Date: Fri, 9 May 2003 18:31:23 -0700 (PDT)
From: LZ <malou2003@hushmail.com>
Subject: Never Say Never, Nothing Is Forever Chapter 18

    The ambulance was there in about ten minutes. The
doctor scowled when I was cuffed to the gurney. An officer
rode with me and stayed close to the gurney as it was taken
inside. I couldn't have stood up at that point much less
run.

    The emergency room intern didn't seem as bothered by my
injuries as the center doctor. However, when the guard
wanted to cuff me to the hospital gurney, he got pretty
irritated.

    `Is that necessary? Believe me, this kid isn't going
anywhere.'

    `Sorry, doc, regulations. He's felony.'

    The doctor ordered  X-rays. The guard refused to even
get behind the screen in the X-ray room.

    Back in the examination area, the young doctor grew
insistent.`So how am I going to examine this boy if I can't
move him? Believe me, he isn't going anywhere like this.'

    The officer relented and uncuffed me. In all my pain, I
still had a desire to give him a smartass look but it hurt
too much to turn his way. Anyway, the doctor wanted the
guard out of his area.

    `I need to ask him some questions he probably won't
answer in front of you. Would you wait outside for a moment.
You'd see him if he tried to run.'

    The officer frowned but went outside the curtained off
area.

    `Ray, I know you were beat up. I'm here to help you.
I'm going to examine you inside your briefs so just lie
still.'

    `There ain't nothin' there. They just got me up here
an' my knee. That's all.' I pointed to my gut then grabbed
hold of my underpants.

    `I can cut them off if you'd like but I'm going to
look.'

    I wanted to say `Get the fuck off me' but it stuck in
my throat. This wasn't the Detention Center. This was a
hospital. The man was a doctor. I was safe here. Maybe he
would help me. My chest seemed to fill with air that
couldn't get out. Tears formed in my eyes. I began to cry,
quietly but uncontrollably. I turned my head to hide it. The
crying hurt my ribs.

    The doctor put a sheet over me and pulled off my
briefs. He pulled my legs open and looked at my privates. I
had a brief hope that it would end there, but, of course, it
didn't. He slid me to his side of the gurney and rolled me
over, pulling the sheet to keep me covered. He pushed the
sheet back and spread my legs. I felt him pull my ass cheeks
apart. He released them after only a few seconds and put me
on my back again.

    The doctor pulled a stool up and sat where he could
talk to me quietly. `I need you to tell me if they put their
penises in you or something else.'

    The sobbing wouldn't allow me to talk. Each sudden
breath hurt  I wished it would stop.

    `Okay, we'll wait. I'll stay here with you.' He put his
hand on my shoulder. I wanted Bill, wanted him to come and
hold me, to talk to me like he did.

    A nurse brought the X-rays. The doctor looked them over
at a light panel on the wall. `Here's some good news.
Nothing's broken.'

    That meant little to me at the time. The intern sat
down again. He put his hand back on my shoulder. `That good
news doesn't mean you're leaving here today. Don't worry
about that. I'm keeping you around for at least a day or
two.'

    That was reassuring and calmed my sobbing. Finally,
someone was going to help me. Maybe he'd call Bill.

    `Try breathing slowly and not so deeply,' he suggested.

    I did but couldn't seem to control my lungs. It took a
while longer before I could talk. The doc asked about what
had been put inside me.

    'Was it just a penis? Just answer with your head, yes
or no.'

    I indicated yes.

    'Nothing else?'

    I shook my head.

    'I know it hurt where they entered. Did it hurt a lot
up inside?'

    I nodded yes.

    `All right. I'm going to admit you and we'll wait until
you have a bowel movement. Then we'll know if there's any
damage inside you. And if there is, we'll take care of it.
And I'm going to give you some medicine that will make your
stool soft, so it doesn't hurt coming out.'

    I thought a stool was a kind of chair. Was he going to
sit me on a cushion when I took a shit?

    `Will you call my friend so he can tell my mother?' I
plead.

    `What's the name and phone number?'

    I told him. He wrote it down.

    `I'd going to get you admitted then I'll call your
friend.'

    The guard came back inside after the intern left. He
had a newspaper.

    A few minutes later, the intern returned, followed by
another doctor and a nurse with a clipboard. She spoke with
the officer. The older doctor looked at the X-rays still
hanging on the light panel then pulled back the sheet and
examined me.

    He pushed gently below my ribs. `Tell me if this
hurts.' The second time he poked me in the back.

    I groaned. It hurt.

    `Okay, admit him, he told the intern.'

    They wanted me to pee in a cup. It took a while but
eventually a little came out.

    The intern came to me as I was being wheeled out of the
emergency room, the officer following close behind.

    `I made the call. A woman answered and will give my
number to Mr. Winston.'

    Bill Winston. That was Bill's name.

    I was put in a room with four beds and two other kids,
both younger.

