Pertinent information is posted at the beginning of this series. Comments welcome to quasito_cat@hotmail.com or quasito_cat@yahoo.com
The Graschels of Guenther Street
M.C. Gordon
Chapter Sixteen
In the ICU unit of University Hospital a three-month old boy barely clung to life. That he lived at all was due to the fact that a twelve-year old boy who walked dogs for his neighbors to help put food on the table had heard a fight in one of the apartments, over the growls of schnauzers and terriers, and had rushed home to tell his mother. Maria Renteria immediately called the police department but it was hours before they responded. And when they did, the mother was dead and the baby only alive because the mother's boyfriend was so drunk that he didn't realize the stove was an old gas range that needed a pilot light to be lit and the gas actually turned on.
Rodrigo Renteria was an inquisitive and intelligent boy, small for his age. He knew a few things in his young life. He wanted to take his mother and siblings out of the barrio that was their home. He had seen his father killed during a drive-by shooting and hated the gangs that drove the life of his neighborhood on San Antonio's deep west side. He was tired of the sound of gunfire in the middle of the night and his sisters climbing into bed with him out of fear. With his father dead he was the man of the family. His mother never told him that, but the deep conviction of his Hispanic heritage drove him to accept a responsibility he never should have taken on at his tender years.
He loved animals, dogs in particular, and worked hard in school in hopes that he might get a scholarship to college because he wanted to be a veterinarian. He had even picked out the corner on Menchaca Street where he wanted his clinic. He hung out, when he wasn't in school or shooting hoops or doing his job, with Enrique Valdez, the elderly veterinarian who spayed and neutered the local cats and dogs for a pittance. Enrique was his idol and he had taken more than one dying animal to the man for euthanasia when the animal was beyond help. It was due to Enrique's encouragement that Rodrigo had gone to his neighbors and asked if he could walk their dogs, for many of them lived in public housing and weren't supposed to have pets. Most of them couldn't afford the inoculations that would keep their pets alive and Enrique always did what he could, and the ones who could afford to pay always gave a little extra to the old man.
Rodrigo was walking four dogs when he thought he heard the sounds of a fight in one of the Alazan Apache Courts apartments, across the street from his own home. He quickly brought the dogs to heel and ordered them to silence. He knew the people who lived in the apartment and was very worried because Rogelio, the man, was a gang member. He was covered with gang tats and wore a ragged red bandana on his head and ran with a rough crowd who did drugs and hung out drinking beer, throwing empty beer bottles in the street. When Rodrigo heard the screams he thought about seeing what was going on, but he knew he couldn't stop anything Rogelio was doing and might put his own life in danger.
Maria, Rodrigo's mother, barely managed to keep the family alive working at one of the motels as a domestic. She wasn't particularly fond of her job because her employer treated all of the domestic staff badly and only paid in cash. It made it hard for Maria because she needed Food Stamps to put food on her table and had to explain over and over again that she'd be fired if she asked her boss to fill out a form to verify her earnings. It was one of the obstacles she faced for being in the country illegally.
When Rodrigo came running through the door telling her that she needed to call the police because something was wrong across the street, Maria hesitated. She might be found out and maybe deported, facing the choice of taking her children with her to the poverty of Mexico or leaving them with friends who would care for them since they had been born American citizens. The look on her oldest child's face, and the desperate plea in his voice, left her with no option. She rushed across the hall to Mrs. Perez apartment and begged to be allowed to use the telephone. Unfamiliar with any telephone numbers at all, and not conveying her son's urgency to Mrs. Perez, she dialed the main telephone number for the city police department from the directory, where she was put on hold for several minutes. When she finally spoke to an actual person, the woman didn't speak Spanish and sounded rude. On hold again, it was several minutes more before a young man spoke to her in Spanish and she was able to explain that there was a domestic fight across the street. She spoke rapidly, her dialect that of Oaxaca and difficult to understand by any of San Antonio's Spanish speaking residents. She later felt herself to blame for what happened.
. . .
Clyde Morgan, the detective who was sent to the crime scene, stumbled out of the apartment complex and deposited his supper behind the bushes against the building. He'd seen a lot of things in his years with the SAPD, but the sight of an infant in the oven had been more than his hardened heart could stand.
