know? Do you think I go visit them when they get out?”

  “Why not? I do with some of them. A bunch of good kids—they’ve formed a group to help reintegrate former offenders into society.”

  “Bear, you’re one of a kind.”

  After they’d dropped off Tyrone, Ethan felt free to talk about Tony.

  “Bear, I wasn’t going to say anything in front of the package, but . . . that was Tony.”

  “Yeah, it was a surprise to see him.”

  “I’ve never noticed that bar before.”

  “Me neither. Tony’s hiding.”

  “You think he was worried to see us?”

  “I’m sure he was. He knows that we’re not looking for him, but he doesn’t know if we’re going to tell anyone.”

  They went into a faux-Mexican chain restaurant.

  “I thought he’d left town,” Ethan said after they’d ordered.

  “So did I. It’s not smart to be here, given the situation he’s in.”

  “But his business is here. If that Tyrone worked for him, he might have a problem.”

  “You think he’ll squeal?”

  “I doubt they know anything about it, but if they find out and offer him a deal, Tony’s fucked. What’s his reward up to now?”

  “I don’t know. Listen, Ethan, I wanted . . . I wanted to tell you something . . .”

  Hearing Bear trip over his words, Ethan knew that they were finally going to get down to whatever had been bothering him all morning.

  “M . . . Michelle wrote to me.”

  The name came like a slap to the face. Michelle. This was the last thing he had expected. Michelle. Even the sound of it hurt like a gut punch. His discomfort was palpable. Bear anticipated what he was going to say.

  “I know. I . . . couldn’t believe it either. Sh-she sent me an email. She must have kept my address. Maybe she has yours too.”

  “Who cares? I’m sure she does.”

  Michelle. He had no idea it would be such a shock. But then he hadn’t thought he’d ever hear of her again. It had been six years since they’d last been in touch, maybe a little less. She’d sent him a few emails and some letters, but he’d never answered any of them. Eventually she’d gotten the point and stopped trying to contact him. She’d walked out of his life the same way she’d come into it, without asking for permission, steamrollering everything in her path. Michelle was hell. That was how he remembered her and their relationship: the roller coaster of emotions, the fights, the mood swings, the ridiculous jealousy. Four years during which she was all he’d been able to think about, when there was nothing else in his life. Michelle was extreme in every sense of the word: an ebullient Latin beauty with a wild, explosive character. A woman who existed to be adored and demanded every last second of your time, who put all her energy into fully occupying the role of lover—and she had a lot of energy. Ethan remembered it more like an addiction than love, not something that you enjoyed but a state where you felt as though you’d die if you didn’t get your daily dose. And that was how he’d felt when she’d left: as though he’d died.

  One afternoon she’d just up and vanished, taking the girl with her. Later on, she’d written to say that they’d gone back to Central America, that she still loved him but not like before, so she’d left to make things easier on the both of them. She hadn’t mentioned that she’d run off with a handsome con man who’d persuaded her to pay for his plane ticket and then abandoned them at the airport. The bum, who’d promised to treat her like a queen, hadn’t expected her to buy her own ticket, and especially not another for her six-year-old daughter. Ethan would find out about that through mutual acquaintances a long time later, and it had brought all the pain and torment back again. Michelle had lied to him, as she so often had. But even after everything he’d gone through, Ethan couldn’t hate her. The main victim of Michelle’s conniving and deceit was usually Michelle.

  “Why did she write to you? Did she ask you to talk to me?”

  “Ye-yes. I haven’t answered.”

  “What did she say?”

  Bear rubbed his face, not sure how to say what had to come next. He made a couple of false starts before finally getting it all out.

  “The . . . the girl has been kidnapped. Michi. She was taken coming back from school three days ago, and they can’t find her. The kidnappers haven’t been in contact. The police have looked into it, but they aren’t very hopeful. She doesn’t know what to do. She’s desperate.”

  In a flash, Ethan’s dream came back to him. It exploded vividly in his mind while the unnerving feeling he’d had when he’d woken up returned. Suddenly it seemed as though he was missing something. He hadn’t heard from either of them for six years, and then he dreamed of the girl just hours before receiving this news. His face must have crumpled up in dismay because Bear was looking at him worriedly.

  “You OK, man? I’m sorry. It . . . shocked me too. I know she was like a daughter to you. I don’t know—whatever you want to do, I’ll support you. Anything, no matter what.”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s . . .” He saw the image in his mind’s eye; his head was spinning. Michi speaking in an almost teenage voice from a face he didn’t recognize. I’m still alive. The sound had just seemed to float in space. It hadn’t come from her mouth. He relived it over and over again and then started to gasp for air.

  “No, it’s not . . . ,” he said mechanically. “Did she say anything else? Did she give you any more details?”

  “Just that. She wrote everything in one long string of words, no punctuation, like it was a vision. She just told me and asked me to tell you. ‘Please tell Ethan because I can’t.’”

&
nbsp; “She didn’t ask you for help or money?”

  “No. She didn’t ask for anything. Just to tell you. I think she was trying to come to terms with it. She hasn’t been given any hope of finding her. They know what it means when a girl disappears in that city. And so do you.” Bear’s lower lip began to tremble.

  “She’s not dead. Michi is alive,” Ethan replied with a confidence he didn’t recognize, as though the information were being transmitted to him from outside, although hearing himself say it, he realized how illogical he was being, that the only likely outcome was that she’d been murdered. They hadn’t even demanded a ransom. What kind of ransom could they ask for anyway? The family was poor. Any professional, himself included, would have advised beginning the search at the morgue, and yet somehow the idea never even crossed his mind.

  “Michi is alive,” Ethan said again. “I don’t know where she is, but she’s still alive.”

  Bear’s eyes opened wide in a mixture of incredulity and amazement.

  “Let me see the email.”

  “Of course, buddy,” Bear said, pulling out his phone.

  The long, rambling, repetitive plea read as though it had been written in one go and sent. It wasn’t Michelle’s usual style, but some of her distinctive expressions remained in the hurried, confused account. Three days ago a friend of Michi’s who’d been walking her back from school had called Michelle in tears. A car had stopped in their path, and the occupants had said they were friends of her mother; they knew things about her and offered to take her daughter to the hospital because she’d been in an accident. Michi had reacted with surprising maturity and had refused to get in, but the kidnappers hadn’t given her a choice. They’d shoved her into the car without too much difficulty and immediately disappeared. Her shocked friend hadn’t even been able to say what color the car was. The email didn’t say anything else about the assault or what Michelle had done in the first decisive hours. Instead Michelle mentioned a detective she described as a saint and a genius who was helping her, although she didn’t say whether she’d hired him, whether he was investigating the case, or whether he’d just given her advice. She finished off the email saying again and again that no one could hate her that much, and even if they did, they couldn’t possibly want to hurt Michi to get to her. She brought up God several times, both in gratitude and begging for help, and that surprised Ethan too. Although he knew that she was Catholic, he’d never heard her express her faith so vehemently.