Strike Zone

by Mike Lupica

  To Nick’s relief, a security guard came running out of the facility. At the same time, police sirens could be heard in the distance, closely followed by flashing lights on the Grand Concourse.

  A police car pulled up to the curb, the doors opening before the car had come to a complete stop. Two officers clad in navy-blue uniforms came out—one a tall, lanky guy uttering something into his walkie, the other an older, beefy man carrying two sets of handcuffs. Together, they pulled the big man to his feet and cuffed his wrists behind his back. Then they lifted Victor García up, and Nick could see the younger cop readying the other set of handcuffs.

  “Dad,” Nick said.

  Victor quickly reached into his pocket and handed Nick two twenty-dollar bills. “Get your sister home,” he said, before the bulkier officer pushed his arms behind him, clicking the handcuffs into place.

  Nick and Amelia watched in utter astonishment. Both men arrested, even though Victor García hadn’t thrown a single punch.

  30

  “I should call Mom,” Nick said as the officers led Victor to a second patrol car that had now arrived on the scene. The other man had already been loaded into the first.

  “Call her from the cab,” his dad called over his shoulder. “Just go.”

  Nick craned his neck and spotted a few vacant yellow cabs up the street, but none of them were stopping. Probably because the drivers didn’t want to be anywhere near police cars. The first set of policemen used the delay to ask Nick and Amelia about the fight, while a third took notes.

  “Why did you arrest my dad?” Nick asked in a panic. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Son,” the older policeman said, “your dad and the other man got into a fight in front of a hospital.”

  “It wasn’t a fight, though!” Nick said, trying to keep his voice even. “The only one throwing punches was the other guy. My dad was just trying to protect himself. And us.”

  “I’m sure it will all get sorted out once they get processed at the precinct,” the officer said.

  “Will he have to spend the night in jail?” Amelia asked, and until he heard her speak, Nick had almost forgotten she was there. After everything Amelia had been through tonight, Nick couldn’t believe she was still standing.

  “He might,” the taller officer said.

  Nick knew his next question sounded stupid, but he had to ask. “Our dad has definitely been arrested, though, right?”

  “You just saw it happen,” the policeman said.

  I saw it happen, Nick thought. He couldn’t deny it because he saw it with his own two eyes. His worst nightmare come to life.

  Finally, the cops helped Nick and Amelia hail a cab. Once inside, Nick called their mom from his cell, the words pouring out of him in a rush.

  “Dios mío,” she said.

  Then she asked about Amelia and Nick handed his sister the phone.

  “Mom,” she said, “I’m fine.”

  None of them were.

  * * *

  • • •

  They were shocked when, a few hours later, Victor García came walking into the apartment. Nick’s mom ran to the door before it was open all the way and threw her arms around her husband, gripping him tightly around the neck.

  “Gracias a Dios,” she said.

  “Don’t thank Him yet,” Victor García said, throwing an arm over Nick and Amelia.

  He looked sad, tired, and angry all at once.

  “What happened when you got to the precinct?” Amelia asked.

  “Felt like I was right back where I was nearly twenty years ago,” their dad said. “They gave me a DAT and released me.”

  “DAT?” Nick asked.

  “Desk appearance ticket,” Victor García said. “It means I’ll be arraigned at the big courthouse down the block in a couple of weeks. If ICE doesn’t come for me first.”

  “It’s not fair!” Nick cried. “The other man is the one who started everything.”

  He knew he sounded silly, like a petulant child who didn’t get his way. But he couldn’t contain himself. Rage boiled up inside him.

  “The other man claimed I was the one who instigated the fight,” Victor García said. “I tried to defend my side, but the cops didn’t want to hear it. They told me I’d get my chance to tell it to the judge.”

  They sat down as a family once again at the kitchen table, where they’d been just hours earlier, before Amelia had fallen ill.

  His dad sighed. “They took my fingerprints.”

  “But that’s normal, right?” Nick said.

  “It is, but that’s not the problem,” his dad said. “The problem is that now my fingerprints are all over the system. Now anyone will be able to see that I was arrested before.”

  “‘Anyone’ meaning ICE,” Amelia said, in a voice so soft Nick could barely hear it.

  “Yes,” their dad said, sounding more defeated than Nick had ever heard him.

  Nick didn’t hesitate. He got up from the table, ran to his room, opened the bottom drawer, and came back with Mr. Gasson’s card. He slapped it on the table in front of his dad, then turned it over and pointed to where Mr. Gasson had written his cell phone number.

  “You need to call him, Dad,” Nick said.

  “Nick’s right,” Amelia said. “You need a lawyer. Someone who’s dealt with this before.”

  Their dad picked up the card. He looked up at the ceiling, then exhaled a long breath. “All right,” he said.

  “Mr. Gasson said you could call at any time of the day or night,” Nick said.

  “It is past midnight now,” Victor García said. “I promise to call him first thing in the morning.”

  * * *

  • • •

  It turned out first thing wasn’t early enough.

