The Perk

by Mark Gimenez

  "Are you going to be okay, Julio?"

  Julio wiped his face. "I must find the children."

  Nikki ran after him. "I'll help you."

  Beck got into the SUV and pulled out his cell phone.

  "You really know people?" Grady asked.

  Beck nodded. "One of my partners in Chicago was a former Assistant AG at the Justice Department. He's political. Lots of important people owe him favors—and he owes me a few. If anyone can get Julio's folks freed, he can."

  "You know, Beck, I'm really starting to like you."

  Beck pointed. "Follow those buses."

  When Beck arrived back home that night after he and Grady had dropped Rafael and Maria Espinoza off at their house in the barrio, the children were already in bed and asleep. He found J.B. on the back porch reading the paper.

  "You get 'em?"

  Beck fell into his rocker. "Yeah, we got them. They're back home. Friday night, and the barrio looked like a ghost town."

  "Raid made the TV—San Antonio news. Felix Delgado was interviewed. He was pretty upset. Said it was a tragic miscarriage of justice."

  There was that word again.

  "Grady's a good man," J.B. said. "You're a good man, too, Beck. I'm proud you're my son. I wish I could take the credit, but you raised yourself."

  Beck looked at his father looking at him.

  "You get more credit than you know, J.B."

  Beck saw his father's eyes well up. J.B. looked down and said softly, "That means a lot, Beck."

  Beck leaned back. "You know, J.B., I don't want to be the judge. I don't like this town anymore."

  "It ain't the town, Beck. It's a few people in the town. A few old farts like Stutz can't abide the fact the world's changing—they're still wearing plaid and the rest of the world's wearing Tommy Bahama. But those old farts are gonna die off soon and young folks like you and Jodie are gonna take over and lead this town in a better direction for kids like Meggie and Luke and Libby." His father looked at him. "If you quit on this town, Beck, you're quitting on them."

  "Did they have a good day, the kids?"

  "Yep … oh, Gretchen said hi … for me to say hi … for her to … aw, hell, you know what I mean. Fixed the kids buffalo burgers, then took them to the ballgame. Goats won, forty-two to nothing. Slade ran for six touchdowns."

  "He ran for six touchdowns?"

  "Yep. Didn't throw the ball once the whole night. Kind of odd, too. He'd take the ball and just run, even when he was supposed to pass. And he didn't run away from the other team. He ran right at them, like he wanted to hit them. Like he wanted to kill them."

  Homicidal rage.

  TWENTY-NINE

  TURKEY PLANT RAIDED

  Part of Nationwide Immigration Crackdown

  By Mary Alice Mueller

  Staff Writer

  U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents raided the turkey plant Friday. ICE stated that Operation Return to Sender netted 839 illegal Mexican nationals. The detainees were processed in San Antonio and bused to Laredo for "voluntary departure."

  Child Protective Services was attempting to locate all the children of the detainees, thought to number 2,000. Minors will be offered transportation to the border to be reunited with their parents. At least 600 children had not been accounted for at press time.

  Local residents Jodie Lee and Janelle Jones went door to door in the barrio Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday to check on the children and to provide food. Ms. Lee said, "It's shameful. Taking parents away and leaving no one to care for the children—that's America? How can the government just come in and take all those people away without warning?"

  Other residents voiced support for the raid. "It's about time," a local goat rancher said at Tuesday's auction. "They should've raided the plant twenty years ago. Those Mexicans were here illegally, they were getting free food stamps and medical care at our hospital, their kids were getting free education at our schools. We work for a living. They had their hands out to the government. I sure as hell won't miss them."

  An official with the Houston-based owner of the plant said they were "shocked" to learn that the workers were in the country illegally. The official had no further comment except to say that the plant, a Fredericksburg fixture for over thirty years, would likely be closed and the property sold to an undisclosed buyer. Asked if the workers' final paychecks would be paid to their children, the official declined comment. ICE said that at this time no criminal prosecutions against the owner were planned.

