Orange County Noir (Akashic Noir)

by Gary Phillips

  When Officer Kravetz walks back in, he brings a female officer who looks like she should be running for ASB president.

  "Stand up for its, Danielle," he says quietly. All the gentleness is gone in his eyes.

  I stand as my heart pounds in my throat.

  "Did you find her?"

  "Dani, this is Officer Lara. You're under arrest for making a false police report-"

  "But I'm not lying. You said you were going to check with her dad and-"

  "Turn around, Danielle," Officer Lara orders. When her hand moves to her pepper spray, I do what she says.

  The cold handcuffs weigh my hands down and I have to lean forward so I don't fall back. Officer Lara keeps me company while Officer Kravetz leaves the room.

  "This is ridiculous. I wasn't lying about Pricila being missing. She's being sent out of this country against her will."

  "Well, here's the thing, Dani," Officer Lara snaps, like we're circling each other on the playground. "Jim Westfall doesn't have a daughter and the claims you made about him having a relationship with this woman are pretty underhanded. What are you hoping to gain from all this? A story for the paper?"

  Yes. Well, not completely.

  "Aren't you going to read me my rights?"

  Officer Lara stares at me.

  "Do I have to wear an orange jumpsuit?"

  Her lips twitch to keep from laughing.

  "If you don't stop crying, I'm going to leave you here," Maya said when Pricila started getting scared again. "They'll put you in jail and you won't see your mom no more."

  Pricila flinched when the train's horn shook the ground under her feet. The station was hot and crowded with people who carried boxes tied up with string. Maya told her that she had to hold her coat if she took it off, but she wouldn't help Pricila with her heavy backpack. Her feet squished in her pink boots from a puddle Maya had dragged her through to get on the bus before it left Nana's street.

  Even though Maya had a baby, she didn't seem like a mommy. She was mean. Maya pinched her arm through her coat sleeve. It didn't hurt but Pricila felt the pressure all the same and now she was making little squeaking sounds as she tried to stop crying.

  "I want to go home," Pricila croaked.

  "You can't. Shut up."

  "I don't like you."

  "I don't like you either."

  Pricila almost fell when Maya let her go with a shove. Maya hefted up Baby Carmen and craned her neck to look over the heads of people waiting in line to buy bus tickets.

  Pricila thought of all the bad words that Mommy and Nana told her never to say. She called Maya all those names in her head.

  The line moved forward and then someone opened the door to the patio. Cold wind swept in and Pricila lifted her face to it, smelling the thick fumes from the train. Then a man smiled at her. She leaned to the right to hide behind Maya's fat butt.

  Baby Carmen started whimpering and Maya growled like a dog. She kneeled down and set her backpack on the floor.

  "Help me," she said to Pricila. "Open up the zipper."

  She did and the train's horn hurt her ears. Maya swatted her hands out of the way.

  "Zip it up," Maya ordered impatiently, and then stuck the bottle in Baby Carmen's mouth. But the baby twisted her head away as if Maya had stabbed her with the bottle. "Come on," Maya said. "Just take the fucking thing."

  Why had Nana sent her away with Maya? Why hadn't she let her stay with Danielle too? She hadn't caused any trouble.

  "Shut up," Maya snapped at a lady in line who was telling her to calm down. "Wait here," she then ordered Pricila.

  "Where are you going?"

  "I said wait here." People stared at Maya and Pricila heard the lady in line make a comment about her.

  Pricila started to follow Maya, afraid to be left alone. She was getting that hurt feeling in her throat again. She wanted her mommy and her nana.

  "Are you okay?" The man who had smiled at her now stood next to her. He had big blue eyes and curly black hair. "I'll stay with you until she comes back."

  They walk me out of the interview room, presumably to the booking area. My eyes fill with tears, and since I can't bring my hands up to wipe them clear, they spill down my face.

  They take me through the station and I burn with humiliation. It's like I'm a prize fish, by the looks of the passing cops. We ride an elevator and it opens to a floor that smells like new carpet, paper, and ink. The men and a few women wear suits with their badges and guns displayed on their belts.

