by JD Dutra
Chapter 22
Tent City Jail, Phoenix, Arizona
Saturday, October 24th, 2020
8:11 A.M.
It was early morning at the Tent City jail and the inmates were heading into the lunch room in waves, separated by race. Two white men in their 50’s headed in that direction under the heat of the sun and a bright blue sky, streak white by commercial airplanes. As they made their way through the dirt path, they whispered things to one another, using their tattooed hands to cover their lips from time to time. They knew the guards in the tower stared at them, especially when the two of them were together. The guards had heard enough rumors and gossip, but they had nothing substantial on their true activities, otherwise neither of them would be out in the sun. They’d be locked up in solitary at a high security prison somewhere else in the country.
Frank, the oldest and most influential of the two, raised his tattooed fingers to hide his lips, the word HATE formed on them.
“What time did it happen?”
“Around midnight last night, half of the guys in the tent were asleep already,” said John, the man who arranged the discreet meeting.
Frank slicked his hand back over his forehead, spreading the sweat onto his gray hair. He wasn’t feeling that well lately.
“And they came screaming, flashing lights, manhandling and all that?”
“Sure thing, Frank, like they always do,” said Johnny, who spat the strange taste in his mouth onto the ground.
“You know Johnny, the day will come when we’ll make them pay for every toss up, kick, slap, spit, shove, disrespect and all of that. You mark my words man.”
“Amen brother.”
“So they came and dragged him and put him in the tower. Any idea why?” Asked Frank while nodding back his approval at a group of white inmates going the opposite direction.
“You don’t get thrown into solitary for nothing. Someone snitched on him I’m sure… and you know what we do with them snitches,” said John, his teeth clenching in anger just lightly.
“Who? Who would be dumb enough to do that?”
“I was asking around and they all think it’s this Danny guy, he’s new. Whitey was punkin’ him a few days ago and they got into it. Then Whitey asked for some cigarettes as payment for the disrespect. Well that same guy has been seen chatting up and down with that hot looking Latina guard —”
“DeLeon?” Frank cut him off, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Yup.”
“Do you think it was something more than just officer and inmate stuff Johnny?”
“Oh yeah, a lot of the guys are saying that she giggles like a school girl around him. One guy, Larry said they used to go out or something,” said John, shrugging.
“Then for sure she’s helping him out. It’s not like Whitey didn’t deserve to be in there, you know what I mean, but this is too much of a coincidence.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you, brother,” said Johnny, nodding his head slowly before he stepped into the shadow of the lunch room building.
They continued their slow walk throughout the room which was filled with unbreakable benches, tables and bald heads of different skin tones everywhere. The room already smelled faintly of body odor and morning breath. Their walk took them straight to the front of the line where breakfast was being handed out. As soon as a white inmate stepped forward to grab his meal, Frank and Johnny stepped in front of him casually, blatantly cutting everyone else off. No one complained.
They got their food and walked to their table, where no one sat unless invited and began to eat a breakfast of boiled eggs, a banana and two hard cinnamon rolls. As Frank bit into his food Johnny nodded slightly to the entrance behind him.
“Tall, cropped blond hair, face shaved clean… that’s our Danny boy,” said John while chewing the dry thing someone upstairs called a cinnamon roll.
“The white guy talking to one of the Chiefs?”
“That’s him alright.”
Frank kept his head turned for a few moments, making sure he had a vivid image of the man in his mind. They watched Daniel from time to time in the lunch room, noticing him eating alone, the Chiefs didn’t allow him to sit with them.
He ain’t got no one to protect him in here but himself. Never break rule #2, thought Frank.
At a few benches away, Daniel finished his breakfast and stood up. Isabella was on his mind.
I hope she understands what I meant with my message and I hope she has a password on her voicemail, Daniel thought to himself, but now it was too late. Maybe he’d try her again in the afternoon. Maybe tomorrow morning. He’d have to keep trying to call his daughter and son today for sure, Summer wasn’t answering him as fast as she used to, he didn’t know if that was good or bad.
He reached into in his pocket to feel the phone token he was given earlier. His fingers went down just a little further to touch the pack of cigarettes he had kept on him at all times since he got it yesterday, the only survivor of three.
During his walk back to his tent, Daniel felt as if a weight had been taken off his shoulders, especially now since Whitey was locked up in solitary confinement. He’d found that out that morning from one of the Native Americans in his tent. Every inmate called them ‘Chiefs’, but he wished there was a better to say they were the Native Americans, but he didn’t make up the jail term chart. Besides they didn’t seem to mind at all, it was just the way things were around here, every race had a nickname.
He found them opening up to him more and more and all he had to do was to show interest in their culture, and listen. That’s how he met Benny, a Native American around Daniel’s age, who was in for assault, the result of a late night bar fight. It was nice to have someone to talk to now that Larry wasn’t allowed to.
Benny was the first to strike up a conversation with him, when they both couldn’t sleep one night. This morning Benny was feeling ill, with pain around his eyes and a strange feeling in his throat so the topic of their conversation was ancient healing herbs and roots. Benny and the rest of the Native Americans in the tent always had great wisdom to share, about health, life, money and just about everything.
