Words Unsaid

by KG MacGregor

  Lily found his explanations far from reassuring. “Is there any way we could do an in-person check? It’s just that it’s been three days since he was picked up and I’m worried because he doesn’t have his asthma medicine. If he were to have an attack…”

  Andy had mostly outgrown his asthma, but she wasn’t above playing up the threat if it helped their case. Besides, stress could cause him to start wheezing, and it had to be stressful to be held in detention.

  “I’m afraid that area’s closed to unauthorized personnel,” Thorn said, but then he squinted at Tony as if hatching a plan. “They sometimes let the lawyers in though. You know what this kid looks like?”

  “Andy? Sure, I’ve known him since he was four years old.”

  As he made copies of Andy’s documents, Thorn expressed confidence in a fairly quick release, given that Andy wasn’t even in the system yet. Then for security purposes, he escorted them back to the first-floor lobby to wait while he and Tony walked the paperwork over to the detention center.

  After an hour, Anna began to pace the marble floor. “What’s taking so long? He made it sound like they were going to just walk over there and yank him out.”

  “It’s a big place. Who knows how many floors they have to check?”

  “Common sense says there’s only one place a sixteen-year-old boy would be, and that’s with other teenage boys.”

  While that was the logical assumption, Lily actually hoped it wasn’t the case, since the raid at the festival had targeted gang members. Andy wasn’t equipped to deal with street-savvy teens. They’d have a field day with someone so naive, especially if they learned he was from a well-to-do family.

  Anna suddenly broke for the elevators where Tony and Thorn were exiting—without Andy. And also without Tony’s famous smile. The men shook hands and Thorn departed.

  Lily caught up in time to see him hand Andy’s phone and wallet to Anna.

  “They had his stuff but they can’t say for sure they had him. He definitely isn’t in there now.”

  “What the hell? How can they not know, Tony?” The exasperation in Anna’s voice quickly turned to anger. “He’s a child! If they’re going to snatch him off the streets, they’re supposed to be responsible for him. They’d better not touch a hair on his head.”

  Lily did her best to remain calm, though her temper was rising too. It wouldn’t do for both of them to lose it. “Tell me what they said, Tony.”

  “I showed Andy’s picture to a guard who said he looked familiar—he specifically remembered the rugby shirt—but they’ve taken five or six van loads of minors out for processing since Saturday. Trouble is, he checked all the manifests and Andy’s name doesn’t show up on any of them.”

  “That makes no sense,” Lily said. “He was here. How else would they have gotten his phone and wallet?”

  “Randall says they confiscate this stuff the moment they pick somebody up, so if they had his phone, they must have had him too.”

  “Then where the fuck is he?” Anna demanded. “Did they take him to Adelanto for processing too?”

  “No, that’s just for adults. The immigration courts for kids are all over the place. Oregon, Pennsylvania, Texas, Florida. They don’t advertise. Some of these kids are in custody for a week or more before their families are notified.”

  “How can they be so goddamned incompetent!”

  “Easy, babe.” Lily took her arm to try to calm her down. “What’s it like in there, Tony? Did you see any of the kids?”

  He described a grim setting, a cage-like room with kids sitting on hard benches and mats on the floor. The younger ones were crying and several called out as they walked by.

  Lily shuddered. “I’d have nightmares if I had to work in a place like that. How do these assholes sleep at night? It’s inhumane.”

  “What happens now?” Anna asked, this time more evenly. “They know they’ve made a mistake, right? Please tell me it’s somebody’s job to track him down and fix this.”

  “Randall put an alert in the system so he’ll get flagged the minute Andy gets entered into the database.”

  “He’s just going to sit on his ass and wait for an alert? That’s not good enough. As long as Andy’s in custody, anything could happen. He’s a nice kid and he’s in there with gang members. Who’s going to look out for him?”