  Officer Lara gives me a look that says, You asked for it. She opens an office door and two men are standing by a window streaked with rain.

  One looks at the other and murmurs something. He ges tures to the other officers, who back away and I'm left alone with the Mexican Terminator. His dark face betrays nothing as he walks straight at me. He never drops his stare, even when he moves right into my personal space and stands there with his arms crossed over his chest.

  "You made some claims against one of my agents," he says in a hushed voice that's all street.

  I fight the urge to step back. "Her grandmother claimed her daughter was set up by your agent. I'm worried about the little girl."

  "You have evidence that she's my agent's daughter?"

  "I looked for it."

  "So you could write a news story that would damage his reputation and my department."

  "To help a woman who did nothing wrong but live here illegally and sleep with the wrong guy."

  The corner of his mouth tics like he's used to hearing this sort of thing. "Would this kid know you if she saw you?"

  I remember Pricila's weight against me as we sat on the couch and ate ice cream. "Yes."

  He studies me and I remember why I haven't dated a Latino since I was seventeen. They have a way of making you forget the vow you made in the eighth grade that you'd never be the kind of woman who washes her man's underwear or makes him a plate at parties.

  "I'm not going to add to your problems and have you arrested, Danielle. You're a news assistant who's two months behind on your car payment. A Mini Cooper. My sister wants one of those."

  "I got laid off," I answer before I realize he has poked into my life. What else does he know?

  He reaches for me and I flinch.

  He grins as if he likes blondes in shackles. "I'm just going to take off the cuffs."

  "What about Pricila? And who are you?"

  "Agent Mike Acacio, head of Immigration and Customs Enforcement, Orange County bureau." He takes my arm. His fingers are hot and then, with a twist and snap, my hands are free. "I think I know where Pricila is."

  Soon we're in Agent Acacio's car, for which he apologizes. The guys who had it last were doing a stakeout and didn't toss out their soda cans and fast food bags. It smells like stale fried chicken.

  We start driving. The rain has let up but the sky is dark and the trees bend in the wind.

  "Where are we going?"

  "Train depot. You said the little girl left with a woman and a hundred bucks."

  I nod.

  "More than likely they've got tickets on the 2:45 bus to Los Angeles and then Mexicali."

  When I look at him like he's psychic, he shakes his head. "I've been doing this for a while."

  "When did you know Jim Westfall was having an affair with an unauthorized immigrant?"

  He glares at me. My stomach coils into a knot.

  "This is off the record," he says. "I received a faxed birth certificate with his name on it, and when I crossreferenced the list of arrestees, Gina Ruiz's name was on it."

  Mike-Agent Acacio-goes on to explain that he had suspicions about Westfall's arrests. I fight back a grin. Gina managed one last strike before Westfall got her. I bet we'd like each other if we ever met.

  "Look, we don't make up the laws," Agent Acacio says. "If Miss Ruiz is here illegally, she has to return to Mexico. But I don't let my agents get away with abusing their power."

  "So you'll still deport Gina?"<
br />
  "If the court decides to repatriate her, then she'll be returned to Mexico."

  "Doesn't Westfall want to look for his daughter?"

  His grip tightens on the steering wheel. I finally notice a wedding ring. "For some people, their kids don't figure into the equation."

  "Let's get something to drink. You like strawberry soda?"

  Pricila thought about it and nodded. He seemed nice. Even though Mommy and Nana told her never to talk to strangers, they'd let Danielle take her and now Maya. He smiled when he looked at Pricila and he wore Converse shoes like her teacher, Mr. Neil.

  "This nice lady here will keep your place in line. We'll come back before your mom does, okay?"

  Pricila knew she shouldn't go.

  "Here, leave this." He reached for her backpack and helped her arms out of the straps. "We'll bring something back for your mom too. That way she won't be mad at us, okay?"

  She looked up at him and then at the cafe at the other end of the station. As long as they came back, it would be okay. He held out his hand and she took it.

  We arrive at the station with an agreement: I'll take Pricila home until the court decides what to do with Gina. Agent Acacio will deal with Westfall. We'll all go on with our business.

