Malice In Miami

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

"Who's coming for you?" I asked sotto voce, hoping to soothe my father's imaginary fears.

Eyes wide with panic, he shouted "They're everywhere, Jamie, no one is safe!"

Ana Maria gave me a concerned look and went to comfort her husband. As a divorce lawyer for many years, I was good at talking clients off the ledge, metaphorically speaking. Some of my clients had legitimate fears and others were completely irrational, but when they had a meltdown there was no telling them apart. Whatever their issue, it was real to them and you had to play along. There was no secret formula or complex algorithm for solving the problem because logic played no part. The key was to keep talking until something clicked in their brain and they stepped away from the ledge.

"Humor me, Papi," I said, reaching out from my nest of rumpled clothes to squeeze his rough hand. "I have no clue what you're talking about. But I wish I did."

He sat back down on the edge of the bed and hunched over, head bent toward his knees, the emergency crash position every airline promises will save us from a fiery death. No wonder nobody paid attention to the flight attendant anymore. If we're going down in flames we would spend our last few minutes reclining, listening to Beyoncé, thank you very much.

After several long minutes my dad raised his head, gave me a tortured look, and then uttered a word that spoke volumes.

"ICE."

Only someone living in a cave wouldn't know what he meant. ICE, the Department of Immigration and Customs Enforcement, was the cause of nationwide protests. Besides tearing families apart at the southern border, ICE officers were deporting undocumented immigrants who already lived here. Just speaking a foreign language could subject a person to attacks from people who blamed immigrants for their problems. The truth was, immigrants contributed to the economy, but facts didn't matter in this new alternate reality.

"I understand," I said, "These are scary times. But why are you concerned? You're here legally. You were sponsored by your adoring American daughter and followed all the rules to enter the country. Your lovely wife is a citizen too." I smiled at Ana Maria who blew me a kiss. "So what's the problem?"

My father shook his head sorrowfully as if I couldn't possibly understand. "They're raiding Greyhound buses, pulling people off."

I made him look at me. "Listen, under the Fourth Amendment those agents have no right to bother people riding the bus, but Papi--" I paused, curious.

"Yes, mi hija?"

"Since when do you ride the bus?"

"I don't."

"Then why are we talking about this?" Strolling over to the dresser I picked up Ana Maria's frilly hat and tried it on, admiring myself in the mirror. "What's really bothering you?"

He sighed. "It's the big picture. They're looking for any reason to deport people, even naturalized citizens."

I knocked the hat off and tossed it on the bed. "Citizens can't be deported."

"But it is happening to people with past criminal convictions, no matter how long ago."

Ana Maria sat next to my dad and laid her head on his shoulder. When I understood what he was saying my heart sank. Not only was my father not a citizen with the protections that provided, he also had a record. A Cuban dissident in his youth, he had been arrested and deported. Then I had a revelation that made me feel better instantly.

"When were you arrested?" I asked him.

"You already know that," he said. "When your mother was pregnant with you."

"A long time ago then. And it's not a secret, right?"

He shook his head, puzzled.

"And they let you into the country anyway?" I nodded and he followed my lead. "That means they can't kick you out for that. If you commit a new crime, that's another story," I teased. "Then I'll have to hide you. Maybe get you a disguise."

The fear and anxiety suddenly released their grip and my dad relaxed. A small smile appeared.

"Like I said, you're a genius, just like your mother!" He stood up and kissed me on the forehead. "Thank you, Jamie, I feel better now." He laid his hand across his heart right above the coffee spill. Suddenly noticing the time he remarked. "Shouldn't you girls be at work?"

Ana Maria smiled and gave him a little shove. "How can I work when you won't let me sleep, crazy old man? After I walk Jamie out, you and I are taking a long nap."

My dad climbed into bed and turned on his side, his face buried in the pillow.

"Good idea," he mumbled.

As we stepped into the hallway a pungent odor made me gag. "Yuck! What is that smell, boiled sneakers?"

Ana Maria laughed heartily, smoothing the tension lines on her face. "No, cariño, someone is cooking cabbage."

"For breakfast? Surely the commandos have a rule about that."

She shook her head.

"Why not?" I demanded, holding my nose in protest. "They have a rule about everything else."

She smiled mischievously. "Because they like cabbage."