He found out that most of them were in jail because of gambling debts and alcohol related problems. He wondered what kind of nation the Native Americans would be today if they hadn’t been influenced by the Europeans.
He was almost to the Native American’s tent when an unfamiliar voice came from behind him.
“Wait up white boy…”
Daniel turned around to see two tall white men in their 50’s in front of a group of half a dozen other white inmates. The look on their faces immediately made Daniel’s heart race with uneasiness.
“Yes?”
“Lemme ask you somethin’… Any idea why Whitey was put up in solitary last night?” Said the one with slick gray hair.
“No idea, why are you asking me?”
“I know you owed him something, and from what I heard you are the hot Latina guard’s pet… You follow me?”
Daniel knew where this line of questioning was going, he looked up to one of the towers, then to the other. The guards seemed to be busy watching some other people in the yard.
“I didn’t snitch on him. I got his payment right here and was going to give it him today, so I got no reason to snitch on him,” said Daniel, trying to sound confident. His mind working on a way to outrun the inmates if he needed to.
The two older men stepped forward slowly and one placed a hand on Daniel’s shoulder, the other got close to his face.
“Where is it?” Said one with HATE across his knuckles; his hot breath washed over Daniel’s face, it smelled sickly of bananas, boiled eggs, and something else.
“Well… I got the pack of cigarettes in my briefs alright. But it’s for Whitey…”
“He’s locked up now, so that debt is owed to us. Don’t you know how things work around here?” asked the man with the hand on Daniel’s shoulder, his fist tightly balling up
a fold of his shirt.
“What a hell is going on here, right outside our tent?” The voice came from within the tent Daniel had been heading to. Five tan men with dark skin and even darker hair walked out, and immediately the hand on Daniel’s shoulder clamped down tighter on the fabric of his inmate shirt.
“Stay out of this Chief, we are just having a little chat with one of our boys,” said the older man with slick black hair, faking a calmer voice and pleasant smile at the men behind Daniel.
Daniel looked at the guard towers again, both of them were now looking in his direction, one of the guards held a pair of binoculars near his eyes.
“Guys, they are watching us, let’s all relax please,” said Daniel.
John began to lean into his hand on Danny’s shoulder, pulling him down a little to bring his mouth to Daniel’s ear, the smell of decay became stronger.
“Now I see why you got into trouble, Danny… You like to tell other people what to do, eh? You keep your mouth shut —”
“Let go of him! He is with us now. Leave him be and get out of here, this isn’t your territory!” Said one of the Chief’s and Daniel recognized Benny’s voice, the guy he walked to the lunch room with.
“Ya’ll won’t even eat with him, mind your own business. Come on, Daniel, we’ll find you a different place to sleep tonight,” said Frank, slapping the side of Daniel’s face slowly.
“I said to let go of him! As of right now, he’s with us. We aren’t going to tolerate your disrespect at our tent anymore.”
Daniel tried one more time to calm everyone’s nerves, cleared his voce, pleading. “Why don’t one of you come with me, out of sight, I’ll give you some cigarettes, keep enough to pay Whitey and we can all move on?”
As soon as he was done saying it, Daniel realized he was the only one keeping an eye on both tower guards; everyone else was too busy mad dogging each other. One of the guards had the radio to his lips.
“You are with us now, don’t give them nothing. Whatever you got you can share with us,” said Benny, who stepped forward.
“To hell with that, come on,” said Johnny, who began to pull on Daniel, trying to force him to walk away from the tent.
The Chiefs stepped forward and they closed a half circle around Daniel’s back, the other half of the circle were the white inmates, and suddenly chests were ramming against each other, talk turned into yelling and shouts and a hand tried to pull down Daniel’s pants, the pack of cigarettes fell out near his feet like a match being dropped into a tank of gasoline.
An alarm sounded and blunt commands ordered everyone to just drop on the ground with their hands behind their backs, but all of that went ignored as punches and kicks, slaps and people shoving each other in a cloud of violence raged on one side of the Native American’s tent.
Daniel tried to step back, to get away from it, but John still gripped his shirt and pulled him right back into the fight and suddenly he was being punched in the back of the head, the first blow making the top of his spine sound and feel like cracking knuckles. Another punch made him step to one side to catch his balance, and suddenly a fire ignited inside Daniel, turning his fear into rage; he felt like he had enough anger inside of him to kill everyone around him with his bare hands.
He punched John in the throat with a force he didn’t know he had then kicked the front of his knee as hard as he could, and before John fell to the ground blood splattered across his face as screams and the sound of flesh and fabric being torn muffled the alarm sound of the speakers. Daniel quickly glanced at the group to see where the blood was coming from and among the maze of black and white fabric, fists and feet there were deep red splashes across them in random patterns.
Benny’s throat was pierced in several places and blood squirted from it onto someone, but he kept on fighting, digging his thumbs into a white guy’s eyes. Finally, the man shanking Benny’s throat from behind dug into his flesh deep enough to lacerate it open, exactly where his arterial vein was, and Benny’s blood began to pour out of his neck like a waterfall. The iron smell of blood filled the air, but there was something else there too, a smell of decay that seemed to suck up the smell of the blood like spilled wine into a tissue. Benny’s eyes closed and he was dead before his body hit the pool of blood and sand beneath his feet.
