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The following day, Marshall Mann and Zachary Blake entered Riverview Police headquarters into the car’s navigation system and were provided directions to the Civic Park Drive. Following the directions, Zack pulled into the parking lot about forty minutes later. They walked in, flashed business cards, and asked the desk sergeant for the man in charge.
“What’s this about, gentlemen?” the sergeant inquired.
“The recent raid at the filler plant,” Marshall responded. “We’ve been retained to represent two of the detainees.”
“Got it. Hang on a second.” The sergeant spun his chair around, picked up a phone, and pushed a few buttons on the phone. “A couple of lawyers here to see one of the plant detainees,” he muttered into the receiver. “Yeah, sure, I’ll tell them.” He hung up the phone and turned his chair back around.
“Chief says they are not permitting visitors at this time.”
Zachary Blake was not a man who easily took ‘no’ for an answer. “We aren’t visitors. We’re attorneys. We have a right to see our clients. More importantly, our clients have a right to see us.”
The guard glanced at the business cards. “Are you Blake or Mann?”
“Blake.”
“I don’t make the rules, Mr. Blake. I follow orders.”
“Call your boss back and tell him that my next move is to call the press, tell them the Riverview Police and ICE are working in concert to deny my clients access to their attorneys. After that, I will visit the courthouse, press in tow, and obtain a court order compelling you to permit us to see our clients, a right granted by the Sixth Amendment to the Constitution. Do you guys want all that negative publicity on top of the bad press Riverview and ICE got for the raid?”
“Shit!”
“Shit is right,” Zack cackled. “What’s it going to be?”
“Hang on.” He turned his chair again and dialed the phone. He muttered illegible comments into the receiver, hung up the phone, and turned back to the attorneys. “He’s coming out,” he grumbled.
“Who’s coming out?” Zack pressed. “What’s his name?” Marshall Mann turned from the desk and chuckled, his back to the sergeant.
“Chief Sanders.”
“Wise decision by Chief Sanders,” Zack grumbled. The sergeant rolled his eyes. Soon, loud footsteps were heard, and a huge man in uniform approached the desk. He was at least six foot five with thin hair, a bulbous nose, and a protruding belly. Too many donuts? Zack wondered.
“What seems to be the trouble?” Sanders grunted, approaching the desk.
“These lawyers are demanding to see two of the detainees, Chief,” the sergeant advised, handing Sanders the business cards.
“Zachary Blake? The Zachary Blake? It’s not too often we get a bona fide celebrity visiting our precinct. Benner, why didn’t you tell me that the attorney was Blake, you idiot!” Benner hung his head in shame.
“Hold the phone, Chief,” Zack retorted, defending Benner. “What difference does it make whether I’m Zachary Blake or a public defender? These people were pulled from their workplace by force, despite having broken no law at the time of arrest. Aside from their possibly unconstitutional arrest, they were not permitted to see their families or contact their lawyers. They may be undocumented—they may not be. If they are not, you and ICE will answer to me. But your callous violation of their civil rights is appalling. What kind of police force are you running here? Is this America or some third world dictatorship?” Benner turned his chair and suppressed a laugh.
“Well . . . uh . . . see here . . . uh . . . Blake, I’m like Benner, here. ICE gave us protocol to follow. My job is to follow it. But . . . uh . . . like I said . . . you’re here and your clients are here. I’m the chief and I don’t see any harm in allowing you or any other lawyer to see a detainee. I have that authority.” He lifted his nose in defiance of whoever issued whatever order. All four men paused.
“What are you waiting for, Chief Sanders? We want to see our clients right now!”
“I’ll call down to the warehouse. Benner, take Mr. Blake and . . . uh . . . Mr. . . .” He snuck a peek at the other business card. “Uh . . . Mann to the warehouse. I’ll arrange for a room and have their clients brought to them.”
“Yes, sir!” Benner stood and saluted. “Right this way, gentlemen.” He pointed toward the rear exit and led Blake and Mann toward it. He stopped and turned to Blake.
“Thanks for defending me, Mr. Blake. I was only doing what I was told,” he explained.
