by Rayna Morgan
“Look, I'm honored your father trusts me enough to ask me to protect you. I have no wish to lose his trust.”
“Oh, all right. But let me choose when and where to inform him.”
“What is it with women, calculating the best time and place to tell men things? Why not just spit it out?”
“There are times your brash manner works, but a touch of diplomacy never hurts.” She turned away and opened her purse. “How much do I owe you for lunch?”
“My paying for a salad won’t damage your reputation as a self-reliant woman,” he said mockingly.
Her phone buzzed. She listened for a moment, then thanked her mother and disconnected.
“Well?” Dan asked.
“Rosa couldn’t resist bragging that the family she works for are detectives who are going to find her nephew.”
Dan stopped for gas on the way out of town. When he went inside to pay, he asked the attendant about the man they met at the bus stop.
“Whitey’s retired now, but he used to be the best one-stop lawyer in town. Handled everything from wills to drunk driving charges for most folks in town. I had occasion to use his service myself once. When I was in school, me and my buddies got caught shoplifting. The judge wanted to throw the book at us to teach us a lesson. My old man was fit to be tied, but Whitey got us off with community service.” He grinned at the recollection. “Not before he took us to jail to show how we’d end up if we did anything stupid again.”
“He did you and your friend a favor.”
“I wasn’t the only one in my family Whitey straightened out. One night my old man got arrested for thrashing on my mom. Whitey took my father out in back. I don’t know what they talked about, but it never happened again.”
“Sounds as though he's a good man to know. Where can I find him, should the need arise?”
“If you take the back road between here and Buena Viaje, Whitey lives in the last house outside of town. You can’t miss it. His front yard is filled with orange and lemon trees.”
Dan laid a tip on the counter. “Thanks for your help. Stay out of trouble.”
Back in the car, he repeated the information to Lea.
“Why the interest in Whitey?” she asked. “He can’t offer more information regarding your near-hit-and-run.”
“Maybe not, but I think we should go for a visit when we have time. He seems to know about most things taking place around here. Hopefully, that includes what goes on at Rancho Hidalgo.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Warren went to meet with Ralph Miller, the local representative of the United Farm Workers organization.
“I have a client whose nephew works at a produce farm. He’s being threatened with deportation for going public with accusations of laborers being abused, dangerous working conditions, and unacceptable living accommodations. Before I put my head on the block for this young man, I need to determine if he’s within his rights.”
“How familiar are you with the situation?”
“Until we took on this case, I was barely aware of the farmworkers’ existence or of their vital role in the food chain.”
“Eighty percent of the farm labor force in this country is comprised of immigrants, with the majority from Mexico,” Ralph told him. “Farmworkers do the back-breaking work of harvesting that helps feed the country and generates billions in profits for the trillion-dollar retail food industry. Yet despite the essential nature of their labor, those same people have endured extreme poverty, sexual assault, and modern-day slavery.”
“Our client’s nephew complains of unequal treatment under existing labor laws. That may be true, but I’d like to hear it from you.”
“Undocumented people in this country live as though they have no rights. Farmworkers are exempt from many provisions afforded under the Fair Labor Standards Act. Most notably, they are excluded from minimum wage laws and other labor protections, including the right to overtime pay for working more than forty hours a week. The average yearly income of farm workers is less than twenty thousand dollars for individuals and less than twenty-five thousand for a family. That doesn’t go far considering the cost of living in this country.” He leaned forward, tapping his pen on the desk. “Most workers are not entitled to mandatory breaks for rest or meals nor are they protected from retaliation when engaged in labor organizing.”
“But laws have been passed to protect workers in matters of wages and living conditions.”
“Justice on paper doesn’t always translate to the fields. At the end of the day, a law is only as strong as its enforcement. In the case of farmworkers, labor laws are rarely enforced.”
“That backs up what his uncle told my daughter. Pedro also worries about what his girlfriend is subjected to.”
“A large percentage of female farmworkers claim they have experienced harassment including sexual slurs, groping, and even rape.”
“His girlfriend is here under a temporary agricultural visa. Can you tell me what that entails?”
“Use of that visa allows growers to recruit workers, mainly from Mexico. The employer is required to supply transportation, meals, and housing. Workers receive contracts for less than one year and must leave when their work is done. While they are here, they’re tied to the grower that recruits them. If laborers protest mistreatment, they can be fired. For that reason, the program has been criticized for creating a captive workforce deprived of economic bargaining power and the right to vote.”
“It sounds as though there are legitimate reasons to complain.”
“In the worst cases I’ve experienced, temporary workers were cheated out of wages, virtually held captive by employers who seized their documents, forced to live in unspeakable conditions, and denied medical benefits for on-the-job injuries.”
“Are those conditions prevalent in our region?”
Ralph shook his head. “In this area, the biggest complaint is non-payment of wages or being underpaid based on what the employer promised before work began.”
