Without Papers - Sin Papeles
Due Process - an immigrant story.
Micaela Santa Rosa inhaled the aroma of cooked masa and red chile. She nodded her approval, grabbed the silver tongs, and checked some of stacked tamales in the large silver pot. She replaced the lid and lowered temperature on the portable stove on the tamalero cart. She tucked loose strands of her gray hair back into her thick bun. She checked the time on Frank’s Timex watch and pulled her cellphone from the front pocket of her linen apron to call her daughter Magdalena.
“La miga.”
Two young men ran through the Home Depot parking lot across the street from the park.
Micaela’s heart quickened.
A white van drove through the parking lot. The passenger with a dark green baseball cap, face covering and dark glasses looked over. Michaela crouched. Ay dios mio. She said a prayer to la Virgin, then raised up to peek. Two masked men with baseball caps and sunglasses stood in front of the tamalero cart. One had his hand on a pistola in his holster.
Micaela stood, dropped her cellphone and raised her hands. She spoke in Spanish. “My papers are in my truck. My son-in-law is an attorney.” She glanced at her tamalero cart. “My daughter is a US citizen. I’ll go with you. I need her to come get my tamalero.”
A stocky ICE agent dressed head to toe in black took his hand off his pistola. His face mask muffled his voice. ‘What’s this beaner jabbering about?”
The tall agent with a Spanish accent hissed, “Shut up Mike.”
Micaela begged. “Por favor Senor, I need my medicine from my truck. I am diabetic.”
“Now what?”
“She needs her medicine from her truck.”
“No fucking way dude.”
“She’s a diabetic. If she doesn’t take her insulin she could go into diabetic shock.”
“Not our fucking problem Javi.”
Javi lowered his face mask revealing a thick, black mustache.”¿Donde esta tu troca?”
Micaela pointed to an older model Toyota pickup with a camper shell.
“We are not doing this. We need to hit five more sectors in the next two hours.”
Javi gestured with his gloved hand. “Dame tus llaves Señora.”
Micaela pulled her truck keys from her apron pocket.
Mike snatched the keys and threw them in the bushes. He grabbed and twisted Micaela’s arm. She cried out, lost her balance and fell to the ground. Her forehead stung
A man walking his French bulldog stopped. What’s going on?”
Javi slipped on his face mask. “Government business. Keep moving.”
Mike yanked Micaela to her feet and handcuffed her. “We gotta boogie hombre. Natives are getting restless and I ain’t getting my ass kicked for this bitch.”
A woman with a baby stroller pointed her cellphone at the ICE agents. “Where are you taking her?”
People gathered.
“What’s happening?”
“ICE is kidnapping that poor woman.”
Mike opened the van and shoved Micaela inside. He slid the door shut. He got into the van. The passenger window rolled down. “If you don’t get in right now. I’m leaving without you.”
Javi sighed and jogged to the van. He barely closed the passenger door when Mike floored the accelerator. The van fishtailed and sped out of the park.
Javi looked in the review mirror. Micaela returned his gaze. Her salt and pepper hair had fallen out of her bun and was now loose around her shoulders. Blood drops stained her apron. She had a cut above right her eyebrow.
****
Maggie Anderson wrote 87% at the top of her student’s math test and added the paper to the stack of graded tests. She set her pencil on the dining room table and rubbed her bleary eyes. She picked up her cellphone and checked the time. Six hours. You haven’t answered my messages. Where are you Mama? Maggie looked at her dark haired five-year-old fraternal twins Frankie and Francesca lying on carpet working together on a word puzzle. Maggie grabbed her cellphone, dug her keys from her backpack purse, stood and slung the strap on her shoulder. “Come on kiddos. Let’s go see Grandma.”
Maggie leaned against the steering wheel of her silver Toyota Camry idling at the curb in front of Micaela’s two-story white with green trim Craftsman house. No lights. Papa’s truck wasn’t parked in driveway.
Francesca said, “Grandma’s house is dark.”
“I know mija.” Maggie parked her Camry in the driveway.
Frankie and Francesca jumped out of the car and ran to the front door.