“I understand, Benner, but do any of you push back on this stuff? These are human beings! This is America, dammit! Are we going to let the feds trample on the Constitution?” Zack was only semi-serious—he was trying to get a rise out of the guy.
Benner dropped his head in shame. “I’m right there with you, Mr. Blake. This shit, excuse my French, is way above my pay grade. I don’t have much say in the matter.”
“Neither did the storm troopers in Nazi Germany, Benner. They were only following orders too, right?” Zack snarled. Marshall Mann turned away, once again stifling a laugh.
“Nazi Germany, sir?”
Zack decided to lighten up on the guy. “Probably a bad comparison, Benner, but these people deserve better than this. Tell you what—how about we agree you won’t deny the next lawyer a visit with his client? I’ll get off my soapbox? Deal?”
“Deal, Mr. Blake,” he smiled.
They walked across a huge parking lot past a surprisingly large number of out-of-service Riverview Police Ford Explorer SUVs. Zack eyed the rows of trucks. How many cops and cop cars does a small-town police force need?
At the end of the parking lot sat a large, nondescript warehouse. It looked like a place where the force would keep large equipment, perhaps SWAT vehicles or weapons. Two armed guards patrolled the front of the warehouse, walking back and forth, crisscrossing at the entrance. Benner walked up to one of the guards and whispered something. The guard removed a walkie-talkie from a shoulder harness and spoke into the unit. The door opened immediately, and two more guards stuck their heads out of the opening.
Apparently, Chief Sanders made his phone call because the lawyers were expected and immediately invited inside. Mann and Blake thanked Benner and said goodbye after being introduced to a federal officer named Dirk Weber, the ICE officer in charge of the warehouse prison. The men entered the warehouse. The place was stifling hot and reeked of body odor and human waste. Marshall and Zack gagged at the smell. Weber handed them cloths to hold over their noses.
Well over one hundred men and women, arrested at three separate raids in the city, sat on the floor, their backs against the four walls, chatting in Spanish or staring into space. A bridge table sat in the middle of the floor, holding bottles of water, crackers, and cookies. This was the only nourishment made available to these prisoners. Zack and Marshall were appalled at the conditions but said nothing.
Weber led them to a back room, which served as a break room for the guards. The room featured a bridge table and chairs, and two vending machines, containing cold water, a variety of Pepsi products, sandwiches, fruit pies, candy bars, and chips. The only window in the place had a room air conditioning unit installed. God forbid they offer some of this stuff to these hostages, thought Marshall.
Weber invited them to sit and asked if they wanted anything. Zack picked out a sandwich, a Pepsi, and an apple pie and motioned for Marshall to do the same. They sat down at the bridge table. Weber retrieved the items from the machine and placed them on the table. The door opened, and another armed officer escorted a man and a woman into the room. They were both small in stature, filthy and brown-skinned. Both had looks of bewilderment and fear on their faces. Zack held out his arm to the table and invited them to sit down. After they were seated, Zack addressed Weber and the other guard.
“We’d like to speak with our clients alone, please, gentlemen. You know, attorney-client privilege and all that? You are familiar with the United States Constitution, are you not?” Zack mocked.
“Funny guy,” Weber huffed. “We know the law, counselor.”
“All evidence in this warehouse to the contrary,” Zack charged. “Please leave.”
“We’ll be right outside if you need us,” the other guard spoke for the first time.
“Need you for what? Protection from these vicious, dangerous criminals?” Zack eyed his diminutive and helpless clients. “Get the hell out of here, please. We’ll call for you when we’re done,” he groused.
The men finally took their leave. Zack and Marshall slid the vending machine goodies toward their new clients.
“Please eat,” Zack offered. “Do you speak English?”
“Yes,” the man replied, taking a sandwich and handing the other to the woman. “Gracias for the food.”
“You’re welcome. How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” Mann wondered.
“It has been a while. We’ve had nothing but a small bottle of water, and some cookies or crackers, since we’ve been here,” the man revealed.
“Did they tell you who we are and why we’re here?” Mann queried.
“No, they didn’t.”
“We are your lawyers. Your community has hired us to represent you.”
“Our community?” The woman spoke for the first time, a look of confusion on her face. She shoved the sandwich in her mouth.
