Binding Arbitration (20 page)

If that alarm hadn’t gone off, my mind might have calculated how to get her out of her dress and onto her back so I could have my way with her while our child was asleep right over our heads. Where was the ump when I needed him?

On cue, I heard him laughing over the shrieking smoke detector. I scrambled for the broom in the butler’s pantry, the handle of which I used to silence the squealing menace.

Libby was dumping the burnt pancakes in the trash when Cass barreled into the kitchen in his PJ’s. “Mommy, what happened?”

I threw open a window. It only took a few minutes for the smoke to clear and the room to cool off with the fall breeze. My body was another matter.

“I burned something.” She avoided me and smiled at Cass.

Did she ever!
The ump chortled.

16

AGENDA, ALIENS, ASYLUM

Not ignorant of trials, I can now learn to help the miserable. Virgil

Elizabeth

Saint Ignatius was the largest church in Chicago. It was an older sanctuary where a balustrade divided the raised dais of the clergy from the parishioners. The raised altar was gleaming mahogany set against the black and white tile floor. The dome over the apse was painted with scenes from the transfiguration; all its columns and supports were gold and gilded. It was an impressive restoration.

Soon, we were told to go in peace, as the procession of priests, deacons and altar servers moved down the wide aisle. Most of the congregation had filed out by the time Aidan made his way to the vestibule, where he was greeted in Polish, and Father Ski’s outstretched arms.

Father Schimkowski was an elderly, balding man with gnarled hands, a sparse black comb-over and a protruding belly, which made me think of a comic book chef.

“This is Elizabeth Tucker and her son Cass.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you. Aidan said you might be able to assist Ms. Gutierrez. The Archdiocese had sent over a lawyer to discuss the church’s stance on taking refuge here, but there is a conflict with the Holy See on representation.”

“I would like to assist her, but I am in another field of law, altogether. I’m not sure how much I can do, but if I can’t help, I might be able to find someone else who can.”

“Whatever you can do would be appreciated. You may speak with her in the study in the rectory.”

We strolled through what would have been a beautiful walled garden in the spring and summer, now the grass was turning brown and all the bushes were barren. It was a stark reminder of how helpless I felt only days ago, and how this woman must feel now. If I could help her, I would. We walked across the paved path into the darkened foyer of the rectory.

“Father, I’m afraid I might need a translator. My Spanish is rusty.” Sunlight poured through the stained glass sending a colorful spectrum over the coffered ceiling.

“Have no fear; her English is as perfect as yours.”

Cass bolted up the staircase. When Aidan caught up with him, he bent low to talk to him, his hand resting on Cass’ shoulder. They stood on the landing while Father Ski and I continued on.

“Elizabeth, Aidan has spoken with me many times about you.”

“Father, what happened between us is better forgotten.”

“But not forgiven?”

“He hasn’t asked for forgiveness.”

“God has not forgotten that the two of you created a family, even if that was not your intention. You came back into Aidan’s life after all this time, and God’s reasons may be greater than your own. Aidan will make a good father.”

“Father, I only contacted Aidan because Cass has leukemia.”

Shock crossed his face before he looked skyward. He was silent for several minutes. “God works in mysterious ways.”

Aidan and Cass appeared in the plastered corridor that smelled faintly of furniture polish. The small study’s walls were encased with leather bound books, and in the center of the room sat an exotic dark beauty at a library table. A little boy reclined at her feet playing Matchbox cars. She rose with old world poise and extended her hand. “I am Evita Gutierrez. I’m very pleased to meet you.” She had a slight accent, but it was a cultured European one.

Evita wasn’t just attractive, but exotically beautiful, with dark green, almond-shaped eyes, a straight nose, chiseled jaw, perfectly arched brows, and skin almost as flawless as the amber in the stained glass windows.

“I’m Libby Tucker, and this is my son, Cass. This is Aidan Palowski.” When I looked at Aidan, he arched his brow at me. I expected him to be taken with Evita’s exotic beauty, but he looked past her, to her son.

“What’s your son’s name?” Aidan squatted near the boy. Cass possessively wrapped his arm around Aidan’s neck.

