Crossing the Line (20 page)

“I mean actual narcotics. Not just precursor chemicals and laboratory equipment.”

Roberto thought for a minute. “In his house he’s got some horse that I’ve seen—”

“That’s heroin, Your Honor.”

“I know that, Ms. Chang. Please continue.”

Roberto had done more than see it, I guessed. Although he was still doing well, I was worried. His pupils were pinpricks in the blue irises. They looked as blank as the stone on his throat.

“There’s some blow, and some pot, too. Jesús stays away from it, for the most part. It’s a couple of his guys who showed me the stuff. Not a lot of it. What they’ve got, it’s mostly for personal use. He told them to show it to me and that I could take what I wanted.”

Next to Roberto, Tom was scowling. He had wanted Roberto to say the mother lode of drugs was in the house itself.
Good, Roberto,
I thought.
You’re doing good. Stick to the truth now
.

“Aside from these small quantities in the house that are ‘for personal use,’ as you say, have you seen anything with your own eyes that would indicate Mr. Hidalgo intends to distribute narcotics within this state?”

“Yeah. I told you. The lab stuff. Propane cookers and vats and all that kind of stuff. All the ingredients, too. Like I said, crates of bottles. Chemicals, you know? Ephedrine. That shit.”

It sounded good to me. To Mary and Tom, too, who’d barely been able to contain their exhilaration on the drive in when Roberto told us what he’d seen.
Seen,
not just heard about. This was the way probable cause was supposed to sound. Not a certainty, not proof beyond a reasonable doubt, but, as the law books say, “reasonable grounds, based on trustworthy information, that a crime is taking place or is about to be committed.”

The judge, however, wasn’t jumping all over it the way we’d expected him to. He ducked his head lower and went back to looking at Roberto over his glasses.

“But no large quantities of actual narcotics? In a condition that is ready to be sold?”

“Nope. Just the ingredients. The other stuff—the drugs in the house—it wasn’t what you’d call large.”

There was a long pause. The judge put down his pen.

“Now tell me a little bit about yourself, son. What is your arrangement with these three police officers here?”

Mary answered before Roberto could.

“For information he provides us about the illegal activities of Jesús Hidalgo-Paez, and in consideration for the risks he has taken to assist us, our confidential informant is to receive a reduced sentence for charges pending against him. An additional charge, in a neighboring state, will be dismissed. He will be granted immunity for all crimes committed up until this date. It’s a very standard deal, Your Honor. One our office, in conjunction with the U.S. Attorney’s Office, made enthusiastically.”

The judge considered this for a minute. He picked up his pen again.
Sign,
I ordered him, but not out loud.

Then he asked Roberto, “Tell me something, son. What have you got against Mr. Hidalgo-Paez? You were once friends, you said. He obviously thinks you still are. And I assume you could find your way to South America if you so desired, where you would be safe from interferences from our government?”

Yeah,
I thought,
why the hell are you doing this, bro?
But I knew the answer. I’d read the strange little children’s story my brother had written and knew what it meant.

Roberto looked at me. Directly at me. His smile didn’t change, but his gaze lit me up. I felt the hair rise on my arms. The blue light of his eyes was like a warm bath for a moment. Then he turned back at the judge and shrugged while considering his response.

The judge was looking at me with narrowed eyes. They seemed to open wider after a couple of seconds. Then he glanced at Roberto, then at me again. Maybe seeing, for the first time, a family resemblance.
He knows,
I thought.
Or at least suspects.

“Guy’s an asshole,” Roberto finally said. “Word is that he’s killed a lot of people. A lot of them women and kids.”

“I’ve been led to believe that he’s been doing that for a long time. Surely you were aware of that before you began your relationship with him.”

Roberto looked almost sheepish—a way I didn’t ever think I’d seen him look before. He dropped his eyes and spoke to the table, fingering the turquoise stone at his throat.

“I knew he was a bad guy. And I heard some of that
corbata
shit. But I didn’t think too much about it.”

“But now you don’t mind betraying him? You’ve worked up some indignation since those days?”

There was an edge to the judge’s voice. It was an edge I was too familiar with. That of a cross-examiner, poking the way lawyers love to do at an evident wound.

Roberto glanced at me. “I was whacked a lot of the time back then. But I’ve been waking up.”

The judge still held his pen.
Just sign it. Don’t put him through this.

In a more judicial tone the judge said, “Part of my job, son, is to assess your credibility before deciding whether I should find that this tale amounts to probable cause. That includes consideration of just how credible a witness you are. I take it that you’ve had more than a little trouble with the law in your past.”