Maggie caught up and unlocked the heavy door. “Mama, are you here?” She ran upstairs turning the lights on and off in each room.
Maggie walked downstairs and looked around. Pots and pans washed and dried on the kitchen counter. Dried corn husks in a ziplock bag. Unopened mail and the newspaper on the dining room table. Maggie plopped down on living room sofa. Frankie and Francesca sat on each side of her.
Frankie sighed. “Grandma’s not here Mom.”
Maggie chewed her lower lip. She had a bad feeling.
Francesca touched Maggie’s arm. “Maybe she went on a vacation Mommy.”
Frankie picked up the tv remote. “Can we watch tv?”
Maggie nodded and returned to Micaela’s bedroom. A dark green bedspread covered the queen bed. Her pink slippers were next to the nightstand. She opened the accordion closet doors. Micaela’s brown rolling suitcase was in the back of the closet between her’s and Papa’s hanging clothes. Maggie walked into the bathroom, clean, no mess as usual. Micaela’s insulin pump and pills for her heart condition were on the counter.
Maggie picked up the 8 by 10 framed color photo from the oak dresser of her, Mama and Papa from her college graduation. She rubbed her thumb over their smiling faces. She pressed the framed photo to her chest, pulled her cellphone from the back pocket of her jeans with her free hand and called her husband Jonathan.
He answered on second ring. “Hi Mags. I should be home in thirty, forty minutes.”
“Mama’s not answering her cellphone and she isn’t home.”
“Okay. How do you know she’s not home?”
“I’m at her house with the kids. Lights are off. Papa’s truck isn’t in the driveway.”
“Don’t freak out Mags. She’s probably visiting your nina.”
“She’s not answering her cellphone, Jonathan. I’ve been calling her since noon. My calls go straight to voicemail. She always calls me back.” Maggie looked back at the bathroom. “Her insulin pump and heart medication are on the counter. Something is wrong. I can feel it.”
“I’ll check the hospitals.”
Maggie set the framed photo on the dresser. “I’ll call my nina.”
****
Micaela sat in a cold interrogation room. The metal chair was uncomfortable. The wooden table scarred with initials and names. Bright and buzzing fluorescent light. She traced the impression of Frank’s Timex watch on her brown skin. Her ring finger felt naked without her wedding band. She’d wore it for thirty-two years, until now. She sighed. Comadre said it was too dangerous to go outside. Why didn’t I listen? And Magdalena is going to be upset with me. She told me to keep my papers with me. What have I done? What have I done? Cálmate. Remember what Magdalena said, “I want to talk to the attorney.” She shook her head. “I want to talk to my attorney. I want to talk to my attorney.”
The door opened. A heavyset man dressed in an olive-green uniform entered the room. He slapped a file on the table, pulled the chair back, and sat with a grunt. He pulled his reading glasses from his shirt pocket and put them on. They slid to the bridge of his bulbous nose. He opened the file and chewed his lower lip.
Micaela observed him. Gray and balding. Heavy breathing. He smelled like cooking grease left in the frying pan. His gold name pin read, McGuire.
Agent McGuire closed the thin folder. “Micaela Elena Campos Santa Rosa. Do you speak English?”
Micaela answered, “I want to talk to my attorney.”
“How long you been selling tamales on the street?”
“I want to talk to my attorney.”
“You have a license to sell your tamales?”
“I want to talk to my attorney.”
“And I want to be Jeff Bezos and fuck his new wife silly on their king size bed in their million-dollar yacht.”
Steely eyed, she repeated her request. “I want to talk to my attorney.”
Knock on the door. Agent McGuire drummed his fingers on the table. Second tentative knock. He growled, “Come in.”
A Latina agent entered the room. “Sarge, we have a problem in room D.”
“Jesus H. Christ. Can’t anyone do anything without me?” Agent McGuire brushed past the young agent who stood there waiting to be excused.
“Agent Lopez, get out here!”
Micaela eyes burned. She yawned, her eyes fluttered, then closed.
Loud thump. Micaela opened her eyes.
