The Perk

by Mark Gimenez

  "And I need it yesterday. When you get a sample—and I know you will—put it in a plastic bag and overnight it to me."

  Beck gave Wes the courthouse address.

  "Texas? The hell you doing in Texas?"

  "It's a long story."

  "Same rules apply?"

  The rules: Wes wouldn't ask Beck why he wanted their DNA, and Beck wouldn't ask Wes how he got their DNA.

  "Yeah."

  Wes yelled, "I'll get it!"

  And Wes would.

  Julio Espinoza looked at the time: 3:29.

  He sat invisible in the back corner of the classroom with the other Latinos while the old German teacher taught the Anglo students sitting up front. The only time she came to the back and talked to Julio was right before the state achievement tests. "We need you, Julio!" she would say. Yes, they needed his perfect score to bring up the Latinos' average and to make the Anglos look good with the state: "See, we are teaching our Mexicans!" Two million dollars in the bank did not alter the fact that to the Anglos, he was still just a Mexican.

  The bell rang. Everyone rushed to the door as if the fire alarm had gone off. Julio was the last student to exit the room.

  "Hi, Julio."

  He turned and stared into the blue eyes of Nikki Ernst. He said hi as well as he could through his wired jaws. Nikki appeared very beautiful in her cheerleader outfit; there was a football game that night. Julio breathed her in and felt faint.

  "When will you get the wires off?"

  Julio held up one finger.

  "One week? That's great! Just in time for homecoming."

  Not that Julio was going to homecoming. Not that any of the Latinos were going to homecoming. Nikki stepped closer; Julio stepped back until he was pressed against the metal lockers that lined the hall. She touched his arm; he felt his body come alive.

  "Julio, I never said how sorry I am for saying what I did about you that day in court. But I really am. Sorry. Slade's dad and that mean old Stutz, they scared me, said it was up to me to save Slade's football career and our football season. But I still shouldn't have done it. Can you ever forgive me?"

  Julio nodded.

  "Julio, have you asked anyone to the homecoming dance?"

  Julio shook his head.

  "Well, no one's asked me."

  Julio said, "Ade!"

  "Ade? Oh, you mean Slade?"

  Julio nodded.

  "I'm not going with him to the dance or anywhere else. We broke up. So, Julio, you want to take me to the homecoming dance?"

  Julio's heart fluttered. But his mind worked. He pulled out his notepad and wrote: What about your friends? Nikki was reading as he wrote.

  "Well, if they don't accept you, they're not my friends, are they? You know what, Julio, I'm ready to get out of this town."

  Julio wrote again: What about your parents? Nikki again read as he wrote.

  "Yeah, my parents will go apeshit. But I'm eighteen years old and I'm an adult, just like Judge Hardin said. I'm making my own decisions now. So they'll just have to get over it. I like you and I want to go to homecoming with you."

  Julio was suddenly struck with fear. Nikki saw it in his face. She said, "Now don't be afraid. You don't have to come to my house. I'll pick you up, okay?"

  But Julio's fear at that precise moment was not of Nikki's German parents. His fear was more immediate. His fear was of Slade McQuade's massive body coming down the hall at a quick pace and directly toward Julio Espinoza. He pointed. Nikki spun around just as Slade arrived almost at a run. She stuck her hand out like the crossing guard to the cars outside the school. Her hand hit Slade stomach high.

  "Stop, Slade! You leave Julio alone! I mean it!"

  Slade ignored her. "Julio, I heard my dad and Stutz talking last night. They're gonna raid the turkey plant today. And the barrio. That ICE."

  Julio scratched on his notepad: When? He showed the pad to Slade.

  "They said at shift change."

  Julio sucked in air too quickly, and he began choking and then coughing. It became worse, more violent coughing. He couldn't breathe. He tried desperately to open his mouth for air, but he could not. His body was making a high-pitched wheezing noise as he fought to breathe.

  Nikki cried out, "Julio, do you have asthma?"

  He fell into the lockers and started to slide down the slick metal locker faces. Slade grabbed him under his arms and held him up. Nikki grabbed his face with her soft hands.

  "Julio, what is it? What's wrong?"