  U.S. Rep. Merle Fuchs, R-Fredericksburg, talking by cell phone from Washington on his way to a fundraiser, said, "Our laws must be enforced and those individuals that violate our laws must face the consequences. And the illegals are certainly a drain on public resources." Rep. Fuchs added that he was working "diligently" to restore the mohair incentive in the next USDA budget.

  The economic impact of the raid on Fredericksburg is unclear. Two Mexican restaurants were forced to close because their entire staffs had been deported. Local home builders are expected to raise their prices since they'll have to pay higher wages to legal workers. The only bright spot is that ICE raided the plant the day before deer hunting season opened, so there was expected to be no adverse economic impact on hunters.

  Ed Huber, with the Turkey Growers Association, said the plant closing would likely put a dozen local turkey farmers out of business. And prices for Thanksgiving turkeys would surely increase.

  At the primary school, the usual chattering in Spanish was not heard in the halls. "Most of my students just disappeared," bilingual kindergarten teacher Gretchen Young said. "I fought for them every day, but how do you fight the Federal government?"

  It was five days later when Beck looked up from the newspaper to Quentin McQuade standing in his doorway. He had come to gloat.

  "Morning, Judge."

  "You looked me right in the eye and lied."

  "I didn't have my hand on the Bible." He chuckled. "Judge, did you really think you could blackmail me into spending three million dollars to fix up the barrio for a bunch of Mexicans?"

  "You signed a settlement agreement that expressly requires you to pave, curb, and gutter specific streets in the barrio. McQuade, if you don't comply with that agreement, I will haul your ass into court and hold you in contempt."

  "Whoa, Judge—those curbs and gutters are gonna be built."

  "But you just said—"

  "I said I wasn't going to spend three million dollars on the barrio for a bunch of Mexicans." He smiled. "See, Judge, the barrio is the very definition of urban blight. Dilapidated homes and trailers and shacks—have you seen how those people lived? Goats and chickens wandering the streets, and you can't even count all the code violations. My Austin lawyer says the law allows a city to condemn land that constitutes urban blight and sell it to a developer who's going to build something new on that land."

  "A developer like you?"

  "Exactly like me. In fact, me."

  "So your money for the barrio will be spent on—"

  "My development. The barrio will be condemned, bulldozed, and sold to me. Those streets—Buena Vista, Santa Rosa, St. Mary's, St. Gerelda—they will be paved with curbs and gutters, just as the agreement requires. It just won't be the barrio anymore. It'll be second homes owned by rich people from Houston and Dallas. I'm thinking hacienda-style—what do you think?"

  He was enjoying himself.

  "Who's going to pay a lot of money to live next to the turkey plant?"

  "Oh, that plant's history. It'll never reopen. Too many safety violations, outdated equipment, pollution … I'm negotiating to buy it. It'll be bulldozed, too."

  "There'll be court fights over the condemnation."

  "No, there won't. Most of those shacks are owned by the Mexicans that just got deported. They won't be around to fight. Besides, my lawyer also told me there's not a damn thing a state court judge like yourself can do about it because the United States Supreme Court said it was perfectly legal.
"

  He smiled.

  "Funny how the law works, isn't it, Judge? You used your legal and political influence to free the boy's parents, Mexicans here illegally. I used mine to condemn their home, legally." McQuade shook his head. "Is America a great country or what?"

  "That's why you called in the raid, to steal those people's homes?"

  "Yep. And it's all because of you."

  "Because of me?"

  He nodded. "I would've never thought of it if you hadn't tried to blackmail me. Hell, I never even knew where the Mexicans lived. When you put the curbs and gutters in the settlement, I decided to drive through the barrio and when I did, I saw an opportunity—a great piece of land just blocks from Main Street shopping. So I owe you a big thanks, Judge."

  McQuade walked to the door then turned back.

  "See, Judge, this is all your doing. You got the turkey plant raided, you put the Mexicans on those buses, you got them deported and their homes condemned. You did all that—when you tried to use your judicial power to make their lives better. You thought you could, but you can't." He sighed. "If you had just let me pay the million to the boy and be done, none of this would've ever happened."

