by KG MacGregor
“Prisa!” a boy’s voice yelled. Hurry up.
Andy peeked through the curtain and saw four guys lined up against the wall waiting for a turn. He quickly rinsed the soap from his hair and toweled off. The briefs looked smaller than before… and the label said large, not extra-large. That was weird. He’d have to find a way to cut the elastic. At least the shorts and T-shirt fit okay.
With his socks and shoes in hand, he exited the shower and reached for his laundry loop. Suddenly he understood about the underwear. Someone had swapped them—and they’d also taken his rugby shirt.
* * *
Before leaving the parking garage at Miami International Airport, Anna entered the address Lily had texted her into the car’s navigation system. It would take her to a hotel only a few blocks from the detention center at Homestead.
Once she entered the Florida Turnpike for the half-hour drive, she called home. “Any news?”
“I’m full of it,” Lily said. “News, that is. Andy’s new attorney is a man by the name of Arturo Gil-Torres. Tony found him and Shelynn gave him a big thumbs up. He works for a firm in Coral Gables where both his parents are partners. He’s young—like fresh out of Miami Law School young—but he knows what he’s doing. Ninety percent of his caseload is immigration. He’s represented loads of kids at Homestead.”
“Sounds like exactly who we need.”
“He wants to meet first thing tomorrow at Starbucks, six thirty a.m. I’ll text you the address.”
“That’s three thirty Pacific Time. I hope my brain’s awake.”
“Sorry about that,” Lily said. “It has to be early because he starts seeing clients inside at seven thirty.”
“Did he say anything about the case?”
“Just that he was going to submit the paperwork to be Andy’s attorney and put in a request for a hearing. I assume he did that late today.”
“Why would he have to request a hearing? The court ordered one within forty-eight hours. It should be scheduled automatically for tomorrow.” The sound of Eleanor and Georgie talking and laughing in the background triggered a small wave of homesickness. “Sounds like the kids are in a good mood.”
“They’re happy to have Serafina back. She ate dinner with us and we had a serious talk about what Andy’s going through. Georgie wanted to know what kind of food they served in detention so Eleanor looked it up. It was horrible, Anna. White bread and cold cuts, maybe a piece of fruit if they’re lucky. This is coming from kids who were held in detention at Homestead. They say the bread sometimes has mold on it, or the fruit’s gone bad. Instant oatmeal, instant ramen noodles. Or they heat up frozen burritos in the microwave and they’re still frozen in the middle.”
“Poor kid. We need to get him out of there right now. I don’t care if we have to bust down the door to do it.”
“That’s the Anna I know and love. Take no prisoners.” Lily laughed. “Better yet, take all the prisoners and set them free.”
“I love you too. Thanks for being there for Eleanor and Georgie. That had to be a tough conversation, and there’s no one in the world I’d rather have handling it than you.”
“You’re sweet. Give Andy a huge hug from me…from all of us.”
Anna blinked back tears as she ended the call. She’d caught herself crying on the plane when she imagined the horror Andy was feeling—and the pain he might feel for a long time even after he was released. To this day, it broke her heart to remember how he struggled to feel secure when he first came to live with them, hiding his toys and growing anxious those first few times Lily packed his suitcase. The worst was after the twins were born when he began to feel “less than” because he was adopted.
It had taken years of steady nurturing to overcome his insecurities. What if he was sitting in there now doubting their determination to get him out? For all he knew they were still living it up in Los Cabos, reluctant to cut their vacation short, assuming the DHS would eventually discover its mistake. He had no way of knowing how difficult this was, how ICE was throwing up roadblocks at every turn.
Anna needed so much to see his face, to hold him and tell him how much he was loved. She promised herself that he’d never doubt it again.
* * *
“Positions!”
Andy emerged from beneath his blanket and squinted at the overhead lights, which had been left on even after everyone had gone to bed. His T-shirt was wet with sweat.