  Julio's head was now jerking back and forth as he tried to breathe. He was going to pass out or throw up. He had to save himself. Nikki had to save him. He reached to his back pocket and grabbed the little scissors the doctor had given him and told him to carry always in case he should ever choke or vomit; he was to use the scissors to cut the rubber bands holding his jaws together. He held the scissors out to Nikki.

  "What, Julio? What do you want me to do?"

  He opened his lips and tapped the bands with his finger.

  "You want me to cut the rubber bands?"

  He nodded. Nikki came very close to his face and peered into his mouth. With the fingers of her left hand she spread his lips; with her right hand she put the scissors against his teeth and cut the bands. He fell to the floor.

  He opened his mouth for the first time in almost eight weeks and sucked air like a man saved from drowning. After a few minutes, his breathing calmed. Nikki was patting his back; Slade was squatting next to them. Other students had stopped and were now staring at them as if a car wreck had happened in the main hall of the high school.

  Julio turned his eyes up to Nikki. "You will be a good doctor." He now turned to Slade. "The ICE raid will be at shift change?"

  "Yeah. When's that?"

  "That is now. I must go!"

  "I'll drive you."

  "I'm coming, too," Nikki said.

  Slade pulled Julio up as easily as if lifting an infant, and they ran out of the school and to the parking lot where Slade's big black Hummer was parked. Nikki jumped into the passenger seat and Julio into the back; Slade started the engine. Rather than circling around the parking lot to the exit, he drove over the curb nearest the road and tore up the grassy incline. They bounced hard over the street curb. Slade accelerated toward the turkey plant.

  "What are we going to do?" Nikki said.

  "Slade, take me to the judge," Julio said. "He will know what to do."

  Beck glanced at the clock on the wall as he exited the back door of the courthouse: 3:43. He spotted Grady getting out of his SUV in the parking lot between the courthouse and the Law Enforcement Center. He called out to him, then walked over. They leaned against the SUV.

  "Nothing on the shoe," Grady said. He shook his head. "Can't believe you found it. The river's two miles east of where she was dumped. That's good thinking, Beck." He smiled. "When the Germans vote you out of office next year, maybe you'll come work for me."

  "I'm going to find this guy."

  "Figure that'll pay your debt in full?"

  "Maybe. Maybe it'll give me some answers I'm looking for."

  "So maybe you don't make the same mistakes with your girl?"

  Beck nodded. "I've learned a few things, about Heidi. She was with a movie star that night. Kim said she got into a black limo in Austin about ten to ten-thirty and a black limo was seen on Main Street about one that night."

  "A movie star? Who?"

  "I don't know … yet."

  "Why the hell did Kim hold back on that?"

  Beck shook his head. "Why would a girl want out of this town so badly she'd have sex with a stranger?"

  "Kids want excitement. They're bored here."

  "This is the next Santa Fe."

  Grady laughed. "Folks saying that, they drank the Kool-Aid."

  "You don't buy it?"

  "I don't figure rich folks are gonna flock here just to be run off the farm-to-markets by some bubba driving a jacked-up pickup with a pit bull in the back 'cause they
're slowing him down. This is a nice little country town, Beck. Nothing more. But that's not enough for kids. They want more. Like you did. Who saw the limo here?"

  Beck nodded toward the courthouse. "Carlotta."

  "Carlotta? Why didn't she tell me?"

  "She was afraid Stutz would've deported her."

  "I told the Mexicans I didn't give a shit about their immigration status. But I can't blame them, with Stutz—"

  The sound of squealing tires interrupted Grady. A black Hummer turned sharply off San Antonio Street and into the parking lot then accelerated over to them and skidded to a stop.

  "What the hell?" Grady said.

  Slade McQuade was driving; Nikki Ernst was in the passenger's seat. Julio Espinoza jumped out of the back door of the Hummer and ran over to them. His face was frantic. He could talk.

  "Judge Hardin, they are raiding the turkey plant!"

  "Who?"

  "ICE."

  "When?"

  "Now!"

  Beck turned to Grady. "You didn't know?"

  "Hell, no! Come on!"