Agent Lopez handcuffed her to the table. “Sarge said you need an attitude adjustment.”
****
Agent McGuire walked back into the interrogation room. “What’s your attorney’s name?”
Micaela sat up. “Jonathan Anderson.”
“Immigration attorney?”
“Assistant District Attorney. He’s my son in law.”
“US citizen?”
Micaela nodded. “His family is from Puerto Rico.”
Agent McGuire tore off a blank page from a small yellow notepad and slid it across with an ink pen. “Write down his full name and telephone numbers.”
Micaela lifted her handcuffed hands.
“Jesus H Christ.” Agent McGuire removed the handcuffs.
Micaela rotated her wrists and opened and closed her fingers. She took the pen in her left hand and printed Jonathan’s name and cellphone number. She placed the pen on top of paper and slid it in front of Agent McGuire. She placed her right hand over her shaking left hand.
Agent McGuire picked up the paper.
Micaela repeated her demand. “I want to talk to my attorney. It is my right.”
McGuire looked at Micaela as he folded the the paper in half and ripped into small pieces. The pieces fluttered and landed on the table. He used the file to sweep the torn pieces of paper onto the floor. He retrieved his glasses and opened the file. “You married Francisco Ybarra Santa Rosa on May 5, 1994. You were twenty years old. Francisco was twenty-three years old. You have a daughter, Magdalena Elena Santa Rosa. She was born on February 14, 1995.” He looked up and shoved his glasses up his nose. “You two share a birthday.”
Micaela looked at her veined hands. They were shaking. Her blood sugar was low.
“Now Magdalena…”
Micaela looked up.
“She married Jonathan Alejandro Anderson on September 1, 2018. You have two grandchildren: Francisco Alejandro Anderson and Francesca Elena Anderson, both born on June 1, 2020. Your husband Francisco died of cancer on June 20, 2022.”
Micaela sat up. “My family is none of your business.”
“Now here’s the interesting thing. You had a Final Order of Removal dated March 10, 2008. You are an illegal alien Señora Santa Rosa. You have no rights.” He removed the final removal document and set it in front of Micaela’s stacked hands.
Micaela stared at Agent McGuire. “Deporting people that don’t look like you or speak English is taking your country back?”
Agent McGuire smirked. “Oh, you got a mouth on you.”
Micaela nodded. “I speak my mind.”
“And now the jig is up and you are going to be deported back to your country.”
“And what country is that, Agent McGuire?”
He snorted. “Mexico.”
“Mexico is like the United States with many states like California, Nevada and Texas.”
“What state are you from Señora Santa Rosa?”
“Mi país es Jalisco. Where are you from Agent McGuire?”
“Missouri.”
“Ah, the Show Me State and birthplace of President Harry Truman.”
Agent McGuire stroked his double chin.
“Immigrants aren’t ignorant Agent McGuire. We are hard working people. We believe in family. We take care of our elders. We own restaurants, panederias, neighborhood grocery stores, and bridal shops. We are educators, accountants, optometrists, and healthcare professionals.”
“You all are illegal aliens according to my government.”
“Yes many of us were not born in the United States. We are not naturalized citizens. We do not have permanent status. But many like me have lived ten, twenty, thirty years in this country. I have lived in the United States for thirty-two years. My daughter was born here. She has two college degrees and she is a teacher. I am a proud Mexicana, and I love this country for what it has given me; my loving husband, my beautiful daughter and my precious grandchildren.”
Agent McGuire crossed his arms against his chest. “Well, that little speech is all well and good, but here are the facts Señora Santa Rosa. There is a new commander in chief in the White House, and his immigration policy doesn’t want your kind here anymore.” He leaned forward and tapped the table with his thick index finger. “You come here to have your babies, so they become US citizens. We call them anchor babies. Well, there are no more free lunches, free healthcare and free welfare. You are invaders. Criminal aliens are raping and killing our women and children. Alien terrorists are planning the next 9/11.”
Micaela felt lightheaded. She was sweating and her heart raced. Agent McGuire’s mouth was moving but she couldn’t hear his words.
