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

by J. D. Trafford

  Vatch smiled and nodded.

  “That’s exactly right.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Father Pena led the way down the dusty streets of San Corana. The setting sun cast the small stone city in an orange light. The coffin of Tommy Estrada – covered with a finely pleated cream cloth – was held high.

  Brass band music bounced off the mud walls around San Corana’s city center as they marched. The air was thick with the smell of earth and sweet Copal, a ceremonial incense used for more than 500 years.

  The processional wound through the narrow passages into the town center, and then out again toward the cemetery just on the edge of town.

  Michael, Kermit and Jane were not last, but toward the back of the crowd. Elana, Pace and the other children were in front. Close friends and family were in the middle.

  Michael hadn’t seen Jane since leaving Jesser, about three weeks earlier. They had talked a few times while he had helped make the funeral arrangements. When the arrangements were final, Michael had wondered whether she would come. At first, she wouldn’t commit. Then, Jane arrived.

  He watched her as they walked; Michael was happy she came. He wanted to spend time with her, but it wasn’t like Florida. Memories of Andie were all around him. They competed with the present, pushing her away. He wasn’t sure if he could move on from Andie or even if he should.

  A man tapped Michael’s shoulder. He pointed at his plastic bucket, showing Michael. Inside the bucket there were three bottles of Mezcal tequila on ice. It was the Mexican equivalent of Kentucky moonshine. The man gave Michael a toothless grin, and then he filled a small plastic cup with Mezcal.

  Michael took it. He emptied the cup with a swift throw back.

  The man laughed as Michael cringed. The Mezcal was jet fuel, but it was tradition.

  Men and woman alternated between cries of mourning and celebration. Mexicans had always embraced death as a part of life. There was nothing wrong with celebrating someone in the moments of loss.

  Jane took a plastic cup full of tequila. Kermit took two. Jane smiled at Michael, and he smiled back as the funeral parade progressed.

  ###

  After the procession, Catholic service, and interment, Michael and Jane were finally alone together. The sun had set, and a dark cool had settled along the shore. During the day, the sky above the Mayan Riviera was arching and vast, but at night, the sky seemed to lower itself, creating a more intimate space. Even with others strolling along the beach, it was easy to feel close.

  They sat out on the Point, a narrow streak of rocks that curved out into the Caribbean. It was Michael’s favorite place at the resort.

  He laid a thick blanket down on the rocks. Jane laid down on top of it.

  “Having a good time?” he asked.

  Jane nodded her head, cloudy from the shots of Mezcal.

  “As much fun as an unemployed lawyer can have at a funeral.”

  “You’re not setting a particularly high bar.” Michael sat down behind her. He kissed Jane’s neck. He teased her, trying to make Jane admit that she liked it. “Come on,” he said. “Tell me you love this place.” He kissed her neck some more.

  “Okay,” Jane said in her best lawyer-voice. “I’ll stipulate to the sole fact that this is a lot more fun than an unemployed lawyer usually has at a funeral. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Michael said.

  Jane pushed away from him, laughing.

  “Now please stop molesting me.”

  Michael kissed her one more time, and then rolled onto his back.

  He looked up at the night sky.

  “I’d like to get lost up there.” Michael stared at the stars, making constellations of his own design. “Any interest in staying for awhile? Maybe you could push your return flight out a bit.”

  Jane didn’t respond for a long time.

  “I don’t know.” She took in a deep breath, thinking. Then she said, “What’s not to love about this? But I’m not sure what this is.”

  Jane turned and looked at Michael. Her eyes softened.

  “I don’t mean it in a bad way. I don’t even know how I mean it. I just don’t know.”

  “I don’t know either.” Michael was honest. He really didn’t know, and Michael left it at that. Jane didn’t push, either.

  She stared up at the sky. They watched the stars together, tracked the satellites moving above them, and listened to the waves fall on the beach.

  “You know I got a job offer?” Jane said after awhile.

  “No,” Michael said. “When?”

  “Just after you left.” Jane sat up a little. She rolled her shoulders, letting some of the tension out. “I got a call from Legal Aid in Los Angeles. Doing the same thing I was doing in Jesser – working with immigrant farm workers – but with more support and a little better salary.”

  “Sounds good,” Michael said. “But …”

  “But …” Jane answered. “I don’t know. I feel like I committed myself to Jesser. The way it ended,” Jane paused. “It didn’t end the way it’s supposed to. The bad guys got away. We know Jolly Boy did it, but nobody –”

  “So go back,” Michael said.

  Jane shook her head.

  “I can’t. How?”

  “I don’t know.” Michael sat up and started looking at the smooth rocks all around him. “Maybe you just need a break to think about your next move.” Michael stopped looking. He found a rock and skipped it into the water. “Everybody needs a break.” Michael found another rock and skipped it, thinking. “But I’m not like you. I never wanted to right wrongs and fight for justice.”

  Jane leaned over and whispered in Michael’s ear.

  “I think you’re lying.”

  She kissed him on the lips.

  When Michael didn’t say anything, she did it again, a little harder.

  “Okay, maybe you’re right. Maybe I had a little fire for justice,” Michael said, laughing. “Now please stop molesting me.”