  “I hear you, Anna. I think your best play right now is to hire an attorney—”

  “You’re an attorney. We’ll pay whatever you ask, Tony. You said yourself half your caseload is immigration.”

  “I can make a case in court, but right now you need a firm that can dedicate resources to tracking Andy down. We just don’t have the manpower for that.”

  “He’s right, Anna. We should reach out to Walter Shapiro’s firm. They’ll put someone on it today.”

  Walter was George’s best friend and longtime family attorney. Though he’d retired from practice years ago, his firm still handled lots of legal work for the Kaklis family and Premier Motors.

  “I’ll call him right now.”

  Once Anna stepped away, Lily dropped her facade and let Tony see her fear. “What’s it going to take, Tony? Assuming we can even find him, how do we get him released?”

  He blew out a breath and shook his head. “There’s no universal playbook for getting someone out of ICE detention, but just having an attorney makes all the difference in the world at a hearing. As soon as you find him, get somebody local lined up so they can get in to see him and file an emergency petition. Whoever it is, they have to be ready to go to court at a moment’s notice.”

  “If I thought I could handle it, I’d resign my judgeship and take on Andy’s case myself.”

  “And have a fool for a client, as the saying goes.” He offered a hug, as he’d done so many times over the years when she needed it most. “He’ll be okay, Lil. He’s resilient, and probably a lot tougher than you realize.”

  For Andy’s sake, she hoped he was right.

  * * *

  Andy strained to follow each case, hoping to pick up a hint of what the judge wanted to hear. So far he’d ruled only three times in favor of kids being released to their families, and those cases had been represented by the woman, the only attorney present besides the government’s Mr. McInnis. Her remaining clients were two boys who looked like brothers, waiting their turn on the opposite side of the room. Andy had tried to no avail to catch her attention so he could ask again for her help.

  Poor Ruben. His father had been transferred to jail on a charge of assaulting the ICE officer who’d taken them into custody. According to the government’s attorney, he had a green card and was working legally as a landscaper. But now he was facing trial and perhaps prison, after which he likely would be deported. There was no record of family in the US, so Ruben was to be held until ICE made contact with his grandmother in Mexico.

  Lucía and her siblings were being sent to live with a cousin in Honduras, despite her telling the judge through an interpreter that the cousin was involved with criminal gangs. Their family had overstayed a tourist visa and lived under the radar for the past two years in defiance of a deportation order. Even now, their parents were in hiding with their new baby somewhere in LA. The government lawyer argued that sending these children back would encourage the rest of the family to self-deport.

  “Santos Aguilar,” the court’s bailiff called.

  Santos rose and shuffled to the defendant’s table at the front. His jeans bunched around his ankles and his oversized white T-shirt hung loosely to his thighs. For the first time, Andy noticed that Santos was a skinny kid like him, though he was taller. There was no fear in his eyes, only defiance.

  “Your Honor, Santos Aguilar is a citizen of Mexico. His mother, also a Mexican national, is a permanent resident of the US currently serving in the armed forces in Germany. He resides with his mother’s brother, a permanent resident who is married to a US citizen. Santos is known to law enforcement as a member of the Los Angeles street ga
ng Florencia Thirteen.” McInnis held up what looked like a mug shot for the judge to see. “Florencia is part of the Sureños syndicate, which is associated with the Mexican Mafia. Its activities include drugs and arms trafficking, robbery, extortion, and murder.”

  Andy was mildly aware of the Latino street gangs, but only because some of his tormentors at school thought it fun to accuse him of being in a gang. Not just any gang—the notorious MS-13, a violent, merciless criminal enterprise from El Salvador known for their facial tattoos.

  “Santos Aguilar has been arrested twice for gang activity, including possession of a knife, for which he served four months in juvenile detention. We ask the court to consider the danger this detainee poses to the community, and permit us to hold him in detention until his eighteenth birthday on June fourth of this year, when he shall be deported to Mexico.”

  “Mr. Aguilar, would you like to respond?”