Evita spoke up. “Emanuel, but we call him Manny.”

“I’ll take Cass and Manny to the kitchen for a snack, so you can talk privately.”

“Thank you that would be helpful.” She instructed her son warmly in Spanish. “He has perfect English, Mr. Palowski, so don’t let him try to convince you otherwise.”

Aidan had each of the boys’ hands in his as he approached me. I was admiring the old books and framed maps that hung off the bookcases when he kissed my temple. A content sigh escaped my lips. Father Ski was holding the door open for the gentlemen’s exit. I took a seat in the tapestry chair across from Evita.

“Life is complicated, no?” She questioned herself as much as me.

I pulled a legal pad from my briefcase. “I have a feeling your story is less complicated than mine.”

“No, we have all been fools once in our lives.” She smiled. “You were expecting an overweight, uneducated, illegal, no?”

“It’s good you’re attractive and well educated. You’ll look good in front of cameras, or a jury.”

“I want to stay out of the public eye.” She took a deep breath. “That’s why I haven’t greeted the reporters myself.”

“Then why didn’t you report to the INS as mandated?”

“The minute I touch Mexican soil, I’ll be dead, and God only knows what would happen to my son.”

“Why don’t you start with your background?” I started to write, as a sense of unease prickled over me.

“I was born in Mexico City to a prominent family. After private high school I attended the University of Mexico, where I majored in music. I am a jazz pianist.” She looked away briefly. “I haven’t played a single note in over two years.

“The entire time I’ve been in the U.S., I’ve been apprehensive of doing anything that might give away my identity.

“I was getting by until Manny got sick; he was burning up with fever. I went to the emergency room in the middle of the night. I couldn’t wait for the free clinic the next day. They asked many questions I couldn’t answer, so once Manny got a shot of antibiotics, we disappeared. When they searched my name, I showed up on Mexico’s most wanted list.”

“Wait a minute. Why are you on the most-wanted list?”

“Someone very powerful wants me back.”

“Who?”

“El Patron.”

A shiver raced up my spine.

“After university, I was on a concert tour. We partied all over Europe and the Americas. At the end of the tour, a group of us stayed in Columbia until the tour resumed in the fall. I was singing in the Ritz, in Bogotá, just for kicks. The most beautiful man I had ever seen came in, Enrique Espinoza. He watched me sing and afterward he wanted to buy me a drink. But something about his demeanor made me refuse him.

“Men from this part of the world don’t take rejection well, but instead of becoming belligerent, he left. But he would turn up wherever I was. He wouldn’t speak to me but was bending me to his will with his eyes alone.

“After several weeks, I met another man. I was leaving the club with him when Enrique’s entourage stopped us. He said if I promised to never see the other man, they’d let him go. I made what I thought was a silly promise; I wasn’t scared, only flattered Enrique had pursued me for so long. We spoke until the wee hours of the morning, and when he took me home, he didn’t attempt to touch me. By then, of course, I wanted him to.

“I saw him every day for a month, and he never did more than kiss me. I saw the restrained desire in his eyes, but he refused to touch me. When we were alone one night he said, ‘What you do with me is what you will become.’ He asked if I understood, and I said I did. But I had no idea.

“He was the most passionate man I had ever known, but at the end of the summer, I made plans to resume my career, while he was away on a business trip. All my possessions were packed and ready to go, when he returned late that night. I thought we would spend one more glorious night together, but he told me I wouldn’t be leaving the villa. I should’ve thought to be frightened, but I still wasn’t, even when he took me to bed that night. I thought he loved me, and I couldn’t imagine he would hurt me. In the early hours of the morning, I woke to find him gone. I was locked inside my room. All my possessions, anything he hadn’t given me, were gone.

“When he came back a few days later, he said when he took something, he took it forever. He took me against my will.” Her eyes welled up. “There was no more tenderness. I had no idea where to turn. I hadn’t spoken with my family in three months, and I knew they must be worried.

“I was heavily guarded by men with automatic rifles.

“One of them was fond of me. He came to me in the middle of the night and delivered me to an abandoned airstrip, where I was smuggled by private plane back to Mexico.

