This Is for the Mara Salvatrucha (20 page)

D
ays passed packed with tension, worry, and frustration. Then she called.

“Honey, you’ve got to come in.” It had been a little over a week since Brenda had hit the streets.

“No, maybe not,” she responded, clearly not liking the idea of protective custody. “Maybe I can just get a job,” she said optimistically. She tried to get a job at Chuck E. Cheese’s but Greg later found out from the manager that Brenda was not hired because of her excessive gang tattoos.

Brenda was high on the street life, but Greg was worried about something much more sinister than her difficulties with getting a job. He thought the MS was babysitting her, gaining her confidence so they could easily kill her when she least expected it. He didn’t have any hard evidence, but he told Brenda his concerns. He kept to himself the fact that it was a feeling that kept him awake every night Brenda was on the streets.

As long as Brenda’s with her homies, Greg thought, they’re not in a rush to kill her. As they had done with so many other fellow members who had to be killed, Brenda’s MS homies were content not to show their hand. If the rumors of her betrayal were true, the best place for her was near them so they could deal with her if necessary. If the rumors were just lies, there was no sense in disrupting the peace. Greg
thought her homies in Centrales would babysit her and let her believe that everything was cool until they heard otherwise. This was standard procedure.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that Brenda did not have much time. Greg was constantly worried about Brenda. She was on the streets and her safety was completely up to her. He felt helpless and it ate at him. This big man, who could barrel over any presence in a courtroom, couldn’t get a sixteen-year-old girl to listen to sense. Worse yet, a sixteen-year-old girl he cared about. So this is what dads must feel like, he thought.

Alexander, Rodriguez, and Porter all agreed: Brenda could be killed any day. They were all determined not to let the MS kill her, but they had no way to get in touch with her. She would call to chat with Greg, but rarely let him know where she was hanging out.

There was little percentage in looking for her, but they continued to try. After a long day at work, Alexander would go home, have dinner with his wife and kids, and then call Greg to see if he wanted to go look for her again.

Rodriguez and others reluctantly contacted Denis to ask him if he knew Brenda’s whereabouts. Denis did everything he could to help them locate her. He worried she might let something slip about their conversations, especially that Denis had not reacted when she told him she was cooperating with the cops. Any MS member who wanted to know what Brenda was up to would go first to Denis. She was easier to protect if he knew she was off the streets. He passed along the names of restaurants, identified corners, fast-food restaurants, and other locations where he thought Brenda could be hanging out.

Brenda had been missing for over two weeks at the end of February when Alexander called Greg to tell him there was an opening in the Witness Protection Program coming up in mid-March. If they had Brenda, she could enter the program. If not, the window would close. They had roughly two weeks to bring her in.

Everyone involved redoubled their efforts to find her. Alexander printed out a list of phone numbers he had taken from Brenda’s cell phone and passed them to Greg. With the list in hand, Greg called every number, telling whoever answered he had some money for her. He hoped the allure of money would get the message out.

Eventually, Greg’s phone rang.

Brenda called him from a pay phone at Fairfax Circle and asked if
she could see him. He immediately got in his car and drove to the Dunkin’ Donuts where she said she would be waiting. When he arrived, Brenda sat inside the store with another female friend. Greg assumed it was just another runaway Brenda was so fond of mothering and paid her no attention. He only had time for Brenda.

Greg left the runaway at Fairfax Circle and drove Brenda to a nearby restaurant where they could have dinner and not worry about running into MS members. He tried to reason with her. He used every argument he had to convince her to come back, but it was nothing new. Brenda had heard it all before.

After dinner, Greg took Brenda back to their meeting spot. Brenda said she could walk back to where she was staying. Before they parted, she showed Greg a new tattoo on her arm. Denis had drawn the stencil used to needle the ink into her skin. The tattoo was of an evil clown smoking a cigarette with
MS
and
 
13 on its hat.

“You know you can come to my house, and we’ll get you set up with a temporary place to live,” Greg said with a stern voice, standing outside the Dunkin’ Donuts before Brenda turned to walk away. “But you know the rules. If you come over, you’re turning yourself in. I can’t support your lawless lifestyle. I just can’t,” Greg said, warming up for another lecture. It was heartfelt.

“There are a lot of people putting out for you and we’ll do a lot for you, but there are conditions. And you don’t actually have to testify. The fact that everybody thinks you are going to testify is enough to get you the protection. If you don’t want to testify, you don’t have to. They will extend the same protection, because at this point they have to,” Greg argued, knowing Brenda’s greatest fear was testifying against Denis and Veto. “But at this point, you’ve got to come in.” Greg knew he had her attention. “There are conditions, but they’re all good for you. They are conditions you asked for. You asked me, you agreed with me that this needs to be done, and I went out and I did it. And Alexander did it. And Rodriguez did it.”

