by Lexy Timms
“Come down, Ray,” said his teacher, Miss Ryan.
Ray smiled. He liked Miss Ryan; okay, more than liked her. With her blond hair, pretty blue eyes, and warm smile, he thought she was the most beautiful lady he’d ever seen, aside from his mom, of course. But his mom was his mom. Miss Ryan was the sunshine in his day. His heart thumped whenever she paid attention to him, and so he made sure she paid attention to him. Someday he was going to marry Miss Ryan. He was sure of it.
But there was something in Miss Ryan’s face today. Instead of her usual smile, her face was drawn and tense.
“Okay, Miss Ryan,” he said. He gripped the monkey bars with his hands and swung off them with an easy drop to the ground.
She reached her hand out to him. “Come with me,” she said in a tight voice.
Ray was confused. Had he done something wrong? He didn’t remember doing anything wrong, but he took her hand. Any other day he would be ecstatic that his favorite teacher wanted to hold his hand. Now, a feeling of dread overtook him.
The other boys, unused to Miss Ryan’s somber expression, hung back and didn’t say a word. Ray looked over his shoulder as he left the play yard, and one of the boys awkwardly waved goodbye.
“Where are we going, Miss Ryan?” he said as they entered the school and started down the long corridor that cut from one end of the school to the front doors.
She didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry if I did anything wrong.”
Miss Ryan stopped in the long hallway and bent to him, giving him a hug. Ray noticed she was crying, and he grew frightened. Why was Miss Ryan crying?
She swept his hair off his forehead with her hand, a gentle touch that showed she cared about him too. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Ray. Nothing at all. You’re a special boy, you know that? Remember that, okay?”
“Sure,” he said, although his confusion increased, forming a knot in his stomach.
“Come on,” said Miss Ryan. “They’re waiting.”
Ray didn’t know who “they” were, but he didn’t want to go where “they” were. Still, it was Miss Ryan taking him toward the principal’s office. Miss Ryan wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. Ray loved Miss Ryan and would do anything she asked.
Miss Ryan opened the door slightly and words tumbled out of the room.
“This can’t be right,” said Mrs. Cooper, the school principal. Her voice was terse. “I think we should call the school lawyers.”
“This is a federal subpoena, ma’am,” said a low, gruff voice. “You can call all the lawyers in the world, but they aren’t going to help you against a federal judge’s order.”
The door opened wider and Mrs. Cooper stood behind her desk, looking very unhappy. A tall dark-haired man stood next to it. The man was so tall Ray had to crane his neck to see his face, only he couldn’t see it because the brim of the man’s hat threw shadows on his face.
“Ray,” said Mrs. Cooper. “You’ll go with Agent Harkness.”
“Where’s Mama?” said Luke, hiding behind Miss Ryan. “Where’s Papa?” He didn’t like the look of this man and wanted to go home.
“Ssh,” said Miss Ryan. She picked up his backpack which sat on a chair in the corner. “I have all your things from the school room right here.”
“Don’t make me leave, Miss Ryan. I want to stay here with you. Mama’ll come to get me after school. She always does.”
“I’m sorry, Ray,” she said with sadness in her voice. “There’s nothing I can do. But I put my address in the backpack, so you write me, okay?”
“That won’t be necessary,” said the man gruffly. He stepped forward and took the backpack, and grabbed for Ray’s hand. “He won’t be allowed contact with anyone from his past.”
“Agent,” warned Mrs. Cooper, “you’re scaring the boy.”
“Good,” growled Harkness, “because he should be afraid.”
“Agent!” protested Mrs. Cooper.
Ray shrieked and ran out of the principal’s office. He didn’t want to go with this man. He’d find a place to hide. There was a place in the basement, behind the big old boiler, where he could scoot into but an adult could not. He’d stay there until the man went away. Mama and Papa would come. They wouldn’t let this man take him away.
His feet slapped down the hallway, but the man was faster.
