twenty-six:
wednesday morning

Pesca. Rio. Van azul.

A thin bead of sweat formed on Tomás’ upper lip and his hands trembled. He looked to Diaz for reassurance. He pointed down the road to an innocuous spot and said, emphatically, allá—where he was waiting when he saw the van azul.

Duncan Bloom was respectful, patient. He smiled, gave Tomás space. Tomás talked about his upbringing in Chihuahua. The family business was a bakery. When he talked about his mother, tears formed and Tomás had to take a breath. Trudy realized the enormous risk he was taking, the trust he was extending.

Bloom asked for personal details about his skills and interests. Again Tomás fought hard to keep it together, with only partial success.

“A gold mine,” said Bloom to Trudy. Diaz listened in. “What I really need is the blue van, of course, and where it went.”

Bloom looked up and down the road, as if it might reappear if they waited long enough.

“Now what?” said Trudy.

Bloom put his pen in his pocket, his notebook in a back pocket. He was wearing faded blue jeans and a simple red short-sleeve shirt. He folded his arms, leaned on the hood of his scruffy green Camry, the hood splotched white where the paint had lost its battle with the sun.

“In the 1920s, Congress passed a series of immigration laws and at the time Asians were among the excludable aliens, except the Japanese,” said Bloom. “Been reading up. You look back, it’s a mess—laws jerking policy one way and then the other.”

“The laws don’t seem clear now,” said Trudy.

“So Alfredo worked for you?” said Bloom.

“Yes,” said Trudy. “But—”

“Don’t worry,” said Bloom. “I want the whole story, not the surface. Not this sliver. The question is where in the hell do they go?”

“Denver?” said Trudy.

“One person in a van all the way to Denver?” said Bloom. “Expensive cab service.”

Bloom produced a palm-size camera, shot pictures of Tomás from behind—hiding his face—as Tomás pointed down the road to the spot where Alfredo had been nabbed. Tomás was a stiff model. He looked tired from the interview and uncertain.

Lingering probably wasn’t a smart idea. Curious drivers would notice them and her truck, the company logo.

“Can you start in Aurora?” said Trudy. “See how they arrive? Look for vans?”

“Maybe,” said Bloom. He studied the road again, looked up and down. “I could ask if Alfredo is being held in the system. At least that would confirm that was the destination—the ICE system. It’s worth a shot. I just can’t imagine seeing your brother snatched from the streets—no surprise he wants to get the heck out of here.”

“But he’s dealing with leaving his girlfriend and daughter,” said Trudy.

Bloom froze like he was playing a game of statue. “What?”

“A baby,” said Trudy.

“I can’t believe I missed that,” said Bloom. “I must be losing my touch.”

Bloom re-engaged Tomás and Diaz for another round as Bloom soaked up the details.

“And you would leave your baby?” asked Bloom. “No problem?”

Tomás welled up and his eyes glistened and he started speaking.

“His mother can’t afford to lose another son,” said Diaz, when Tomás was finished answering. “He’ll come back when things settle down. If things settle down. He feels terrible. He is torn. Indeciso.”

Tomás wiped his eyes on his sleeves, turned away to fight more tears.

“I want to meet her,” said Bloom. “Your girlfriend. And I want to meet the baby, too.”

Diaz translated. Tomás’ eyes were still moist.

“No names. Girlfriend or baby,” said Diaz.

“Sí,” said Bloom. “Same rules.”

“It’s okay,” said Trudy. Her instincts were solely based on how Bloom treated her when he wrote the profile. His auras were blue—good principles and maybe some psychic talent. Bloom cared. She remembered him sitting in her kitchen, how he settled in, made the transition from professional to person before her eyes.

Tomás took an unsteady breath, muttered to Diaz.

“He doesn’t want to put his girlfriend in trouble,” said Diaz.

“It’s to show how this impacts families,” said Bloom. “That families are being ripped apart, that babies will grow up without fathers. And it’s about our two countries. About getting along. It’s what Tom Lamott was saying.”

Bloom followed Trudy’s pickup, with Tomás and Diaz on board, to Riverside Meadows, a quarter-mile south.

Tomás went inside to smooth the way while Trudy, Bloom, and Diaz huddled under a tree. A skinny calico cat stepped out from a gap in the wood skirt that covered the gap between mobile home and ground. It promptly plopped down on a patch of grass in the shade. A distant air conditioner whirred. The sun felt as if it had decided on a day trip to visit the moon.

It suddenly occurred to Trudy that Tomás lived in the same community with the same roads and buildings but had to go through the day with his head down, hoping to stay invisible. It was half a life, or less.

“I’ve got a question for you,” said Bloom.

“Okay,” said Trudy. “I guess. But not about my business.”

“No,” said Bloom. “Allison.”

Trudy waited. Every time others mentioned Allison’s name, Trudy knew they wanted a piece of her friend.

“Yes?” said Trudy when Bloom failed to fill the void.

“Is she around?”

“I don’t keep close tabs,” said Trudy. She wished Allison had a permanently embedded GPS. There had been times when Allison disappeared for days.

“I’d like to talk to her about what she found up on the building,” said Bloom. “The roof. That’s all. Plus, it would be nice to come up, if you want to know the truth. To look at the sky up there. Down here, you almost feel like you’re in a hole. The day I spent with you and Allison—well, it’s locked in my memory forever.”

Trudy knew how guys looked at Allison.

“We’re not gate keepers for the Flat Tops,” said Trudy. “But I doubt Allison would talk about what she did for the police. I can ask her—”

“Please,” said Bloom.

Tomás’ girlfriend stepped from the mobile home and sat down on the middle of the three-step entrance. Tomás followed. She wore a white T-shirt with an oversized basketball across the front. A white cap with a large visor shaded her face. Bits of hesitant female Spanish floated across the still, hot space. She held the baby in a thin white wrap.

Candy’s expression was inscrutable. She stared off and on at Bloom. This should be a simple yes or no, Trudy figured, but the back-and-forth between Tomás and Candy lasted longer than she would have expected.

There was an unexpected hiccup. Something had changed. Trudy felt like she was intruding. Candy peeled the wrap back like a banana and revealed the top of her baby’s head, kissed her gently.

Tomás headed their way, head down.

“Something’s up,” said Bloom. “Though you don’t need a translator to tell you that.”

Tomás fought off tears. But he was smiling, too. He took a deep breath, blew it out with puffed-up cheeks, put his head down and then he was beside them, gathering himself. He gave a fist pump at mid-chest like a coach exhorting a team to do its best. Despite the tumble of emotions, Trudy sensed the bottom line was something good. Underneath it all, Tomás looked relieved. He gave the news in two rapid-fire sentences to Diaz, who replied with a one-word question.

“¿Aquí?”

Tomás took a breath. “Si,” he said.

“It’s Alfredo,” said Diaz, summing up. “While Tomás was out with us, Alfredo turned up. Last night he was out, alone. He was hiding and running. He was being held somewhere. He really needs a doctor and he is very, very afraid.”