  Grady ran around to the driver's side of his SUV; Beck yelled to Slade, "Follow us!" then got in the passenger's side. Grady hit the lights and siren and sped out of the parking lot.

  The turkey plant was located seven blocks south of Main Street. Grady turned down Milam, cut through the barrio, and drove fast down the road leading to the plant. At the plant entrance, he hit the brakes hard, and the vehicle skidded to a stop in a cloud of gravel dust in front of a Department of Homeland Security barricade.

  Black SUVs blockaded the front gates to the plant. At least a hundred federal agents in black jackets with POLICE and ICE in white letters across the back and ICE down each sleeve were swarming the plant. Every agent was armed; some wore flak jackets and camo pants and carried assault rifles. It had the look of a military coup. Five buses were lined up at the plant entrance doors inside the tall fence.

  They got out. The Hummer with Slade, Julio, and Nikki pulled up behind them. Beck and Grady went over to the agent manning the barricade.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  The agent looked Grady over. "And who are you?"

  "I'm the goddamn Gillespie County Sheriff, that's who. And you're in my jurisdiction. And he's the district judge."

  The agent stepped away and said something into a handheld radio. Moments later, another agent jogged over to them from what appeared to be the command post. He was wearing a flak jacket and packing a big nine-millimeter weapon at his waist. He addressed Grady.

  "I'm Agent Lucas, Homeland Security. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. And you are … ?"

  "Pissed off." Grady pointed at the plant. "A hundred agents with assault rifles and body armor? Don't you think that's overkill for a bunch of Mexicans armed with dead turkeys?"

  Agent Lucas ignored Grady's sarcasm. "You're the county sheriff?"

  "Yeah, I am."

  Agent Lucas turned to Beck and looked him up and down. Beck was again wearing jeans and boots.

  "You're a judge?"

  "Judge Beck Hardin."

  "Federal?"

  "State."

  "Oh. So what can I do for you gentlemen?"

  Grady said, "You can explain what the hell you're doing conducting a raid in my jurisdiction without informing me."

  Agent Lucas offered that smile unique to federal employees. "Well, first of all, Sheriff, the entire U.S. of A. is our jurisdiction. And second, in accordance with federal law—which preempts state law—we're conducting a workplace raid. Operation Return to Sender."

  "That's real cute," Beck said. "They're human beings, not mail."

  Agent Lucas ignored Beck as well. "And third, we did notify local law enforcement. The chief of police. Isn't this plant within the city limits?"

  "Yeah. But it's customary—"

  "Not anymore. After nine-eleven, it's need-to-know basis."

  Beck pointed at the plant. "Those people aren't terrorists. They're just Mexicans processing turkeys. They're just working."

  "And they're working in this country illegally," Agent Lucas said. "We're executing a federal civil warrant, Judge. That supersedes your authority."

  "I understand the law, Agent."

  "Good. Then let us take care of national security."

  Beck laughed. "What, you think these Mexicans are plotting terrorism while pulling the guts out of turkeys?"

  Agent Lucas's face turned red. "Back off, Judge! Go back to your little courtroom and handle traffic tickets or grant divorces or whatever it is you do in this thriving metropolis. But don't interfere with my operation or I'll arrest your ass and take you before a real judge!"

  Beck stepped toward Agent Lucas, but Grady stepped between them.

  "These people been working in that plant for thirty years. Why now?"

  "We waited until shift change so we could apprehend all illegal workers. Both shifts."

  "Why today?"

  "We got a tip that these workers engaged in identity theft, stealing IDs and social security numbers to get their papers."

  "A tip? From who?"

  "A confidential source."

  Slade stepped past Beck and said, "My father. And Stutz."

  "They did this?" Beck said.

  Slade nodded. "I heard them talking last night."

  Grady spat. "They double-crossed you, Beck."

  "If you gentlemen will excuse me," Agent Lucas said, "I've got work to do."

  "What's going to happen to these people?" Beck said.

  "They'll be bused to a detention center in San Antonio, processed, and then deported. They'll be in Nuevo Laredo tomorrow morning."

  Julio stepped forward. "Nuevo Laredo? My parents, they are in there. What will we do without them?"

  "We who?"

  "We, their children."

