The boy’s tear-streaked face showed he had been crying and his choked-up voice indicated he was on the verge of doing so again. “I was supposed to stay back at the motel, but I followed her to the bridge. It’s just that I was afraid she wasn’t coming back. And now it’s all my fault she’s dead.” He wiped his face on his sleeve, sniffing, fighting desperately to hold back the tears forming in the corners of his big brown eyes.
“Slow down. I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. Come sit down so we can figure this out. First things first. What’s your name?”
“Rafael.”
“How old are you?”
“Eight.”
“Okay, Rafael, would you like some hot chocolate?”
The boy looked a little bit unsure, so Tommy patted the couch. “You go on ahead and have a seat and I’ll fix you some hot chocolate, my secret recipe. You’ll love it. When’s the last time you ate?”
“I had some cereal this morning.”
“Okay, well, I’m going to fix you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, too. The remote is right there, go ahead and find something to watch. I’ve got the cartoon channel.”
“You got Sponge Bob?”
“I’m sure I do. Go on,” she prodded. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
In the small galley kitchen, she heard sounds of cartoons filtering back to her. Good, she thought. So, Belinda had given the boy Tommy’s address. Who was this kid and what kind of game had Belinda been playing? The boy hadn’t called her his mother; he had called her Ms. Belinda. Tommy would feed him first. And then grill him. She was a trained journalist after all.
A few moments later, a small plate only held the crusts of a sandwich as the boy tipped back his head to swallow the last bit of hot chocolate in the mug, leaving a light brown mustache nearly the color of his smooth skin. Tommy handed him a napkin and decided it was time.
“Rafael. I need to ask you a few questions.”
He didn’t hesitate but spilled it all in a rush.
The story he told her was horrifying—if it were true. And she had a feeling it was.
Apparently, Belinda had rescued Rafael from some sort of house in the Twin Cities where a rich man kept a bunch of Mexican children who’d been smuggled across the border.
“You’re an illegal immigrant?” Tommy asked.
Rafael shrugged. “I don’t know. What is that?”
“Okay,” Tommy said. “We’ll come back to that part.”
“So, why did Belinda take you from that house?”
“Belinda said he was a very bad man.”
Tommy chewed on that for a minute before asking more questions.
“So, Belinda took you out of this house two days ago, right?”
Rafael nodded. “And then where did she take you?”
Belinda had taken Rafael to a motel. The next morning, she told him to wait at the motel until she came back from a meeting that afternoon. She gave him Tommy’s name and number and told him to find Tommy if she didn’t make it back to the motel.
“Good grief,” Tommy said, and them mumbled mainly to herself. “What was she up to?”
Rafael looked confused.
“Never mind,” Tommy said. “Let’s talk about how you got to America and where you are from, okay?”
Rafael then told Tommy the story about his father selling his mother’s jewelry to hire a pollero — a coyote — a smuggler who is paid to sneak Mexican citizens across the border illegally.
“By yourself? Why would your father do that?” Tommy asked.
“My padre said mama died because he could not buy her medicine. He said no son of his was going to live in a place where people died from a cough.” Rafael told Tommy all this with a shrug. “The coyote was going to take me to my uncle’s house in California.”
“So how did you end up here in Minneapolis?”
Rafael suddenly clamped his mouth shut tight and squirmed in his seat.
“Hold on, partner, there’s more to this story and I think you need to trust me.”
It took a few seconds, but eventually Rafael looked up at Tommy and must have trusted what he saw in her eyes. “In the desert, we walk for five days. Me and some old people. Then, one night, bright lights came and some men with guns —” Rafael paused and looked up at Tommy again. This time, his lower lip was trembling. He looked like he was going to burst into tears again.
“It’s okay,” Tommy said, reaching over to rub his back, trying to soothe him.
“They died.”
“Who died, honey?” Tommy prodded.
His answer took her aback. “Everyone.”
Tommy’s hand, which was smoothing back Rafael’s hair, froze.
