“Can we keep the upstairs for a month?” Mark asked. “We need some time to wrap up some things.”
“Wrap up what? You guys have been running a fake law firm and now half the city’s looking for you. What are you doing?”
Todd said, “Don’t worry about the cops. They’re not involved. Let’s just say we have some disgruntled clients.”
“Clients? But you’re not lawyers, right? Last I heard you guys were in law school getting ready to graduate.”
“We dropped out,” Todd said. “And we’ve been hustling clients in the criminal courts, all fees in cash.”
“That’s pretty stupid if you ask me.”
No one asked you, Mark thought, but let it go. And, yes, at the moment it seemed pretty stupid. He said, “We’ll pay you a thousand bucks in cash for another thirty days and you’ll never see us.”
Maynard took a sip of ice water and glared at them.
Todd, stung, said, “Look, Maynard, I’ve worked for you for, what, the last three years. You can’t just fire me like this.”
“You’re fired, Todd. Got that? Both of you. I can’t have this place crawling with investigators and pissed-off clients. You’ve been lucky that someone hasn’t walked in and recognized you.”
“Just thirty days,” Mark said. “And you’ll never know we’re here.”
“I doubt that.” He took another sip and kept glaring. Finally, he asked, “Why do you want to stay here when everybody seems to know your address?”
Mark said, “We need a place to sleep and finish our work. And, they can’t get to us. The door to the upstairs is always locked.”
“I know. That’s why they hang around the bar hassling the other bartenders.”
Todd said, “Please, Maynard. We’ll be out by the first of June.”
“Two thousand dollars cash,” Maynard said.
“Okay, and you’ll keep our cover?” Mark asked.
“I’ll try, but I really don’t like all this attention.”
32
At the Bardtown Federal Detention Facility, Zola’s parents and brother were awakened at midnight and told to gather their things. Each was given two canvas bags to fill with their possessions and thirty minutes to prepare for the trip. Along with about fifty other Africans, some of whom they’d met in detention and knew to be primarily Senegalese, they were loaded onto a white unmarked bus that was designed to transport federal inmates. They were handcuffed and remained so on the bus. Four heavily armed ICE agents, two wielding shotguns, escorted them to their seats and instructed them to sit quietly and ask no questions. Two of the agents assumed positions in the front of the bus, two in the rear. The glass windows were locked and covered with thick metal screens.
Zola’s mother, Fanta, counted five other women in the group. The rest were men, almost all under the age of forty. She was stoic and determined to keep her composure. Emotions were raw, but they had long since accepted the reality of removal.
After four months in captivity, they were relieved to be out of detention. Of course they preferred to remain in the country, but if life in the U.S. meant living in a cage, things could not be much worse in Senegal.
They rode in quiet darkness for almost two hours. The agents occasionally talked and laughed, but the passengers made no sounds. Highway signs told them they were entering Pittsburgh and the bus headed to the airport. It was cleared through security gates and parked inside a large hangar. An unmarked passenger jet waited nearby. On the other side of the airport, far away, the bright lights of the terminal were visible. The passengers left the bus and were herded into a corner where more ICE agents were waiting. One by one, the detainees were questioned and their paperwork reviewed. Once they were cleared, their handcuffs were removed and they were allowed to retrieve their two bags, the contents of which were examined again. The processing moved slowly; no one was in a hurry, especially those headed home.
Another bus arrived. Two dozen Africans got off, all looking as dazed and defeated as those on the first bus. Someone’s paperwork wasn’t in order so the others waited. And waited. It was almost 5:00 a.m. when an official led the first group of passengers to the airplane. A line formed behind them. Slowly, they climbed aboard with their bags and were directed to their seats. Boarding took another hour. The passengers were relieved to know they would not be handcuffed for the flight. Another official read the rules regarding movement while in flight, use of the restrooms, and so on. Yes, they were allowed to talk, but quietly. At the slightest hint of trouble, all passengers would be handcuffed. Any disturbance would lead to an automatic arrest upon arrival. Half a dozen armed agents would accompany them. The flight would take eleven hours, nonstop, and food would be provided.
It was almost seven when the jet’s engines began making noises. The doors were shut and locked and an official instructed them to fasten their seat belts. He then went through the safety and emergency procedures. Brown bags were given to all passengers. A cheese sandwich, an apple, and a small container of juice. At 7:20, the airplane shuddered and began moving toward a taxiway.
Twenty-six years after arriving in Miami as stowaways on a Liberian freighter, Abdou and Fanta Maal were leaving their adopted land as criminals, and headed for an uncertain future. Their son Bo, who was seated behind them, was leaving the only country he’d ever really known. As the plane lifted off, they held hands and fought tears.
—
AN HOUR LATER, a caseworker at Bardtown called Zola with the news that her family was en route to Dakar, Senegal. It was a routine call made to the contact person listed by each detainee. Though Zola knew it was coming, she nonetheless took it hard. She walked upstairs and informed Mark and Todd, and they spent an hour trying to console her. They decided to take a long walk and find some breakfast.