J.D. Trafford - Michael Collins 02 - No Time to Die

by J. D. Trafford

Vatch had never believed Michael’s story. Vatch looked at Michael’s background and current lifestyle, and he knew that somehow Michael had gotten a piece of his old client’s hidden assets. He didn’t believe that Michael had simply walked away from one of New York’s largest and most prestigious law firms for a life of shorts, T-shirts, and sandals.

  With his partner dead, Vatch was still obsessed. It didn’t matter that Michael had nearly died along with Vatch’s partner, or that nearly everyone else involved in the matter was dead or in prison. Vatch wanted Michael to go down, too. He was certain that Michael had taken millions, but still needed the proof.

  ###

  Michael was tentative. He took small steps when he got off the plane; slowly he walked into the terminal. He looked around, scanning every face. He half-expected Vatch to emerge with a pair of handcuffs, but nothing happened.

  Michael and Kermit walked down the airport terminal, and then passed through customs. It was easy for them. They had U.S. passports and they weren’t Latino. Michael looked across the room and saw a Mexican family that had been pulled aside. They were being questioned. Two agents examined their documents. They were agents from Immigration and Customs Enforcement, otherwise known as ICE.

  A few years ago, they had been called INS agents. “INS” stood for Immigration and Naturalization Service. Then the politicians in Washington, D.C., had decided that sounded too friendly. The purpose of the agency wasn’t to help people immigrate and naturalize. That era was gone. The purpose of the agency was to keep people out, and so ICE was born.

  After getting their passports scanned and stamped, Michael and Kermit took a shuttle that ran around the airport’s rental car loop. They got off at the first stop, Michael filled out some paperwork, and then they got in line.

  It wasn’t too busy. Before long, they were called to the counter.

  “Let’s get a nice ride, man, nothing sub-compacted. I need air, man. I need lots of air.” Kermit pointed to the picture of a Mustang convertible as they approached the agent. “I needs me some room for the legs to stretch and the cool wind to blow through my beautiful hair.”

  Michael looked at the agent.

  “I’ll take the SUV.”

  Michael slid the paperwork across the counter, and Kermit shook his head in disapproval.

  “SUVs are bad karma, yo, real bad karma. They’re the ride of the devil.” Kermit made his fingers into little devil horns.

  The clerk took the paper that Michael had filled out.

  “Is he also going to be driving?” She nodded toward Kermit, looking concerned.

  “I’m afraid so,” Michael said, “so we’d better buy some of that insurance, too.”

  ###

  Michael and Kermit passed the last cookie-cutter housing development after just 30 minutes on Highway 82 toward the town of Jesser, Florida.

  The transition from suburbs to farmland wasn’t gradual. There was an abrupt line. On one side of the line were hundreds of new brown and tan houses. On the other side of the line was nothing but fields. The ground turned from plush green grass to sandy brown dirt.

  As they drove, the fields encircled them.

  The fields were still. There was no breeze to push. The air just stopped, hazing over the crops.

  Kermit looked down at the map and a wrinkled piece of paper with Tommy Estrada’s address written on it.

  “Turn this boat due north at that intersection.” Kermit pointed.

  “Got it.” Michael turned on his left blinker, leaving the highway. They started down a long gravel road. The road’s small rocks popped and cracked beneath the SUV’s tires. Every few seconds there would be high-pitched clink as a rock hit the metal undercarriage and ricocheted off to the side.

  “What’s the address again?” Michael turned to Kermit and glanced down at the map in Kermit’s lap. “I don’t see anything but fields.”

  “Shouldn’t be far.” Kermit looked at the wrinkled piece of paper. “3587 Greenway,” he said.

  The rental SUV continued, and then, just on the other side of a small hill, there were a half-dozen rusted trailers.

  “We have to be close.” Michael slowed, looking at the trailers as they drove past. “What’s the address on those?”

  “I missed it,” Kermit said. “Turn around.”

  Michael slowed the SUV down even further and then pulled a U-turn. They drove back to the shambled trailers, and then stopped. “You see an address?”