“Rafael, what do you mean, everyone?”
“They killed everyone. Everyone but me. The coyote. The old people. The other man. Everyone.”
“Good God.” Tommy sat back to digest that. “What then?”
Rafael shrugged and turned to watch the TV again. “They took me to the Big Boss’s house.”
“When was this?”
“Maybe one week ago.”
“Did the ... coyote, tell you why he brought you here?”
“I ask him ‘what about going to my uncle’s house in California.’ That’s where my father will try to find me. He says your uncle is dead. You don’t need an uncle now, you have the Big Boss.”
Tommy was silent and Rafael went on with his story, telling him what life had been like at the Big Boss’ house somewhere in the Twin Cities.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rafael’s Story
One night at sunset, after driving and sleeping in the truck for two days, the coyote had pulled into a neighborhood that made Rafael stop eating his candy bar and stare in wonder. Big, giant houses like he’d only seen on television. Giant lawns like endless green fields. Big, old trees shaded the roads. Large lakes that stretched for miles.
“This is Minneapolis,” the coyote told him and then pointed to a big gate in front of the car. “And this is your new home.”
The gate swung open as if on command. The coyote took Rafael to the back door of the large stone mansion where a Spanish-speaking maid with sad eyes gave the coyote an envelope of money. The coyote disappeared. The woman grabbed Rafael by his ear, dragging him upstairs to a small bedroom.
The room had a giant bed with a window overlooking a lake. The room was filled with toys for boys: blocks, a toy tool kit, even a big television. The closet was filled with clothes in size eight.
The maid closed the door. When Rafael tried the handle, he found it was locked.
Later, the maid had brought him what she called a burrito for dinner and then closed the door behind him, telling him he would meet the Big Boss in the morning. Rafael hungrily ate the food although the burritos his mother used to make had simply been beans wrapped in a small tortilla, not this monstrous thing overflowing with meat, sauce, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, avocados, and some white creamy stuff.
Rafael had thought it would be easy to fall asleep in that big, soft bed, but he lay awake most the night. The eerie quiet of the house was occasionally broken by the howling of the wind outside. Shadows from the trees flickered on his bedroom walls and transformed into monsters when he wasn’t looking. He pulled the covers up to his chin and tried to squeeze his eyes shut. But he found he was too frightened to keep them closed.
He took a small picture of his mother out of his pocket and propped it up on the night table where he could see her in a beam of moonlight. He prayed to her and the Virgin de Guadalupe to protect him. Finally, when the sky began to lighten, he drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, the maid came in and gave him a bath in the attached bathroom, scrubbing him until he was bright red, despite his protests that he was not a baby and could wash himself. She then dressed him in khaki pants and a white shirt and led him downstairs to meet the Big Boss.
The Big Boss was an imposing man. Everything about him was big. Even his silver gray hair was big, waving bac
k from his forehead like a lion’s mane. He wore jeans and cowboy boots with silver spurs as if he had just come from a ride on the ranch even though Rafael had not seen anything but a big swimming pool and enormous lawn surrounding the house that led down to the lake. The Big Boss had a large, pasty face. He wore a bolo tie and a crisp white shirt that somehow encompassed his big belly.
“Hello, Rafael. This is your new home,” the man said with a smile. But Rafael noticed the man’s watery blue eyes were not smiling, just his mouth underneath the silver mustache. “Do you like it?”
“Si, Senor.” Rafael answered in Spanish out of habit.
The man’s brow furrowed. “I was told you spoke English.”
Suddenly, Rafael was scared. He quickly responded, “Lo siento ... I mean I’m sorry. I do speak English. I just forgot.”
“Well, don’t forget. You’re in America now. You will only speak English. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Rafael said. The man’s laughter boomed out.
