Mouse Trapped

by Manda Mellett

  A sharp inhale comes from my side. “Surely they came back to check you were okay? She must have told them about you? Did you have relatives? Friends who could help?”

  Moving my head side to side, I let him know. “No, no one. No one from the authorities came, they either ignored or forgot about us. We had no close friends or relatives. You see, when you’re flying under the radar, you don’t know who to trust. I did the only thing I could, I decided to do my best for Drew. I had to keep up school, knew that. But got what cash-in-hand jobs I was able to find. Just about managed to keep our heads above water. You could say I grew up fast.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I was fourteen, Drew coming up on nine.”

  “Fuck.” His eyes, slightly unfocused, look into the distance. “What happened to your mother?”

  “She rang,” I explain. “We still had a phone then. She was held in a detention centre. I couldn’t visit as there was no one to take me. She impressed on me, whatever happened, whoever spoke to me, I was to say nothing. Not tell anyone about Drew. And never to leave the US. Guess she didn’t want my father to learn of his existence. Then,” again my voice breaks, “I didn’t get another phone call. I presumed she was deported without being able to tell me.”

  “And after that?” His face is set, his aquiline features standing out as his muscles tense. “Did you hear from her again?”

  “I had some letters. It hadn’t taken long for my father to find her. With no money, she’d had no option but to stay with her mother, her one surviving relative. It took him no time to track her down and force her to go with him. She warned me. Her situation was even worse than she’d expected. He’d found out about Drew—seen the scar from the caesarean operation and forced her to tell him. She warned me to stay hidden. Then the correspondence ceased. After that I heard about her. Not from her.” I try to suppress the sob that rises into my throat. When he goes to comfort me, I wave him back. “From her mother. Mom had died. My grandmother didn’t give details. I think I know the reason for that.”

  “Ma, why are you telling him?” Drew’s agonised voice is closer than I thought. With my head in my hands I hadn’t heard him leave his room. “You’ve only just met him. You’ve only got a few years…”

  Beside me, Mouse stands up. “A few years for what?”

  “Ma,” Drew warns.

  Ignoring him, I tell Tse. “I’m what’s known as a Dreamer. Became one when I was fifteen. Get the paperwork renewed every two years. I should have protection for another year, until it’s time to renew again. That’s, of course, if I can. Who knows how things are going to change?”

  “So you’re not technically illegal?”

  “I am, but with a certain degree of legitimacy. Unless I do something which puts me on the wrong side of the law.”

  “When I’m twenty-one, I can sponsor my sister,” Drew puts in, almost proudly. “She should be able to get her green card.”

  I smile at him, but know it’s unlikely. Apart from all the other impossible hoops I’d need to jump through, to be a sponsor, he will need to show he earns an income sufficient to support me. We’d need to pay a lawyer to take us through that minefield. It’s expensive, and I earn no more than what allows me to keep a roof over our heads, and a growing boy fed. I shoot Tse a look, luckily he interprets it. Drew seems old for his age, but he’s still just a boy of fifteen.

  Tse sends me a look of understanding. Instead of asking for more details, he suggests, “I’ll go out and get that bulb, shall I?” Pausing, he looks around the trailer. “Lock the door after I’ve gone.”

  “How did you manage to get through the fence?” Drew asks, his eyes narrowing.

  “That reminds me,” Tse grins. “I’ll buy a new padlock while I’m there. The one you’ve got is too easy to pick.”

  When the door closes behind the biker, Drew shoots the dead bolts. It’s more for show than anything else. If someone was determined they could easily kick it in. But no one around here owns much, nothing worth stealing. Unless you keep drugs or alcohol in the home, which we don’t, there’s no point breaking in.

  Taking the place Tse’s vacated, Drew sits beside me on the couch, and pouts like only a fifteen-year-old can. “Didn’t like you talking to him, Ma.”

  Drew calls me Ma as a joke. A shortening of my name, and a reference to me being his mom since he was nine. I’m so used to it, I don’t even notice.