  Jane grabbed his crotch and gave it a squeeze.

  “You wish.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Deputy Maus wanted to see it for himself. He parked his police cruiser, unlocked the door, and got out.

  The faded sign for Community Immigrant Legal Services, Inc., was still there, but, as he got closer, Maus could see that she was gone. He put his hands up to block the reflection as he pressed closer to the glass. He peered inside.

  No lights were on. The computers, telephone, and file cabinets were gone. The folding tables were stacked in a corner, and there was nothing hung on the walls.

  Maus could hardly believe it. Had he won? The immediate relief felt good, but he still doubted it could be true.

  Maus turned. He saw Miggy standing there, propped up by his crutch with his faded green backpack slung over his shoulder. Miggy had been watching him, intruding on his private moment.

  “What the hell you looking at?” Maus started walking back toward his police cruiser.

  Miggy didn’t say anything. Miggy just watched, his eyes hard.

  “Freak.” Maus kicked out Miggy’s crutch as he walked past.

  Miggy tried to catch his balance, but he fell to the pavement.

  Maus walked around the front of his cruiser. He started to open the door, but stopped. He looked down at Miggy. Miggy was still on the sidewalk, curled and holding his shoulder.

  “You got something you want to say to me?” Maus asked.

  Miggy struggled, turning his head so that he could see Maus.

  Maus waited a second for him to speak.

  “I didn’t think so.” He got into his cruiser, turned the vehicle on, and then drove away.

  The shooting pain in Miggy’s shoulder wouldn’t stop. He put his head down on the pavement. It felt rough, but cool.

  Miggy took a breath, trying to control the waves of pain and keeping his breathing shallow.“I know who you are. The spirits tell me,” he said quietly. Then he closed his eyes and waited for someone
to help.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A week passed, and the topic didn’t come up, again. Michael could tell that she was thinking about it – trying to map out the rest of her career or lack of a career – but Jane didn’t say anything and Michael didn’t push.

  In the meantime, they were having fun. Their days fell into a routine. They’d wake up, have a little breakfast, and then swim, surf or kayak. Then they’d crash on the beach for the afternoon, and take a long walk along the shore in the evening.

  They talked some, but not a lot. They enjoyed having each other’s company. They enjoyed not being alone.

  Michael started to imagine a life without Andie. Whether Jane was part of his future, he didn’t know. But he felt himself starting to heal. He started to move forward.

  Then the idea came.

  Michael got out of the shower at Hut No. 7 and walked into the main room. Michael was naked, except for a towel wrapped around his waist. He dripped, but didn’t care. He wanted to tell her.

  “What if you could start over?”

  Jane stirred, and then sat up in bed. She was wrapped in a sheet. Her hair was mussed, but she still looked good.

  “What are you talking about?” Jane looked over at the clock, checked the time, and then back at Michael.

  “What if you could go back to Jesser, start over,” Michael said. “You saw how the community loves you. They need you. They want you back.”

  “But I have no money to start over,” Jane said. “A nonprofit needs money. It needs funders. That’s why we closed, remember? No grants.”

  “I remember,” Michael said. “But maybe you had the wrong business model.”

  “It wasn’t a business,” Jane said, starting to get annoyed. “We were a nonprofit.”

  “Exactly,” Michael said. “Maybe that was your problem.”

  ###

  Michael loaded his flour tortilla with scrambled eggs and chorizo sausage, and then topped it with salsa and sour cream. He walked over to the bar.

  Kermit was back at his old job, tending bar at the Sunset and doing random maintenance jobs around the resort. As a dropout with a doctorate degree in mathematics, Kermit was likely the most educated handyman in Mexico, if not the world.

  He handed Michael a freshly squeezed orange juice, and then Michael walked back over to the table.

  The table was on the far end of the deck that wrapped around the Sunset’s thatch-roofed bar and restaurant. A nice breeze flowed through, and the water provided an easy rhythm as it beat the shore every few seconds.

  Jane was already there, waiting for him. She pecked at a plate of fresh fruit and watched two pelicans resting on the tip of a red fishing boat that was anchored just 20 yards from shore.

  “Still like the view?” Michael put his plate down on the table, and then sat. “Kermit says he lets the waves roll in and pull his troubles back out to sea.”

  Jane turned and looked at Michael. She smiled, and then shrugged.

  “Not sure how well that’s working for me.”

  “You’ll figure it out.” Michael took a sip of orange juice, and then started eating his breakfast burrito.

  Jane set down her spoon, and then pushed the bowl away.

  “So I was thinking about what you said about going back to Jesser. And I guess I don’t get it.”

  “Maybe I don’t either.” Michael shook his head. “I overstepped. We were having a good time, and then I decided to meddle.”

  Jane picked up her mug of coffee, blew on it, and then took a drink. She waited a second, and then asserted herself.

  “Don’t do that. Don’t go back into your shell. I’m glad you said it. The initial bath towel presentation could’ve been better, but it wasn’t that bad.” She smiled, giving Michael a break.

  Jane took another sip of coffee, and then put the cup back on the saucer. Jane leaned in, showing that she was serious.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I want to hear more.”