  “Nope, but this can’t be it.” Kermit shook his head. “No pool, man.”

  “Not exactly townhomes, either.” Michael put the SUV in park. He turned the key. The engine stopped, and then he unlocked and opened the door.

  He got out, looking around.

  A little further into the turn-off there were six rusted poles with faded plastic mailboxes wired to the top.

  Michael walked over to the mailboxes with Kermit trailing behind. He lifted the lid on the top box, and Michael looked.

  Inside the mailbox there were a few letters. Michael pulled out one of the letters. The address was 3587 Greenway.

  “This is the place.” Michael put the letter back into the mailbox. “Wonder what else Pace’s dad didn’t tell his son.” Michael started walking toward one of the trailers.

  Kermit continued to follow behind. He was happy to let Michael take the lead.

  They got to the door of the first trailer. Michael knocked, waiting for an answer.

  Silence.

  Michael shrugged his shoulders, and then he started to turn. “Well I guess that’s a dead-end for now. We could check the others or we could wait and see if anybody –”

  Michael stopped.

  He saw the gun pointed at Kermit’s head, and Michael put his hands in the air.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Inside the interrogation room at the Collier County Sheriff’s Department, the walls were all white and plain, except one. One wall had a large mirror. It was unclear if anybody was watching from the other side of the mirror, but Michael stared. He wondered about Agent Vatch. Michael wondered whether Vatch already knew that he was back in the United States and whether he was behind that mirror.

  The Sheriff’s Deputy pounded his fist on the table to get Michael’s attention. Both Michael and Kermit jumped.

  “Listen up.” The deputy glared. “I’m not messing around with you two.”

  The Sheriff’s Deputy looked like he had been a big high school football player. Not big enough, however, to make it any further than the varsity team. Now as a grown man, he still had that chip on his shoulder. He was the team captain. Kermit and Michael were the dorks in charge of the pep band.

  “I ran your identification, Mr. Michael Collins.” The deputy pulled out a chair and sat across the table from him. His badge said his name was T. MAUS.

  “No record that I could see.” The deputy crooked his head to the side, looking at Kermit. “But you, on the other hand, have a more colorful history.”

  Kermit blinked.

  “These fluorescent lights make my eyes hurt.” Kermit closed his eyes and then leaned his head against the wall. “Is there, like, a dimmer, man?”

  “Wake up.” The deputy slammed his hand on the table, again.

  “Dude, chill.” Kermit opened his eyes.

  “Are we under arrest?” Michael made sure his voice was slow and overly calm. It was a way of sounding polite, without actually being polite. It also concealed a growing panic.

  “Are you a lawyer?” The deputy’s eyebrows arched, disliking Michael even more.

  Michael decided not to answer Maus’ question, but Kermit had other ideas.

  “He is a lawyer.” Kermit pointed at Michael. “This fact should not be doubted, my kind sir.” Kermit was now awake, reaching the top of his emotional roller-coaster. In a few minutes, he’d be crashing again.

  Kermit continued, “Smart as a whip, too, provided he’s not three sheets to the wind. Alcohol tends to dull the sharper edges of his mind. But I want to mak
e this clear: do not mess with the legal eagle sitting to my right.”

  Deputy Maus shook his head. He’d had enough. He raised his hand in surrender.

  “Listen, we’re not charging you with trespass today. I talked to the owners and they said to give you a warning –”

  “But,” said Kermit.

  “But we catch you out there again, then there’s gonna be some consequences.” Deputy Maus stood. “You’re free to go, and I hope you get as far away from here as possible.”

  Michael and Kermit stood and Deputy Maus led them into the hallway. Michael allowed himself to relax a little as they got closer to the exit. He wanted to get out and to the airport as soon as possible, but then there was the promise.

  There was a time when Michael wouldn’t have cared about the promise. He believed the world was against him, and he didn’t owe anything to anybody. But he was starting to soften. There were people he relied on, and there were people who relied on him.

