Bait (9 page)

I
NSIDE THE JUVENILE DETENTION CENTER
,
the police released Diego from his handcuffs. In the process the intake officer spotted the cuts above his wrists.

“Remove your shirt,” he told Diego, and although Diego didn’t want to, he realized he didn’t have much choice.

As Diego exposed the scars and slashes, the man let out a long, low whistle. “Boy, what did you do? Try to wrestle a propeller?”

Diego had to take off the shark’s tooth and empty his pockets to make certain he didn’t have any other sharp objects. The intake officer asked him questions about his health, school, family, and allergies…. Then he phoned Diego’s mom, told her what had happened, and explained that she needed to go to court the next morning for Diego’s detention hearing.

Diego listened anxiously, his heels bouncing on the carpet.

“She wants to talk to you,” the man told him, holding out the receiver.

Diego inhaled a deep breath to brace himself, knowing how angry she’d be, and took the phone. “Um, hi.”

“Is this what you want?” his mom demanded. “To throw your life away? Why should I even come tomorrow? I’m going to lose my job because of you.”

Diego turned away from the intake officer, ducking his head in shame. What if his mom did lose her job because of him? What would happen to Eddie? Maybe they’d be better off to just leave him in juvie.

He covered the receiver’s mouthpiece and whispered to the man, “Does she have to come tomorrow?”

“She’d better, or the judge will issue a summons.”

Diego returned to the phone, listening until his mom stopped yelling and abruptly hung up. He couldn’t blame her for being so angry.

The intake officer stared across the desk at him. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” Diego replied. “Um, yeah.”

The man shook his head. “I think we’d better put you on suicide watch.”

“Why?” Diego asked, startled by the idea.

“With you showing up here like that”—he gestured to Diego’s cuts—“I’m not taking any chances while you’re under our custody.”

Diego wasn’t sure exactly what suicide watch meant until he was escorted to a cell separate from the other boys and told he had to strip down to his underwear.

“How come?” he protested.

“Those are the rules. Don’t worry, you’ll be by yourself. In the morning you’ll get your clothes back.”

As Diego undressed, he glared at the man, feeling humiliated. It was a relief to step into the cell by himself. He didn’t feel locked in, but rather like everybody else was locked out. He felt
safe
here—although he wasn’t sure safe from what.

The white-walled concrete room, barely bigger than a closet, was empty except for a vinyl mattress on the floor and a gray blanket but no sheets. Against one wall were a metal sink and a toilet without a seat. On the other wall was a barred window to the outside. The place stank of disinfectant.

Diego plopped down onto the mattress, wrapped the scratchy blanket around his shoulders, and recalled Vidas asking if he ever felt all alone. Right now he definitely did.

Occasionally, he heard the footsteps and muffled voices of staff as they took turns making rounds, peering in the little window of the thick steel door to make sure he wasn’t offing himself.

After a while he lay down and stared up at the encased fluorescent lamp that glared brightly from the ceiling. There wasn’t any switch for it. He waited, wondering what time they’d turn it off, until finally it occurred to him that they weren’t going to; they were leaving it on for suicide watch.

Unable to sleep with the glaring light, he stared at the barred window, recalling when Vidas had told him he was already in jail, a jail he was making for himself. Maybe this was his destiny: to be locked in a real jail cell, where at least he couldn’t hurt anyone, not even himself.

He rolled over on the mattress, pulled the blanket over his head, and eventually fell asleep. In the middle of the night, he woke to the sound of someone crying. He drowsily listened, wondering who the sound had come from. A boy in a neighboring cell? Only as he drifted back to sleep, did he realize it was the mattress beneath his own face that was damp with tears.

The next morning, a square-faced woman banged on the steel door, rousing him, and tossed him a towel. “Time to go shower. Come on, get a move on! This ain’t summer camp.”

The steam-filled shower room was packed with boys. Diego braced himself for any possible confrontation and avoided eye contact. Fortunately, the crowd ignored him, except for one blond boy who shook his head at Diego’s cuts and asked, “What’d you get busted for?”

“A fight,” Diego answered, and after that, nobody else said anything to him.