“Let’s go! Positions.” The guard casually knocked a stick against the metal frames of bunkbeds as he walked between the rows. Four rows, twenty-five beds each. If all the beds were full—and it appeared they were—that was two hundred detainees in a room half the size of a gymnasium.
The boys, most of them wearing only briefs, tumbled from their beds to stand at the foot as the guard began counting them off.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Andy grumbled as he climbed down from his top bunk and stood across from Santos. The clock above the door said two fifteen. It had taken him over an hour to get to sleep the first time. Now his fury would keep him up even longer.
Not only did the asshole yell out every single number, he stopped from time to time to make crude remarks about how they looked in their underwear. “Sixty-six B,” he said, referring to Andy by his bed number. “I see somebody took it literally when Gerald said to grab some tighty-whiteys.”
Santos snorted and covered his face to hide his grin. Andy noticed that his briefs were larger, which likely meant he was the one who’d switched. He’d probably swiped the rugby shirt too.
Why the heck would they have bed checks in the middle of the night when there were guards right outside the door? The answer was obvious—because they were assholes. Bored and on a power trip.
Stewing with resentment, Andy crossed the vast dormitory to a corner room where the toilets and urinals were located. Dozens of others had the same idea, so he took his place in line against the wall. Closing his eyes briefly, he decided he could easily fall back to sleep after all.
The line moved fast enough that he was able to claim a urinal after only a couple of minutes. When he went to wash his hands he noticed three guys crowded around the door of one of the stalls. When a fourth one exited, two of them grabbed and held his arms while the third slapped his cheeks and jabbed him, counting each strike aloud until he reached thirteen. “Trece! Trece de Sureños.”
Thirteen from Sureños. Andy recognized the gang name as the one used by the government’s attorney to describe Andres Casillas. And Santos as well, who’d appointed himself lookout at the door.
Andy felt sorry for the one they’d bullied but he knew better than to involve himself in their fight, not even to help the poor guy off the floor. He was humiliated but clearly not hurt.
He returned to his bed to find Santos waiting. He’d pulled off his shirt to reveal the number 13 tattooed just above his heart. “Out there you White Fence. In here you Sureños. We all Sureños. Thirteen.”
“What’s thirteen?”
“It means M—the Mexican Mafia.” Santos eyed him with suspicion. “I bet you Norteños. Yeah, that’s right. You told that judge you from Oakland. That makes you Norteños.”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“It’s north. Sureños is south…LA. We enemies so you need to side up, niño. One or the other.”
At least he hadn’t said poco niño. “Look, I don’t know how many times I have to say this. I’m not in a gang. I’m not who they say I am. They made a mistake.”
“It don’t matter. You in here now. You don’t side up, everybody think you in the other gang. That’s the way it is.”
Andy slowly grasped what Santos was saying. If he didn’t join a gang at all, Sureños would think it was because he was Norteños while Norteños would assume the opposite. “Why would they think anything? Are you telling me all these guys”—he waved his hand around the vast hall—“are in a gang? I don’t think so. Most of them just mind their own business. That’s what I�
�m going to do. You should too. You told that judge you quit the gang.”
“A lot of good it did me,” he groused. “They pick you up even if you ain’t doing nothing. At least Sureños watch my back in here.”
“Stay away from them and maybe your back won’t need watching.”
Santos sneered and shook his head, as if to say Andy didn’t know what he was talking about.
And maybe he didn’t. Seeing that poor kid smacked around in the bathroom showed Andy the appeal of a gang in a way he hadn’t understood before. If that boy’s gang had been there, it wouldn’t have happened.
He suddenly felt sorry for Santos. He probably joined that gang in the first place because he felt scared. Maybe his was a tough ’hood where he needed allies. And now with his mother deployed, there likely was no one working to get him released. His future was shit. He’d be locked up here till June, then deported.
“Look, what I said in court was true, Santos. My mom’s a judge, a real one. She can prove I’m not that gang member, Andres Casillas. She’ll get me out of here.”