    A policeman appeared in the door and looked at me and
the room. He had a newspaper. He shook his head and walked
over to me.

    `You don't look too dangerous,' he said with a half
smile and went back outside. He was there to guard me. I
thought they were stupid to have a cop watching a kid who
couldn't even sit up.

    I watched a television mounted on the wall. The nurses
changed the channels when I asked.

    Lunch was chicken soup and juice with grape gelatin for
desert. It was the best food I'd had in five days.

     An hour later, my mother and Bill came in. I wanted to
hug them both but it hurt too much. I cried. Mother cried.
I'd never seen her cry. It made me cry so hard it hurt. My
mother still cared about me.

    `You are going to be okay, now, sweetheart,' she told
me in Spanish. `Don't you worry about nothing. Mr. Bill got
you a very good lawyer.'

    She went on, reassuring me that I was out of the
Detention Center for good, that she would take care of me.
Bill stood behind her. I wanted him to hug me. He could make
me safe. He was the one I looked to, depended on at that
moment. I reached out to him and took his hand, pulling him
past my mother, enduring the pain it caused. I wanted to
feel his arms around me. Then I'd be safe.

    Mother moved over and let him come close. I looked into
his eyes, begging for the words that he would take care of
me; that he wouldn't let them hurt me any more.

    `I'm here,' he said, `I'm here.' It was all I needed.

    They stayed with me for an hour. We didn't talk very
much. Mother said that now I should know what a piece of
shit my biological father was and tell the cops anything
they wanted. Detective Mulvaney had assured her of
protection, moving us out of the city if necessary. Bill
didn't mention anything about my case. He did speak with the
older of the doctors who had examined me. Before leaving, he
told me that he had a private detective sitting with the
policeman outside my room to make sure there were no
problems. At the time, I couldn't imagine what problems
there might be.

    He said he'd be back in the morning with a lawyer who
wanted to speak with me about my case. 'You are all I'm
going to be thinking about until this is over.' I pulled him
to me. He leaned down and hugged my head. I kissed his
shoulder. It was all I could reach.

    The nurses kept checking me and asking me if I wanted
to have a bowel movement. I had no idea what that was. One
finally explained that it meant taking a shit. I did but was
afraid it would hurt. They explained that the medicine the
doctor had given me would make it soft. They wanted me to
put my stool in a small pan they carried. I finally
understood. The nurse helped me to the toilet in the
bathroom and left me alone. I deposited my soft stool in the
pan. There was blood mixed in.  It frightened me.

    The next morning, the doctor told me that, yes, there
was blood in my stool but not so much that I needed to
worry. He would continue the softening medicine and the
situation would clear up in a few days. One of my kidneys
was damaged. It too would get better but that was why they
were keeping me in the hospital. The most painful of my
injuries, my knee and ribs would hurt for a while but
improve a lot over the next week. I was to stay at the
hospital at least until Monday.

    Bill arrived mid-morning with a man carrying a leather
briefcase.

    I reached out and pulled him close. He gave me the hug
I needed.

    `Mr. Niedermeyer is going to ask you some questions.
You need to be completely honest with him. Whatever you tell
him is confidential. Nothing you say to him will get to the
police unless you tell him to tell them. Do you understand?'

    Whatever Bill said was okay with me. I didn't
completely understand but nodded yes.

    `Hi. I'm Phil Niedermeyer and I am going to represent
you in your situation. Your mother has hired me and Mr.
Winston is taking care of the fees. Now, I want you to tell
me everything that happened starting from the moment you saw
the police at the jewelry factory.'

    `When I came outta the duct?' I had expected him to
want to know who was behind the burglary. But, he probably
already knew.

    I told him everything I remembered. He wrote it all
down on a long yellow pad of paper.  He stopped me a number
of times and asked about what Mulvaney said and what Mr.
Forster said when I told him I wasn't Juan Gonzalez and
several other points he wanted clear. When I got to the
night of the assault, he asked a lot of questions about
where the guards were, could they hear talking in the
dormitory from where they were, had they ever told the other
boys to be quiet or come to investigate noises after lights
out. Then he asked about my father.

    `Did your father ask you to do this?'

    I just lowered my head.

    Bill said, `We know he did, Ray. The police know he
did. Nobody believes you did this on your own or even with
someone else from the neighborhood. We are not asking you to
testify against your father. That's your decision. You just
have to understand that the police are going to be very
difficult as long as you don't tell them about what
happened.'

    `They'd kill me. I ain't testifying.'

    Bill looked me in the eye. `You believe your father
would have you killed?'

    `It ain't just him.' I decided that was all I was going
to say, even to Bill.

    The lawyer turned to Bill. `Let me see what I can do.
We really do have quite a lot.' He stood, shook Bill's hand
and left.

    Bill sat by me again. `You know I'll arrange any
protection you need if you decide to testify. That's why
that man is sitting out there.'