****
Maggie sat on the picnic table in the backyard smoking a cigarette. An opened package of cigarettes and an empty plastic yogurt container filled with two cigarette butts and ashes were next to her right hip. She took another hit and blew the smoke over her head. She examined the lit cigarette tucked between her index and middle fingers. She’d quit smoking when she found out she was pregnant with Frankie and Francesca.
The sliding glass door opened and closed. Jonathan changed into a navy-blue tank top and black surfer shorts. His short brown hair was damp from a shower. He was barefoot. He sat next to Maggie. He set his cellphone between them and stroked her thick black braid nestled on her back. “The kids are spending the night with Carina.”
Maggie tapped the cigarette ash against the edge of the yogurt container. “They love your baby sister and her two kittens.” She looked over at Jonathan. Her brown eyes were red from crying. “Frankie keeps bugging me for a dog. Any dog.”
Jonathan touched her cheek. “Baby, we’re going to find her. I promise.”
Maggie pushed his hand away. “Don’t pacify me Jonathan. I’m not a child.”
Jonathan watched Maggie as she took an angry hit from her cigarette and hissed the smoke out the side of her mouth. “Did you talk to your nina?”
Maggie flicked the smoldering cigarette in the grass. “She said Mama called her around 11:00 this morning. They talked about twenty minutes. Mama was going to bring tamales to her house, and they were going to watch their telenovela and play cards, but she never showed up. My nina kept calling her but she wouldn’t answer. She was going to call me just before I called her because, because she..” Maggie cleared her throat. “She thought something happened to her.” Maggie covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
Jonathan slid off the picnic table and stood in front of Maggie. He gently pulled her hands from her face, kissed her forehead and wiped tears from her cheeks.
“Something bad has happened to her. I can feel it.” Her lips quivered. “I lost my Papa. I can’t lose her too.”
Jonathan held Maggie tight as she continued to cry. His cellphone lit up and buzzed.
****
Micaela held Frank’s cool hand. I’m ready to join you Francisco. No mi vida, it’s not your time. Micaela opened her eyes. She had an IV in her right arm. Her left hand was handcuffed to the bed rail and she was still wearing her dirty clothes. A man in black shirt and jeans sat in a chair across the room. He had a shoulder holster with a pistola. A gold badge was clipped to his belt. He was staring at his cellphone. A male nurse in blue hospital scrubs and a small hoop gold earring in his right ear walked in. “Hi, I’m Jake. How ya doing sweetie?” He looked at her chart. “When was the last time you had something to eat?”
Micaela voice was hoarse. Breakfast.”
“Time?”
Micaela cleared her throat. “9:30.”
“Your last insulin shot?”
“At breakfast.”
Jake set the chart down and took her pulse. “A little low, but not bad considering.” He looked over at the man with the buzz cut. “Handcuffs, seriously?”
He shrugged. “I just do what I’m told boss.”
“Obviously.” Jake touched Micaela’s forehead. “I cleaned up your cut. You needed some stitches.” He looked over his shoulder and turned back around and whispered, “Can I call someone?”
Micaela’s eyes widened.
Jake nodded.
Micaela whispered, “My daughter. Magdalena Anderson. She live in Ventura.” She lowered her voice and gave him Magdalena’s cellphone number.
Jake wrote the number on the palm of his hand and winked. “I told them you should stay here overnight so we can make sure you are stabilized.”
Agent McGuire walked in. “Not happening. Take the IV out. Get her on her feet. I’ll sign her out so we can leave.”
****
Maggie stood between Jonathan and Sargent James Duffy, her thin arms held close to her chest. Jonathan asked, “Who found her truck?”
“A kid from the neighborhood called it in. He said two ICE agents approached your mother-in-law. Hang on. Carlos come over here and show them your video.”
Maggie uncrossed her arms. “There’s a video?”
Carlos walked up. Short and stocky. Black NY Yankees baseball cap. Long white t-shirt, big baggy black shorts, long white socks just below his knees. Black Nikes. “Everyone loves your Moms. When we don’t have food, she feeds us. Her tamales are righteous. He hitched up his shorts. “Anyway, one of my boys took this video. La migra got her.” He handed his cellphone to Maggie.