“If you still alive,” Santos snarled, though it sounded more like an attempt to shock than a threat.
“They promised me an attorney by tomorrow, and another hearing. I can try to help you when I get out…if you want me to. Tell me who to call. Maybe my mom can find you a lawyer.”
Santos gave him a skeptical look, turned to walk away, and abruptly came back. “Why would you do that? You don’t know shit about me.”
“I know you’re trying to stay out of trouble. I know your mom’s in the army and they’re disrespecting her by picking you up. It’s not fair they don’t even give us lawyers. That woman lawyer yesterday, she got all her clients released. Every single one. Let me see if my mom can help.”
A tense moment of silence ended when Santos pulled his shirt back on and gave Andy a clap on the shoulder. “You might be all right, Casillas.”
Andy heaved a sigh. “For the thousandth time…it’s Kaklis.”
Chapter Sixteen
Arturo Gil-Torres looked the part of a junior associate at a prestigious law firm. Clean-shaven with designer eyeglasses, he wore a smart gray suit with a white shirt and yellow striped tie. His briefcase was a high-end Montblanc like the one Anna had given Hal for Christmas a few years ago, except Arturo’s was stuffed so full it wouldn’t latch.
“Do you always start your days so early?” Anna asked. Lily would call this the ass-crack of dawn.
He smiled and gestured to his briefcase. “I need to see five clients inside the center before their hearings, which start at nine o’clock. I was able to get Andres on the client list, so I can see him first and push to have his hearing today,” he said before pausing to sip his double espresso. “Nothing happens until we get him in front of a judge.”
“His hearing has to be today, right? The other judge’s order said forty-eight hours.”
“Theoretically,”—he winced, telegraphing bad news—“but they miss a lot of deadlines when it comes to immigration and the judges are usually forgiving. The government will simply argue that it made a good faith effort but he hadn’t been processed, the docket was full, he’s getting a medical assessment…basically whatever excuse they want.”
Anna pressed two fingers against her brow and reminded herself not to lash out at Arturo. He wasn’t to blame for the way detainees were treated. “These people we’re dealing with, they’re real bastards, aren’t they?”
“I’m afraid a lot of them are, Ms. Kaklis.”
“Please, call me Anna. What’s it like in there? Is Andy safe?”
“He should be. Don’t get me wrong, all of these youth detention facilities have problems, but Homestead has a fair bit of structured time for classes and recreation. It’s run by a private contractor, Comprehensive Health Services—CHS. They have strict procedures for everything. Kids are escorted everywhere they go in groups of twelve.”
“Are there problems with gangs? Because Andy’s been mistaken for a gang member. That’s how he ended up there in the first place.”
Arturo conceded with a slight nod. “There have been reports of gang fights but nothing serious. All the detainees are under constant surveillance or supervision. Skirmishes are broken up quickly. Are you worried about Andy fighting?”
“I’m worried about him getting picked on. He’s small for his age and not at all street savvy. We tried to teach him to solve problems without fighting, but that’s going to leave him vulnerable if he’s in there with a bunch of gangbangers.”
“I understand. I can speak to the officials inside the center and make sure they’re aware of his situation.” He took a legal pad from his briefcase and began to make notes. “What I’d like you to do is call this number at nine o’clock and ask to speak to Superintendent Vogler. He probably won’t be available, but tell whoever answers that you’ve come to Homestead to pick up your sixteen-year-old son, that he was arrested by ICE agents in Los Angeles who mistakenly believed he was someone else. Tell them you have documents proving your son’s identity and citizenship. Ask if you can meet with him right away, preferably in the next hour.”
“Should I mention the judge’s order that he’s to have a hearing today?”
“It wouldn’t hurt. At the end of the call, ask when they expect Vogler to pick up his messages. No matter what they say, if you haven’t heard from him by ten, call him back. And again at eleven. If you still don’t hear from him, text me at this number and I’ll set up an interview with Channel Six. Then I’ll call Vogler’s office and give them a heads up that you’re planning to talk to the media. CHS’s board of directors doesn’t want that kind of publicity.” He checked his phone. “Time to go. I’m going to ask to see Andy first thing when I get there. Is there anything you want me to tell him?”