  ICE came for Victor García at eight o’clock the following morning. Graciela García had already gone off to work. Nick and Amelia stood helplessly by, watching their father being taken away by the men in the blue vests. They plowed into the apartment like they owned the place. Five armed officials in heavy boots, stomping across the floor to the kitchen, where Victor García sat drinking his café con leche. Nick ran into his bedroom to find the flyer Mr. Gasson had given him, the one about their rights. But Victor García had no rights now. Not after the second set of handcuffs in two days was slapped onto his wrists. Two ICE agents ushered him out the door before Nick or Amelia could even say goodbye.

  “Where are you taking our dad?” Nick asked one of the officials lagging behind.

  “Bergen County Jail,” one of the ICE men said. “In Hackensack, New Jersey.”

  Then the crew was out the door. Amelia and Nick rushed over to the window, where they could see their father being led down the steps to a van parked in front of the building.

  Nick raced into the kitchen then, picking up the card his dad never got to use, and dialed Ryan Gasson’s number.

  31

  Mr. Gasson picked up on the first ring. He said he was in court until the afternoon, but would stop by their apartment later that evening. By then Graciela García would be home from work. She’d wanted to come back as soon as Nick gave her the news, but he assured her that he and Amelia were fine, and there was nothing for any of them to do until Mr. Gasson showed up.

  Around five o’clock, Ryan Gasson buzzed downstairs, and Nick and Amelia greeted him at the door. Their mom offered him a drink, and he accepted a mug of hot coffee. The four of them sat together on the large L-shaped couch while Nick and Amelia recounted how everything went down, from the time they’d arrived at the urgent care center until the ICE agents barged into their apartment that morning.

  “Our dad is innocent,” Nick said to Mr. Gasson. “The other man started the fight; he nearly knocked down Amelia!”

  “There’s no doubt in my mind that your dad is innocent,” Mr. Gasson s
aid. “But the government doesn’t care about that now, or what really happened last night. In their eyes, his guilt began when he and your mom stayed in this country after their tourist visas expired.”

  “I just want to see my husband,” their mom said to Mr. Gasson, her voice faltering.

  “I’m afraid that’s not a very good idea, Mrs. García,” Mr. Gasson said. “It would be too risky for you to show up in New Jersey. You’d be questioned about your own citizenship. It’s actually lucky you weren’t in the apartment when they showed up this morning.”

  “You mean they could have arrested me, too?” Graciela said, a little shocked.

  “Yes, ma’am, they could’ve.”

  “Then what would happen to my children?”

  “Exactly,” Mr. Gasson said. Nick thought about Michael Arroyo then. How he and his brother evaded child protective services when their dad’s passing left them orphaned in New York. He might have wound up in the same situation with Amelia.

  “You have to find a way to help our dad,” Nick said.

  “It’s what I do,” Mr. Gasson said. “By law I can’t see him until he’s been in New Jersey for at least twenty-four hours. Sometimes forty-eight hours. But the minute I can see him, I’ll be there, I promise.”

  He stood up then, and shook Graciela’s hand.

  “If I don’t call later, I’ll call tomorrow,” he said.

  “Where are you going now?” Nick asked.

  “To get your dad on the phone and tell him the cavalry’s on its way.”

  “Cavalry?” Nick said.

  “Like I told you,” Mr. Gasson said. “The good guys.”

  32

  A few nights later Nick came into the living room to tell his mom and Amelia he was quitting the Blazers.

  “No,” they said at once.

  “I can’t be thinking about baseball when we’re worrying every minute about Dad,” he said. “It’s selfish.”

  “You are not quitting your team,” his mom said. “Your father would never hear of it.”

  “Playing baseball seems silly right now,” Nick said. “And it doesn’t do anything to help Dad.”

  “I don’t want to hear another word about it,” his mother said. “You’re not quitting, and you best hope I don’t tell your father you were considering it.”

  Once a day, Victor García was granted a phone call to his wife. They were limited to only a few minutes, as there were others at the detention center waiting to use the phone. But at least Nick’s parents were able to communicate.

  “He doesn’t want us to put our lives on pause,” Nick’s mom said. “And, Nicolás? That means playing in this tournament.”

  “It still feels wrong to me,” Nick said, shaking his head.

  “It’s senseless to give up something you love in the name of somebody you love,” she said. “And believe me, it would disappoint your father more than anything.”

  The three of them sat in the living room quietly, the absence of Victor García felt by all. Nick muted the Yankee game on TV.

  It was Amelia who finally spoke.

  “I remember something Michael Arroyo said in that documentary you made me watch,” Amelia said. “He said that when he and his brother were afraid of being separated and put into foster care, baseball was his safe place, same as you always tell me it’s yours.”

  “I didn’t even know you were paying attention,” Nick said, surprised, and honestly a little impressed.

  “And,” his sister continued, “when they took baseball away from him after he couldn’t produce his birth certificate, he described how terrible it was to lose that safe place.”

  The Blazers’ next game was scheduled for the following night, against the Astros. Nick wasn’t pitching, just playing second base.

  “Your hero would never have given up baseball,” Amelia said. “And neither will you.”

  Nick felt a smile come over him, and he started to laugh.