“Yes, a social worker with immigration recommended us to your kids’ principal.”
“That’s very nice, but how will we pay you? Have you spoken to our children? What is happening with our children?” The woman worked herself into a panic.
“Your kids are fine. They are being well taken care of by your neighbors, just as you planned. As for attorney fees, let’s not worry about that right now. Let’s worry about getting you out of here,” Zack suggested. “Now, tell us what happened at the plant, how you came into the country, and what the agents said and did after they arrested you. Don’t leave anything out.”
The man smiled, probably for the first time in days, and told Marshall and Zack the entire story of the raid, their arrest, and brutal treatment by ICE officers. Many people were injured, some seriously, during the raid. Four men and three women sustained injuries serious enough to require medical treatment. One woman needed to be airlifted by helicopter to Henry Ford Hospital in Wyandotte. Another was hospitalized with multiple broken bones when she climbed a stack of boxes trying to reach shelter on the roof. She was that fearful of the raid, immigration officials, and the chaos of an uncertain future in the American immigration system. An ICE officer toppled the boxes, and the helpless woman fell twenty feet to the ground. The officers thought this was hilarious until they realized she was seriously injured.
Mary Carmen and Miguel were not injured during the raid. They followed orders, did what they were told, and quietly acquiesced to their arrest and imprisonment. Their biggest fear, aside from the possibility of disease or death from the horrible conditions of this temporary prison, was the possibility of permanent separation from their children.
“How can they separate children from their parents? What will become of our family, Mr. Blake?”
Zack turned to Marshall. “Marshall?”
Marshall turned and locked eyes, first with Mary Carmen, and then with Miguel. As he glared into Miguel’s eyes, he spoke.
“First and foremost, you must remember that you are undocumented. While you came to this country properly, you overstayed your visa. We all know that. So, to answer your question in blunt terms, they can separate you from your children because you have broken the law. I’m not judging you for what you did, and I understand why you had to do it, but those are the harsh realities of your situation. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Miguel conceded, hanging his head.
“Hey, chin up!” Marshall cheered, bending over the tabletop, tilting his head to meet Miguel’s glare. “I’ve represented many people from Venezuela. I know how it is over there. I know it’s terribly overcrowded. I know about food and water shortages, lack of hygiene, and economic hardships. I also know there is violence in the streets, terrible living conditions, and limited access to medical supplies. In other words, Miguel, Mary Carmen . . .” Marshall again turned from one to the other. “I understand why you came here and why you decided to stay, even though you were undocumented. Unfortunately, though, you are undocumented, understood?”
“Yes, Mr. Mann,” whispered Mary Carmen.
“Now, to answer the ‘what will become of my family’ question you asked me, the honest answer is: I don’t know yet. Here is what could happen over the next few days or weeks. ICE might try to hold you here indefinitely. I will fight to prevent that with every fiber of my being. The better alternative, especially if I can get a judge or one of his or her assistants to see this place, is to let you go home.”
“Is it possible?” Mary Carmen cried.
“Yes, it is possible. ICE doesn’t always keep everyone it arrests in custody. Sometimes it will release people, especially the parents of young children. You would probably have to wear some type of monitoring device, perhaps an ankle bracelet of some sort, and you will be required to keep regularly scheduled check-ins with ICE. Now, ICE can still try to deport you while this is happening, but you won’t have to spend time in this horrible place or anything like it.”
“What are the chances?” Miguel inquired.
“Judging by the looks of this place and the fact that ICE probably has more raids planned, I would say they are pretty good. They have already run out of room.”
“So, we get to go home. Then what?” Mary Carmen was anxious.
“Assuming you get to go home, the next step will be for ICE to make an initial determination whether to institute removal proceedings and, if so, to press charges against you. In your case, the charge would be overstaying a nonimmigrant visa. Have either of you ever committed a crime or been in trouble with the law?” Marshall smiled.
“No, never, neither of us,” Miguel boasted.
