owed them a summary of the day’s events. He started at the beginning, with the opening statements, and was in full stride when Mr. Robilio returned.
“What’ll you have, Theo?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Mr. Boone said loudly. “He’s on a hunger strike.”
“A what?” Mr. Robilio asked in horror.
Mrs. Boone said, “Woods, come on. The hunger strike lasted about ten minutes.”
“Stuffed ravioli,” Theo said quickly. Mrs. Boone ordered a calamari salad, and Mr. Boone went for the spaghetti and veal meatballs. Mr. Robilio seemed to approve and he hustled away. Theo continued his narrative. His parents were shocked at the comments made by Clifford Nance in his opening statement.
“He can’t call Bobby a criminal,” Mrs. Boone said. “He’s never been convicted of anything.”
“Did Hogan object?” Mr. Boone asked. “It was clearly improper.”
“No objection,” Theo said. “Mr. Hogan just sat there.
“It’s gonna be bad for Bobby,” Theo said. “I feel sorry for him. And I feel kinda lousy for myself.”
Mr. Boone chomped on a slice of garlic bread and, with crumbs dropping from his mouth, said, “Well, it seems to me as if Nance might hurt himself if he attacks Bobby for telling the truth.”
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Boone. “There is a lot of resentment toward undocumented workers.” Theo could not remember a single time when his parents agreed on anything related to the law. They were soon quibbling over how Bobby might be viewed by the jury. The food arrived and Theo dug in. It was obvious his parents were captivated by the trial, same as everyone else in town. Why, then, couldn’t they simply go to the courthouse and watch some of it? They claimed to be too busy. Theo suspected, though, that they were not willing to admit that another lawyer’s trial might be more important than their own work. Seemed silly to him.
Suddenly, Theo was not hungry and could not enjoy his food. After he choked down the first ravioli, his mother said, “Theo, you’re not eating. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, Mom. I’m fine.” Sometimes, when he was starving, she scolded him for eating too fast. Sometimes, when he was worried and had no appetite, she pressed him for details about what was wrong. And when things were perfectly fine, and he was eating at a proper pace, she said nothing.
What his parents needed was another kid or two, somebody else around the house to observe and analyze. When it came to being an only child, he had already decided that the good outweighed the bad. There were times, though, when he needed some company, someone else to get the attention. But then, Chase had a big sister who was thoroughly obnoxious. And Woody’s oldest brother was in Juvenile Detention. And Aaron had a little brother who was mean as a snake.
Perhaps Theo was indeed lucky.
Still no word from Bobby.
Chapter 19
In a motel thirty miles from Strattenburg, Bobby Escobar sat on his bed and watched yet another old movie on television. There was no Spanish-language station, and he struggled to understand what was happening. He tried, though. He listened hard and often tried to repeat the rapid English, but it was overwhelming. It was his third night in the motel, and he was tired of the routine.
There was a connecting door to the adjacent room, and he could hear Officer Bard in there laughing at something on his television. Officer Sneed was in the other room next door. Bobby was sandwiched between, thoroughly protected. The two cops were going overboard to make him comfortable. For dinner, they went to a Mexican restaurant with good enchiladas. Lunch so far had been either pizza or burgers. Breakfast was at a waffle house where the locals gathered and wondered who they were. Between meals, they either stayed at the motel playing checkers or roamed around the town killing time. For fun they coaxed Bobby into repeating English words and phrases, but his progress was slow. The cops were getting bored, too, but they were professional and serious about their job.
At 9:07 p.m., his new cell phone vibrated beside him. A text message in Spanish read: Bobby, you are a dead man in court. The lawyers will devour you. You are an idiot if you walk into that courtroom.
He grabbed the phone, stared at the unknown number, and was stricken with fear. No one had his number but the police, his boss, his aunt Carola—Julio’s mother—and Theo Boone. He’d had the phone for less than a week and was still trying to learn how to use it. Now, a stranger had found him.
What should he do? His instinct was to yell at Officer Bard and show him the text, but he waited. He tried to calm himself by breathing deeply.
Two minutes passed, and at 9:09 p.m., the phone vibrated again with another text message: Bobby, the police plan to arrest you immediately after the trial. You can’t trust them. They are using you to get what they want, then they’ll slap on the handcuffs. Run!
The Spanish was perfect. The unknown number had the same 445 area code. He panicked but didn’t move. He felt like crying.
At nine fifteen, the third text arrived: Bobby, the police are lying to you, Julio, Theo Boone, everybody. Don’t fall for their trick. They care nothing for you. It’s all a trap. Run, Bobby, run!!!
Slowly, Bobby pecked out a reply: Who is this?