  When the SUV jerks to a stop, I turn to Agent Acacio. "I'm sorry, but you know I'm going to talk to my editor after this."

  He shrugs like that doesn't mean anything and then jumps out to jog around the steaming hood, but he doesn't open my door. A father carries his daughter to the parking lot and people hurry out to a bus with a sign reading Mexicali in the front window.

  I reach into my purse, wondering if I have time to call Jake to send a photographer.

  At first he held her hand. Pricila tripped when he pulled her toward the doors, away from the cafe.

  "This way, sweetie."

  "But the sodas are there," she said, pointing to the cafe in case he hadn't seen it.

  "No, baby, there're better ones this way."

  The cold stung her face when he pushed the door open. What if Maya came back before they came back? What if the lady didn't save their place in line? Would Maya slap her?

  Pricila wrinkled her nose at the smell of the buses parked alongside the building. She wondered which one she would ride with Maya and Baby Carmen.

  He walked faster and she nearly tripped over her own feet to keep up.

  "Where are the-"

  "Not now." This time he didn't smile. He swooped down and lifted Pricila up in the air. Then he held her against him, one hand under her butt and the other forcing her head down. Her nose bumped against his shoulder and she froze with terror. She wished she hadn't left with him. She wished she had stayed where Maya told her to.

  They walked past the big fountain and yellow taxis.

  She could hear him breathing and white steam puffed out of his nose. He started running and she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping he wouldn't drop her; hoping Mommy would appear out of nowhere.

  He stopped running and she heard keys jangling. A car door opened and he swung her inside. With one glimpse up at him, Pricila realized he didn't look very nice anymore. She opened her mouth to scream but he slammed the door.

  Something tells me to look up again. I feel it like a hand grabbing the back of my neck.

  I do, and then Pricila glances up over the man's shoulder. Suddenly all these broken pieces pull together in my mind to form a picture. The man driving around Santa Ana, offering rides to little girls. Pricila's white coat.

  The doors close behind Agent Acacio as he moves into the train station.

  I'm out of the car. Everything in my purse scatters on the sidewalk. My feet pound the asphalt and tires scream as a driver hits the brakes to keep from running me over.

  I leap up onto the sidewalk and my wedge boots give out under me. I fall sideways into a puddle of oily water. But I look up when I hear a yelp and then the slamming of a door. He sees me and then ducks into the dented Subaru backed into a parking space. My knee burns and my ankle screams but I get up and hobble the distance to his car.

  "Stop! Stop!" I scream so loud it hurts my throat. He starts the car and I slam both fists against the hood.

  He revs the engine and the car lurches forward. I lever myself up and my shins crash into the bumper. I snatch my right foot up before it's pulled under the car.

  I don't have time to pray. My fingers hook under the hood. I see the top of Pricila's head over the backseat. He didn't even buckle her in.

  I then meet his eyes through the windshield. He grins at me as he guns the car forward, and my first thought as I swing off the hood is that this is going to hurt.

  But Agent Acacio shouts for him to stop, and knowing he has a gun, I think that the pain will be worth it.

  eannie is celebrating the rites of spring at Lake Mead this weekend," Hudson proclaimed with a deep rumble, taking his eye off me long enough to pack his pipe. "Initiating the drunken mating rituals of the collegiate slut with like-minded male strangers, a la Girls Gone Wild, no doubt."

  I knew Jeannie. She wasn't a good girl. She liked to spread rumors that she was bedding her professors. I guess in Hudson's case, her immature bragging was true.

  "The dickens of it is, Josh, I need to break into her room. Tonight."

  "I just don't see you as the love-letter type, Hudson."

  "I'm not, damn you." Hudson pawed his trim white beard. "The girl is crazy. She likes to play games that escalate. She sent me these."

  Hudson tossed a folder. I pulled out a sheet of paper with porno magazine pictures of a man and woman glued to it.

  "Doggy style. Does that have importance?"

  "No."