  “It was just a stupid pocketknife on a keychain, that long,” he said, holding up his fingers to show the size. “I didn’t do nothing wrong since I got out of juvie. I don’t hang with F-Thirteen no more. My probation officer say I gotta stay away so that’s what I do.”

  “Your Honor, Mr. Aguilar was in the company of other gang members when he was picked up. It’s clear that he’s not adhering to the terms of—”

  “Because they on probation too. We stick together but we don’t hang no more with the gang, none of us.”

  Andy had no sympathy for anyone who’d joined a gang. Besides all the crimes they committed fighting with one another, they made it hard for Latinos to be accepted. It was fine by him for the judge to kick Santos out.

  “The court orders Mr. Aguilar held, during which time he may petition for release.”

  As Santos returned to his seat, it was clear he was fighting back tears. He couldn’t wipe his face because his hands were chained to his waist.

  “Andres Casillas.”

  Andy sighed and hobbled to the front, throwing one last desperate glance toward the attorney. She gave him a slight nod, which he didn’t understand at all.

  “Your Honor, Andres Casillas is a citizen of Guatemala, brought to this country at the age of two by his mother, who is currently serving a four-year sentence for elder financial abuse at the California women’s prison in Corona. Andres currently resides with his mother’s boyfriend, who is a US citizen. Andres is fourteen years of age and known to Los Angeles law enforcement as a member of the street gang White Fence. They are affiliated with the Sureños syndicate, which as you know is—”

  “That’s not true! I’m sixteen and I’ve never been in a gang. Casillas isn’t even my name.”

  McInnis held up a photograph that even Andy had to admit looked a lot like him. “Andres Casillas was identified by two confidential informants following a sweep that also netted Victor Alvarez, a White Fence member who is currently in the custody of the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department, accused of the murder of a nine-year-old girl in a drive-by shooting. It is believed Mr. Casillas serves as a courier for Alvarez, carrying contraband such as drugs and weapons.”

  “I’m telling you, that’s not me! My name is Andres Kaklis, not Casillas. I’m an American.”

  “Control yourself, young man,” the judge said sternly.

  “Your Honor, I’d also like to point out the shirt Mr. Casillas is currently wearing. Blue and white are colors common to many of Southern California’s street gangs, including White Fence members. We believe it’s in the interest of the United States to detain Mr. Casillas until his mother is released from prison—possibly as early as next year—when their deportation to Guatemala can be arranged.”

  “All right, Mr. Casillas. It’s your turn to speak.”

  “There’s been a mistake. My name is Andres Kaklis.” He pointed toward the photo, aware that his hand was shaking. “Whoever that is, it’s not me. I was born in Oakland. My parents died and I was adopted when I was five years old by my aunt, Lilian Kaklis. She’s a judge in LA—you can look it up. My other mom, her name’s Anna Kaklis. She owns Premier Motors. It’s twenty-two car dealerships all over Southern California. German cars. BMWs and Volkswagens and Audis. They’d kill me if I ever joined a gang.”

  “Counselor, could this be a case of mistaken identity?”

  “Your Honor, as I said earlier, this detainee’s identity has been confirmed by not one but two informants, independent of one another. It isn’t unusual for illegal immigrants to insist they are citizens with different names.” After a brief pause to review his notes, he added, “Also, Officers McKay and Berman, who escorted Mr. Casillas from Los Angeles, investigated his claim of mistaken identity. They found no record of his mother being a judge, nor of a company by that name. They’re here in the courtroom if you’d like to question them.”

  Those lying dicks!

  “Just call my ma on the phone. Please!” Andy recited the phone number. “Or call the dealership in Beverly Hills. They’ll tell you who I am.”

