The Perk (42 page)

Nikki cried out, "Julio, do you have
asthma?"

He fell into the lockers and started to slide
down the slick metal locker faces. Slade grabbed him under his arms and held
him up. Nikki grabbed his face with her soft hands.

"Julio, what is it? What's wrong?"

Julio's head was now jerking back and forth as
he tried to breathe. He was going to pass out or throw up. He had to save
himself. Nikki had to save him. He reached to his back pocket and grabbed the
little scissors the doctor had given him and told him to carry always in case
he should ever choke or vomit; he was to use the scissors to cut the rubber
bands holding his jaws together. He held the scissors out to Nikki.

"What, Julio? What do you want me to
do?"

He opened his lips and tapped the bands with his
finger.

"You want me to cut the rubber bands?"

He nodded. Nikki came very close to his face
and peered into his mouth. With the fingers of her left hand she spread his
lips; with her right hand she put the scissors against his teeth and cut the
bands. He fell to the floor.

He opened his mouth for the first time in almost
eight weeks and sucked air like a man saved from drowning. After a few
minutes, his breathing calmed. Nikki was patting his back; Slade was squatting
next to them. Other students had stopped and were now staring at them as if a
car wreck had happened in the main hall of the high school.

Julio turned his eyes up to Nikki. "You
will be a good doctor." He now turned to Slade. "The ICE raid will
be at shift change?"

"Yeah. When's that?"

"That is now. I must go!"

"I'll drive you."

"I'm coming, too," Nikki said.

Slade pulled Julio up as easily as if lifting an
infant, and they ran out of the school and to the parking lot where Slade's big
black Hummer was parked. Nikki jumped into the passenger seat and Julio into
the back; Slade started the engine. Rather than circling around the parking
lot to the exit, he drove over the curb nearest the road and tore up the grassy
incline. They bounced hard over the street curb. Slade accelerated toward the
turkey plant.

"What are we going to do?" Nikki said.

"Slade, take me to the judge," Julio
said. "He will know what to do."

Beck glanced at the clock on the wall as he exited the back
door of the courthouse: 3:43. He spotted Grady getting out of his SUV in the
parking lot between the courthouse and the Law Enforcement Center. He called out to him, then walked over. They leaned against the SUV.

"Nothing on the shoe," Grady said. He
shook his head. "Can't believe you found it. The river's two miles east
of where she was dumped. That's good thinking, Beck." He smiled.
"When the Germans vote you out of office next year, maybe you'll come work
for me."

"I'm going to find this guy."

"Figure that'll pay your debt in
full?"

"Maybe. Maybe it'll give me some answers
I'm looking for."

"So maybe you don't make the same mistakes
with your girl?"

Beck nodded. "I've learned a few things,
about Heidi. She was with a movie star that night. Kim said she got into a
black limo in Austin about ten to ten-thirty and a black limo was seen on Main Street about one that night."

"A movie star? Who?"

"I don't know … yet."

"Why the hell did Kim hold back on that?"

Beck shook his head. "Why would a girl
want out of this town so badly she'd have sex with a stranger?"

"Kids want excitement. They're bored
here."

"This is the next Santa Fe."

Grady laughed. "Folks saying that, they
drank the Kool-Aid."

"You don't buy it?"

"I don't figure rich folks are gonna flock
here just to be run off the farm-to-markets by some bubba driving a jacked-up
pickup with a pit bull in the back 'cause they're slowing him down. This is a
nice little country town, Beck. Nothing more. But that's not enough for
kids. They want more. Like you did. Who saw the limo here?"

Beck nodded toward the courthouse. "Carlotta."

"
Carlotta?
Why
didn't she tell me?"

"She was afraid Stutz would've deported
her."

"I told the Mexicans I didn't give a shit
about their immigration status. But I can't blame them, with Stutz—"

The sound of squealing tires interrupted Grady.
A black Hummer turned sharply off San Antonio Street and into the parking lot
then accelerated over to them and skidded to a stop.

"What the hell?" Grady said.

Slade McQuade was driving; Nikki Ernst was in
the passenger's seat. Julio Espinoza jumped out of the back door of the Hummer
and ran over to them. His face was frantic. He could talk.