  Just find Pace’s dad and get out, Michael thought. Try and be a good person for once in your life.

  ###

  “You want to tell me where my client is?” Her voice was loud. The other people waiting in the front room of the jail stopped talking.

  “He’s in detention, now.” The clerk looked at her computer screen, reading the green lettering generated by an ancient software program developed by the government in the early 1980s. “Says they’ve got an ICE hold on him.” The clerk checked the screen, again, and then looked back at the woman through the bulletproof glass.

  The clerk had a pleading face. It wasn’t that she wanted the matter resolved. It wasn’t as if the clerk even wanted to help the woman. The clerk simply wanted the woman to leave so that she could finish her shift in relative peace and go home.

  “I’m his attorney and I have a right to speak with him, regardless of who is holding him.” She pointed at the door next to the window that led to the holding area. “You need to buzz me in and let me talk to my client.”

  The clerk looked at the door and shook her head.

  “Talk to the local ICE agent. I’ve got nothing to do with it.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You do have something to do with it,” the woman said. “He’s in your jail.”

  “Talk to the local ICE agent.” The clerk looked beyond the woman at the other people waiting in line. “Next.”

  “Damn it.” She turned and began to walk away just as the door to the holding area opened.

  She and Kermit collided.

  “Whoa, princess.” Kermit stepped back and smiled. “We haven’t even had dinner, yet.”

  She looked at Kermit. The collision made her even madder.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Kermit Guillardo, my miss.” Kermit bowed to her, and then gracefully waved his long arm toward Michael. “This is my co-conspirator, Mr. Michael Collins.”

  “Well, I’m not your princess, and I’d appreciate it if you’d get out of my way.”

  Michael stepped in.

  “I’m sorry.” He glared at Kermit, and then looked back at her. “My friend’s got some mental problems.”

  They all began to walk toward the door, although she was trying to get some space between them. Michael wasn’t letting her get too far.

  “You represent some of the workers here?” Michael matched her, stride for stride.

  “I don’t have time for you and I’m not going to give you my number, not even for business reasons.” She kept walking.

  “Well, I didn’t ask for it, so that resolves that issue.” Michael continued to follow her out of the police station and into the parking lot. “I have a friend. He’s a worker.” They walked down the front steps; Michael still chasing her. “Wondering if you know him or somebody who might? Tommy Estrada?”

  Mention of the name stopped her.

  She turned and looked at both Michael and Kermit. She looked carefully before responding.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Her name was Jane Nance. Her “office” was on Main Street, and it was as neglected and sad as every other building on Main Street.

  About 20 years ago, things had been different. Back then, Main Street was the center of activity and the pride of Jesser. Things changed when big agricultural companies started buying all of the farmland in Collier County. It was terrible farmland. It was sandy and devoid of nutrients, but that didn’t matter. The agricultural companies had developed special seeds that would grow almost anywhere, and they pumped the dirt full of chemicals to guarantee a crop. Now, 60 percent of the tomatoes eaten in the United States were grown in Collier County.

  Thousands of immigrant workers – some legal, most not – came to Jesser to work in the fields. Jesser’s growth prompted Wal-Mart and Home Depot to open mega-stores along the highway. Other chains opened next to the big boxes, and soon people stopped coming downtown. Local shops began to close. The Chamber of Commerce called it “progress.”

  Michael and Kermit parked behind Jane and got out. The faded, hand painted sign above the door said, “Community Immigrant Legal Services, Inc.”

  Sitting next to the door was a homeless Mexican man, folded on top of himself. When Jane fished the key out of her purse, he heard the jingle. His eyes opened.

  “Miss Nance,” he said. “Got to talk to you.”

  Jane put the key in the door, unlocking it.

  “I can’t right now.” She looked at Michael and Kermit, and then back at the homeless man. His name was Miguel, but everybody knew him as Miggy. “I’ve got to talk with these two men, but I’ll make some time for you later.”

  “It’s important.” Miggy picked up his crutch and pulled himself up. “I seen more spirits.”