“Perfect. Well, I have some work to do. You and I are going to get to be really good friends. But you need some time to settle in. I’m not going to rush it. I’m sure all this is really new to you. There’s no hurry. You know what they say, ‘good things come to those who wait?’ I always find the longer I wait, the better it is. Anticipation is what truly brings the most pleasure, right.”
Rafael had no idea what the man was talking about, but he nodded his head.
“Okay then. Have some breakfast.” The Big Boss nodded at the woman who had been taking care of him. “Maria is an excellent cook. She will take care of you. Be sure to eat. You look like you’ve missed a few too many meals lately. I promise you in this house that will never happen again.”
The Big Boss suddenly stood up, came over to Rafael’s chair, and cupped him by the chin, lifting his head up. “Open your mouth.”
Rafael, terrified, did as he was asked.
The man peered inside.
“Okay, good. Your teeth look fine. Have you ever been to a dentist?”
Rafael shook his head no.
“Well it’s a piece of cake. But first, my private physician will check you out this afternoon. He’ll do a couple of tests and make sure you’re healthy as an ox.”
Rafael frightened, nodded, and watched the man leave the room.
When Rafael returned to his room after breakfast, he saw that the picture of his mother had been put in a tiny silver frame. A small rosary lay next to it, along with one single rose in a vase. He spent the afternoon trying to figure out how to work the TV and video games. Maria gave him a little tutorial. The number of channels on the TV overwhelmed him. He had watched TV in the restaurant in his village, but never like this.
Maria brought him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch with a glass of milk.
“You will take your lunch and supper in your room most days. When the Big Boss is home, you will dine with him at supper.”
Rafael just nodded and chewed the big wad of sandwich he had greedily shoved in his mouth.
“You like another?” Maria said, gesturing to the crumbs on his plate.
Rafael nodded eagerly. He had never tasted anything as good in his life.
That first day, Rafael thought he heard other voices in the house. They sounded very far away, but they also sounded like they might be children like him. But he never saw anybody except Maria and later that day, the doctor, who pricked him with a needle and took out some of his blood. He gritted his teeth and vowed not to cry. He was afraid the doctor would tell the Big Boss he was weak and the Big Boss would send him back to Mexico.
When the doctor packed up his bag to leave, he turned to Maria. “Tell Dewey the kid is healthy.”
Maria shot a quick look at Rafael and hurried the doctor out of the room with fierce whispers. Suddenly, she was very angry with the man.
Rafael’s brow furrowed in confusion. Why was Maria so angry when the doctor said he was healthy? And who was Dewey? Maybe that’s what the Big Boss was called.
That night, Rafael had thought sleep would be easy. He had spent most of the day yawning from lack of sleep from the night before. But as soon as he clicked off his light, he was wide-awake. Feeling a bit braver than he had earlier, Rafael decided he would go explore his new home. He found his slippers and pulled a robe on over his pajamas. But when he tried his door, it was locked. He was too afraid to yell or wake anyone. He was afraid if he were a nuisance, the Big Boss would send him back home or give him back to the bad men.
The next morning, he asked Maria why his door was locked.
“It’s for your own safety. The Big Boss says he wants to keep you safe so he has the door locked so you don’t wander off into danger. Don’t worry, if you need something I will get it for you. Do you want some more donuts with your cereal? Do you need more video games?
“No.” Rafael said sullenly.
That night, Rafael devised a trick to unlock the door with a piece of plastic from the case of one of the video games next to the TV. It worked. The door swung open. He wandered around the mansion in the dark, always keeping track of where he was going so he could find his room again. He didn’t dare peek in any of the closed doors. There was however, a secret door he discovered. During the day, he had seen Maria lift a heavy velvet curtain from the wall and disappear behind it. He went to the curtain and found a locked door hidden behind it. Beyond the door, he could very faintly hear voices. They sounded like children’s voices. Before he could explore further, he heard the Big Boss come home from his dinner party and so Rafael raced back to his room.