"Judge Hardin, they are raiding the turkey
plant!"

"Who?"

"ICE."

"When?"

"Now!"

Beck turned to Grady. "You didn't
know?"

"Hell, no! Come on!"

Grady ran around to the driver's side of his
SUV; Beck yelled to Slade, "Follow us!" then got in the passenger's
side. Grady hit the lights and siren and sped out of the parking lot.

The turkey plant was located seven blocks south
of Main Street. Grady turned down Milam, cut through the barrio, and drove
fast down the road leading to the plant. At the plant entrance, he hit the
brakes hard, and the vehicle skidded to a stop in a cloud of gravel dust in
front of a Department of Homeland Security barricade.

Black SUVs blockaded the front gates to the plant.
At least a hundred federal agents in black jackets with POLICE and ICE in white
letters across the back and ICE down each sleeve were swarming the plant. Every
agent was armed; some wore flak jackets and camo pants and carried assault
rifles. It had the look of a military coup. Five buses were lined up at the
plant entrance doors inside the tall fence.

They got out. The Hummer with Slade, Julio, and
Nikki pulled up behind them. Beck and Grady went over to the agent manning the
barricade.

"What the hell do you think you're
doing?"

The agent looked Grady over. "And who are
you?"

"I'm the goddamn Gillespie County Sheriff,
that's who. And you're in my jurisdiction. And he's the district judge."

The agent stepped away and said something into a
handheld radio. Moments later, another agent jogged over to them from what
appeared to be the command post. He was wearing a flak jacket and packing a
big nine-millimeter weapon at his waist. He addressed Grady.

"I'm Agent Lucas, Homeland Security.
Immigration and Customs Enforcement. And you are … ?"

"Pissed off." Grady pointed at the
plant. "A hundred agents with assault rifles and body armor? Don't you
think that's overkill for a bunch of Mexicans armed with dead turkeys?"

Agent Lucas ignored Grady's sarcasm. "You're
the county sheriff?"

"Yeah, I am."

Agent Lucas turned to Beck and looked him up and
down. Beck was again wearing jeans and boots.

"You're a judge?"

"Judge Beck Hardin."

"Federal?"

"State."

"Oh. So what can I do for you gentlemen?"

Grady said, "You can explain what the hell
you're doing conducting a raid in my jurisdiction without informing me."

Agent Lucas offered that smile unique to federal employees. "Well,
first of all, Sheriff, the entire U.S. of A. is our jurisdiction. And second, in
accordance with federal law—which preempts state law—we're conducting a
workplace raid. Operation Return to Sender."

"That's real cute," Beck said. "They're
human beings, not mail."

Agent Lucas ignored Beck as well. "And
third, we did notify local law enforcement. The chief of police. Isn't this
plant within the city limits?"

"Yeah. But it's customary—"

"Not anymore. After nine-eleven, it's
need-to-know basis."

Beck pointed at the plant. "Those people
aren't terrorists. They're just Mexicans processing turkeys. They're just
working."

"And they're working in this country
illegally," Agent Lucas said. "We're executing a federal civil warrant,
Judge. That supersedes your authority."

"I understand the law, Agent."

"Good. Then let us take care of national
security."

Beck laughed. "What, you think these
Mexicans are plotting terrorism while pulling the guts out of turkeys?"

Agent Lucas's face turned red. "Back off,
Judge! Go back to your little courtroom and handle traffic tickets or grant
divorces or whatever it is you do in this thriving metropolis. But don't
interfere with my operation or I'll arrest your ass and take you before a real
judge!"

Beck stepped toward Agent Lucas, but Grady
stepped between them.

"These people been working in that plant
for thirty years. Why now?"

"We waited until shift change so we could
apprehend all illegal workers. Both shifts."

"Why today?"

"We got a tip that these workers engaged in
identity theft, stealing IDs and social security numbers to get their papers."

"A tip? From who?"

"A confidential source."

Slade stepped past Beck and said, "My
father. And Stutz."

"They did this?" Beck said.