  When I don’t respond, not sure myself why I’d told Tse all that I had, Drew fills the silence. “You see that leather he was wearing? The Satan’s Devils? They’re criminals. You can’t risk being seen with the likes of them.”

  He’s only echoing my fears of earlier. For some reason, I feel the need to justify myself. “I saw what he is, Drew. He’s also a Native American. Neither of those things suggest he’d want to turn us in. If he hadn’t followed me home to tell me my light was out, I wouldn’t have known, and the police could have stopped me at any time.”

  “Having a brake light out isn’t a felony, Ma.”

  But in this world we live in now, it could be enough to determine me someone not of good enough character to stay in the US. The only country I’ve ever really known, too young when I was brought here to remember anywhere else. As Drew busies himself putting his completed homework away, and I wait for Tse to return, I lean back my head. When I’d arrived with Mom, I’d had no idea we’d entered the country illegally. What child of four knows about visas or passports? All I knew is that my mother encouraged me to speak only English from the day I’d arrived. I already knew the basics, she herself was bilingual, and had spoken to me in both languages from the day I was born. Her way of separating us from the other Hispanics. Important not to stand out, but fit in. English is so natural to me now; I’ve forgotten what Spanish I’d ever known.

  Drew never learned to speak anything else.

  I think back to the day she was taken. Were it not for the fact I had Drew to look after, I don’t know what I would have done. But with him, I couldn’t allow myself to descend into despair. Having the responsibility of my brother, I just picked myself up to move forward. I tried to get advice from Mom during those phone calls, but it wasn’t enough. Could never have been enough.

  I went through her meagre savings quickly. Tried to get a job, running a mile after I was first asked for my paperwork. It was only at that point I realised what being undocumented truly meant. But I managed eventually to get employment, working at well below minimum wage. I washed dishes, washed cars, anything I could do where people appreciated my English and weren’t fussed about seeing any documents. When I was fifteen, I applied for the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program, just pleased at the time to have some kind of protection, not worried that it meant I’d entrusted the authorities with my fingerprints and all the personal information I had. At least it meant I was no longer at risk of deportation, of leaving my brother abandoned in this country where he had legal status and I had none. Two siblings, the same blood running through us.

  My delight lasted for those first few years. I worked myself to the bone, got my driver’s license and bought an old jalopy, the same one that’s on its last legs and outside the trailer now. Then the political arena started changing, and I realised my DACA status was no longer the protection it once had been. The policy was set up for people such as myself who, through no fault of their own, were brought to the States illegally as young children. It doesn’t mean I’ve got a route to citizenship, but it does allow me to get a work permit and, up to now, has been renewable every two years. Now that renewal is likely not to be automatic, and the illusion of legality it gives me is no longer a shield against deportation.

  As I watch Drew frown, putting his homework away, I just hope I can stay with him long enough for him to become independent, wanting to give him the teenage years I never had. Already he’s old for his years. Heaven help me if I return to Colombia. I’m under no illusions what my father will do. He’s an evil man, ca
pable of murder.

  I continue to reminisce. Homework. Yeah, I did that too. As well as the jobs, barely able to fall into bed for more than six hours, and that was if I was lucky. I got my GED, then got into nursing school. Soon I’ll be qualified and able to get a proper job. Unless my quasi-legal status is revoked.

  A rattling of the fence, a knock on the door. Drew puts his fingers to his lips and goes to the window. “It’s your friend.”

  “Let him in.”

  Tse enters, his tall frame immediately making the trailer feel smaller. He’s brushing dirt off his hands. “All done. Give me the keys and I’ll check it’s working. Drew, want to come help?”

  Drew looks at me, I silently nod. Two minutes later both return, Drew’s smiling. “All the lights work fine, Ma, and look.” He holds out a box. Seems Tse’s bought spares for all the bulbs. “We’ll check them regularly, okay?”

  It was kind, thoughtful. I tell him so. Also appreciating that this time he’s come to the trailer park, he’s removed his cut. Doesn’t want to draw attention to me.