“Remuneration is a major issue with Pedro.”
“I’m not surprised. For starters, their wage is little over half the average paid to workers in other industries. Rather than being paid by the hour, they receive a piece-meal rate based on how many buckets they pick of whatever crop they harvest. There have been complaints that supervisors dock pay without explanation or under count boxes to shortchange the recipients.”
Ralph stared out the window as he continued. “As far as working conditions, laborers cite foremen who yell abuse or fail to provide water or bathrooms in the fields. Another common complaint is having their injuries ignored or their medical bills unpaid by the responsible employer.”
He turned back to face Warren. “Too often, farm work is a story of exploitation with workers treated as commodities, barely different from machinery.”
“It’s a sad state of affairs,” Warren acknowledged. “It makes you question how far we’ve come since the days of Cesar Chavez and his movement to get union representation for the workers.”
The men sat quietly, contemplating the slow moving wheels of change.
“What’s the nature of your young man’s complaints?” Ralph finally asked.
“He contends the harvesters are exposed to pesticides sprayed in the fields.”
“The Pesticide Regulation Department encourages growers to use natural resources as an alternative to chemical products, but growers are hesitant to make the switch.”
Warren made no effort to hide his indignation. “I assume their reluctance is based on profitability.”
Ralph nodded. “Traditional pesticides provide certainty. Alternative methods can take months or entire seasons to take effect. Besides requiring added resources, they may prove less efficient in the long run. Those factors impact the growers’ bottom line.”
“Smoke inhalation by those required to work in areas next to fire zones is another hazard he’s concerned about.”
“Fires were problems our state used t
o face only occasionally. In recent years, they have become recurring events. I see no end to the resultant hazardous conditions or the negative impact on air quality until our country makes climate change a priority. In the meantime, I agree more should be done to protect individuals exposed to such hazards.”
“My client’s nephew received threats of deportation for complaining or reporting these abuses. Are such warnings valid?”
“Most are overzealous tactics to keep employees in line. Their use stems in part from employers’ own fears of working with people from a different culture or who speak a foreign language. But we can’t do much to end those threats without victims who are willing to come forward.”
“That’s the catch-22. If I convince this young man to file a complaint and his employer finds out, I’ve put him in jeopardy of being deported.”
• • •
After thanking Ralph for his help, Warren went to his car and called Lea for an update. He caught her in Dan's car on their way back to the office.
“We may have more on our plate than we thought when we agreed to find Pedro,” she told him.
She explained the resistance they encountered at the ranch. She also mentioned the man called Whitey without going into detail about the circumstances.
“Sounds as though that fellow knows what goes on in his neck of the woods. Call and arrange to see him as soon as possible. Before we dive in over our heads, we could use his insight into what the heck is going on at Rancho Hidalgo.”
“Dan had the same thought,” Lea acknowledged.
“Great minds think alike,” Dan whispered.
CHAPTER NINE
Back at the office, Dan remained in the car. “I’ll just be a minute. I need to clean the trash from my back seat.”
As soon as Lea disappeared inside, he retrieved the wadded piece of paper and reread the message: WATCH YOUR SIX
He recognized the military term meaning to be alert for an enemy attacking from behind.
An eerie message after Lea's remarks about watching my back. At least now I know I’m not imagining things. The written warning is proof the threats are real.
He stared at the words scrawled on the sheet.
Should I show Lea and Warren this note? I hate to be the cause of Warren’s blood pressure rising. Better to wait until Lea determines the best way to inform him.
He folded the paper and placed it in the glove compartment. Still, I’d feel better discussing the warning with someone.
He decided the time had come. Lea wasn't far off the mark thinking I’d rely on my former partner at the Rangers. Maybe Woody can help figure out who’s trying to kill me.
• • •
When Dan entered the office, Lea and her father were conversing in the reception room. He tried to sneak past, but Warren turned to greet him.
“There you are. Lea has been giving me a summary of your visit to the ranch. Now, I’d like to hear your version.”
Dan glanced at Lea. She signaled with her eyes, but he couldn’t interpret her message.
“I sense gaps in my daughter’s recitation of events.” Warren’s glacial voice suggested they were treading on thin ice. “From experience, she knows keeping secrets from me is ill-advised.”
Dan stooped to pet the dogs, groping for a response.
Warren persisted. “Did anything of significance happen after your visit with the busboy?”
Neither Lea nor Dan responded.
In lieu of their silence, he continued. “Instinct tells me you two are hiding things from me.”
“Surely you won’t pay attention to that,” Lea said weakly. “You complain when Maddy and I rely on intuition.”
He turned on her. “Don’t be flippant. What are you two neglecting to tell me?”
They both squirmed. Neither of them answered.