Slade nodded. "I heard them talking last
night."

Grady spat. "They double-crossed you,
Beck."

"If you gentlemen will excuse me,"
Agent Lucas said, "I've got work to do."

"What's going to happen to these
people?" Beck said.

"They'll be bused to a detention center in San Antonio, processed, and then deported. They'll be in Nuevo Laredo tomorrow morning."

Julio stepped
forward. "
Nuevo Laredo
?
My parents, they are in there.
What will we do without them?"

"We who?"

"We, their children."

Agent Lucas eyed Julio and stepped toward him. Beck
and Grady blocked his path.

"He's legal, Agent. He's an American
citizen. So are his brothers and sisters."

"If you say so, Judge. My agents are in
the barrio looking for runners, and Child Protective Services has been called
in. They'll be going door to door in the barrio." Agent Lucas looked at
Julio like a sport fisherman who had just lost a big catch. "Born in the USA." He threw a thumb back at the plant. "Fifty-seven of the women in there
are pregnant. They have those babies here, they're U.S. citizens same as me and
you"—he nodded at Julio—"and him. They have them in Nuevo Laredo, they're Mexicans just like their mamas. That's reason enough for this
raid."

"Those people have a right to counsel,"
Beck said, "even if they are here illegally."

"They're signing documents as we speak
waiving their right to counsel and agreeing to immediate voluntary departure."

"You're pointing guns at them! That's not
voluntary. And they can't waive their right to counsel if they don't even know
they have a right to counsel."

Agent Lucas turned his hands up, shrugged, and walked
off.

"If they fight deportation," Grady
said, "they'll sit in jail for a year, then get deported. Better to get
bused to Mexico tonight and let go. They can be back in a few weeks."

"Look!" Julio shouted.

The workers were exiting the plant single file.
They were wearing white uniforms and hard hats and black rubber boots and shuffling
through a gauntlet of ICE agents toward the buses; chains were wrapped around the
workers' waists and their hands and feet were shackled to the chains, as if the
Feds had apprehended Hannibal Lecter instead of Rafael and Maria Espinoza.

"
¡Madre!
¡Padre!
"

Julio's parents had just walked out of the
plant.

"
¡Madre!
¡Padre!
"

They did not hear him or see him. They
disappeared onto a bus. Julio began sobbing. Beck put his arm around the boy.
Nikki hugged him from the other side.

"It's my fault."

Beck turned to Slade.

"It's all my fault," Slade said again.

He wasn't speaking to anyone in particular. He walked
over and kicked the side of his Hummer; he leaned over and buried his face in
his hands and the hood.

A black diesel pickup with blacked-out windows
drove up and stopped. The driver's side window lowered slowly to reveal a
familiar face. Bruno Stutz. Beck released Julio and walked over. Beck had
never punched a senior citizen, but he was seriously considering it at that
moment.

"You did this?"

That thin smile again.

"
Ja
. I
did this."

Beck wanted desperately to hit the old man, to
knock that smile off his face.

"I hope you die soon."

Stutz just laughed, shifted the truck into gear,
and drove down the road. The diesel made for slow acceleration; before Beck
even realized what he was doing, he reached down, picked up a baseball-sized
rock, and threw it at Stutz's truck. It fell short.

"Damn!"

Slade was now beside Beck. He picked up a
similar-sized rock, tossed it in his massive right hand a few times, and eyed
Stutz's truck, now fifty yards away and moving farther and faster away.

"He's out of range," Beck said.

Slade gripped the rock, stepped forward, and
threw the rock. It rose high into the sky on a true path and fell directly at the
rear window of Stutz's truck. Beck heard the crack of breaking glass. The
taillights on the truck flashed red. A long arm extended out the driver's
window; Stutz shook a raised finger at them, then drove on. Beck turned to
Slade.

"You've got a hell of an arm, son."

"When I hit Julio, I set all this in
motion. It's all my fault." Slade turned to Julio. "I'm sorry,
Julio."

He then walked over to his Hummer, got in, and
drove off down the gravel road. Grady walked over; he was shaking his head.

"Our judge is throwing rocks at cars?"