“My family was scared to receive me—by then I was pregnant by the Columbian drug merchant. They were afraid of what he’d do.”

“Manny’s father is El Cartell de Espinoza, El Patron?” I remained calm, but that wasn’t how I felt, my stomach flinched.

“I found a mission for unwed mothers, and I had Manny there. The nuns took pity on me and smuggled me across the border into the U.S., where I've been hiding since.”

“And you’ve been running from him for six years?”

“I have spoken with my sister in Mexico. She said he’s been there several times looking for me, he’s determined to have me and his only child back. Illegitimate or not, he wants his son to follow in his footsteps.”

“Are you certain he’s after you, not just his son?”

“Every time he tied me to his bed, he made it clear he would never let me go. He had to pull a lot of strings to get me on the most wanted list, he’s desperate.”

“Yes, he has friends in high governmental places.”

“They have a saying: plata o plomo, silver or lead. Money or bullets, whatever method he uses, he wins. I need another identity, and the last thing I need is to be seen on TV.”

“Let me ask you this.” I gnawed on my pencil. “Do you know anything that could help U.S. intelligence find Espinoza?”

“I know the layout of the citadel, his ranch. I know the Colombians sell to dogs, drug dealers, the Dominicans in the south and the Mexicans in the north and a few names of associates.”

“Okay I want you to write down every detail, everything the man ever said. Every place you went, any dates of business trips, a time line of the period he kept you prisoner. Even what seems inconsequential could be important. The more you write, the more you’ll remember.

“And Manny’s diabetes is it manageable?”

“Here, it is.”

“What do you know about the protesters out front?”

“I worked for one of them, until her husband asked me to share his bed. When I told his wife, she threw me out and refused to pay me. I took her Rolex watch and pawned it. I made more than what she owed me, so I returned the difference... in cases of condoms to reiterate her husband’s proclivities.”

“Don’t worry about them.” I smiled at her ingenuity. “Don’t let anyone serve you papers, and stay in this Church.”

Evita nodded.

“I need to speak with some other attorneys about your case. I might need assistance, as this isn’t my area of expertise. But I do know how the criminal mind works, so that might aid us with Espinoza. If we can give the Feds some information on him, we might have a chance to strike a deal. I’ll get back with you in a day or two, but I’ll try to get rid of the protestors in the mean time. I need her name and her husband’s name, too.”

As Evita wrote, I scratched notes about contacts. If I found her a position she was uniquely qualified for, that might help her illegal status. “I want you to start practicing the piano, you’ll need a job, and that might be a place to start.”

She looked at me skeptically before sliding the information across the table. “Ms. Tucker, thank you for speaking with me. When this is over, I’ll find a way to repay you.”

I looked at the list of names. “Try not to worry.”

We found the boys playing together in a corridor off an expansive office. Father Schimkowski was sitting behind the desk with his black shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, resting on the desk. He was listening to Aidan intently. His glasses were on the tip of his nose and too large to be fashionable, but he pushed them up and smiled when we entered the room. He got to his feet. “Done so soon, then?”

“Yes, Father, I’m going to take Manny back upstairs now, he has some school work to do,” Evita said to him.

“Ah,
mami
, come on, it’s Sunday.”

“Thank you again, Ms. Tucker, I look forward to hearing from you.” Evita scolded her son in Spanish on the way out.

“We should be going. I’ll be in touch with Evita.”

“I will walk you out.” Aidan stood when Father Ski came around the desk extending a parcel wrapped in ribbon. “There’s a back entrance to the parking lot.”

“I need to go out the front of the church and have a few words with the protestors.”

“There’s a mob of reporters out there,” Aidan said.

“Maybe I can get them to stop harassing her, if I speak with them. You and Cass go out the back with Father Ski.”

“Babe, if you’re going out the front I’m going with you. Father, can you take Cass around the back and we’ll meet? That way, his face won’t end up on the front of the sports page.”

Cass interrupted. “But I want to be on the sports page.”

Father Ski turned Cass away from us. “We’ll meet you out back in a few minutes.”