“Yes, of course. Tell him we love him, that we can’t wait to have him come home.” She thought again of her fear that he might have felt abandoned. “And tell him we’ve been frantic this whole time, that the reason we haven’t gotten him out is because we didn’t even know where he was till yesterday.”
Anna watched him go, trying to hold her optimism in check. She’d gotten her hopes up twice before, once with Tony and his friend at the federal building, and again with Shelynn Kelly on the tarmac. This time felt different. Arturo was on his way inside where he would see Andy face-to-face and deliver their message of love and support.
She returned to her car and checked one of the airline apps on her phone. With the info in hand, she weighed whether or not to call Lily at her four a.m. “Oh, what the hell.”
“Anna?” By her anxious voice, Lily was clearly startled by the call.
“Hi, sweetheart. Sorry to call so early, but there’s a flight out of LAX at six o’clock, gets into Miami at two this afternoon. I know I said I’d handle this but I’d really like to have you here with me. Can you come? Please?”
“All you had to do was ask.”
* * *
Andy shuffled into the small room to find a well-dressed young man sitting behind a table. His smile was the first one Andy had seen from an adult since the night he was arrested… not counting the shit-eating grins from Berman.
The man gestured at Andy’s chains and addressed the guard, “Are those really necessary? My client is neither dangerous nor a threat to run away.”
The guard merely grunted and closed the door on his way out.
“God, you must be a lawyer. Finally! I was beginning to think the whole world had forgotten I existed.”
“Arturo Gil-Torres. And you’re right, I’m an attorney.” He smiled and offered a handshake before remembering Andy’s hands were bound. “Oops, sorry. Believe me, no one’s forgotten you. Your moms are going crazy out there trying to get you out. I just had coffee with one of them.”
“Which one?”
“Anna. She’s followed you here to Miami, staying at a hotel just a few blocks from here in fact. I’m sure she’s usually a nice person, but right n
ow she’s pretty salty about ICE kidnapping her son. I would never want to get on her bad side.”
“Tell me about it,” Andy said, realizing that he too was smiling. The fact that his mom was so close had to mean he was getting out soon.
“It was your other mom Lily who hired me. She’s back in LA with Georgie and…”
“Ellie…Eleanor. They’re twins.”
“Yes, and I’m supposed to tell you everyone sends you lots of love. They can’t wait to have you back home. How are you doing? Any problems?”
“You mean besides how they make us go to sleep with the lights on and wake us up for a bed check at two o’clock? The food’s gross. Last night for dinner they gave us burritos that were frozen solid. Like, you could knock ’em on the table. They don’t even get thawed before time’s up. And since you can’t take food out, you just have to throw it away.”
Arturo shook his head with a look of disgust. “Amazing how these people can screw up something as basic as a burrito. Any other problems I need to know about? Do you feel safe?”
“Yeah, I…I guess.” If he was getting out soon, there was no point bringing up the gang activity. Arturo might think he was involved. “Some guys fight with each other but it doesn’t concern me.”
“That’s good. Stay clear of all that. Whatever you do, don’t take sides.”
He knew that already, regardless of what Santos had said. “How soon can you get me out?”
Arturo opened his folder, signaling an end to their get-to-know-you chat. “I wish I could say for sure but these guys don’t make it easy.”
“That’s because they’re dickwads, all of them,” Andy snapped, figuring he didn’t have to watch his language with a cool guy like Arturo. “They do whatever they want. I showed them my driver’s license when they first stopped us and they arrested me anyway. Said it was fake. The whole time they kept calling me Andres Casillas. They told the judge I was in a gang.”
“I bet you were furious.” He patted the stack of papers in front of him. “But don’t worry, I have proof of who you are right here. Your passport, your birth certificate, your adoption papers.”