“Cat got your tongues, hey? Then let me make things clear. The trust I placed in you, Dan, will be severely tested if you refrain from telling me something which affects my daughter’s safety.” He turned to glare at her. “It’s challenging enough having three strong-willed people working together without butting heads. But if either of you keeps things from me, I guarantee this will be the shortest partnership on record.”
He stormed from the room, leaving them speechless.
• • •
Lea threw herself onto the sofa in the reception room. “What should we do next, mastermind?”
Dan tossed his hat next to her and slumped in a chair.
She observed how much space the Stetson took up. “There’s an axiom about things being bigger and better in Texas. That appears to include the hats you wear.”
He smiled. “I won't deny the truth in that statement. But I choose things for quality, not size.”
“I’m surprised you find hats large enough to cover your swollen head.”
He kept a sense of humor, but changed the subject. “We need to attend the meeting Roberto mentioned.”
“Do you think we’ll be able to speak with Pedro?”
“If not, at least we can hear about what’s going on at the ranch. We'll be able to decide ourselves if his stories are true.”
“How do you suggest we get past the guards? The meeting is being held after hours.”
“I reckon we’ll have to sneak in.”
“After the unwelcome reception we received, we’ll be in trouble if the guards spot us.”
“We need someone to divert their attention.”
“Who do you have in mind?”
He grinned. “A person who would be a distraction for any red-blooded male. How busy is your sister with her store?”
“You’re crazy. Maddy will never agree.”
“She may refuse if you or I ask. But there’s someone to whom she can’t say no.”
“I hope you aren’t proposing we tell my father of this scheme.”
“He’s the only one who can talk her into helping.”
“We shouldn’t put him in that position,” Lea argued.
“In order to get what we want from these people, we need to play the game on their terms. Your father understands that concept. He’ll be willing to stretch the rules.”
“Are you suggesting you know him better than I do?”
“Let’s go talk to him and find out.”
“You cocky son of a gun,” she muttered as she followed him down the hall.
• • •
They found Warren working a crossword puzzle.
“I hope we aren’t interrupting anything important, Dad,” Lea said sarcastically.
“Just calming my nerves after you two upset my equilibrium.” Her father dropped the puzzle into a drawer and gave them his attention.
Dan told him of Pedro’s plan to hold a secret meeting and outlined their proposal to attend.
“How will you keep from being seen by the guards?” Warren asked.
“I thought of using Maddy to divert them while we sneak in.”
Lea waited for her father’s objection. His response surprised her.
“Your sister would make a perfect diversion,” he told her. “She could tell the guards her car broke down, ran out of gas, or had a flat tire. They wouldn't refuse to help her.”
Lea held up a hand. “I can't make such a request. Remember her response when I begged her to come back? She said I was selfish to ask, knowing how badly she wants to succeed with her store.”
“You’re right,” Warren concurred. “You shouldn’t ask. She will only turn you down.”
“I knew he wouldn’t agree,” she whispered to Dan.
Warren twiddled his thumbs for a moment. “However, there’s nothing to stop me from asking. She’ll have a harder time refusing her father.”
“Told you,” Dan muttered under his breath.
“Do you think she’ll join us?” Lea asked hopefully. “If she does, it will be like old times.”
Warren issued a warning. “We're asking a one-time favor. Don't put pressure on her to stay.”
Both men nodded.
“Ditto for telling your mother,” Warren added.
CHAPTER TEN
Lea and Dan appeared for their meeting with Whitey at a ranch-style home a mile outside San Verde.
They opened the gate onto a yard filled with lemon, lime, and orange trees and inhaled the tangy scent of citrus. Chickadees and goldfinches gathered around strategically placed feeders, pecking at the seeds. Hummingbirds flitted among large ceramic pots filled with multi-colored flowers.
They followed a stone path leading to the porch where they found Whitey in a wicker chair with a small white poodle at his feet.
“Did you have a hard time finding the place?” he asked amiably.
“Not at all,” Lea replied. “You have a beautiful home.”
“Before we start, let me show you my garden.”
The small dog followed at their heels as they rounded the corner of the house where their eyes fell on an assortment of vegetables laid out in rows of orange, green, and red.
“Gardening has become one of my passions since I retired,” he told them.
“I envy you having fresh produce whenever you walk out your door,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to grow my own vegetables, but our back yard serves as a play area for the dogs.”
“There was a time when my meal of choice was a thick, juicy steak and a martini. Those days are gone. Now I’m a vegetarian. I’m proud to say I grow most of my own food. I no longer read labels to figure out what’s been added to the canned tomatoes or worry about what pesticides were used to grow them.”
He pointed to a table and chairs under a large magnolia tree. “Sit down. I’ll bring something to drink.”
Moments later, he returned with a tray of glasses and a pitcher of tea.
“When you called, you said you want information on people in the area,” he said as he filled the glasses. “I reckon I know as much as most people in these parts. In fact, I know more than most because of my former profession as a lawyer.”