She chewed her thumb as she watched the video.
“Me and the boys hitched her tamalero to her troca so nobody would mess it it.”
Maggie returned the cellphone to Carlos. “Thank you mijo.”
She pointed to the Toyota pickup and Jonathan nodded. Head down she walked toward her Papa’s truck.
“Wait up.”
Maggie turned around.
Carlos jogged up and dug into his pants pocket and pulled out Micaela’s truck keys and her cell phone-dented and glass screen cracked. “My boys found Dona Micaela’s keys in the bushes. When we moved her tamalero we found her cellphone on the ground. One of the boys stepped on it by accident. If you want me to buy another cellphone, just say the word.”
Maggie took them in her right hand. Her voice quivered. “No, it’s okay.” She hugged Carlos. “Thank you for everything mijo.”
Carlos took a step back. “I put the word out. We’ll find the pendejos who took her.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away.
Jonathan glanced at Maggie. She opened the Toyota’s driver’s door. “Did someone from ICE give you a courtesy call to let you know when they are in town?”
Sargent Duffy snorted. “Son, those boys are from the federal government and they answer to no one. Jagoffs that took your mother-in-law are part of a roving patrol. Anyone ethnic looking that don’t speak English, they pick up and ask questions later. Ten people were arrested today. Our phones have been ringing off the hook and community activists are convinced we are working with them.” He looked over at Maggie who was leaning against the Toyota pickup and talking on her cellphone. “We do not help ICE arrest immigrants. Sum bitches are destroying our town.”
****
Micaela sat in another interrogation room. Everything was the same except this one had a window with a crooked window covering. She looked at the small plastic bottle of orange juice Nurse Jake gave her before she left the hospital. She looked down at the red ACE bandage around the inside of her right arm. She touched the butterfly stitches above her right eyebrow.
Agent McGuire walked in with a paper cup and her folder. He had dark circles under his eyes. He set the cup and folder on the table.
Coffee. It smelled burnt.
The chair made a grinding noise when he pulled it back. He sat, took a drink and made a face. “Well now that your medical emergency is over, let’s get back to business.”
Micaela flexed her sore handcuffed wrist.
“The way I see it your best move is to sign this deportation document for expedited removal to Mexico.” He pushed a typed form and his ink pen in front of Micaela.
Micaela gave it scant notice. She continued flex her sore wrist.
“If you decide to fight your deportation you will immediately be transferred to an out of state detention center while your attorney son-in-law fights your deportation in immigration court. Your chances of avoiding deportation and going free in this political environment are slim and none.”
“My son-in-law is a good attorney. I trust him.”
Agent McGuire sat back and crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “You’re willing to spend up to five years in jail away from your daughter and grandchildren with your serious health problems? You went into insulin shock tonight. If we hadn’t rushed you to the hospital, you’d be dead right now.”
Micaela pushed the deportation document away. “I am not signing your paper. Nothing you say or do to me will change my mind.”
****
Maggie, Jonathan and Ernie Maldonado, Jonathan’s college roommate and now an immigration attorney sat at the dining room table. Ernie was a year older than Jonathan at thirty-five. Clean shaven with a shaved head, he was an ex-rugby football player and all muscle with a nose that has been broken three times.
Ernie opened his briefcase, removed a file and set it on the dining room table. He closed his briefcase and positioned it next to his leg. He withdrew his cellphone from his pants pocket and placed it on top of the file.
Maggie blurted out, “So what’s the deal?”
“ICE is hiding her.”
“What the fuck does that mean Ernie? Hiding her?” Maggie slammed her hand on the table. “What the hell is wrong with this government?”
Jonathan touched Maggie’s arm. She sat back and crossed her arms.
Ernie placed his hands flat on the table. “Here’s the deal Maggie. ICE wants detainees to have no contact with family, especially their attorney.”
“Why?”
Jonathan joined in. “Because that would gum up their removal proceedings.”
Ernie nodded. “In the meantime, they pressure the detainee to sign a document for expedited removal.”
