Mark Gimenez - The Color of Law

Dan shook his head in apparent disbelief at the memory.

“Scott, I learned three things about Mack McCall that night: he doesn’t take no for an answer; he doesn’t fight fair; and he’s the meanest son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”

Scott let out a nervous chuckle. “So what’s he gonna do, beat me up?”

Dan sighed. “I don’t know what he’s going to do, Scotty. Forty-two years, I’ve never said no to him.” He paused, then said, “But I do know one thing, Scott: Mack McCall thinks the White House belongs to him.”

"Usted me lo prometio, Senor Fenney!Usted me lo prometio!”

Consuela’s brown face was wet with tears and contorted with fear as she cried out- You promised, Senor Fenney! You promised! Her eyes were begging for help, her round body was shaking uncontrollably, and her arms were held behind her colorful Mexican peasant dress by handcuffs. INS policy, the agents had said.

Two agents from the Immigration and Naturalization Service had arrived at the Fenney residence at exactly 6:30 A.M. that Monday morning. Consuela had collapsed into Scott’s arms when they flashed their INS badges. The fear that had haunted her always now possessed her. All her protections had failed her: the crucifixes, the prayers, the candles, the Town of Highland Park…and Senor Fenney.

Ten minutes later, the agents were departing with Consuela de la Rosa in federal custody. Scott stood by helplessly as the agents escorted her to their waiting car. He shouted, “INS doesn’t come into Highland Park, that’s the deal! This is gonna cost you your jobs!”

One agent smiled and said, “I don’t think so, sir.”

“Half the homes in Highland Park employ Mexican maids! Why’d you come to my house?”

“Anonymous tip, sir,” the same agent said over his shoulder.

Scott gave the agent the best glare he could work up in his boxer shorts.

“Anonymous tip, my ass!”

Boo pushed past Scott and ran barefooted in her nightie down the walkway shouting, “Consuela! Consuela!”

Consuela turned back just as Boo threw her arms around the older woman’s wide waist and clutched her tightly. Consuela bent over and said, “Oh, nina.” Boo reached up and wiped tears from Consuela’s face. After a moment, one agent tugged at Consuela’s arm, so she kissed Boo and motioned for her to return to the house. Boo ran straight into Scott’s arms, her face frantic.

“You promised they wouldn’t come to our house! You promised! Where are they taking her? What’s gonna happen to her?”

Pajamae was now standing next to them. “That’s how they do it,” she said. “They just come and take you away.”

Finally Rebecca appeared. She punched her fists into her hips, sighed, and said, “That’s just great. Who’s gonna cook now, me?”

One agent put Consuela in the backseat of the dark sedan while two morning joggers stopped and gawked. Down the street, less noticeable than a soft breeze on this warm summer morning, a truckload of brown men, young and middle-aged and old, arrived for work, just as a hundred other truckloads of brown men were arriving at grand residences on quiet streets throughout the Town of Highland Park: the yardmen. Mexican men just up from Matamoros or Nuevo Laredo or Juarez, willing to toil under the cruel summer sun for the chance at a better life.

The second agent was standing at his open door, but turned back when Scott yelled at him: “You want to bust illegals?” He pointed down the street at the yardmen. “Go arrest them! You can drive all over Highland Park this morning and arrest a hundred more Mexican nationals! But they mow the lawns of the richest men in Dallas, so you’re not going to their homes, are you? I know why you came to my house! I know the asshole giving you orders!”

“It’s McCall.”

An hour later, Scott was standing in front of Dan Ford’s desk, his adrenaline still pumping hard.

Dan sighed and said, “Perhaps. Perhaps you should reconsider your decision.”

“What, this is a warning from McCall, that he can hurt me? He didn’t hurt me, he hurt a poor Mexican girl! Who didn’t do a goddamned thing to him!”

Scott headed to the door, but stopped and turned back. “Oh, Dan, when you call the senator, tell him I said to go fuck himself.”

Scott stormed past Sue and into his office where he found Bobby stretched out on the sofa.

“Mr. Fenney?” Sue was at the door, pink phone slips in hand. “Reporters. They won’t stop calling.”

“No reporters.” Sue disappeared. Scott wiped sweat from his forehead, looked over at Bobby, and said, “They took Consuela.”

Bobby sat up. “Who?”

“INS. They showed up this morning, anonymous tip.”

“From McCall.”

Scott slumped. “Jesus, Bobby, her face. She was so scared.”

His anger rose again, and he desperately needed to hit something, so he kicked the trash basket across the room.

“That son of a bitch doesn’t know who he’s messing with!” He pointed a finger at the blowup of himself on the wall. “I got a hundred and ninety-three yards against Texas!”

“Football’s got rules, Scotty. Game McCall plays, ain’t no rules.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Bobby climbed up from the sofa and said, “I’ll be in the library if you need me-briefs for Shawanda. Lunch?”

Scott nodded. Bobby turned to leave but stopped dead in his tracks when Karen Douglas appeared in the door. They looked at each other like two preteens, then Karen broke eye contact and entered the office. Bobby left and Karen said to Scott, “He’s cute.”

“Yeah, that’s what I always tell him.”

Scott sat down hard in his chair and tried to get his breathing under control.

“You okay?” Karen asked.

“No.” After several deep breaths: “What’s up?”

“We’re ready to file the Dibrell zoning lawsuit.” Sid walked in as Karen continued: “But Richard down in litigation says Dallas County state court isn’t a favorable venue for this type of action. He says the judges are all Republicans and aren’t inclined to overrule a city’s zoning decisions.”

Sid winked at Scott and said, “Karen, what’s the single most important fact a lawyer needs to know before going into court, the one fact that will determine whether you win or lose?”

Karen seemed confused. Finally, she shrugged and said, “Which party was in the right and which was in the wrong?”

Sid chuckled. “Not exactly. This wasn’t on the bar exam, Karen, but the single most important fact to know is whether the other lawyer contributed more money to the judge’s last campaign than we did. Right, Scott?”

Scott nodded at Sid, but his thoughts were on Consuela…and the look on her face…as if Senor Fenney had betrayed her.

Sid said, “Only problem is, Scott, cases are assigned randomly. How can we be sure of getting one of our judges?”

Scott’s mind, though clouded with Consuela, remained ever aggressive and creative.

“Karen, tell Richard to file the lawsuit six times back to back. The six suits will be assigned to six different judges. We’ll pick the judge we gave the most money to, proceed with that suit, and nonsuit the others.”

Sid was duly impressed. Karen had that same freshman-coed-watching-her-first-porn-flick expression. Scott thought of his maid…he had betrayed her. He yelled out to his secretary:

“Sue, get me Rudy Gutierrez’s number! He’s an immigration lawyer!”

Karen asked, “Scott, is that ethical? Filing the same suit six times?”

“It’s a code of legal ethics, Karen, not the Bible.”

“Where’s the goddamn coffee?”

In the commercial-style kitchen at 4000 Beverly Drive in Highland Park, Rebecca Fenney was opening and slamming cabinet doors, trying to find the coffee beans and the grinder so she could make her own coffee for the first time in three years, angry and agitated because her anxiety and fear had increased exponentially. Had her husband fucked up a good thing? Was losing Consuela just the beginning-the beginning of the end? The arrest of the Fenney maid would be the main topic at every luncheon of Highland Park ladies this Monday. What would they think of Rebecca Fenney now? How would it affect her chances to chair the Cattle Barons’ Ball?