  “What?” Amelia said.

  “I was just thinking of something Ben said to Diego once,” he said.

  “What was that?”

  “I hate it when you’re right.”

  33

  Nick’s mom got a call from Mr. Gasson an hour before it was time for Nick to leave for the Blazers-Astros game.

  She put him on speaker so Nick and Amelia could hear.

  “How is my husband?” Graciela asked.

  “Even tougher than you said he was,” Mr. Gasson said.

  Graciela smiled. “Do you have any good news for us?”

  Mr. Gasson shook his head. “I’m sorry to say I don’t.”

  Nick piped up. “What happens next?”

  “For now,” he said, “your dad has to stay put. It can be two to three months before he gets a court appearance in front of an immigration judge. Possibly longer. For now, all he’s done is meet with a deportation agent.”

  Graciela García lifted a hand to her mouth when she heard the word “deportation.”

  “Everybody is just following the laws as written,” Mr. Gasson said, trying to reassure her.

  “They’re treating our dad like a criminal,” Amelia said, “even though he’s the farthest thing from.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s clear to everyone who’s met him over there,” Mr. Gasson said. “Unfortunately, all that matters is what the judge thinks. The rest is simply following protocol.”

  “So what do we do now?” Nick asked.

  “I’ve got some ideas,” Mr. Gasson said, his voice sounding tinny over speakerphone. “But for now, I don’t want to give you false hope.”

  “My dad says that’s the worst kind,” Nick said.

  Mr. Gasson chuckled. “He actually told me the same thing when I was with him today.”

  “Did he say anything else?” Nick’s mom asked.

  “Yeah,” Mr. Gasson said. “He told Nick to win his game tonight.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Baseball felt different tonight, and not just because Nick wasn’t pitching.

  Always Nick had loved the walk to Macombs Dam Park, down from the Grand Concourse to 161st, the Bronx County Courthouse towering above, looking like the Yankee Stadium of courthouses. Often he’d clutch a ball in his hand, getting himself ready, feeling as if he were carrying the whole night in his hand.

  Tonight he didn’t bring a ball. He wasn’t pitching, but it was more than that. His dad was sitting in a New Jersey detention center, which Nick knew was just another term for jail. The tournament, MVP award, pitching at Yankee Stadium—these all felt like childish dreams compared to what he now desired more than anything: getting his father back.

  Coach Viera didn’t comment on Nick’s dad when Nick arrived at the field. Likely, he knew and just didn’t feel comfortable mentioning it. Or it was possible he hadn’t heard. Either way, Nick wasn’t going to bring it up. Word usually spread pretty quickly around their Bronx neighborhood. If someone had a baby or got married, Nick’s parents would hear about it within a few days, through a friend, or a neighbor, or a colleague. Like one massive game of telephone. What happened to Victor García was a big deal, and Nick wasn’t naive. Most of the community would have heard about it by now, and that included Nick’s teammates. At this point, after Nick had worked so hard to keep the secret, it was almost a relief to have it out in the open—if also a tremendous burden.

  Because while he appreciated everyone’s sympathy, that didn’t mean he wanted to discuss the matter more than he already had—the exceptions being Ben and Diego.

  “We’ll get through this together,” Ben said after the two of them finished stretching for batting practice.

  “Like we always do,” Diego said, sidling up next to them. “Your mom and Amelia coming tonight?”

  “Mom is, but Amelia wasn’t feeling great, so she�
�s staying home.”

  After all she’d endured, both physically and emotionally, Nick couldn’t blame his sister. Yet between the two of them, Amelia remained the most realistic about their situation. No matter how much she talked about prayer and belief and happy endings, she’d done enough research on immigration and the policies of the current administration to know how most of these stories ended.

  “You sure you’re okay to play?” Ben asked.

  “My mom and Amelia were right,” Nick said. “I have to play.”

  He looked over now and saw his mom taking her seat in the third row of the bleachers. Even from where he sat on the Blazers’ bench, Nick could see it took all her strength to come out here.

  But if she can stay strong and my dad can stay strong, Nick kept telling himself, so can I.

  From the top of the first inning, Nick treated this game as if it were the biggest he’d ever play in his life. He led the infield chatter behind Kelvin, the Blazers’ starting pitcher tonight, as he got the Astros in order. Coach had Nick leading off, so when Kelvin struck out the Astros’ number three hitter, Nick sprinted back to the Blazers’ bench. Then he hit the first pitch he got from Mel Mora, the Astros’ starting pitcher, into right-center field. Nick made a big turn at first, and when he noticed the right fielder was a little slow getting to the ball, he turned on the jets to stretch what should have been a single into a double.

  When Diego flied out to right field, Nick tagged and made it to third easily. Ben singled him home, and then Darryl hit a home run to give the Blazers a 3–0 lead.

  “Dude,” Diego said on the bench. “You are on fire tonight.”

  “If I’m gonna take stuff out on somebody,” Nick said, “it might as well be the other team.”

  Nick ended up with four hits by the end of the night, the Blazers winning 11–3. After the handshake line, Coach pulled him aside.