During breakfast, most of the boys spoke at full volume, clanged silverware, and clattered their trays. Diego kept to himself until two bailiffs arrived to take him to court.

“You don’t need those,” he said as one pulled out handcuffs.

The officer ignored him and clamped the cuffs on anyway.

Unlike his previous court dates, this time he had to wait in a holding cell—alone. The tiny room contained a concrete bench and nothing else. His stomach turned when he noticed that some of the prior inmates had left the only mark they could on the cinder block walls: a crusty dried layer of green and white spit.

A short while after he arrived, his mom appeared at the door’s Plexiglas window, her eyes concerned and her mouth drooping in a frown.

“Are you okay?” she asked through the glass.

“Yeah. What did you tell Eddie?”

“That you’re staying with a friend. If you care so much about him, why are you doing this?”

He shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench. “You think I want to be here?”

“Well, you’re the one who put yourself here.” They glowered at each other through the window, and then she walked away.

Several minutes later, the bailiff unlocked the door and let in Ms. Delgado. She wanted to know what had happened and Diego told her about the fight.

“So, now what’ll happen to me?” he asked.

“The judge will set a trial date and decide whether to keep you in detention. I’ll ask for your release…” She paused and gave him a wary look. “…unless you want to stay in jail.”

“No!” Despite feeling safe in his dreary cell, he didn’t want to go back. “Why would I want to stay there?”

“I don’t know. Just don’t pull any surprises like you did last time.”

Diego glanced down at the scuffed tile floor, embarrassed. “I don’t want to stay in jail.”

“Okay,” she replied. “I’ll talk with Mr. Vidas. It may depend on what he recommends to the judge.”

After Ms. Delgado left, Diego sat worried and waiting, till the bailiff suddenly unlocked the door again and let Vidas in.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked as usual, looking directly into Diego’s eyes.

Diego glanced away and said softly, “I messed up.”

Vidas remained standing. Quiet. Waiting for Diego to say more.

“What else can I say?” Diego asked.

“Well,” Vidas challenged him, “you’d better tell me more than that because this makes your second assault charge. The judge is going to want to know why you shouldn’t stay locked up. Now, I can recommend that he let you go home till your trial, but you’ve got to give me something to work with.”

Diego looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Start by telling me what happened,” Vidas said and sat down on the bench beside him.

Diego took a deep breath before explaining about Guerrero. “He started to dis me. I didn’t like it.”

“What exactly did he say?” Vidas asked.

Diego glanced at him, but then looked down. “Stuff about me being gay.”

“Isn’t that what got you fighting last time?”

“I guess.”

“I don’t get it, Diego. You’re smart. You know guys make jokes like that about everybody. So, what keeps triggering you to get so mad about it?”

Diego shook his head. “I just don’t like them saying that about me.”

Vidas was silent for a moment and rubbed his fingers across his brow. “Have you ever had thoughts about being with a guy?”

“No!” Diego pressed back against the wall.

“Maybe you’ve had dreams about it,” Vidas persisted. “Boys your age sometimes do. That doesn’t mean you’re gay…. But if you are, there’s nothing shameful about it.”

“I’m not gay!” Diego shot back. “I like
girls
. I think about Ariel all the time.”

“All right.” Vidas waited quietly, letting Diego’s anger subside. “Then we’re back at square one.” He ran a hand across the back of his neck. “Think hard, Diego. Obviously, something happened that makes you so angry to be called gay. Only you can decide if you want to talk about it.”

Diego looked straight at him and their eyes met. He felt more convinced than ever that Vidas somehow already knew what had happened.

Vidas brought his hand down from his neck. “I don’t know what else to tell you, Diego. Like I said before, unless you open up, nobody can help you.”

A war was raging in Diego. He wanted to slam open the door inside him and let out everything. But how could he admit what he’d let happen? If he hadn’t wanted it to happen, why hadn’t he stopped it?

“So, what will you tell the judge?” he asked.

“I’ll tell him…” Vidas gave a brief sigh. “…that without you opening up, I’ve done all I can. Now it’s up to him.”