  "McQuade … your day will come."

  Quentin McQuade shook his head. "I don't think so, Judge. There's two hundred million dollars standing between me and that day."

  When Felix Delgado had sat across from Beck in his chambers that day exactly one month before, he thought he had one year to live. He did not. He had one month.

  After McQuade had left, Beck took a walk to gather himself. He bought a San Antonio paper, and he was now sitting on a bench at the Main and Llano intersection. It was sunny and seventy in November. Fat men in camouflage hunting outfits walked down Main Street, and a pickup with a dead deer strapped across the hood drove down Main Street, no doubt en route to The Butcher Haus, a local deer processor whose motto was The Buck Stops Here.

  Felix Delgado had died two days before. His wife told the newspaper reporter that the ICE raid in Fredericksburg had so upset her husband that he had lost all will to live. His last words to her had been, "I have failed them."

  Beck had failed them, too.

  "You okay, Judge?"

  Mavis was standing in front of his desk.

  "What's on the docket this afternoon?"

  "Bail hearings and motions. Criminal and civil."

  They climbed the narrow stairway to the courtroom above. Beck sat behind the bench. Standing in front of the bench was Billy Ray Boenker. Beck read the few pages in the red file.

  "First day of deer hunting season, and you killed a cow?"

  Billy Ray had mistaken a cow for a deer and had put a .30-06 round right in the bovine's head. The cow belonged to his neighbor.

  "Looked like a deer," Billy Ray said.

  "Were you drinking?"

  "I was awake."

  "Shooting while intoxicated."

  Lawyer Polk—again—said, "Judge, if we incarcerated every drunk deer hunter in the county, we'd have to add on to the jail."

  "Bail is denied. You're a danger to the community. You can sit in jail until your case comes to trial or you plead out."

  Deputy Clint led Billy Ray away. Mavis said, "Bail hearing," and handed Beck another red folder: The State of Texas vs. Ignacio Perez. Lawyer Polk maintained his position in front of the bench and was joined by the D.A. and a shackled Latino.

  "Told you, Judge," the D.A. said. "They all come back."

  Ignacio Perez had come back, charged with possession of a controlled substance with intent to distribute. He had been arrested with ten pounds of ice—crystal meth—on his person.

  Beck said to Lawyer Polk, "Have you mastered Spanish yet?"

  "Uh, no, Judge."

  "Then how do we converse with Mr. Perez?"

  "Not so good?"

  "I can call Inez, the librarian from next door," Mavis said. "She's bilingual."

  "Do it."

  Five minutes later, Inez Quintanilla was standing in front of the bench next to Ignacio Perez. Beck said, "Ask him why?"

  Inez spoke in Spanish to Ignacio. He spoke back; one word caught Beck's attention: coyote.

  "He says he was arrested in the ICE raid and deported to Nuevo Laredo," Inez said. "He was very afraid there due to the narco-traficantes. So he tried to come north several times, but he was stopped at the border crossing. Then he hired a coyote to get him across. But the coyote charged him one thousand dollars, which he did not have. The coyote allowed him to earn his way by carrying the meth up here."

  "And what was he supposed to do with it when he got here?"

  Inez and Ignacio conversed in Spanish again. Then she said, "Someone was to find him in the barrio and take the meth."

  "Who?"

  Again they conversed.

  "He does not know who."

  Beck looked at Ignacio Perez and felt his heart turn hard. To Inez he said, "Tell him this: I gave him a break, but he made me look like a fool. I can live with that, but I can't live with his bringing meth into our town. No more breaks."

  Inez repeated his words in Spanish to Ignacio. He started to cry. But today Beck had no sympathy.

  "Bail is denied. Flight risk."

  The deputy led Ignacio Perez away. The D.A. started to turn away, but Beck said, "What happened to Jesús Ramirez, the 'assault with a burrito' guy?"

  The D.A. stared at his shoes a moment then said, "Deported."

  "His wife and kids?"

  "Macarena was deported, too. The Catholic church, the old one that says Mass in Spanish for the illegals, they took in their kids. Plus about two hundred others."