“Good, that will help. Again, assuming I can get you out of here, and, even if I can’t, a deportation officer will serve you and the immigration court with a formal Notice to Appear. If you are still in detention, ICE is required by law to serve you with the Notice to Appear within 72 hours. This notice will list the charge or charges filed against you. At that point, you have the right to appear before an immigration judge. We can do three things at that point: We can fight the charges, accept the charges and seek relief from removal on other grounds, or accept the charges and the deportation. You don’t want option three, correct?” Marshall smiled.
He has an easy way about him. I like this man. Mary Carmen hesitated before mumbling: “No, Mr. Mann, we do not want option three.”
“I didn’t think so,” Marshall laughed. “Please understand, just because you’ve overstayed doesn’t mean it’s a slam-dunk that you’ll be deported. There are many defenses to deportation, even for an undocumented person. Would you like to hear what they are?”
“Yes,” Miguel chirped, his spirits lifting.
Before Marshall could respond, there was a knock on the door. Zack went to open it. Dirk Weber stood at the threshold.
“About time to wrap this up.”
“Why? Under what authority?” Zack snarled.
“Err . . . uh . . .” Weber was taken aback by Zack’s bravado.
“You going somewhere, Weber? Are my clients? Do they have chores or something?”
“Well . . . uh . . . no.”
“They were arrested and brought here without advice of rights, without being offered an attorney or a social worker. They’ve been locked up in this God-awful place for almost forty-eight hours. They aren’t going anywhere, except, perhaps, to a judge to discuss the deplorable, cruel, and unusual lock-up where they were held captive. Marshall and I are not going anywhere until we complete our interrogation. And, if you decide to remove us, I will sue ICE, you, Homeland Security, Health and Human Services, the United States Citizenship and Immigration Service, and President fricking Golding. Do you understand me?” Zack roared.
“Well . . . uh . . . um . . . I . . . uh . . . I don’t suppose a little more time will harm anyone,” Weber stuttered.
“And get us more sandwiches and pop, would you please?” Marshall piled on, grinning at his hungry clients.
“Will do, Mr. Mann. Anything else?”
“That’s it for now,” Zack dismissed him and literally shut the door in his face, pushing the shell-shocked cop out of the threshold with the door.
“Wow!” Mary Carmen shrieked. “Are you like this in court?”
“Worse,” Zack smiled. “Marshall, please continue. Refreshments are on the way.”
“Where was I?” Marshall muttered, looking puzzled
“Defenses to deportation.” Zack reminded him.
“Right, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Let’s see . . . defenses to deportation . . .” Marshall Mann was an excellent, aggressive advocate and lawyer. But even he had to marvel at the verbal skill, command, and presence of Zachary Blake; how effectively he handled the hostile law enforcement officer. It was easy to understand why Zack was one of the finest trial lawyers in the country.
“Okay, this might get a bit technical, but try to stay with me,” Marshall continued.
“I will,” Zack kibitzed, rolling his eyes at Mary Carmen and Miguel, who laughed.
“Funny guy, Blake. May I continue?” Marshall sighed.
“You may.”
“Where was I?”
“Defenses to deportation,” Zack repeated.
“Right.”
Before Marshall could open his mouth again, Weber knocked at the door. Zack opened it. Weber hesitated at the threshold, waiting for Zack’s permission to enter. Zack had completely knocked the arrogant federal cop off his game.
“Don’t just stand there, Weber. Come on in. We’re hungry.”
“Brought you a few sandwiches, some snacks, and drinks. Will there be anything else, Mr. Blake?”
“You might consider passing some of this stuff around to all those folks who have been living on crackers and water for the last few days,” Zack grumbled.
Weber paused as if considering Zack’s request.
“We’re good, Weber. We shouldn’t be too much longer.” He again shut the door in Weber’s face.
“Defenses to deportation,” he turned to Marshall.
“I remembered. The first thing we must do is to argue this whole damn circus is wrong and you guys weren’t deportable in the first place. When you appear before the judge, you will be asked to admit or deny the facts that led to your arrest. You must either admit or deny the charges. You will, of course, deny them. Why? Because it is Homeland Security’s obligation to present evidence and prove that you should be removed. Please understand, I’m saying we make them prove it; I’m not saying it isn’t true. We all know you overstayed your visa. So, you are undocumented and probably removable. The next argument is that DHS seeks to remove you for the wrong reasons. If they can’t show you’re removable and can’t state a valid reason, the judge has to dismiss the case.”
