Lost(6)

“That’s what they say.”

“That’s what I say too. I wish every unit was so strict. Maybe we’d get rid of some of the deadweight.”

“You can have my spot when the Dolphins win a Super Bowl.”

Teague let out a laugh. “Look at the philosopher making jokes. I thought your only joke was your football career.”

It was pretty much the same shit I heard everywhere in Miami. It didn’t faze me.

“By the way, is that fine Agent Perez still on the task force?” I said, “She’s still on the task force, but I doubt she’d give you the time of day.”

“Lesbian?”

“Good taste.”

Teague laughed again and waved as he brushed past me on the stairs. He called over his shoulder, “Stay safe, Anti.”

“You too, Smooth Jazz.”

That interaction went better than my conversation with the witness advocates. They told me the only place they could house that many kids together was Krome. I had already decided that wouldn’t happen. Now I had to make another decision.





CHAPTER 7





I DROVE OUT of Miami slowly so the kids could get a decent look around. They marveled at the speeding, swerving cars, and I explained that in South Florida, hitting your brakes is considered a display of fear. It’s best to avoid it.

I mentioned a few historical facts so the trip would be educational. For instance, I told them the city’s name had come from the native word mayaimi, which meant “big lake.” (No one cared.) And that Al Capone had lived here in the 1930s. (No one knew who Al Capone was.) I grew a little desperate and dredged up the legends of Blackbeard and Jean Lafitte, pirates who, it was said, used to visit the area and hide treasure on the coastal islands and the mainland.

Joseph said, “Can we look for treasure?”

“Maybe. It’s not common to find it anymore, but we can go to the beach and try.” That seemed to satisfy everyone.

We stopped to pick up three gigantic pizzas from Pizza Brew, and by the time we reached our destination, everyone was hungry and tired. Each kid carried a small suitcase or backpack; I balanced the three pizzas like a Ringling Brothers act and opened the front door.

When the kids stepped into the cool, wide room, they all asked some version of the same question: Where are we?

I still had some explaining to do. I’d been avoiding phone calls from my FBI supervisor that I was sure were related to me taking the kids. He was a stickler for rules, and I was fairly certain the FBI had a rule about not kidnapping minors. I wasn’t worried. I intended to return them once I was certain they’d be treated right.

Jacques, the Belgian boy, stared through a sliding glass door at the patio with the pool wedged into the backyard. He turned to me and smiled. “I am a good swimmer.”

I patted him on the head and said, “We’ll put that boast to the test after dinner.”

All of the children turned and looked at the hallway on the far side of the room. I let them stare in silence for a moment at the two women standing there like ghosts. They didn’t move and both happened to be dressed in light clothes. The effect was perfect. I wasn’t sure how this would play out, but the time had come to see how good my decision-making abilities were.

I cleared my throat, raised my voice slightly, and said, “Hey, guys, let me introduce you to some people.” I waited as the children all gathered around me. “This is my mother and my sister. You can call them Mrs. Moon and Lila.” I turned to my mom and sister. “Mom, Lila, this is Michele from France, Olivia from Spain, Joseph from Poland, Annika from Finland, Monnie from Kenya, and Jacques from Belgium. They’re going to be our guests tonight.”

My whole body tensed as I waited to hear what would come out of my mom’s mouth. The longer the silence stretched, the worse I felt. Then a smile spread across my mother’s face and she said, “It’ll be so nice to have kids around the house for a change.” I glanced at my sister, who just winked.

The relief I felt was incredible. I knew I should’ve called first, but I’d been afraid that if my mom was having a bad day, I would’ve lost my nerve and changed my mind about breaking the kids out of the Department of Homeland Security.

My mom looked at me and said, “Thomas August Moon, this is the best surprise you could’ve brought me.”

My mom was the only one who ever used my middle name, August, and she did it only for emphasis. My little sister’s middle name is June. We called her Junie for a while when she was a baby, but my dad put a stop to it. He wasn’t on board with my mom’s semi-flower-child love of odd names.

My mom walked across the room to greet the kids. To little Michele from France, she said in perfect French, “Bonjour, Michele. N’est-ce pas jolie?”

The little girl grinned like a Texan holding a gun.

My sister, Lila, leaned in to me and said, “You got lucky. How’d you know she was having a good day?”

“I didn’t. It was a calculated risk. Immigration wanted to hold these poor kids at the Krome Detention Center. I just couldn’t let that happen.” I didn’t comment on the alcohol I’d just smelled on Lila’s breath.

Lila was a vivacious twenty-four-year-old who partied a little on the hard side, but she never missed a day of work and took good care of our mom. I sometimes felt like my mother and I were stealing part of her youth.