  “Rambles and all?” Michael asked.

  “Rambles and all,” Jane said. “I’ve got nothing but time.”

  ###

  They finished breakfast, kicked off their shoes, and pulled out a pair of kayaks. They pushed them out into the Caribbean. It was a perfect day along the Mayan Riviera. The temperature was warm, but not too hot. Looking out, there were only shades of blue. The calm blue water and the clear blue sky perfectly mirrored each other.

  Michael and Jane paddled out, and then followed the shoreline south. After a few minutes, they stopped paddling, leaned back, and just drifted next to one another.

  “So you know how Kermit’s been talking and talking about general semantics and filters and narrowing the scope of abstraction?”

  Jane nodded.

  “I think I’ve heard a little bit too much about that since you two arrived in my life, so yes,” Jane said. “I now know about general semantics, although I don’t really want to.”

  “That’s what got me thinking – ”

  “Which frightens me,” Jane added.

  “I know, me too,” Michael said. “But hear me out. We’re all caught up in this IRS definition of nonprofit and for-profit. We’ve accepted the fallacy that an organization has to be one or the other, but when you think about the word ‘nonprofit,’ what does it really mean?”

  “It means I don’t get paid.”

  “No,” Michael continued. “It’s about mission. And you can be a for-profit with a mission. Your work has value. Your clients have money, maybe not a lot, but they have some. They can pay you a little, maybe not what a typical private practice attorney charges, but they can pay you a little. And you can take some cases on contingency. Instead of doing what you were doing for free, you can take a percentage of the damage award. You can keep some money, pay yourself. Forget the grants. Fund yourself.”

  “But they’re poor,” Jane said. “They should keep whatever they get. I shouldn’t take a cut.”

  “But if you’re not there.” Michael paddled a few times to get himself back in the current. “If you’re not in Jesser, who’s going to take the cases at all? Who’s going to step in and do them for free? You were all they had, and now you’re gone.”

  “But –”

  “There isn’t anybody there at all,” Michael said. “It’s a great sentiment to do the work for free, and it would be great if the foundations would pay for it. But they’ve all frozen you out.”

  “But charging clients.” Jane shook her head. “I’ve never done that before. I don’t even have malpractice insurance.”

  Michael shrugged his shoulders.

  “Do you think your clients really care about that?”

  “What about bar association dues and annual license fees?”

  “Why do you need to belong to the bar association?” Michael asked. “And your license is still good for a little while.”

  “It makes me nervous.” Jane turned her kayak. She pointed it away from shore and paddled. Michael followed, and then they found some big waves to ride for the rest of the morning.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The Roja consisted of a boat, a net, a fire, and 15 tables on the beach.

  The Roja’s chef and owner grew up in Popolnah, about 70 miles northwest of Playa del Carmen. He trained at the Culinary Institute of America, bounced around a few top New York restaurants for 15 years, did a stint at a Rick Bayless’ XOCO in Chicago, and then came home to work at the big resorts in Cancun.

  Like most of the people in Playa, he had gotten burned out. He had needed a change, and so The Roja was born.

  Jane and Michael sat across from one another. A white candle burned inside a small terra cotta pot painted with blue and yellow flowers. They started with the sweet corn soup with clams, and then the server brought out the main course: a whole grouper cooked over the fire stuffed with lobster in guava sauce.

  “Looks amazing.” Jane watched with wide eyes as the large tin platter was placed on their table.
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  Michael thanked the waitress, and they began the main course after refilling their glasses of wine.

  Jane had been quiet all day. Michael knew she was close to making a decision. He was excited for her, even though it would probably mean she’d be leaving no matter what she decided.

  “So what are you thinking?” He asked.

  Jane considered the question.

  “I’m thinking I don’t have much money.” She flaked off a piece of the fish with her fork and ate it. Jane closed her eyes and let the flavors rest, and then she took a sip of wine. Jane opened her eyes, came back to the present, and continued.

  “The idea of going off on my own is growing on me, but I need a big case with real money. I can do some little stuff to keep the lights on, but I need one case that’s going to pay the bills and give me the resources to really make it happen.”

  “So you’re going to do it?”

  Jane set down her glass of wine. She leaned in toward Michael.

  “I’m only going to do it if you help me.”

  Until that moment, he hadn’t seen it coming. It took him by surprise.

  Michael was silent. He shook his head.

  “I’m sorry, Jane, that’s …” Michael looked around. He sputtered. “I just don’t practice law anymore.”

  “Michael, I know you were a great lawyer,” Jane said. “I did some research.”

  “You’re doing a background check on me? What gives you the –”

  Jane cut him off.

  “I know it’d be hard. I know what happened in New York. It’s on the web, just type in your name.”

  “There’s more to it.” Michael wasn’t sure why he was so mad, maybe he was just frustrated. Frustrated and trapped, not really free to do whatever he wanted. Tired of having secrets, and yet, having no secrets at all.

  He pushed his plate away.

  The other people, seated at the tables around them, had stopped eating. They were listening.

  Michael lowered his voice, softly.

  “I need some space,” he said. “I don’t want to say something that I’ll regret.”