  Tse’s fidgeting, moving from leg to leg as though awkward. Drew’s sat down in the place he was sitting, as though making a point there’s no room for him here. There’s not. Foolish daydreams to think I could have made a friend. Got to keep existing day to day, keeping everyone at arm’s length. Far safer.

  I stand, but I’m not certain what to say. Tse fumbles in his pocket and brings out a card. He hands it to me. SD Computer Security it says on it. With a phone number. No address.

  He taps it. “Call me. If you need anything. You call me.” His intense dark eyes stare into mine. “Call me,” he repeats. Only when I give a half-hearted nod does he look toward Drew. “Look after your sister, Drew.”

  “Sure.” My brother waves his hand in agreement without looking at him.

  Another glance at me, a rise and dip of his chin. Then he’s out of the door, through the fence and out of my life. The roar of his bike fading into the distance has the mark of finality.

  Chapter 5

  Mouse

  It wasn’t her home circumstances that got to me, the poverty she and her brother endured. I’d spent a few years on the Rez, seen my mom’s people eking a living from the earth, some without electricity, living hand to mouth. Nah, I could cope with that. What I hated was the thought even that could be taken away from her. Just one bit of carelessness, needing help from a stranger like she had today. What if she trusted the wrong person who had a vendetta?

  To live with the knowledge she could be stripped of the little she had, of her only remaining family. That the government hadn’t even cared, they’d taken her one parent away, confirms to me how right I am to live outside society. One thing about the Satan’s Devils is that we look after family. Like Heart. When he wasn’t in the right mind to care for his daughter, we’d stepped up. Weren’t going to let the child suffer for the things her father had done.

  Mariana had had no choice in whether she came to the US or not, just dragged along with her mother at an age when she wouldn’t have understood anything. Not that she’d have been better off in Colombia, not with a violent rapist for a father. What fucking sorry excuse of a man breaks a four-year-old’s arm? If they send her back, it sounds like it would be to a father who most probably had killed her mom.

  I’d have liked to look into that for her, investigate further, see if there was any way I could help. But as I ride back to the compound, I realise I don’t even know her last name. Would she have even given me her real one? Then I feel like hitting myself in the head. I know her address and car registration number. Bound to be records. Yeah, I’m the master at finding out things I shouldn’t know.

  I’d done more than change her light bulb. I’d topped up her oil and water, and checked the state of her tires. While I’d earlier thought I’d had preferred Blade to have given that heap of a car a once over, now I don’t feel I can draw any more attention to her than I already have. That’s why I, for the first time I can remember in Satan’s Devils territory, took off my cut when I returned to the trailer park. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to her which could have been prevented if I’d left well enough alone.

  Yeah, she’s pretty. Got backbone. I suspect today’s outing was one of the few occasions she’s ever done something simply for herself. It’s not just my cock that finds her attractive, my brain does too. But it’s obvious a relationship wouldn’t go anywhere. She’s got to keep squeaky clean if that plan with her brother is to come to fruition. Consorting with what the cops see as a criminal gang wouldn’t be in her best interest.

  By the time I’m close to the compound, I’ve convinced myself. Despite the interest my cock has in her, I won’t try to see her again. I won’t interfere. Sure, I know ways of getting her fake papers, but what if I do, and something goes wrong? Nah, she’s doing it legal. She’s survived this long, hopefully she’ll stay out of trouble until Drew’s old enough to sponsor her.

  I don’t like it, strangely feeling I’ve ridden away from something, someone, who could have enriched my life. I can’t see a way around it. The Satan’s Devils have a lingering reputation in Tucson, one we can’t seem to shake off, the echoes of a drug and gun running past still sticking to us. I’m the last person she should be consorting with.

  I’ve given her my card. If she calls, needs me, I’ll do what I can to help. But the ball’s in her court now.

  I turn up the track leading to home. Matt’s still minding the gate, and opens it when he recognises me. Guess Truck must still be on his shift. It’s a fucking shame we lost Fergus. I spare a quick thought for the promising prospect who had to leave to go help his terminally ill mom. Truck’s good, but with all the shifts he has, Matt is left bearing the brunt. The man’s only been prospecting a short while, and I wonder if he knew what he was taking on. Instead of ignoring him, I nod my thanks as I ride past.