“Fuckin’ A!” the man exclaimed as he reached around Ray’s waist and lifted him off his feet. “Settle the fuck down, kid,” he spit as Ray struggled. “There ain’t nothing you can do, kid. You’re coming with me.”
“Mama! Papa!” Ray screamed as the man carried him out of the school and to his car. He practically threw Ray into the back of it, along with his backpack.
“Shut up, kid,” said the man as he strapped Ray in with the seatbelt, roughly. “You ain’t seeing your old man or mama ever again, so you might as well close your pie-hole.”
The man climbed behind the wheel and his car rumbled to life.
“Why!” screamed Ray. “Why can’t I see Mama and Papa?”
The agent turned in his seat and glared at Ray.
“Because they’re dead, kid. Now shut the fuck up.”
Luke scrubbed his face with his hands and then reached over to pull Emily to him. Only Emily wasn’t there, and he panicked a minute before he remembered that his wife was in the hospital overnight.
Shit. Just that thought caused his gut to clench.
The smell of the burnt dinner permeated the apartment. He checked to find that it was off, and he breathed a sigh of relief that the words “with automatic shut-off” were printed under the brand name on the crockpot. He left it, too tired to clean it, and hit the bed.
For all the good it did him.
He turned on the light by the bed and sat up, and then realized the room was very cold. He shivered. It shouldn’t be this frosty here. Luke pulled on the jeans that he’d left in a heap on the floor and went looking for the cause of the lack of heat. He found it. His front door was wide open.
“What the fuck?” he thought. He looked over the door jamb but didn’t see any signs of forced entry. Maybe he forgot to shut the door completely when he came in? He certainly was exhausted when he arrived home from the hospital.
The click of a light switch caught his attention and he whirled to the sound. The light in the kitchen was blazing. Luke tensed. He definitely did not leave on the light there.
Luke looked around and found no one. He remembered the .45 in the gun safe in the closet to his right, but it would take longer to get it out than he had time for. It was ironic that the gun was sealed away for safety’s sake when Luke had such a desperate need for it now.
With no weapons in hand, he decided to go for bravado.
“Who’s there?” he called out as his heart hammered.
“You need better security,” said a deep, gravelly voice with a Hispanic accent. The refrigerator door closed with a rattle of beer bottles on the door.
Luke shut the front door, though he wanted to flee. He had no idea who was in his apartment. Some Rojos or Hombre? Why would one venture into his apartment? Fury built in his heart. This was his home. How dare they break in! “Show yourself,” Luke demanded with a growl.
“I would think,” said the stranger as he came out of the kitchen with two beers in hand, “that you would greet your family better.”
The intruder was elderly, maybe in his sixties, thin with salt and pepper hair. He cocked his head toward Luke. His skin was brown. “You look like her,” he said. “That pale skin and those blue eyes.”
“Who?”
“Your mother. She was a pretty thing, but not tough. Not like us Icherras.”
“Raymondo,” Luke hissed. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Like your wife,” the crime boss said with a sneer, “no respect.”
“What do you mean by that? If you come near my wife, I’ll—”
“You’ll what, Raymondo? What will you do to me?” His dark eyes glittere
d with malice, and Luke nearly shivered looking into them. This was a man who was so cold that his very presence screamed danger.
“My name is Luke.”
“Sure, sobrino; that’s what it says on your driver’s license, isn’t it?”
Luke clenched and unclenched his hands at this side. How did this man know about his unfortunate name change on his documents? “What do you want?”
Icherra sat on the side chair and opened his beer.
“Just to connect with family, eh? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, twenty-two; no, twenty-three years. You used to love your Uncle Raymondo. You liked to swim in my pool and eat empanadas for lunch.”
“I don’t remember a single thing about that,” Luke grit out.
