chapter 69
TAM AND HIS Vietnamese cellmate talked for several hours. The man knew of Tam and held him in high regard. They squatted and bounced slightly on their heels as they discussed the situation and potential solutions. Tam learned that his new friend was to be released at 8:00 a.m. the following morning and that the jail didn’t have any biometric screening. They stood to compare their heights and weights, and then Tam made him one hell of an offer.
After the others in the cell were asleep, the two Vietnamese men swapped jumpsuits. Tam’s had green stripes, denoting felony charges, and his buddy’s was solid orange, representing a misdemeanor offense. They spoke Vietnamese so no one would understand the plan, which depended on Sunday morning’s new shift of officers—who wouldn’t know the specific circumstances surrounding those being held there temporarily.
Tam shook his new best friend’s hand and again pledged that he and his family would be protected and well taken care of financially. He nodded; then the two embraced. This man didn’t know what might be ahead of him, but he was confident the American judicial system would eventually determine that he wasn’t Tam Nguyen and he would be freed. What he didn’t appreciate was that he had just agreed to commit numerous federal offenses that actually would send him to prison for the next several years, if not decades.
At 7:30 a.m., a young police officer walked into the holding area and unlocked the door. He looked at the two Vietnamese men and then focused on the orange jumpsuit. He said, “Let’s go, Lan. Time’s up. You’re free,” and then yawned.
The other prisoners watched as one of their cellmates left for freedom. A few yelled racial obscenities. All were jealous.
Without hesitation, Tam stood up and walked toward the officer, who looked at the discharge papers and then down at the real Lan and shook his head. Hell, they all look alike to me, he thought.