Brenda deeply wanted to find a new future but not one where she had to spend long periods of time alone. Greg reminded her of the people who were invested in helping her find a new future. But the conditions were her entry into witness protection and complete severance from MS.

“Go on down the list of people,” Greg pushed on, wanting her to think of all the people working to help keep her safe and pointed to
ward a better future. “And you know it’s the best thing for you. You know if you stay out here, even if nobody in MS does know and you completely get away with it and you talk your way back in the gang, there’s still a chance you’ll wind up…” But he couldn’t finish. Greg didn’t want to admit out loud the fate he knew could be hers if she didn’t seek the safety of a new identity and a physical relocation. Brenda was also aware of this possible fate, but unlike Greg she saw the situation as one she could control. She had the boys all fooled. They would never hurt her.

With that, they parted. Greg wasn’t sure if he would ever see her again. He had done his best to convince her to come in, but she had resisted. Her fear of loneliness continued to win over logic and the promise of a better future.

Before Brenda could walk away, Greg grabbed her hand and showed her the tattoo between her thumb and index finger of three dots that signaled the three destinations of the gangster life, and used Brenda’s own gang reality to make his point.

“In the hospital, in the jailhouse, or in the grave.”

W
hen Brenda called Greg from a pay phone outside a McDonald’s a couple of days later she was tense and speaking quickly in a low voice. It was the first time Greg had heard fear in her voice.

“I really think I’m in trouble,” Brenda said, nearly whispering. Her voice was shaky. “I’ve figured out they’re babysitting me, and I may be in real trouble with some of these guys.” Brenda forced the words out, triggering Greg’s immediate alarm and concern.

“Okay, do you know where you are,” he began.

“No.”

“Do you know what road you’re on?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me some of the places you see?” Greg asked, desperate.

“Well, there’s a Marshalls nearby.” Brenda made no effort to hide her fear. “And there’s a Total Beverage.” There was only once place in the area where Brenda could be. She was at the McDonald’s on Little River Turnpike in Fairfax County.

“Honey, I’m coming,” Greg said. He hung up and rushed out the door to his car. With one hand he steered the racing vehicle to the McDonald’s where Brenda was hanging out with the men who had scared her. With the other hand, Greg worked his cell phone, paging a number of cops. There was no time to wait for them to respond. He had to
get to her as fast as possible, but if anything went down, he wanted them to know there was an emergency.

Greg was so nervous, he cursed when he mistakenly took a slightly longer route. He ended up on the opposite side of the highway from the McDonald’s where Brenda was anxiously awaiting her rescue. It was a four-lane road in a busy section of the northern Virginia metropolis.

The fast-food restaurant sat up off the road on an embankment supported with a two-foot concrete retaining wall. In the left-turn lane with his blinker flashing just past the McDonald’s, Greg willed the light to change. It couldn’t turn green fast enough.

Greg was looking over his left shoulder at the fast-food restaurant when the glass-paneled door at the far side entrance flew open. He saw Brenda taking off at top speed. Four MS members sprang out of the slowly closing door, just paces behind her.

Brenda slid down the loose gravel embankment, leaped down the retaining wall, and sprinted across two lanes of traffic before jumping over the concrete median and skidding around the back of Greg’s car.

As she got to his car, the men chasing her were in the middle of traffic, just a lane away.

“Drive, drive, drive!” Brenda shouted as she jerked open the door and jumped in, wide eyes staring at her narrowly averted fate. Boxer, the same guy who had thrown the basketball at Brenda’s head when she was in juvenile detention and a member of Denis’s clique, led a group of tattooed gangbangers. He was only feet away. If they caught her, Brenda’s smile would not get her out of trouble.

Greg didn’t hesitate. He stomped on the gas and ran the red light. As he took off, one of the guys chasing Brenda got so close he smacked the back of Greg’s car with his fist. Greg raced at top speed to the Arlington Police Department, breaking half a dozen traffic laws on the way. He wasn’t worried about the cops. If they stopped him, that would be great.

G
reg came to a screeching stop in front of the police department. He didn’t care if he was illegally parked. He forgot the emergency blinkers and just focused on getting Brenda inside to safety. They got out of the car, and as Brenda rounded the front of the car to join him on the sidewalk, Greg turned to lead her into the building. He was anxious, sweaty, and nervous. Looking around for any sign that MS had followed them to the police department, he pressured her to go in. She wouldn’t budge.

