She was sleeping soundly when someone began pounding on her door. For immigrants, especially those without the paperwork, the rules of engagement were well-known. Keep clothes and shoes close by, along with the phone, do not answer the door, and hope and pray it’s not ICE. If it is, they’ll kick through the door anyway and there’s no place to run. Though she was as legal as any ICE agent, she certainly wasn’t living like it.
Zola jumped out of her skin and pulled on her jeans. The pounding continued and a loud voice yelled, “Open up! Immigration!” She eased into the den and stared at the door in horror, her heart beating like a jackhammer. She was holding her phone and was about to speed dial Mark, as if he could hustle over at two in the morning and save her. The pounding stopped. There were no more voices, only the shuffling of feet. She braced for the crash of her door, but there was nothing but silence. Then, at the far end of the hallway, laughter.
Was it really ICE, or just someone’s idea of a sick joke? She waited and tried to control her breathing. As the minutes passed she stood in the darkness, afraid to move, to make a sound. It was possible that ICE might stop by for questions, but not at that hour, right? When ICE arrived they meant business. They didn’t knock and walk away when no one answered.
Regardless of who was there, the damage was done. Zola slowly returned to her bedroom, pulled on a sweater, put on her shoes, and waited some more. When things were quiet, she unlocked her door, took a peek up and down the hallway, saw no one, and locked her door behind her. With Gordy’s spare key, she entered his apartment, kept the lights off, and stretched out on his bare mattress.
Sleep was impossible. She could not live like this. If her two friends were crazy enough to assume new lives, she would take her chances with them.
—
Morgana Nash checked in:
Dear Mark: I’m so sorry about your friend. I understand why you are upset. However, let’s try and nail down the situation at Ness Skelton and begin talking about a repayment schedule. My sympathies. Morgana Nash, Public Sector Representative.
Sunday morning Mark fired back:
Dear Ms. Nash: Thank you for your sympathies. It means so much. It appears as though I’ve been fired from Ness Skelton, fired before I even started, which is okay because it was a bad place on a good day and I despise the people who work there. So I’m unemployed again, along with the rest of my class, and I really don’t have the emotional strength to start looking for another dead-end job. Please back off, okay? Love, Mark.
First thing Monday morning, she replied,
Dear Mark: I’m sorry you are upset. I’m just doing my job and my job requires me to engage you in a conversation about repayment. There are many good jobs in the D.C. area and I know you will find meaningful legal employment. Just keep me in the loop. Morgana Nash, Public Sector Representative.
Mark responded,
Dear Ms. Nash: There are no loops. There is nothing. I’m in therapy and my therapist tells me to ignore you for now. Sorry. Mark.
17
They waited until late Monday morning, when the building was empty and the neighbors were in class, and they moved Zola’s boxes to her new third-floor suite above The Rooster Bar. If she was unimpressed with her new digs, she kept it to herself. In fact, she unpacked her clothes and belongings with a smile and seemed pleased with her new hiding place. It was only temporary. As a child in Newark she had lived in far tighter quarters with almost no privacy. Mark and Todd had no idea how poor her family had been in those days.
The contractor, with his crew of hardworking and undoubtedly illegal Slovakians, was busy transforming the utility closet into a bathroom, so the partners walked down the street for a late lunch. Over salads and iced tea, Todd covered some of the basic rules of engagement. They would live in a world of cash, no credit. Credit cards leave trails. They had convinced Maynard to swap labor for rent. Todd and Mark would each work twenty-five hours a week tending bar and no records would be kept. Maynard would accept this for rent and also cover the utility bills, Internet, and cable, and allow them to use the address for what little mail they anticipated. He seemed to like the idea of having three budding lawyers practically hiding in his building and appeared to miss the distinction between a legal clinic and a law firm. Maynard asked few questions.
It was ironic that their zeal to avoid credit was predicated on the fact that they collectively owed more than $600,000, but the irony was lost at the moment.
They would revisit their shady security contact and buy a fake driver’s license for Zola as her only form of ID. Once she became Zola Parker, they would get her a cell phone, but they would keep their old ones to monitor the people who might be looking for them. They all would be sued by their landlords but the lawsuits would be worthless because Mark Frazier, Todd Lucero, and Zola Maal no longer existed and evidently had left town. Eventually, they would be placed in default by their student loan servicers, but that was several months down the road. You can’t effectively sue someone if you can’t find the person. They would try to avoid all of their old friends but continue to update their Facebook pages, though with less activity. They would have no contact with Foggy Bottom and felt sure their absence would not be noticed by anyone in administration.
At times, Zola seemed overwhelmed by the plot. It was insane and destined for a bad ending, but she felt safer, and safety was her primary concern. And, her partners were either overly confident or putting up a good front. Deep down, she knew they had no idea what they were doing, but their enthusiasm was hard to ignore. As reluctant as she was, she was comforted by their loyalty.
Mark grew serious and talked about their personal lives. It was important that they avoid new friendships and serious dating. No one else could know about their scheme. The partnership needed a wall around it that could not be penetrated.
She interrupted with “Are you kidding me? We just buried my boyfriend and you think I want to start dating again?”
“Of course not,” Mark said. “Todd and I are unattached at the moment, and it’s best if we all stay that way.”
Todd said, “Right, and if you want sex Mark and I are always available, just to keep things in the firm, you know?”
“That’s not going to happen,” she said with a laugh. “Our lives are complicated enough right now.”
“Sure, but just file it away,” Todd said.
“Is that your best pickup line: ‘Let’s keep it in the firm’?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never used it before.”
“Well, don’t use it again. It’s not working.”
“I’m kidding, Zola.”
“No, you’re not. What happened to that Sharon babe you were seeing last semester?”
“She’s history.”
Mark said, “Let’s agree that all hookups will be off premises, okay?”
“Whatever,” she said. “What’s next on the list?”
“We don’t have a list,” Mark said. “You got questions?”
“More doubts than questions.”
“We’re listening,” Todd said. “This is our big moment, our finest hour. Let’s put it all on the table.”