  The judge was silent for several seconds, and when he finally spoke his voice seemed heavy with concern. “Counselor, I don’t mind saying that I have some serious doubts about the identity of this detainee. However, I will grant your request for continued detention on the condition that he be given access to an attorney, followed by another status hearing within forty-eight hours where he will be allowed to present evidence. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Forty-eight hours! That was two more days of hell. And if the guards were willing to lie to a judge, they’d probably ignore his deadline too. It could be days—weeks even—before he got to talk to an attorney. What he needed was a way to get a message to his moms about where he was. They’d make sure the judge saw his birth certificate. As he returned to his seat, Andy made eye contact once again with the woman attorney. Then for good measure, he yelled out his ma’s phone number again, while Berman manhandled him out the door.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They had the observation room to themselves at the indoor tennis center where Georgie was taking a private lesson with the assistant pro. Anything to kill time as they waited to hear from Tony, who’d gone to Adelanto in search of Serafina, or the attorney from Walter’s office, who was looking into Andy’s whereabouts.

  “Georgie seems off a bit today,” Anna said. “Not surprising considering his brother’s been kidnapped by ICE.”

  “It takes him a while to warm up. But yeah, he’s off a little.”

  “I’m worried about them, like Eleanor coming to bed with us. We should sit down as a family and talk this out, find out where their heads are. What do you think they need from us?”

  Lily’s first thought was they needed to see their moms projecting calm and certainty that everything would turn out all right. The kids would feed off their emotions, and Anna was winding herself into a knot of anxiety and anger. Saying so might make it worse.

  “Georgie needed this. You were right to call and set it up. This is how he lets go of stress. And he loves it when both of us are watching.”

  “Yeah, we talked about it on the plane. I haven’t paid enough attention to his game, what with Eleanor’s STEM camp. I plan on fixing that.”

  “How, by cutting yourself in two? We can’t be everywhere all at once.”

  “No, but I can do better. And I will.”

  They’d dropped Eleanor at the Big House to hang out with Alice. Lily had a pretty good idea how she was dealing with stress. “What do you want to bet Eleanor’s got Gracie in her lap right now? Nothing like a kitten to soothe your nerves. I’m coming around, by the way. We should all go together to the shelter when Andy gets home.”

  “Absolutely. I want the kids to be happy. I don’t mean spoil them, but I’ve begun to realize that I always say no first when they want something. Like with Andy getting his license, and Eleanor getting a kitten. I need to break that habit and start listening more.”

  “Cut yourself some slack, sweetheart. We made those decisions to
gether, and we had good reasons for saying no at the time.” She clasped Anna’s hand. “None of this is your fault.”

  “No, but it’s my fault Andy feels like I’m ruining his life.”

  “All kids feel that way at one time or another.” Lily laughed, imagining once again Anna’s teen years. “Okay, so not you. But most of them only see what’s right in front of them. They can’t grasp what’s down the road in a month, let alone a few years.”

  Lily’s cell phone chirped—finally—with the call they’d been expecting from Tony. “Hey, I’m here with Anna. Did you get to see Serafina?” She switched it to speakerphone and held it between them.

  “I did, and she’s a wreck. All she cares about is Andy. She was in tears the whole time, saying how sorry she was for letting this happen.”

  “Why? She’s not to blame, is she?” Anna asked.

  “Of course not. What happened was ICE swarmed in out of nowhere as soon as the cops cleared the scene from the stabbing.”

  “In other words, some asshole in the LAPD tipped them off,” Lily snarled.

  “That’d be my guess too. It happens pretty much every time there’s a gang bust. People get scooped up. Anyone who’s not a citizen is a potential target for deportation if they’re involved in a crime. That’s what they’re looking for.”

  “What crime, Tony? Serafina was helping the police.”

  “She said they came on real aggressive, yelling for everybody to get down on the ground and standing over them with rifles while they were being searched. One guy confiscated all the phones before anyone had a chance to call for help.”

  Bastards. Not that Lily was surprised. She’d once represented a client who was picked up by ICE at the courthouse only moments after he testified for the state against a drug-dealing neighbor. That was his thanks for doing his civic duty.