  After backing my bike into its normal space, I walk into the clubhouse. It’s late. The men with old ladies have obviously come and gone, the few remaining single men are making good use of the sweet butts. I dodge my way around the tables, returning chin lifts from those not otherwise engaged, and make my way to my office.

  Having checked my systems, I reopen the program that was beating me earlier in the day. A good ride on both horse and bike seem to have cleared my head and the erroneous line of code jumps out at me. I change it and sit back with a satisfied smirk on my face. Got you. I roll a joint and light it, inhaling deeply. The smoke absorbed by my lungs mellows my mood as I again think back over the evening.

  Pulling my tablet toward me, before I consciously know what I’m doing, I’m tapping in the little I know about Mariana. Then I stop myself, reaching over and lighting the joint again instead. I might not like her situation, but there’s fuck all I can do about it. What would knowing more about her situation help her or me? I need to stay away from her, put her right out of my mind. Last thing she needs is a man like me getting into her business, and possibly causing her problems. I live in Arizona after all, and it doesn’t take much for an illegal to be gleefully taken off the street by the cops and handed over to Immigration and Customs Enforcement, ICE, who can be as cold as their name.

  I’m restless. On edge. Off balance. Whether it’s just my lingering sensation from earlier today, a horse ride I hadn’t been able to lose myself in, or meeting the woman who I’d have loved to see again but my common sense tells me I can’t, I’m not sure. Logging out of the programs I don’t need running, I stub out the joint, and take myself off to my suite.

  All the brothers who live on the compound have their own room and bathroom, together with a balcony from which can be seen the most stunning views, the benefits from the club having bought a burned-out vacation resort and restoring it. Going outside I watch a late summer storm flash lightning over the distant mountains, only returning inside when the first heavy raindrops start to fall. I need space, air. I’m starting to feel suffocated here. It’s time to
get away.

  Decision made, the next morning I go to find Prez. He’s in his office, his son, Eli, with him. I grin at the sight.

  “Starting him early, Prez?” I take the seat he points to.

  Putting Eli on the floor to play with some toys, Drummer looks down at his son fondly. “Never too soon to let him know he’s a Satan’s Devil.”

  Little prez in the making there, I suspect. If he’s anything like his father.

  “What can I do for you, Mouse?”

  Leaning forward, I put my hands on my knees. “Need to take off, Prez.”

  His eyes narrow, and his hand rubs at his beard. “Like that, is it?”

  I’ve tried before to explain what I can’t put into words. The two sides of me warring constantly, the Anglo and Navajo not coming to terms. The need to find myself, restore balance once again. It’s hard to express, and harder still for Drummer to understand. I think, by now, he’s given up trying. For an answer, I raise my chin.

  “You’ll keep in contact?”

  As far as I can, yes. “I’ll have my laptop with me, and my phone. I’ll check in for messages and do whatever you need me to. There’s not much I can’t do remotely.” When I pick up his messages, of course, as where I’m going that can take some planning. But he’s giving me time off—oh, I’ve no doubt he’ll agree to it—and I’ll do my best to ensure I’m not leaving my brothers in the lurch.

  “Stay in touch, Mouse. You’ll be missed.”

  “I’ll let you know when I’ll be comin’ back.”

  “Appreciate that.” He nods, just once.

  I stand and take my leave. This time of the morning the clubroom is empty. Returning to my suite I pack what I can into my saddle bags, send a quick message to Jacob explaining I’ll be gone for a while and to look after Niyol for me—which he’d do without the reminder—then I’m on my bike and off on my journey.

  As I ride north, I let my mind drift back to the first time I went to the Rez. I hadn’t wanted to go. Absolutely no fucking doubt about that. But then, in the first fifteen years of my life, I’d never even considered the possibility I’d be changing the streets of Tucson for the area bounded by the four sacred mountains.