“No? Shame. In any case, you’ve done well for yourself. Your own business, eh? Connections with the Mafia and the Spic gangs.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re married now, with a baby on the way. I would think you’d want to give your family everything you could. I’m a rich man in Mexico, sobrino. I can give you and your family many advantages. Me? Your cousin, my son, died last year. It’s been a tough year and I’m getting old. I need family I can count on. Raymondo, it’s time for you to come home.”
A sick feeling hit Luke. This ass didn’t expect he’d go to Mexico, did he? To run his business? What the fuck?
“Home?” said Luke slowly. “This is my home.”
Icherra cocked an eyebrow at Luke. “I think the U.S. government thinks otherwise. My lawyers tell me you can’t secure citizenship here. Too many impediments.”
Luke’s jaw set. The old man was blowing smoke up Luke’s ass to get him to budge. But Luke wouldn’t. Immigration would have to drag him kicking and screaming to Mexico. And he sure wasn’t going to let his drug-running uncle lead him there. “I’m not going to Mexico, and the last thing I want is to get mixed up in your crooked business.”
“No? If you did, I’d even let you keep that money my brother stole from me. It must’ve grown in the bank, eh?”
“Get out of my house.”
Icherra sighed and put his beer bottle on the coffee table. “I can see you’ll need some more convincing.” He stood. “Well, it was good to see you, mi reyito.”
“What? What was that you called me?”
“Mi reyito? Did you forget your native tongue? I used to call you that. Means, uh, my little king. But I think of it as “Little Ray.” A play on your name, see?”
“I don’t know you. And I don’t want to know you. Don’t you dare come near me or my wife.”
“I cannot make that promise, Ray.”
“My name is Luke.”
“Yeah, sure. As the Americans say, see you around.” Icherra strolled to the door and yanked it open to the chilly November pre-dawn. He left it open as he walked through it, and Luke took quick steps to it and slammed it shut so hard the door frame shook.
Anger blazed through him. What was he going to do, call the police? He was on the Westfield police department’s official shit list, so that wouldn’t help. To complain about what? That his uncle had visited him?
His drug lord uncle wanted him to work the business with him. Luke sank to the couch and kicked the coffee table hard. It teetered on its four legs then settled, but the beer Icherra was drinking fell and spilled onto the carpet. Swearing, Luke leaped up and got some towels from the bathroom, mopping up the mess.
The beer soaked into the carpet and Luke knew he’d have a hell of time cleaning the carpet. How could he get the smell out? Emily always seemed to know how to clean every little thing, but Luke was useless at it.
Just like he felt useless trying to straighten out his own life.
What the hell was he going to do now?
CHAPTER NINE
Evan
The baby kicked her hard in the stomach, waking Emily with a start. Junior must have been at it good all night because the inside of her belly felt sore. Must’ve had a soccer match going on inside her.
“Hey, kid,” she said to her stomach as she opened her eyes groggily. She found to her dismay that her head pounded. “Can’t you let your mama sleep?” She tried to straighten herself on the hospital bed, thinking that she might have slept on her neck wrong on the inclined head, but it only brought another round of nauseating headache pain. There didn’t seem to be a way to escape it.
“How you doing, honey?” said a woman in nursing scrubs, walking in with the efficient stride of someone who had no time to spare. “I’m Evelyn, your nurse today.” She appeared older than Emily, maybe in her late thirties or early forties. She stood around five-foot-two, and carried some extra weight around her middle. Her demeanor communicated that she took no nonsense.
“Hi,” said Emily. “I’m okay. Just seem to have a bit of a nagging headache.”
The nurse studied the monitors over Emily’s head. “Let’s take your blood pressure again.”
“Again?” It felt like the thing was squeezing every twenty minutes through the night. She bit her tongue to keep from complaining. She didn’t feel the least bit guilty acting peevish. The last twenty-four hours had been hellish, and she was sick of everything. She desperately wanted to go home, but keeping the odd comment to herself might get her out just that much faster.