“I can’t,” Brenda said matter-of-factly.

Stunned, his heart pounding in his chest, Greg demanded, “Why? What’s the problem?” Safety was just steps away and she didn’t want to move.

“Just a second,” Brenda said, beginning to unbutton her pants.

Greg stood there, at a loss as to what would happen next. They were standing in front of the Arlington County Police Department main entrance in broad daylight. What the hell was in her pants?

Before he could open his mouth and insist they go inside, no matter what she had in her pants, she pulled out a switchblade with a narrow sharpened blade that was nearly three inches long.

“I picked it up this morning. If any of them tried anything on me, I was going to stick them,” Brenda said.

She handed him the knife. He fingered the knife in his hand, wondering if the day could get any weirder, then put it in his pocket. He planned to get rid of it before they headed past security.

As they entered the building, Greg asked the guard to hold on to the knife, feeling a sense of relief at having finally achieved safety. He led Brenda upstairs to Detective Rodriguez’s office, where he called Porter and Alexander. Both men had spent long hours looking for Brenda. They would be relieved to know she was back in custody.

Once Greg reached Alexander, he received news he’d been waiting to hear. “I’ve heard from the Witness Protection Program. They’ll take her in two days,” Alexander explained.

“But do you have a safe place to keep her until then?” Greg asked, looking over at his precocious ward, who was sitting in a nearby chair, flipping through a magazine. He was still concerned Brenda might act like a teenager again and try to make it on her own.

“Yeah, I’ve got a place far out in the country,” Alexander said. “Stay put. I’m on my way over.”

Greg heaved a huge sigh of relief. This was it. She would go with Alexander, wait a couple days, and then formally enter the program. No more shenanigans, no more bullshit. He approached Brenda with the news.

If she behaved, she would be moved out of the state, given a false name, and placed under the protection of the U.S. Marshals. Greg wouldn’t be able to see her, and she wouldn’t be able to speak to anyone from her past.

Brenda agreed to everything, but she had one last request. She wanted to speak to Denis. Greg couldn’t say no. Rodriguez, who was listening in on their conversation, also did not have a problem with letting her make the call. Rodriguez still held out hope that something about the plot to kill him would come up in this last conversation with Brenda.

Rodriguez arranged the phone call. With Brenda on one line and Denis on the other, Greg and Rodriguez were able to listen to the recorded conversation.

Brenda was understandably emotional. She had just been chased by a group of men who would have beaten and tortured her if she’d been caught. It was only an hour later, and she had to say good-bye to Denis, someone she considered a real friend, someone she loved and trusted.

Greg was surprised when Denis began to cry.

“This was a good thing for you,” Denis said, sharing with Brenda what both already knew. They were both cooperating with the police. “Go do this,” Denis continued, clearly emotional. “I’m fucked. I’m in prison. I’m done. I love you.”

Brenda was crying and still upset when she said her last good-bye and hung up. It was painful for Greg to watch, but he knew it was a necessary step for Brenda.

Alexander arrived soon after Brenda’s phone call and took Brenda to a hotel more than two hours away. There was little risk of her meeting up with her friends. Brenda spent that night and the next day alone before Alexander picked her up. It was her last night before she entered witness protection, and her last dinner with Alexander and Greg. They decided on an Italian restaurant near Quantico. When Greg arrived, Brenda was bouncy and excited. He was so pleased to see her happy. At dinner, she even showed off the pasta-eating skills that Greg had taught her months ago. They both laughed fondly, remembering the night he took her out after she had snuck out of the Fairfax County Less Secure Facility. Dinner was relaxing and fun. Brenda was surrounded by men who cared about her. Just as in the MS, Brenda loved being the center of attention. The one difference was, these powerful, engaging men meant to keep her safe.

Of all the men and women invested in Brenda’s future, Greg knew Brenda best; he knew that her only option for survival was witness protection. Perhaps better than the rest, he also recognized the challenges the program created for someone like Brenda. Witness protection was a tough decision for her. Loneliness would be her only companion for many months while she worked to create a new life. They both knew too well that Brenda did not deal well with being alone. It had been their biggest trial during their journey together. Greg hid his concerns amid the happy faces at dinner and decided to hope for the best.

Before they parted, Greg took the books he’d loaned her, and gave Brenda her own copy of
Crime and Punishment,
another book on how to handle worst-case scenarios, and
Catcher in the Rye
.

After a big bear hug, Greg watched Brenda walk out of the restaurant with Alexander and drive away a second time to safety and into a bright new future.