Tim Green: Above The Law

"Smoke?"

"The gasoline floating on the surface," Stacy said, "so it doesn't explode."

"Nice," Casey said. She looked from Stacy to Maria and back to Stacy. "Can you just get me a legal pad and a pen? I'll use the conference room. Is Tina here?"

"I sent her to get some rubber boots so we can get files," Stacy said, "but you won't need her for now. Maria speaks English."

Casey extended her hand to Maria, whose red and swollen eyes moistened anew. Casey felt the weight of the burger in her stomach like a stone as the trembling woman clutched her hand and began to thank her repeatedly before she'd even done anything.

"Let's go in here and talk," Casey said softly as she accepted the supplies from Stacy.

They passed the open door to Donna's office. Donna sat behind her desk, pinching her nose and interviewing an elderly woman. Casey removed her hand from her own face when she got inside their conference room. Casey offered Maria a chair and sat down opposite her, trying to resist the temptation to plug her nose.

When Casey finally persuaded Maria to stop thanking her, Maria said, "My sister is in jail. They took her baby. Her husband was killed."

"Okay," Casey said. "Settle down. Relax. Who put your sister in jail? Was she arrested?"

"ICE agents," Maria said. "For a week, she was in the jail. Finally they let her call me and she tells me it's tomorrow they take her to the judge. How can this be?"

"All right, wait," Casey said, jotting notes. "Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents arrested her and put her into what jail?"

"Right here," Maria said. "The county. I went to her. I saw her."

"You said she has a baby. Where is the baby?"

"Paquita, she is in a foster home. They took her."

"Maria," Casey said, setting her pen down and leaning toward the young woman, "your sister has to have more going on than just being undocumented. Is she involved with drugs?"

"Never," Maria said, shaking her head violently. "Isodora is a good girl. Always good."

"Because ICE doesn't do things like that unless there's something going on," Casey said. "You said the husband was killed. What happened? Was he involved in something? Drugs or rebels or something?"

"He was a good man," Maria said. "Good like her. They said it was an accident, but my sister and her husband, they are not citizens. They have no green cards and then Ellie was killed, and now people know about them."

"What accident? Why would they make her leave?"

"Ms. Jordan," Maria said, her eyes filling now, "this man is very important. I am so scared."

Casey reached across the table and took her hands and said, "Tell me what happened, Maria. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Elijandro would go sometimes with the wife of the boss," Maria said, "but he never did nothing."

"So, he had, I mean, it looked like he was involved with his boss's wife?" Casey said, forgetting now about the smell and the heat pressing in on them.

"She would come for him at night sometimes," Maria said. "Not like that. The wife, she didn't speak Spanish and she needed Ellie to do that for her. My sister, she said she knew Ellie didn't do nothing else."

Maria shrugged and her eyes darted into her lap.

"What was the accident?" Casey asked.

Maria sighed heavily and said, "Ellie was a hunter, the best. He would take people from the ranch, guests, important people. I have seen these pictures of Ellie with them. My sister, she woke up and Ellie was gone. He left a note that he was with the husband to hunt. When the policeman came, he told her there was an accident, that Ellie was dead."

Casey began to write again.

"My sister didn't believe it," Maria said. "She wouldn't believe it. Then the ICE people, they came and took Paquita and they put Isodora in the jail."

"But why would they do that just because the husband was killed in a hunting accident?" Casey asked.

"Because people know about them now," Maria said. "And my sister is illegal. It is all on TV. Did you not see it?"

Casey looked at her blankly.

"On CNN," Maria said. "On Channel Six. Everywhere."

"There was a hunting accident a week ago," Casey said, her nostrils flaring and delivering a sudden blast of the stench, "out at Lucky Star Ranch, but that's not what you're talking about."

"Yes, it is," Maria said, wringing her hands, "this is my sister's husband."

"But," Casey said, "that's Senator Chase."

"Yes, the senator," Maria said. "This is why we are very afraid. They said it was an accident, but it was the senator who killed Elijandro."

TEUCH LET THE HALF-BREED FOREMAN, ELLS, PUSH HIM AROUND just as he did the others, but Teuch promised himself that if he had the chance, he'd put a bullet between Ells's beady eyes when the time came. Teuch got a good look at the main house since they were working on a bad septic line. Teuch toiled alongside a Mex named Gomez, digging out the shit hole most of the day, but all the while keeping one eye on the comings and goings of fancy people, expensive cars, and the army of staff at the big house.

After the first hour the stink stopped bothering him and the next time his red bandana slipped down off his face he let it stay there and soak up the sweat on his neck. By noon they had their shirts off and the lady of the house-a blonde bombshell with cleavage-stopped and shaded her eyes to look them over before she climbed into her Range Rover and sped off in a whirl of dust down the gravel drive. When they climbed up out of the hole just after three, Teuch dropped down beside the water bucket, his back against one of the ancient oaks. He ladled the tepid liquid onto his head, drinking from the rivulet that ran down alongside his nose.

When he looked up, he saw the half-breed staring at his chest.

Teuch looked down at the ink, a hooded demon, then offered Ells a wink. If Ells hadn't blinked, Teuch might have thought the foreman's face had turned to stone, so cold was his expression.

"You one of them Latin Kings?" the foreman asked.

Teuch grinned and shook his head. "I dropped the flag."

"I thought they say once a Latin King, always a Latin King."

Teuch shrugged, ladled a cup of water for himself, then spit out some grit.

"We don't want no bangers around here," the foreman said, scowling.

"It's just ink," Teuch said, surveying his arms and torso. "I got a lot of it."

The foreman circled him, pointed at the back of his shoulder, and said, "That's a prison tattoo. What were you in prison for?"

Teuch looked at him for a minute, sighed, then said, "Cunnilingus."

The foreman narrowed his eyes and balled up his fists.

Teuch waggled his tongue and said, "You believe they got a law like that? It ain't no crime in Mexico, but up here? A man don't know how to care for his woman is all. I know you Comanches don't do it. That's why we get at all your sisters."

The foreman took out his wallet, counted out a five and five singles, and flipped them Teuch's way. They fluttered to the dirt and the foreman pointed at the driveway leading out to the main gate.

"Get your greasy ass outta here," he said, still stone-faced. "Don't come back."

Teuch smiled and spat at the money. "I got what I need and it ain't your money."

He extended his thumb, forefinger, and pinky, the Latin King high sign, and said, " Amor del Rey."

Love of the King, his gang's creed.

Then he walked toward the driveway, studying the house from the corner of his eye as he went. With his shirt over his shoulder, he ambled along down the center of the gravel drive for nearly a mile until he reached the main gate. A camera mounted atop the wall whirred and swung his way. The gates hummed open. Teuch held up his middle finger and the camera moved with him as he walked through and headed down the last stretch of driveway to the road. He hung a left and headed toward town, sticking out his thumb at every passing vehicle.