“Is this possible?” Miguel wondered.
“It is possible, Miguel, not probable.”
“Then, why do this?” Mary Carmen inquired.
“To make them prove their case. If they can’t, you go home. Why should we concede this?”
“Makes sense to me,” Zack chimed in. “Assuming it doesn’t get summarily dismissed, what’s next?”
“Even if DHS meets its burden and a judge decides you are deportable, you may still contest deportation. Again, the department has to prove the case. We don’t have to give them any ammunition. I’m not suggesting you lie, but I am suggesting you not volunteer anything that might help them prove their case. Lying, for instance, could cause you to forfeit your right to apply for relief from removal, an asylum claim, for instance. Your credibility is very important in an asylum case.”
“We don’t lie,” Miguel declared.
“Yes, you do, Miguel. You’ve been lying on the job and home rental applications, but that is not the same as lying to a judge. My best advice is to say nothing and let me do the talking.” Miguel’s defiant tone was gone in an instant.
“Tell us everything, but do not talk to anyone else about your case. Even if the judge asks you a question in court, don’t answer. We will do the talking. The judge has no right to ask you anything unless we put you on the witness stand. The bottom line here is that just because you were caught doesn’t automatically mean you will be deported. By the way, I know these conditions are deplorable, but you are lucky they decided to keep you close to home. Many people are taken to different states, sometimes cross-country. Has anyone asked you to sign anything?”
“No. Why?” Miguel wondered.
“Because I would not put it past these bastards to stick a document in front of you, without any explanation, and presto, you’ve signed away your rights.”
“They would do that?” Mary Carmen was shocked.
“Who knows? Starting with the John Administration and now the Golding Administration, there is a huge bias against people who enter the country through our southern border, especially those who are undocumented. I wouldn’t put anything past these bastards.”
“We have signed nothing,” Mary Carmen confirmed.
“Good. So, you will have your day in court. Have they given you an opportunity to contact your consulate?”
“No. In fact, it never occurred to me.” Miguel shook his head, disgusted at himself.
“Don’t beat yourself up. Very few think to do it, and even less know they have the right to make a call. Usually, all the consulate does is refer you to an attorney and you already have one.”
“And a great one, my friends,” Zack interrupted. “Marshall, what can we do to get these nice people out of this place, now?” he was getting impatient.
“I’m going to lean on Weber. He seems to be the federal officer in charge of this place.”
“For what purpose?” Zack wondered
“I am reasonably certain Weber has the right to bond our clients out of here. Another of your infamous tirades and threats to involve the press should do the trick.”
“I love threats and tirades,” Zack chirped. “Now?”
“Why not?”
“Excuse me?” Mary Carmen peeped. “What are you talking about?”
“Sorry, don’t mind us lawyers. We almost forgot you were here,” Zack chortled. “Marshall is going to try to get you out of here, right now. How does that sound?”
“That would be wonderful, Mr. Blake!” Mary Carmen cried. “Mr. Marshall, is this true?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, but yes, it is possible.”
“What do we have to do?” Miguel wondered.
“Nothing. I keep telling you. You do nothing. Let me do all the talking and all the work. Okay?”
“Okay.”
One hour later, Miguel and Mary Carmen Gonzalez, Zachary Blake, and Marshall Mann followed Officer Weber through the detention center. Mary Carmen carried a bag of sandwiches and other goodies. She began tossing them behind her to starving detainees. As the remaining detainees started to comprehend what was happening, a trickle of applause commenced. By the time the couple reached the exit, the applause and cheers were deafening.
Zachary Blake turned to the crowd and held up his hand for silence. The detainees immediately obliged.
“Ladies and gentlemen. You have rights! Demand to see an attorney! If they don’t let you contact one, demand your release. Marshall and I will be back tomorrow to make sure you are being afforded your rights.” The crowd cheered.
Zack turned to Weber with an icy glare. Weber tried to meet his glare and then dropped his eyes to the floor. Shit! He’ll be back tomorrow?