As Vidas stood to leave, Diego imagined being sent back to detention in handcuffs and locked into his depressing cell with its bare vinyl mattress, the stink of disinfectant, the bars on the window…

Vidas stepped toward the door to summon the bailiff. Diego gripped the edge of the concrete bench, and from deep within him came a whisper: “He touched me.”

Vidas paused, inches from the door, and turned to Diego. “What?”

Diego’s heart pounded as he looked Vidas squarely in the eye. Could he truly trust him? “Mac did stuff…to me.”

Vidas lowered his hand and let out a long audible breath. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t!” Diego snapped. How could anybody understand the things Mac had made him do? “You
don’t
understand!”

“All right,” Vidas said and slowly eased back onto the bench. “Then help me to understand. Tell me about it.”

Diego stared at him, glanced away, looked back.
Would
he understand? “What do you want to hear?”

“Whatever you want to tell me,” Vidas said. “When did it start? Can you remember?”

“Yeah.” He remembered as clear as if it happened last night. How could he
not
remember?

“When Mac began seeing my mom…and she left me at his hotel. While he and I watched TV, or swam in the pool, or wrestled on the floor his hands would sometimes…brush against me. You know?” Diego glanced an instant at his crotch. “At first I thought it was an accident, but it kept happening.”

Diego paused, unable to believe he was telling another person this. Why wasn’t Vidas freaking out, disgusted?

“I’m listening.” Vidas leaned forward on the bench. “Go on.”

“It felt weird,” Diego continued. “Gross. But I didn’t know what to say. I was only, like, six years old. I didn’t even speak English. And it wasn’t like he was some skanky stranger. He brought my mom and me presents, took us places. Everybody said we were so lucky.”

Diego took a breath, trying to slow down, but it was like opening a faucet. He’d kept so much bottled up for years.

“One time he took me on this fishing trip, overnight. I was so excited: my first boat trip. My mom couldn’t go ’cause she gets seasick. We sailed out in the water till you couldn’t see land—just ocean, everywhere—and he hooked this huge marlin that took hours to reel in. Then sharks started to appear. I was so scared. I’d never seen sharks in real life. And I thought, what if the boat sank?”

Diego swallowed hard, his throat as dry as if he’d swallowed seawater.

“The crew had to pull the marlin onto the deck to keep it from the sharks. They gutted it that night after dinner and threw the scraps over the side. The sharks went crazy fighting for them, climbing on top of one another, coming out of the water. I grabbed hold of Mac, terrified, shaking, and everybody laughed. They’d all been drinking…. Then he brought out his gun and fired at a shark. The shot was so loud. It was the first time I’d been around a real gun. You could feel the blowback. The shark twitched and spiraled away, then he shot another one. And I had this feeling, like something really bad is going to happen.”

Diego hesitated, uncertain whether to keep going. But he couldn’t stop.

“Between the sharks and the gun, I just wanted to get away. So I went down to our cabin and crawled into bed, crying. I remember holding my shark’s tooth like that would protect me, and fell asleep. Then, next thing I knew, he was climbing into bed with me.”

“Mac?” Vidas asked.

Diego nodded, amazed to be telling Vidas all this. He never imagined he’d tell anybody.

“I could smell the whiskey on his breath, the cigarettes on his skin. He circled his arms around me and I thought:
Just lay still. He’ll fall asleep and leave me alone.
But his hands started to move all over me, sliding his fingers into my shirt and pushing down my shorts.”

Diego paused, remembering Mac kissing him. Not on the cheek, like in front of his mom, but forcing his tongue into his mouth…. The taste of alcohol and tobacco.

“I tried to push him off and get away but he was, like, twice my size. ‘No!’ I told him. But he wouldn’t let me go.”

In his mind, Diego recalled Mac pressing against him…. Shorts off. Grabbing Diego’s hand, forcing it to touch him. He couldn’t tell Vidas that.

“I tried to get away, but my legs were tangled in my underwear, caught around my ankles. And I thought,
If I grab my shark’s tooth, I can cut him.
But he had my arms pinned.”

Diego’s voice became expressionless, like he was telling someone else’s story. And yet his heart raced as he recalled Mac pressing into him from behind. And the pain. Excruciating pain. Skin tearing, Mac pushing inside him.