  "Jesus Christ."

  "Exactly." The D.A. turned away, then turned back. "I didn't want that … the raid."

  He walked out of the courtroom.

  Beck put his elbows on the bench and his face in his hands. He had failed all those children. He felt like crying and he felt like hitting something at the same time. The anger won out; his blood pressure built until he thought he would explode. He needed fresh air. He raised his head and found himself staring at Mary Jo and Stanley Jobst.

  "Mary Jo … Stanley … What's up?"

  They looked down and shuffled in place. Two lawyers book-ended them. Mavis tapped Beck on the arm with a case file. A gold case file. A divorce file. Mary Jo Jobst vs. Stanley Jobst.

  "What's this? Divorce?"

  Their heads turned up. Mary Jo was crying. Stanley was fighting not to cry; he said, "She went on a diet."

  "You're getting divorced because she went on a diet?"

  " 'Cause of you."

  "You're getting divorced because of me?"

  "She went on a diet because of you."

  "What have I got to do with how much Mary Jo eats?"

  "She wants … she wants to be slim again. For you."

  "For me?"

  That did it. Beck stood.

  "No! This is not happening! I won't do it!"

  He threw the gold case file over their heads and almost to the spectator section. He pointed a finger at Mary Jo Jobst.

  "Mary Jo, I don't love you. I love a dead woman. You've got four children who need you and a man right there who loves you. Go home and take care of them. Get over your problems, get over yourself, get counseling. But get out of my courtroom!" They stood there frozen. Beck pointed the way. "Get out!"

  Beck walked off the bench, ducked through the window, and sat in his lawn chair on the back balcony. He sat there until the sun dropped behind the courthouse and the shadows stretched out in front of him to the Eagle Tree and then until the shadows reached Main Street. He sat there until he had worked through his five weeks as judge of this small Texas county and each of his failures. He sat there until Jodie ducked through the window and sat next to him.

  "Mavis called me. You okay, Beck?"

  "No."

  They sat quietly until Beck said, "We were eighteen. It was just a few days before I was to leave for Notre Dame and he was to lea
ve for UT. We both had football scholarships. But I was mad at the world and drinking beer … and driving my old truck. I didn't make a curve on Ranch Road 16, went off the road, hit a tree. On his side. I walked away. Aubrey almost lost his leg. He could never play again. I took all his dreams away—college, maybe the pros. He was good enough. But I took all that away from him."

  "Did they charge you?"

  Beck shook his head. "They gave me a break."

  "And you figured on making things right by finding the guy that killed Heidi?"

  "I figured on coming back and making a lot of things right. But all I've done is make things worse, for my kids and those Latino kids. I don't belong here anymore."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I'm going to find this guy, for Aubrey. I'm going to find him in the next fifty-four days and bring him to justice. Then I'm going to take my children back to Chicago. That's where I belong."

  "Annie wanted y'all here."

  "She's dead."

  THIRTY

  A week later, a FedEx package arrived for Judge Beck Hardin. Inside was a plastic baggie with a cigarette butt and a note that read: Beck, we went to the film shoot every day, but Zeke didn't show for a week. When he finally did, we screamed for him to come over. He was smoking. When he tossed his cigarette on the ground, I picked it up (with the tongs). That's Zeke's butt! I could probably sell it for $1000 on eBay, so you owe me. Ruth.

  Ruth had been a great office wife.

  Beck walked the baggie with the butt over to Grady's office. Doreen waved Beck back.

  "He's eating brunch."

  "Brunch?"

  Beck walked down the hall and into Grady's office; he stopped short. Gillespie County Sheriff Grady Guenther was eating all right, but he wasn't eating a messy Kraut dog with his hands. He was dining with a silver fork off white china on a cloth setting. A white cloth napkin was tucked under his chin.

  "Grady, is that quiche?"

  Grady nodded. "I don't know who Lorraine is, but she eats good."

  "Where did you get quiche from?"

  "The chef."

  "The jail's got a chef now?"