Evelyn took off the cuff and adjusted it on Emily’s arm. “It checks you every hour and records it. But it’s what we do to keep you and your baby safe.”
“I understand,” said Emily with a resigned sigh.
“Now you just lay quiet there and don’t move, so we can get a good reading.”
It was then that Emily noticed something tugging at her from between her legs. Her free hand went down to check. “What the heck?”
“A catheter. With all that Demerol in you, you couldn’t possibly walk to the bathroom. And with the fluid we gave you, you couldn’t help but go.”
“Oh geez,” said Emily, feeling worse than ever. The cuff puffed and pressed painfully into Emily’s arm. She took in a sharp breath.
“Relax into it,” said the nurse. “This is good practice for Lamaze.”
“I haven’t taken any of the classes.”
“Have you signed up?”
“No.” She and Luke had barely gotten a break between the wedding and running the shop to think about birthing classes. Even though her doctor recommended them, she just didn’t find the time to make that phone call.
“Well, we have one here in the hospital on Wednesdays. I’ll get you information about it. The instructor works on this floor. I’ll have her stop by.”
“I wasn’t planning on natural childbirth.”
The nurse put a hand on her arm. “Glad to know there’s one woman who admits it. But there are usually hours of labor in before they put in the block, and it’s better knowing how to handle that part before you get to the endgame.”
“Oh,” said Emily. At that moment, she missed her mother. Luke was great, but there were some things only a mother would know or understand. She shouldn’t have been so rude to her mom last night. Maybe it wasn’t her mother who bothered her, but her father being there. She couldn’t stand seeing the angry look in his eyes, staring at tubes and wires stuck in her. Emily felt like the defective daughter he’d always treated her as.
“Okay,” said the nurse. “It’s still a little high. We’ll see what the doctor has on order for you to help with that. Are you hungry?”
Emily’s stomach growled, answering that question. She laughed nervously. “I guess so.”
“Okay, here’s the menu.” Evelyn pulled out a menu from the nightstand next to the bed and set the phone next to Emily. “Order what you like, though the diet staff will tell you if you can’t have something. Hint: I think bacon is off the menu for you.” The nurse said the last words lightly, trying to make a joke of it, but Emily didn’t feel lighthearted.
“Do you think I can get something for this headache?”
“Sure, honey.
Again, I have to check the chart and clear it with the doctor, but I’ll get you something.”
“That’s great,” said Emily, though she delivered the words unenthusiastically. She hated this cold, sterile room with no one but strangers around her. Desperately, Emily wanted to go home. She wanted her husband. “When are visiting hours, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Nine to nine.”
“Oh.” Would Luke come in then, or would he go to the shop? What would he do? Maybe she’d call him and find out, but no, it was only seven in the morning. She should let him sleep. He was up late too.
The nurse left, her soft-soled shoes squishing on the linoleum. Feeling miserable, Emily picked up the phone to dial the number for the kitchen and embarked on the adventure of finding what she could eat.
Half an hour later, Emily had her pillow over her eyes, trying to beat back her horrendous headache. The nurse hadn’t returned yet, and it was the only thing she could think of to get some relief. She heard footsteps and then something hit the rolling utility table by her bed.
“Here’s your breakfast,” a masculine voice said softly. Through her headache, she thought something was familiar about that voice but she couldn’t place it. She moved the pillow and stared at the tray. She lifted the cover, not looking forward to the food. Most of the breakfast items had too much salt for her diet. She ended up taking scrambled eggs, toast, and a bowl of oatmeal. The eggs and toast were cold and soggy. The oatmeal, which Emily didn’t like much anyway, looked entirely tasteless.
She groaned unhappily.
“I hear,” said the masculine voice from the doorway, “they make the food bad to encourage you to go home earlier.”
Emily jerked her head up in shock. She could not see him because he hid in the alcove that led into the room that housed the bathroom. But she knew that voice very well.
“What the hell are you doing here, Evan?”