“Mama wouldn’t do that. She’s a strong woman and she won’t leave her family. Her grandchildren. My Papa is buried here.”
Ernie opened the file. “Then there’s the issue of her final order of removal.”
Maggie sat up. “What?”
Ernie handed her a copy of the removal order.
“This is dated 2008. This can’t be.” She gave the removal order to Jonathan.
Ernie asked, “Your mother never said anything about this to you?”
“No. I was thirteen years old.”
“You never heard Frank or Micaela talk about it? Maybe an argument you didn’t understand.”
“My parents didn’t fight or argue Jonathan. They were the two most chill couple you’d ever met. They adored each other. I don’t understand why she didn’t tell me. We could have helped her out.” Maggie looked at Ernie. “She was already in the US for fifteen years. Could she have applied for asylum?”
“Depends on if she left Mexico in fear for her life.”
“She came with a cousin. My grandparents were killed in a car accident.”
Ernie clicked his silver ink pen. “When did your grandparents die?”
Maggie rubbed her forehead. “Mama was seventeen. They died in 1989.”
“When did she migrate to the US?”
“Mama and her cousin Sofia crossed the border when she was eighteen.”
“How old was the cousin?”
Maggie looked up at the ceiling. “Let me think, let me think.” She made eye contact with Ernie. “Twenty-five.”
Jonathan asked, “What happened to the cousin?”
Maggie shrugged. “I don’t know. Mama never talked about her.”
Ernie kept writing.
“My Papa was a US citizen. Wouldn’t that have given her some protection?”
Ernie set the pen on top of the notepad. “Yes. But there was paperwork that would have needed to be filed by an immigration attorney.”
“Mags, do you think your nina knows anything?”
“They’re like sisters Jonathan. Of course she knows.”
Ernie asked, “Can she survive another twenty four hours without her medication?”
Maggie pressed her hand to her chest. “They would intentionally withhold her heart medication and insulin?”
“ICE will use every trick in the book to get your mother to sign the deportation document.”
“She’s a fifty-three-year-old widow who is good and kindhearted. She doesn’t have a criminal record, let alone a parking ticket. Why would they do that?”
Ernie and Jonathan answered at the same time, “Because they can.”
****
Micaela stared at the deportation document and ink pen on the table. She willed her body to stand up. She couldn’t. Her body hurt everywhere. She wanted to close her eyes and rest. Frank sat across from her. I can’t leave Magdalena and our grand babies. My life is here. Everyone back home is dead. Help me Francisco. Tell me what to do.
The door rattled shut. Agent McGuire stomped in with Micaela’s folder in his hand. He looked at the unsigned deportation document on the table. He grabbed the document and replaced with a typed document. “In one hour, you will be put on a plane and flown to the South Louisiana ICE Processing Center in Basile, Louisiana. It’s a woman’s detention center located in the middle of nowhere in the backwoods of Louisiana. It’s colder than a witch’s tittie inside and you’ll probably have fight over a mylar blanket. Last I heard there were the seven hundred female aliens ranging from teenagers to grandmas like yourself. It’s overcrowded, and there ain’t no place to sleep. Take a shower, forget about it and food isn’t fit for household pets. Now if that ain’t enough scare the living shit out you think about this, medical care is a joke. It would be easier to get a Tylenol than a shot of insulin. And there ain’t no Tylenol at Basile. So, a woman with your health problems will suffer and nobody will give a shit and you’ll wish you were dead.”
Micaela finally made eye contact. “Are you finished Agent McGuire?”
He pulled a small envelope from his shirt pocket. He shook the contents out. Micaela’s wedding ring and Frank’s Timex watch. “Sign the damn paper.”
****
“We found her.” Ernie sounded out of breath.
Jonathan put his cellphone on speaker.
Maggie emerged from the kitchen holding a kitchen towel. “Where?”
“The Metropolitan Detention Center.”
Jonathan pushed the plate with a half eaten sandwich away. “What the fuck? She’s in the basement of the Federal building in downtown LA?”
“I don’t understand. Why would Mama be in Los Angeles if she was arrested in Ventura?”