Half an hour went by without a response. Bobby felt sick and went to the bathroom. He hung his head over the commode and tried to vomit, but nothing happened. He brushed his teeth, killed some time, and never took his eyes off the phone. Officer Sneed checked in and said he was going to sleep. Bobby assured him everything was fine. Tomorrow was Tuesday, the second day of the trial, and they doubted Bobby would go to court. According to Sneed, Jack Hogan still planned to call Bobby to the witness stand on Wednesday. So, tomorrow would be another slow day.
Thanks, Bobby said, and Sneed went off to bed. Officer Bard was winding down in his room, the adjoining door still open. He puttered around his bathroom, put on a T-shirt and gym shorts, then stretched out on his bed for more television. Several times Bobby almost walked into his room to show him the text messages, but he hesitated.
He didn’t know what to do. He liked the cops and they were treating him like someone important, but they lived in another world. Besides, they were just regular street cops. Their bosses made the decisions.
At nine forty-seven, the fourth text came through: Bobby, we know your mother is very ill. If you walk into that courtroom, you will not see her for years. Why? Because you’ll be rotting away in an American jail waiting to be deported. It’s all a trap, Bobby. Run!
The battery was half dead. Bobby quietly plugged the phone into his charger. As he waited, he thought about his mother, his dear sick mother. He had not seen her in over a year. His heart ached when he thought about her and his little brothers, and his father and how hard he worked trying to feed the family. He had encouraged Bobby to travel to America, to get a good job, and hopefully send money home.
At ten o’clock, Officer Bard stuck his head through the door and asked, in awful Spanish, if all was well. Bobby smiled and managed to say, “Good night.” Bard closed the door, turned off his lights, and Bobby did the same.
An hour later, he eased from his room into the hallway, down one flight of stairs to the ground floor, through an exit door, and into the darkness.
Theo and Judge were sleeping soundly around midnight when a soft noise interrupted the peace. It was the gentle vibration of a cell phone on the nightstand. The dog wasn’t bothered by it, but Theo awoke and grabbed it. The time was 12:02.
“Hello,” he said, almost in a whisper, though he could have yelled and his parents would not have heard him. They were asleep downstairs, far away, with their door shut.
“Theo, it’s me, Julio. Are you awake?”
Theo took a deep breath and thought of all the smart retorts he could serve up at that point, but quickly realized something was wrong. Otherwise, why the call? “Yes, Julio, I’m awake now, so what’s the matter?”
“I just talked to Bobby. He called here, woke us up. He’s run away from the police. He
’s scared and he’s hiding and he doesn’t know what to do. My mom is crying.”
Great. Crying is so helpful at this point. “Why did he run away?” Theo asked.
“He said everybody is lying to him. The police, you, me, the judge, the prosecutor. He doesn’t trust anyone and thinks he’ll be arrested as soon as the trial is over. He says he’s not going near the courtroom. He’s very upset, Theo. What are we going to do?”
“Where is he?”
“In the town of Weeksburg, wherever that is. He was in a motel with the police, and he waited until they went to sleep. He says he’s hiding behind a quick shop that’s open all night, says it’s a rough part of town. He’s very scared, but he’s not going back to the police.”
Theo was out of bed and pacing around his room. Still half asleep, he was struggling to think clearly. Judge watched him curiously, irritated that he was awake and ruining a good night’s sleep. “You think he would talk to me?” Theo asked.
“No.”
“Probably not a good idea anyway.” In fact, it was a lousy idea. Theo knew it was time for him to butt out and let the adults handle the situation. The last thing he wanted was Judge Gantry yelling at him about tampering with a witness. In fact, Theo decided right then to forget the trial. Forget Pete Duffy and Bobby Escobar. Forget Jack Hogan and Clifford Nance. Forget everything and just return to being a normal kid.
If Bobby Escobar wanted to vanish, Theo couldn’t stop him.
“I don’t know what to do, Julio,” he said. “Really, there’s nothing we can do.”
“But we’re worried about Bobby. He’s out there hiding.”
“He’s out there because he wants to be out there, plus he’s a pretty tough guy, Julio. He’ll be all right.”
“This is all your fault.”
“Thanks, Julio. Thanks a lot.”
Theo got in the bed and stared at the ceiling. Judge quickly fell asleep, but Theo was awake for hours.
• • •
He slowly filled a spoon with Cheerios, then flipped it, dumping the cereal back into the milk. He took a bite every now and then, but couldn’t taste anything. Fill the spoon, then dump it. Below him, Judge was having no such trouble.
Mrs. Boone was in the den, enjoying her diet soda and newspaper, oblivious to the disaster that was about to unfold in the Pete Duffy trial. By now, the police had discovered that Bobby was missing. They had undoubtedly called Jack Hogan, and the entire prosecution was in chaos. What would the courtroom be like in an hour or so? Theo was dying to know, but then he was also determined to ignore the trial.