The living room of the small apartment was covered with spattered blood and the young mother, Margarita Zuniga, lay on the living room floor with multiple stab wounds and her throat cut. Her death had been horrible, but the image of her child in the oven sent Clyde over the edge, even for a veteran officer. He'd left his partner, Mike Turner, to call for an ambulance for the baby, who was still alive by the grace of God, and the coroner for Margarita. When he regained control of himself, Clyde called his captain and made a preliminary verbal report.
Captain Munoz called the Chief of Police who in turn, called Protective Services because it was the way things were done by the book'. The Chief told his wife, Rachel, before they went to bed because he just didn't feel right about the situation. Rachel woke him at 2:30 AM and told him she thought he should call Judge What'shername because too many children had died recently in the protective custody' of Protective Services.
. . .
The telephone rang harshly in the middle of the night and Bill Solari answered it before the noise could wake his wife. He recognized the voice of the Chief of the San Antonio Police Department instantly.
"She's asleep, Don," he told his old high school buddy.
"I'm sorry, Bill," Don Schultz replied, "but this is important. I've seen a lot of child abuse in my years but this one goes over the edge. I know how Angie feels about Protective Services so I thought I'd better get her involved before the formal report goes to those old hedgehogs."
Bill Solari reluctantly woke his wife and handed her the telephone.
"Hello?" she said. "Yeah, I'm awake, sort of." She glanced at her alarm clock and said, "Its three o'clock in the morning, Don, this had better be important." She held the telephone in her right hand and ran her left hand through her long black hair, pushing it back from her face.
"Oh my God!" she exclaimed, and was instantly awake at the news she heard. "Where, when? What's his condition?" A thousand legal thoughts ran through her mind. First and foremost was what action should be taken and where was the best home to place the child just brought to her attention.
Bill Solari had met Angelina DeFres when they were both working on their law degrees at St. Mary's University in San Antonio and had fallen in love with her after their first five minutes together. She was beautiful, intelligent, witty, and deeply committed to the concept of how law should work. They married during their final year. San Antonio was Bill's home and Angelina agreed that they should open a small firm together in the picturesque but semi-poor town. They started out as legal aid attorneys and Angelina's dedication quickly won her public support. Bill was content to be in her shadow, for he recognized that her beliefs were stronger than his, her dedication deeper, her compassion beyond anything he would realize. He loved his wife with all his heart and was her campaign manager when she decided to throw her hat in the ring during an election as Judge. He still worked for legal aid, and Angelina always recused herself from any child custody or abuse case that was brought before her in which her husband was one of the attorneys.
"What is it?" Bill asked, concern for his wife etched across his face.
"Someone tried to bake a baby," she replied before she burst into tears.
. . .
"It's for you," Betty Milhauser mumbled, half-asleep, as she handed the telephone to Herbert. Betty had long wanted to get an answering machine but her husband insisted that every call was important and he was now deeply involved in pro bono cases involving child abuse, sanctioned by the senior partners of his law firm as long as he continued to produce hourly billing in International trade agreements and tax evasion schemes. He was just about as sick of this kind of law as he could tolerate and was seriously considering opening his own law firm in the tranquil town he'd moved to, or asking Manuel Fuentes if he could join the firm of Fuentes & Robertson as a junior partner. He could survive the cut in his earnings and liked Manuel Fuentes whose legal ethics couldn't be corrupted, a rare thing which Herbert admired.
"Milhauer!" he barked into the phone. "Oh, sorry, Judge Solari. I was asleep." He brushed the cobwebs from his mind and asked, "What can I do for you?"
He was instantly on his feet and getting dressed, even as Angelina described the situation to him. In all his years as an officer of the court he'd never heard of anything so totally inhumane and barbaric.
"I'll call Manuel right away," he said.
. . .
Manuel Fuentes answered the nagging ring of his cell phone as he paced up and down the hall of St. Luke's Hospital. Consuela was having a difficult pregnancy and she'd started to bleed in the middle of the night. His first reaction had been panic and he'd called Deet to meet him at the hospital and take the Fuentes brood to the house on Guenther Street.