“Your Mom was one of eighteen people arrested in Ventura County over the weekend. In cases like that, processing takes place at Metropolitan.”
Maggie tossed the kitchen towel on the dining room table and paced. “Do we go down there and raise hell? Demand to see her? I’ll ask for time off from school. The kids can stay with my nina so Carina won’t miss work.” Maggie snapped her fingers. “And I need to call the school and take the kids out for at least a day if not longer. Any idea how much her bond will be?”
“Mags, slow down babe.”
“Jonathan, we need to get her out of there. If they’re not giving her insulin and heart meds she could end up in the hospital.”
“Ernie, you’re the immigration attorney. What do we do?”
“First thing, I tell them I’m her attorney and put them on notice we know she’s being detained there and her removal processing stops now. After I meet with her, I will file for a bond hearing and a stop removal order.” Papers rustle. “Maggie get documents that prove she has been in US over two years. I’ll need to have those copies when I see her.”
“We already did that. She was carrying them with her. Obviously, she wasn’t allowed to show the documents.”
“Do it again, the more information to prove her residency the better.”
Maggie’s cell buzzed. “How about her health restrictions? She a diabetic and she has a heart condition.”
“I’m filing that order too.”
“Does her name show up on the ICE locator?” Jonathan asks.
“Nope. And that’s the first thing I’m going to raise hell about and demand a meeting with her as her attorney.”
Maggie’s cellphone buzzed again. She sighed and pulled it out and read the text message. “Oh my God. Mama was in the hospital.” Maggie put her hand to her forehead. “A nurse named Jake said he took care of Mama. She went into insulin shock at the detention center. Two ICE agents took her to emergency.”
Jonathan asked, “What hospital?”
“Medical Center on Temple.” Maggie waved her hand. “She was given an IV and now she’s gone.”
Ernie asked, “Who signed her out?”
“Tom McGuire, Senior ICE agent at the Metropolitan Detention Center. Four hours ago. Those motherfuckers.”
“Maggie, I want you call Metropolitan and tell them you want to speak to your Mom. Speak forcefully. Don’t take no for an answer but don’t lose your shit.”
“Fuck that Ernie. I’m going with you.”
****
Agent McGuire walked into the interrogation room. The small envelope with the personal items taken from Micaela were on top of the removal document along with the ink pen. He picked up the removal order. “So, you decided not to sign the document.”
Micaela recapped the orange juice container and set it on the table. “I am not signing your paper. I want to talk to my attorney.”
“You’re willing to spend five years in jail. Away from daughter and your grandchildren?”
“I want to talk to my attorney.”
“Make it easy on yourself Señora Santa Rosa. Sign the removal document. You get out of this hellhole right now. We will get your medication. After you eat some food, you get in a van and we drive you to the US Mexico border. You’ll be met by the Mexican authorities on Mexico soil.”
Micaela clasped her veined hands together. “I have lived in this country for thirty-two years. I am not going anywhere. I want to talk to my attorney.”
Agent McGuire grasped the back of the chair. “Do you know how easy it would be to disappear you?”
“What are you saying?”
“According to the Supreme Court, I could put you on a plane and fly you to South Sudan in Africa. Nasty place. Or, put you in a van and drive you to this warehouse with cages in Texas. And you know what’s so special about this place, nobody knows about it. Not even the brass back in D.C.”
“If you do these terrible things to me now, why did you take me to the hospital? You saved my life. Why?”
The room is silent except for Agent McGuire’s breathing.
A knock on the door. A thin agent with a large Adams apple walked in. “Sorry Sarge.”
Agent McGuire sighed. “I’m a little busy in here Jackson.”
Micaela picked up the small envelope and removed the contents.
“I know sir, but Captain Reynolds wants to talk you.”
Agent McGuire looked at Micaela as she put the Timex watch on her wrist. “Tell him be there in five minutes.”
“Sarge he said he wants to see you now. Like right now.”
Agent McGuire tapped the table. “I’ll be back.”
Micaela slipped her wedding ring on her ring finger. “I want to talk to my attorney.”