The days passed like this for a while. Each morning he would have breakfast with the Big Boss. Then he was locked in his room for the rest of the day until dinner. Sometimes he ate with the Big Boss. Other times, Maria would bring something to his room for him to eat. Then, each night, Rafael would wander the dark halls of the mansion, exploring a bit more each night. Each night, he stopped and pressed his ear to the secret door behind the curtain, but never heard the voices again.
One night, he woke in a daze. It was late. It took him a minute to remember where he was. Pushing back the covers, he remembered he had dreamed that he had heard his mother’s voice. But that couldn’t be possible. His mama was dead. That’s partly why his father had sent him to America.
Then he heard it again – it sounded like his mother’s voice coming from downstairs. He rushed out of his room, ready to shout “Mama,” but then realized it couldn’t be his mother. He had watched them lower her wooden coffin into the ground. He slowed and crept to the balcony overlooking the downstairs. He hid behind a leafy plant on the upper level and watched a blonde woman talking animatedly. The voice belonged to her.
She was with another man and they were talking with the Big Boss. At one point, she pushed back her chair and began wandering around the room, acting bored, and looking at the paintings. At one point, she was right below Rafael’s hiding spot. Running her fingers through her hair, she looked up and saw Rafael.
She froze, her eyes growing wide, then quickly looked behind her. The men were in heated conversation and didn’t notice.
Then she slowly put a finger to her lips and gave an imperceptible nod. He nodded back and then scurried away back to his room.
That night, very late, after he had returned to his room and fallen asleep again, he heard a soft knock on his door. It was the woman. She had a flashlight.
“Come with me. You must be quiet. I’m going to take you back to your family. You don’t belong here.”
“No, no I have to stay. The Big Boss will be mad at me.”
The woman paused for a moment. Then looking away, her eyes not meeting his she said. “Your parents told me to come get you.”
Rafael hesitated. “My papa?”
“Yes, now come on.”
The woman grabbed his hand, but before she could lead him to the door, Rafael tugged free and raced over to the nightstand, grabbing the picture of his mother. The wom
an then led him down the staircase and out the back door.
A half hour later, they pulled into a small parking lot. Rafael looked out and saw a big, long building with lots of windows and doors.
“This is the motel where we are staying for a few days,” she told him, unlocking a door. “My name is Belinda.”
“Where is my papa?” Rafael said, refusing to go in. “He’s not here? Where is he?”
The woman looked at him. Her eyes were sad. “I’m sorry. I said that to get you out of there. You don’t belong there. I don’t know where your father is. But we’re going to find him. I’ll take care of you until then. The man you were with is a bad man.”
She nudged him into the room and then locked the door behind them.
“You lied. Take me back!” Rafael screamed at her. His face grew red and tears welled in his eyes.
Belinda sat there and watched him, big tears rolling down her cheeks. Finally, he noticed.
“Why are you crying?”
“You’re going to have to trust me. That man you live with is not a nice man. I don’t know why he had you there, but I do know he’s up to no good.”
CHAPTER NINE
Now, sitting in her apartment listening to Rafael’s story, Tommy shook her head in disbelief.
“Belinda said she wanted to be my mama,” Rafael said.
“Good Lord,” Tommy said. Her old friend had gone off the deep end. But still.
“She is bad, too?” Rafael’s frowned.
“No,” Tommy said quickly.
“I think she was right that the Big Boss was a bad man,” Rafael said. “And anyway, he kept me locked in my room. Belinda said that was bad.” He started to cry. “It’s my fault she’s dead. My mama is dead and now Belinda is, too.”
Tommy put her arm around his shoulder. It felt awkward. She gave his shoulder a little squeeze with her fingers.
“Rafael? You said you followed her to the bridge from the motel. Did you ... see who ... did that to her?”
He shook his head no.
“I was too late. I didn’t want her to see me, so I waited at the road until she was at the bottom of the stairs. When I got to the bottom, I couldn’t find her. Then I saw her ... in the water ... and hid in the bushes.”
Death under the Stone Arch Bridge Page 3