Trouble with the law, both specifically and philosophically,
I thought.

Roberto looked up and grinned suddenly, showing white teeth.

“Yeah. You could say that, Judge.”

I wanted to groan now. Suddenly we were losing ground. And I could see that my brother was feeling mischievous. The judge had embarrassed him by asking—in front of me—why Roberto had tolerated, and even profited from, the friendship of a murderer seven years ago, then compounded it by suggesting disloyalty and betrayal. And Roberto had been holding it in too well, and for too long, and now it was starting to sneak out.

“Have you ever been convicted of a felony?”

“Oh, yeah. Couple of times.”

“But never one that involved perjury or false statements to authorities, Your Honor,” Mary broke in, speaking quickly. “Our informant has always taken responsibility for his actions. In fact, he has never even been to trial.”

“Is that so?”

Roberto grinned wider.

“Then either you’re not very bright, son, or you’re very reckless.”

“I ’spect it’s a little of both,” Roberto agreed.

“Did any of these crimes involve drug use?”

“Most of them.”

“Only misdemeanors, Your Honor,” Mary interjected. “The felonies our informant was convicted of all involved either crimes of violence or vandalism. An argument could be made—not a legal one, of course—that the victims of his crimes deserved—”

It wasn’t exactly a great save. Or even a good attempt. I guessed that she, too, could feel the ground slipping away and was willing to take a chance. But the judge ignored her. He was leaning forward, staring at my brother.

“Are you under the influence of any narcotic substance at this moment?”

Shit. His eyes.

“I’m high on life, Judge.”

“I mean, have you been partaking in any illegal narcotics? In the last twenty-four hours?”

Roberto, still grinning, sort of shrugged and looked at Mary. I interrupted, speaking for the first time.

“Just tell him the truth,” I said.

“I’m high on life and high on a little
chieva
.”

“She-va? That something like heroin, son?”

“Something like it, Judge.”

“Injected?”

“Smoked.” Roberto put his fingers to his mouth and blew on them, like blowing a kiss to the judge. “A-bomb. You dip a joint in it.”

And the ground dropped away. We were all falling. The room was like an elevator whose cables had been cut.

It was silent for a while before the judge spoke again, still looking at my brother.

“Let me see if I can summarize this, son. Please tell me if I’m incorrect. You are a multiple felon and an abuser of Schedule 1 narcotics?”

“’Fraid you got me there.”

“You stand to have charges against you reduced, and others quashed, if Mr. Hidalgo is convicted of a state or federal crime?”

“The agreement requires the informant to testify truthfully—” Mary tried to interrupt one last, desperate time. But the judge held up a hand to silence her.

“You come into my chambers so that I can make a determination regarding your credibility, and you come in here stoned?”

“Sad but true.”

“He’s an addict, Your Honor,” Mary protested, her voice rising. “He’s come to us to seek treatment! He’s trying to get his life straightened out!”

Judge Koals turned to her. I was surprised to see that he didn’t look angry. I would have been. But his tone remained thoughtful and judicial.

“Ms. Chang, in this state we have standards for determining the reliability of witnesses who are brought before the court. These include past convictions, mental state, and possible motive. Your informant’s testimony here tonight is extraordinary.” He paused, shaking his head, then continued. “Yet I cannot find it trustworthy to the standard required by law. Based on his testimony alone, without corroboration, I cannot find that there is probable cause to believe that there is a clandestine laboratory manufacturing methamphetamine more than a mile below the surface of the earth, being worked by ‘slave labor.’ Nor can I find that the subject of your warrant has narcotics in his home other than those that your informant has taken there himself.”

Okay. Hidalgo’s going to walk. For a while, at least. Then somebody’ll catch up to him. Roberto’s going back to jail. This is bad. Very bad
. I knew that in prison again Roberto would burn himself up. I couldn’t help, though, feeling a little relief. It could be worse.

Then the judge named the thing that could be worse.

“But I’ll tell you what I will do, Ms. Chang. I will reconsider my ruling here today provided that you can bring me film or recorded conversations corroborating the story your informant has told me. Attached to your application, of course, so that it is within the four corners of the affidavit. This material must be legally obtained, under Wyoming law. That is to say, whoever makes these records must have consent to be on the property, and must be a party to the conversation being recorded. If there is any truth to this story, that way it will come out. You bring me lawfully recorded pictures and sound to back this up, and I’ll sign whatever warrant applications you give me.”

“No,” I said, speaking up for the first time. “That means sending him in there with a camera and all that, and I won’t let him do that. They searched him the first time he went in. They’ll do it again. It would be a death sentence.”

The judge stood up.