Daniel screamed and began to shove the white inmates back as hard as he could, away from Benny, while the shanker, his fists coated in a dark crimson, waved his hand from side to side, cutting the air, splattering blood on everyone’s face, skin and clothes. Some inmates began to run, but others from each side still wanted to fight. The shanker fell to the ground as a gun shot rang out from one of the towers and the back of his head hit the sand and rocky ground like a raw egg. He lay motionless on the dirt, the shank still clutched in his bloody hand.
More shots came from different directions, sounding a lot closer, Daniel felt something hit him in the back on his right rib cage and he fell to the ground, feeling the pain spread across his back, and his air come out of his lungs. He reached back, touched himself, his fingertips came somewhat clean. He saw a spent ‘bean-bag’ shot near him and thanked the heavens he was shot with that and not a live round. Other inmates began to fall to the ground as more shots rang, and Daniel looked up to see a team of officers in riot gear, some holding shields and batons, others shooting inmates at point blank with bean bag loaded shotguns.
In the chaos of the inmates now fighting the guards, Daniel stared down at Benny. Sand was being kicked around his face, sticking to the fresh blood on his neck and onto his still, lifeless eyes. Daniel began to scream in pain, not the one coming from the back of his ribs, but the pain coming from within. He had been forced into a living nightmare and felt totally powerless to do anything about it.
Chapter 23
Eloy, Arizona
Saturday, October 24th, 2020
8:37 A.M.
Mei Lin woke up at the safe house in the small town of Eloy Arizona, about an hour south of Phoenix. The antique, two story home was humble and stripped of any personal touches, but it had the basics. It had several beds, a fully stocked kitchen and working restrooms. It looked and smelled like it was used to house dozens of illegal immigrants at a time. The three acres of land that surrounded it had been rented out to a family of farmers. The earth had been recently tilled and prepared for the fall crop season, but no one was working at the property now.
She was on the second story floor lying on a small single bed with her phone in hand, her last window to a life she wished was really her own. On the screen there were a series of random numbers and letters. It was the text message that had changed everything the night before.
Half an hour before they were supposed to storm Oneita’s apartment, the text message that signaled for Ping’s entire team to report to the safe house in Eloy came through. According to the protocol, everyone was supposed to stop what they were doing and head down to the safe house immediately. Ping wouldn’t dare make his team disobey their superiors and he instantly shifted the entire teams efforts towards the will of those who commanded them, even if the box which contained over a decade of Mei Lin’s work could have been recovered within minutes with a hailstorm of bullets.
Teamwork ends when the leader’s neck is in jeopardy.
There was an unusually high level of activity of police officers, firefighters and ambulances throughout Phoenix that Friday afternoon, and Ping wouldn’t risk his team more than he already had. Nothing Mei Lin said could change his mind, and he had made her come to the safe house with the rest of his group. She could still remember his words clearly.
“If you failed to bring what you were responsible for, you alone are to blame Mei Lin. I will however delay my reports that you are unreliable. If you head south on your own with your work, even though late I am sure you’ll be welcomed… And if you don’t, I am sure next time we meet, I’ll have to kill you. I apologize in advance, in case you fail.”
It was his smile that followed w
hich told her Ping couldn’t care less either way. That infuriated her and, and as dangerous as he was, she held herself back from slapping him.
I should’ve trusted myself more when I was younger. I could’ve had this same life or something similar, without any strings attached.
The last of the team members had left the safe house around 4 A.M., it was now past 8:30 A.M. and Mei Lin was still in bed, phone in hand. The pure air of the country and the birds chirping outside helped her keep calm. She opened the application on her phone that gave her access to the camera feed from her home. Her elegant furnishings had been put back into place, the house was cordoned off as a crime scene, the yellow tape was over her gates and front door. Somehow the cops had got a warrant issued, the keyless remote probably still had some left over blood on it. Two policemen and a crime scene investigator were moving everything out of its place, dusting certain areas, looking for fingerprints.
Mei Lin tapped on the window that brought up the camera which pointed to where the alarm man’s body was found. There was one officer spraying a solution on the floor and shining a black light on it, swab in hand trying to collect samples.
Those morons probably didn’t do a very thorough job with all that blood. I wonder when my face will be in the news. And then what will everyone will say?
Mei-Lin had to accept that her ‘old life’ was gone now, but she had planned on going away quietly, disappearing when the time came, not having her face and reputation ruined in the process. What began as a fake front for the operations of her organization had grown into part of her life. She cared for the customers, her employees, her sponsors and donors. It was the first time she felt like she was doing something positive for the world, like her life had meaning. A sudden wave of anger came washing over her, she had to find Oneita and Raymond and make them pay for this.
She opened up the app which tracked the location of the box, which was a ticket to the life she was meant to have now, according to her organization. The blue dot on the map was still over Oneita’s apartment. She checked her voicemail and found that Monica, her executive assistant, had tried to call several times the day before. On her last try she left a message saying that she was feeling ill and that she wouldn’t be able to come into work.
