Adrian McKinty - Fifty Grand

Handsome like a bear, as we say in Cuba.

Esteban’s mouth twitched and his cheeks took on a rosy complection. He grunted.

“Yes… well, uhm, I have to meet some of our clients this morning, reassure them that the Mountain State Employment Agency does not hire illegals and has not been affected by the INS raids.”

“Well, you look great. I love the suit.”

“Tailored. In Denver,” he said, and then, remembering why he’d come, muttered, “Uhm, María, we all need to be downstairs in, say, five minutes?”

“Oh, no problem, I’ll see you down there.”

He stood there for a moment. Something was on his mind. He got to it. “I don’t normally give people the choice, but, well, do you want to work what we call Malibu Mountain or would you prefer to be downtown, where it’s a bit easier? You’ll probably end up doing both, but the mountain’s good because in about two weeks they’re going to start giving out Christmas tips. Could be lucrative.”

I had to work the mountain, there was no question about it.

“The mountain,” I said.

“I have an arrangement with the other girls. Remember, I get half of all the tips, no exceptions, ok?”

“Ok,” I said.

I’d be gone by Christmas. What the hell did I care?

Esteban seemed relieved. “Great. Thought I’d remind you. Didn’t want to have to strong-arm you later.”

“You think you could?” I asked with a smile, ironically flexing my skinny arms.

He grinned. “I like you, María. If this works out maybe you could even work for me in our office on Pearl Street.”

“Ok.”

“Good. I’ll see you down there.” He turned to leave and then paused in the doorway. “It won’t be much, you know, don’t get your hopes up,” he said.

I had lost the drift. “What won’t be much?”

“The Christmas tips. When we used to clean the Cruise estate, Margarita and Luisa got a thousand bucks each. But these fuckers we do now, they’re all the lesser lights.”

“That’s ok,” I said.

“Hurry up now,” he said and finally left the room.

I put on the maid’s uniform, a somber short-sleeved black affair with blue piping, but infinitely better than those I’d seen around the Hotel Nacional or the Sevilla. I smoothed the straggles from my hair, brushed my teeth, washed my face. I looked mousy but rested and fresh.

Angela, a slender young thing from Mexico City, had made Nescafé in the kitchen. I took a few sips of the acrid liquid before joining her and the other girls in the back of Esteban’s Range Rover.

Esteban sped off, talking as fast as he drove. “Luisa, Anna, I’m going to drop you on Pearl Street. A lot of people are jittery, but I’m not. If the INS still has agents in town-which I doubt-remember that they’re civil servants, so no one’s gonna be up and about before ten o’clock. You understand what I’m saying?”

Both Anna and Luisa looked blank.

“Jesus. Am I the only one who does any thinking around here? You gotta be finished by ten o’clock.”

Luisa looked at me and Angela with an expression I couldn’t decipher but which Angela seemed to get. Angela nodded. Luisa leaned forward in the seat until her face was only a few centimeters from Esteban’s. “Don Esteban, how are we supposed to do all the businesses on Pearl Street before ten o’clock? We are not miracle workers. You must be crazy,” she said.

Luisa was an older woman from Guadalajara, and I could tell that she was allowed a little more leeway with Esteban than the others; but even so, Angela and Anna seemed surprised to hear her speak so freely.

Esteban stared at her for a moment, thought about one possible reply-almost certainly a profane one-but chose to select another. “Look, just do your best, Luisa. Make sure you cover the important clients: Hermès, Gucci, DKNY-you know, the big ones. Just get it done and get off the street before ten. We’re in a jam and we all gotta pull together.”

He dropped Luisa and Anna outside Brooks Brothers and drove off toward the so-called Malibu Mountain.

Before he’d gotten a block his phone rang.

“Yes?… Yes?… Yes!”

He hung up, reversed the Range Rover. Luisa was having a last cigarette while Anna was inside the store turning on the power. Esteban wound the window down and called Luisa over. He was excited. “They didn’t get Josefina. She was at her boyfriend’s house. Christ, when she didn’t show up I thought they’d grabbed her. But she got away.”

“Josefina? Ok,” Luisa replied with considerably less excitement.

“So it shouldn’t be any problem to get finished by ten, Josefina will be joining you,” Esteban said.

“It’ll still be difficult to do everything,” Luisa said.

“Just get on with it!” Esteban muttered, and the window whirred back up.

“Good news,” Esteban said, turning to the pair of us. “Great news. Who wants a Starbucks? My treat, eh?”

Angela rolled her eyes as if to say he’s only doing this to impress you . But I wanted coffee after three days without.

“I do,” I said.

Starbucks: my first experience of white America.

The smell of vanilla. Paul McCartney singing a love song. Scruffy men in five-dollar flip-flops working on five-thousand-dollar laptops.

White people serving us.

Esteban ordered for us, got coffee, croissants, and cakes, and put a dollar in the tip jar.

I sipped the con leche and it tasted almost like a con leche .

“How do you like your coffee?” he asked.

“It’s ok, thank you,” I said.

Angela had gotten a beverage that was covered in whipped cream and required a straw to consume. “Mine’s absolutely delicious,” she said.

“See, it’s not like Rome, sometimes we’re the masters,” Esteban muttered apropos of nothing.

Esteban spotted a Fairview Post in the used newspaper rack. He grabbed it. The headline was “Tancredo Hails INS Raids.” Esteban read the story and passed it across to me. “Can you read, María?” he asked.

“Letters and such?” I asked, doing my best peasant voice.

“Just read it, see what I’m up against,” he said, ignoring the sarcasm.

Congressman Tom Tancredo (R-CO), hailed last night’s INS raids in Denver, Boulder, Fairview, and Vail, which netted an estimated three dozen illegal immigrants. “It’s only a small step but the message has gone out,” Tancredo commented from Washington, “that Colorado is not a safe haven for illegal immigrants from Mexico.”

Congressman Tancredo, who is running for President, will be on Lou Dobbs Tonight on CNN later today to talk about his new plan for dealing with the estimated 11 million illegal immigrants in the United States.

A spokesman for the Mexican consulate in Denver noted, “Twenty-six Mexican citizens, all of whom have jobs and none of whom have a criminal record, have been detained by the Immigration and Naturalization Service. Their cases are under investigation.”

With an estimated fifty thousand Mexican citizens living in Denver alone, an INS spokesman denied that these raids were only a cosmetic measure.

“Without us this whole country would grind to a halt,” Esteban said.

I was about to pass the paper back when I noticed an ad: “For sale: Thorpe hunting rifle new 750 dollars. Smith and Wesson M &P 9mm good con with ammo 400 dollars OBO,” with an address on Lime Kiln Road, Fairview. I carefully ripped out the ad, sipped the con leche, and said nothing.

Esteban nodded at the barista. “Romanian,” he whispered under his breath. “Nothing to do with me. Whole different organization.”

The girl was pale, blond, pretty, and, despite the hour, high.

“What’s her story?” I wondered aloud.