Page 32 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
She put her hands on her hips. “Daniel Castaño has a brother. Sebastián. Sixteen. Undocumented. Works at a Mexican restaurant in Little Village.”
“Yeah. And?”
She turned back to the whiteboard in front of her and its gruesome scrapbook of the man once known as Floyd Monaghan. “And strangely enough, I’ve got a sudden hankering for Mexican food.”
* * *
Martín Tostá looked down at the business card the woman was holding out. He didn’t take it. “I have got nothing to say to you.”
The woman, who was Black with cropped graying hair and a crumpled shirt, pointed at the logo on the top of the card. “You see what it says there? D-E-A. Not I-C-E.”
Martín gave her a chilly look. “I can read.”
The woman titled her head at him. “What I mean, Mr. Tostá, is that I am not here to poke around into anyone’s immigration status. It’s not my job.”
He folded his arms over his apron. “I am a legal resident of this country.”
The woman gave him a tight smile. “But one of your employees isn’t.”
Martín involuntarily cast his eyes toward the ceiling where Sebastián’s room was. He chewed the inside of his cheek but said nothing.
The woman followed his gaze upward. “Mr. Tostá, I am aware of Sebastián Castaño’s legal status. Or lack thereof. I also know you gave him a job when few others would have. And that you let him live up there for almost nothing.”
Martín said nothing for a long moment. Everything the woman had said so far was true. A year ago, Daniel Castaño had sidled into his restaurant, his teenage brother in tow. Martín had eyed the gang ink on the elder’s hands and had edged closer to the baseball bat he kept on a ledge under the till.La Mano Negragang members were a common sight on the streets of La Villita, and their bad blood with rival gangs often spilled over as actual blood on those same streets. Martín had no affiliations with any gang, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t ready for trouble when it presented itself.
But Daniel had not been there to cause trouble. Not that day, anyway. He’d asked Martín to take his brother on, to give him a job and a place to stay. Martín had agreed, if only to make sure that none of that gang ink, or blood, made its way onto the younger boy’s hands.
He raised his chin at the woman. “Sebastián is a good kid. He works hard. He stays out of trouble.”
The woman nodded. “And I’m guessing you want to make sure he continues to stay out of trouble, correct?”
Martín sniffed and looked out at the busy restaurant floor. “I thought you just said you weren’t interested in making problems for him?”
“Oh, I’m not here for him. I’m here for big brother.”
Martín felt his lip curl. Obviously, Daniel was the reason for her visit. That guy was bad news from head to toe. “You want to deport Daniel, you go right ahead. Don’t let me stop you.”
The woman smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes. “Like I said, I’m not here to deport anyone. I just want information.”
“What kind of information?”
“I want to know everything you can tell me about Daniel Castaño. His movements. His girlfriends. I want to know if he so much as grows a goatee or buys new sneakers.”
She was still holding out the card. He fidgeted with his apron but still didn’t take it.
She said, “If you help me out with that, I can help Sebastián out.”
“How?”
“I can get him his Form I-551.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I thought you said you weren’t immigration.”
The woman didn’t blink. “I work for the government, Mr. Tostá. There are certain strings I can pull when the situation requires it.”
Martín stared at the card. He thought about all the things Sebastián could do if he could become an American citizen. He’d be able to travel freely. Get his driver’s license. Qualify for financial aid so he could attend college. Go to the doctor. Report a crime to the police. Just walk down the street without fear of someone asking to see ID.
She seemed to grow tired of holding out the card and placed it on the counter beside the register. “Think about it.” She picked up the plastic bag of carnitas she’d ordered. “Then call me. Anytime. Day or night.”