  The woman's head had been replaced with the face of a teenage girl, the man's with a gray-bearded geezer. "Hey, Wilford Brimley," I said, recognizing the actor from the diabetes commercials. A voice bubble from the girl said, Do I get an `A" yet? Wilford Brimley replied, No talking in class!

  It was signed, Studiously yours, Jeannie.

  "That's the first one," Hudson explained. He didn't seem embarrassed at all. I looked through the folder. There were a bunch more, each raunchier than the next.

  "You replied in kind?"

  "Yes, but mine were more sophisticated."

  "And she's threatening you?"

  "She's making outrageous demands. She wants honors. A TA position. She wants to hold hands on campus. She says she'll go public. I will not have my reputation tarnished, josh. It means everything."

  I tossed the folder back. "I didri t know you had it in you."

  Hudson stopped mid-puff. "What does that mean?"

  "Nothing. Well, I mean, with your busy schedule, dating a younger woman who is also a serious head case could be a challenge."

  Hudson glared hard before responding. "We weren't dating. We were screwing. Age wasn't an issue."

  "I didn't mean that," I said, though that's exactly what I'd meant.

  "I intend to have those letters back. Are you in?"

  "Look, Hudson, there's no way. It's too crazy. I mean, c'mon. Plus, I've got somebody arriving into town tonight." That was true. I was doing one last interview with Hank Watson for my documentary about former prisoners from the frightful penitentiary in Moundsville, West Virgina.

  Hank Watson, charged with burglary, kidnapping, assault. And that's just what got him into Texas' infamous Gatesville reform school as a teen in the '40s. He later graduated to much bigger, deadlier things. Hank needed special handling.

  "Tenure reviews are next month," Hudson said.

  There it was. Implied, limped around, now it was out on the table.

  "I've got to pick someone. Joan is just as qualified, and with those legs, nicer to have around. Frankly, I think I have a shot at her."

  "This is unfair. My film went to Sundance."

  "You know how many lousy docs play up there? Doesn't mean squat. I was a judge at Sundance. Skied circles around Redford." He waved a beefy, sun-splotched hand at the ph
otos on the wall behind him.

  A black-and-white of Hudson with Redford, the Sundance Kid himself, on skis. Hudson was clearly puffing out his chest. It was next to a photo of Hudson holding a big-mouth bass with David Jansen, next to a photo of Hudson karatechopping James Coburn.

  On his bookshelf, enclosed in glass, stood his Academy Award for Best Documentary, Nineteen Seventy-Something.

  Hudson had the career and the life that had thus far eluded me.

  "My point is, as department chair, I do the picking. It's completely autocratic. There are candidates you don't even know about. It doesn't have to be you."

  "Don't tell me I'm not good for Chapman. Freedom Kills is going to air on PBS. I'm an asset and you know it."

  "Chapman is your third university in less than a decade, Josh. You're a newlywed. You don't want to continue dragging that cute little wife of yours around like a bedouin. Orange is a nice little town. Does Sarah know that with tenure, Chapman helps finance the house?"

  "We know."

  "In this market, you'll clean up. Nothing makes one feel more like a man than buying one's wife a nice house. Except banging twins in said house when wifey goes to spa."

  "I got the man thing covered, Hudson," though his words carried weight. The house, like the career, seemed like a dream that was slipping away. "I just can't help wondering why you're asking me."

  "Because you want it bad. I've been in academia for forty years. I can smell you young guns coming a mile away."

  "I'm a young gun and I didn't even know it."

  "And we both know the other reason."

  Now it was my turn to glare. "Other reason?"

  "Word gets around, Josh. You and Jeannie?"

  "Hold on right there. She's a liar. According to her, she was banging half the faculty, and I don't just mean the male half either."

  Hudson cracked a smile. "Of course. Jeannie loved to embellish. I just meant you'd understand my predicament."

  "Yeah, I get it. I just haven't taken the plunge like you. So that's why you're asking me?"

  Hudson tapped his pipe. "There was love in that little doc of yours. I'd put forth you became enamored of the darkness. Tracking down those ancient ex-cons, getting their nasty little tales, the horrors of the revolution during that prison uprising. You have an interest in things that are out of bounds, young man.