“That’s your choice, I’m afraid. Now, if you will excuse me, officers, Mr. Informant, it’s quite late.”

NINETEEN

“A
re you protecting that fucker?” Tom demanded outside in the hallway. He was talking with his mouth a few inches from the back of my brother’s head. “Are you? Whose fucking side are you on?”

Roberto turned to face him. He was standing loose and still smiling. He cupped a hand to his ear. I waited for the cupped hand to turn into a fist, and then for Tom’s head to snap back. But it didn’t happen.

“Excuse me?” Roberto said, hand to his ear.

“You heard me!” Tom roared in his face. “Whose side are you on?”

I pushed in between them. It felt like I was entering a zone between two powerful, maybe radioactive, magnets. Mary forced her way in next to me with sharp elbows and sharp words.

“You want to fuck me or fight me, Tomás?” my brother asked. “If it’s fight, we can go anytime. If it’s fuck you want, you’re going to have to find another
chupate
.”

Tom tried to hold it but he couldn’t. He spun around, away from the three of us, and punched the wall. His fist left an imprint in the plaster.

“Goddamn junkie!”

Mary let out a hiss.

“That’s enough, Tom!”

Tom stormed down the hallway and blew out the courthouse door. I looked at the dent on the wall, which was smoking with chalky dust, and wondered if the judge was still in his office. He might have heard the impact or felt the reverberation. If he had, I hoped he would make Tom pay for the repair. I would gladly rat Tom out. But the judge didn’t appear in the hallway.

“That guy’s losing it,” Roberto told Mary.

“We all are. It’s been a tense couple of days, and this is not what any of us was expecting.”

Roberto chuckled. “Tense for you guys? What, you afraid you might lose your job? Your buddy Tomás there will lose his anyway if Mr. Ashcroft finds out that he’s got a gay guy working for him. And you, Mary, you don’t belong in this business anyway.”

Mary colored. Her heavy eyelids squeezed into slits. She looked fierce in her courtroom clothes with her hair pulled back so severely. She stared up at him, stepping close—as close as Tom had stood a moment before. They were nose to chin, only a few inches apart. The energy between them was just as intense as it had been with Tom but it was different somehow.

“Don’t you tell me what business I belong in, Roberto.”

I had the feeling they’d forgotten about me even though I was right there with them.

“Easy, girl. Easy now,” my brother soothed.

“You think I shouldn’t be doing this because I’m a woman? You think I’m too soft? Not big and strong like you? Not a filthy addict who knows nothing about self-restraint?”

“Cool down. Don’t blame me,
mariquita.
I told the truth just like you asked me to.”

Mary didn’t look like she wanted to cool down.

“My God, Roberto! You think you did what we asked? Smoking heroin? Telling the judge about it? You’ve ruined everything. Not even to mention that you’re going to kill yourself.”

“If you guys don’t get me killed first.”

That was my opportunity to remind them they weren’t alone.

“We need to shut it down,” I said to Mary.

She stepped away from my brother and glared now at me.

“We aren’t shutting anything down.” She stabbed her index finger toward Roberto’s chest, poking him. “Your brother hasn’t fulfilled his end of the bargain. There’s still a good chance we can redeem this operation.”

“No,” I said. “It’s too dangerous. There’s way too much risk.”

“I thought you brothers weren’t afraid of anything. That you hang by your fingernails, climb mountains, do bad things to bad people. I thought you were tough. The Fearless Burns Brothers.”

“Not me,” I said.

“Hell, I’m scared of my own shadow,” Roberto said meekly. “Remember? You heard me tell the judge.”

“Yes. I heard that. And I heard you say some other things in there that didn’t need to be said,” she told him. “How many people do you think Hidalgo is going to kill if we don’t finish this? More women and children, maybe? Not that you’d care. How many more lives is he going to ruin with that shit he peddles? Now, you are either going to finish this operation or you are going to go to prison. A real prison—not the rehabilitation center I would like to get you into.”

“I can run. No way you can catch me in those shoes.” Roberto pointed at her high heels.

“We’d get you sooner or later,” Mary said hotly, not realizing he was teasing, that he still wasn’t taking this seriously. At least not outwardly. But I suspected her jab about women and children had stung him. “You wouldn’t make it out of the country. And even if you did, we would find you in South America. Your friends down there won’t help you if there’s a large enough price on your head. Forget about extradition—we could kidnap you and transport you north. It’s been done before and we’ll do it again.”

Roberto held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Hey, all right. I guess I’m your man, then,” he purred at her. “Sounds like you own my ass, Mary. I guess you can do whatever you want with me.”