  Agent Lucas eyed Julio and stepped toward him. Beck and Grady blocked his path.

  "He's legal, Agent. He's an American citizen. So are his brothers and sisters."

  "If you say so, Judge. My agents are in the barrio looking for runners, and Child Protective Services has been called in. They'll be going door to door in the barrio." Agent Lucas looked at Julio like a sport fisherman who had just lost a big catch. "Born in the USA." He threw a thumb back at the plant. "Fifty-seven of the women in there are pregnant. They have those babies here, they're U.S. citizens same as me and you"—he nodded at Julio—"and him. They have them in Nuevo Laredo, they're Mexicans just like their mamas. That's reason enough for this raid."

  "Those people have a right to counsel," Beck said, "even if they are here illegally."

  "They're signing documents as we speak waiving their right to counsel and agreeing to immediate voluntary departure."

  "You're pointing guns at them! That's not voluntary. And they can't waive their right to counsel if they don't even know they have a right to counsel."

  Agent Lucas turned his hands up, shrugged, and walked off.

  "If they fight deportation," Grady said, "they'll sit in jail for a year, then get deported. Better to get bused to Mexico tonight and let go. They can be back in a few weeks."

  "Look!" Julio shouted.

  The workers were exiting the plant single file. They were wearing white uniforms and hard hats and black rubber boots and shuffling through a gauntlet of ICE agents toward the buses; chains were wrapped around the workers' waists and their hands and feet were shackled to the chains, as if the Feds had apprehended Hannibal Lecter instead of Rafael and Maria Espinoza.

  "¡Madre! ¡Padre!"

  Julio's parents had just walked out of the plant.

  "¡Madre! ¡Padre!"

  They did not hear him or see him. They disappeared onto a bus. Julio began sobbing. Beck put his arm around the boy. Nikki hugged him from the other side.

  "It's my fault."

  Beck turned to Slade.

  "It's all my fault," Slade said again.

  He wasn't speaking to anyone in particular. He walke
d over and kicked the side of his Hummer; he leaned over and buried his face in his hands and the hood.

  A black diesel pickup with blacked-out windows drove up and stopped. The driver's side window lowered slowly to reveal a familiar face. Bruno Stutz. Beck released Julio and walked over. Beck had never punched a senior citizen, but he was seriously considering it at that moment.

  "You did this?"

  That thin smile again.

  "Ja. I did this."

  Beck wanted desperately to hit the old man, to knock that smile off his face.

  "I hope you die soon."

  Stutz just laughed, shifted the truck into gear, and drove down the road. The diesel made for slow acceleration; before Beck even realized what he was doing, he reached down, picked up a baseball-sized rock, and threw it at Stutz's truck. It fell short.

  "Damn!"

  Slade was now beside Beck. He picked up a similar-sized rock, tossed it in his massive right hand a few times, and eyed Stutz's truck, now fifty yards away and moving farther and faster away.

  "He's out of range," Beck said.

  Slade gripped the rock, stepped forward, and threw the rock. It rose high into the sky on a true path and fell directly at the rear window of Stutz's truck. Beck heard the crack of breaking glass. The taillights on the truck flashed red. A long arm extended out the driver's window; Stutz shook a raised finger at them, then drove on. Beck turned to Slade.

  "You've got a hell of an arm, son."

  "When I hit Julio, I set all this in motion. It's all my fault." Slade turned to Julio. "I'm sorry, Julio."

  He then walked over to his Hummer, got in, and drove off down the gravel road. Grady walked over; he was shaking his head.

  "Our judge is throwing rocks at cars?"

  "That a problem, Grady?"

  He shook his head. "Gives me hope for our judicial system."

  The black ICE SUVs backed away from the gates, and the five buses drove out of the plant and past them. Julio searched for his parents' faces, but did not see them.

  "Julio," Beck said, "I'm gonna get your parents back."

  "How?"

  "I know people." He turned to Grady. "You feel like driving to San Antonio?"

  Grady checked his watch. "We'll have to eat dinner there?"

  "Yeah."

  "I'm in. Anything to avoid my wife's cooking."

  They walked over to Grady's SUV. Julio started walking down the street toward the barrio.