  “I know it’s important.” Jane nodded. She put her keys back in her purse, and then got out her wallet. She removed a crumpled five-dollar bill and gave it to Miggy. “Get yourself some dinner, and we’ll talk later, okay?”

  “Tonight?” Miggy asked.

  “Not tonight.” Jane shook her head, and then put her hand on his shoulder. “Soon.”

  Miggy nodded, disappointed, but happy about the money in his hand.

  “Soon,” he said, and then he hobbled away.

  They watched Miggy until he got to the end of the block.

  “He’s one of our biggest clients,” Jane said, smiling. Opening the door, Jane added, “A nice man, just struggles.”

  Jane went inside and Michael and Kermit followed.

  It was just one large room with desks in each corner, and three folding tables strung together in the middle as a makeshift conference table. The tops of the tables were piled high with files and other documents.

  Jane gestured toward them, while walking past.

  “There’s a method to our madness, but it’s best to ignore it all. Pretend this is a paperless office.” She continued toward a desk in the far corner.

  The desk in the far corner was also piled high with files. On the wall above the files, Jane had stuck yellow sticky notes with various scribbles ranging from “to-do” lists to court dates to contact names.

  “We have a couple of pro bono attorneys from Fort Myers who drive over once or twice a month to help out. Then there’s an attorney from Miami who also shows up off and on. He’s atoning for the sins of his corporate overlords.”

  Jane thought for a moment.

  “We might also occasionally get a recent law grad that scraped together some foundation money to work here for a year.” She sat down. “But mostly … it’s just me.”

  She gave a little smile and a small laugh, signs of resignation.

  When she tilted her head, the light from the window hit her face in a soft light. Michael noticed how pretty she was; tired, but pretty.

  Her skin was naturally light, but her cheeks were kissed by the sun. Her nose was delicate, and her features were sharp.

  Kermit was watching, too. He noticed how Michael’s demeanor changed, and Kermit kept it mellow. He wasn’t going to
ruin whatever was happening, especially if it meant Michael would stop yelling at him.

  ###

  “So, we went out to the trailers on Green Haven. That’s the address where Tommy’s son said his dad was living.” Michael grabbed one of the chairs from the conference table and rolled it closer to Jane. He sat down. “But we got arrested before we could figure out if he even lived there. It wasn’t at all like what –”

  “Tommy had told the family back home.” Jane completed Michael’s thought. She shook her head, knowingly. “Let me guess.” She pointed one finger in the air. “A swimming pool.” Then Jane pointed the second finger in the air, “and a weight room.”

  “Something like that,” Michael said.

  “Pretty typical. I don’t quite understand it.” Jane paused, thought, and then corrected herself. “Well, maybe that’s not accurate. I do understand it, but I’m not sure who they think they’re fooling. Everybody knows why they’re coming and what they’re doing. They’re modern slaves. It’s been going on for a long time, but perhaps pretending makes it easier, makes the sacrifices easier.”

  “Do you know where Tommy is?”

  “No.” Jane slid a stack of files closer to her from the side of the desk, and then picked up a folded newspaper article that had been underneath the files. “Read this and you’ll understand why I wish I did.”

  ###

  Holding an actual piece of newspaper printed on real paper was a small shock. Michael had forgotten the feel. At the Sunset he was isolated from the tabloids and 24/7 cable news shout-fests. Seeing the article, Michael remembered how loud everything was in the United States. So-called news reporting, to the extent there was any, had no subtlety.

  The article was about four months old and took up half the page. Another quarter of the page featured a picture of Tommy Estrada. He held a large poster above his head along with a half-dozen other workers. The headline across the top of the page read: WORKERS RALLY FOR BETTER CONDITIONS.

  Underneath, the article summarized an organizing campaign.

  The article talked about unsafe conditions in the fields and unsanitary conditions where the workers were housed. There were also multiple quotes from Jane Nance, Supervising Attorney and Director of Community Immigrant Legal Services, Inc.