His best friend, the man he trusted more than any other person in the entire world, had agreed without question and his mind was a little more at peace knowing that his children were being taken care of. He had known since they were kids in school that Dieter was gay. It made little difference to Manuel because, straight or gay, Dieter was his best friend.
"I can't," he told Herbert when he answered the phone. "Not now. Call my law partner, Phil. He can handle anything you need. I can't ^Å oh, no. I don't believe this. Well, if it's what Judge Solari wants then call Deet. But you'd better prepare him for what to expect because I know his temper and he's not going to be happy when you tell him what's happened."
"But do you think he's ready to take on this kind of responsibility?" Herbert asked.
"I think Deet's only beginning to realize just how much he can or wants to do. Besides, he's got Deidre to help."
One of Consuela's doctors was coming toward him so Manuel said, "I have to go. Call Deet; call Phil. Tell them what Judge Solari wants. I don't think you'll have any problems."
. . .
Deet had finally gotten all of the Fuentes children to sleep, tried to ease their worry about their mother, settled back with a cold Corona and a dog-eared copy of Mary Renault's `The Persian Boy', when he fell asleep.
Sometime past midnight, according to the grandfather clock in the foyer, his cell phone rang. Deet pushed at Miracle in his sleep, barely aware enough to wish that the orphaned kitten was in bed with Katia instead of himself. But cats are cats and think of themselves as being sacred. And the nagging ring of his cell aggravated him even more as he called down curses on all gods within hearing range.
Remembering that Consuela was in the hospital he didn't answer the phone with his usual epithets for irritating telemarketers. "Hello," he managed to mumble.
He was instantly alert when he heard Herbert Milhauser ask if he was awake enough to answer one very serious question. Could he, would he, consider taking temporary custody of a three-month old baby boy who was the victim of an attempted murder and whose mother had been murdered.
"What!" Deet exclaimed perhaps a little too loudly, temporarily forgetting that five children were asleep in his house while their mother was in the hospital. He crossed the room and closed his door.
"When did all this happen?" he asked a little more quietly.
"Some time this afternoon," Herbert replied. "I don't have all the details yet, but Judge Solari wants to give you immediate, temporary custody of the little boy. He's under observation at University Hospital until tomorrow. Make that later today. Deet," Herbert said, "the baby had natural gas poisoning. Somebody put him in a gas oven."
Deet agreed to meet Herbert in Judge Solari's courtroom at nine and wondered how he would begin to ask Deidre if she thought she could help him with yet another child. Granted, Manuel's kids were with them on a temporary basis, but those five plus his two, and now an infant?
He was sitting in the dark when he heard a soft knock on his door and Katia pushed the door open, poking her head inside the door.
"Daddy?" she asked, "I heard you yelling. Did something bad happen to Tia Consuela?"
"No, Baby," Deet said and motioned for her to join him on the edge of his bed. "That was your lawyer on the phone. He needed to talk a little `business' talk with me."
"Is something bad happening?" she asked.
"Nothing you should worry about," he answered. "A baby boy might have been hurt and Judge Solari might want that baby to live here for a little while. Is that ok with you?" He worried about his adopted daughter because she had given birth to a baby that hadn't lived and had transferred her mothering instincts to the kitten.
"Did they catch the bad men who hurt the baby?" Katia asked.
"I don't know, Sugar," Deet answered.
Katia was quiet for a moment, her young brow furrowed with the depth of her thoughts. "If the judge sends the baby here," she said, her voice soft and serious, "I can help Deidre take care of it. And Eric can teach Benji not to steal the baby slippers. And I could give him his bottle and rock him to sleep."
Deet saw the tears forming in her eyes and took the child in his arms. "Like maybe he was your baby?" he finally asked.
Katia broke down in tears, her body heaving in uncontrollable pain. For the first time since her own child had died, she unleashed all the pent up sorrow and heartache she had kept bottled up inside. She cried for her own dead child, the suffering she and Eric had gone through, the thought that Consuela might never come home, the tiny infant she had never heard of until this moment, and all the other innocent children in the world. Her healing, so long delayed, finally began.