    `By the way, continued Bill, 'who was that boy who
called up Tuesday afternoon? He left a very confusing
message with Rosemary and didn't call back.'

    I told him about Miguel and the message.

    He had figured out that I was in a detention center as
soon as Michael told him of the newspaper story. `When I
went to see your mother Saturday afternoon, she told me that
you were somewhere with your father. She also told me about
what kind of man he was, about the Westies. When you didn't
come Sunday and my detectives couldn't find your father,
well, the article made sense. We've been looking for you
since. Even yesterday morning, the people at the detention
center were telling us there was no Ramon or Ray Molina in
the place. Mr. Niedermeyer's people were arranging for your
mother to go in and look at all the kids your age until
Doctor Banner called this morning. You don't know how
relieved I was to get that call.'

    That told me how angry my mother was on Saturday. She
knew the police had me and lied to Bill. Did Bill realize
that?

    'So what's that lawyer going to do now. Is he going to
get me out so I don't have to go back?'

    'Right now, he's looking for Detective Mulvaney to
discuss some things with him. Then he'll contact whoever is
in charge of your case in the juvenile system. He hasn't had
any experience with juvenile cases so another lawyer who has
experience with those people will be helping him.

    'No matter what, you're here until Monday morning. The
doctor will see to that.'

    'Then what?'

    'I imagine we'll have to go to court to see if we can
get you released to your mother or possibly to a much better
place outside the city. I really don't know but I'll let you
know anything I find out.'

    Bill stayed with me until dinnertime when visitors had
to leave. I was safe through the weekend. It dawned on me
that the cop outside my room might be there to protect me as
well as prevent my escape. Would my biological father try to
sneak me out? It was some comfort to know that Bill had a
man there too. I wanted this thing over in such a way as
there'd be no more problems. Escape would be painful and
just make things worse. No more crime for me, not even
hustling. Bill was spending a lot of money on me for
lawyers, detectives and who knew what else. He did care very
much about me. He had never even considered abandoning me.
I'd have to behave myself from then on. I had far too much
to lose.

    Mr. Milner, my caseworker from the Detention Center
came in the morning. He wanted to hear all about what had
happened Wednesday night.

    I told him I'd been nearly asleep when someone put a
sheet over my head and four or five took me down from the
bed.

    'Did they talk? Could you tell if they were black or
white or Latino?'

    'I think they did but, with the sheet on my head, I
couldn't hear what they said.'

    'Then what happened?'

    I didn't want to discuss it. 'You know. Then when I got
my arms loose and started fighting them, they beat me up.'

    He appeared sympathetic. 'Ray, I know you're afraid but
you don't need to be. Even if you go back to the Center,
you'll be with the boys your age and size. I need you to
tell me who did this.'

    And in the yard and the dining hall, I thought. What
about there? 'I swear I didn't see who they were. All I know
is Juan Carlos helped me after so it wasn't him.'

    'You've got a lawyer now, right?'

    I nodded yes.

    He handed me a business card. 'Give him this and have
him call me. Okay?'

    Bill came a bit later. Mother couldn't make it until
Saturday morning due to work but she sent her love, he told
me. There was no specific news. Mr. Niedermeyer had spoken
to the detectives and was right then with another lawyer at
the courthouse speaking to the juvenile authorities. We
played checkers on a small wooden folding checkerboard. He
let me beat him a lot but I was getting better.

    Bill left midday with a promise to get back in the
afternoon.

    He brought the lawyer and another man with him when he
returned. The man was a juvenile probation officer. He asked
to be left alone with me.

    His questions were predictable. 'Who put you up to
going into the jewelry factory?' 'It was your father, wasn't
it?'

    I told him I couldn't say who else was involved in the
burglary because I didn't know them. They offered me a lot
of money, five hundred dollars to do it. That would really
have helped my mother. The men said I wouldn't get caught.
It was obvious he didn't believe a word of it.

    'You see that policeman outside your door? He's there
to protect you. No one can hurt you. You don't have to be
afraid. If you help the police, you and your mother will be
moved somewhere outside the city where they can never find
you.'

    'And then what do we do. Whose gonna hire my mother who
can hardly speak English?'

    'All right, something else. Why did you say your name
was Juan Gonzalez?'

    'I never said that. That was the cops said that. At the
Center, I told them I was Ray Molina.'

    He asked me what had happened to me at the center. I
told him the same thing I'd told my caseworker.

    He left unsatisfied. Bill and Mr. Niedermeyer spoke to
him outside then came in the room. I gave Mr. Niedermeyer
the card Mr. Milner had given me. 'He says to call him.' The
card went into the lawyer's pocket.

    Bill took my hand and Mr. Niedermeyer spoke. 'Ray, you
need to start telling someone the truth about things. If you
will tell the authorities who it was that assaulted you at
the center, I can guarantee you won't go back there. I think
that would be a good start and really help you with your
entire situation.'

    I told him what Mr. Milner, my Center case manager had
said, then, `even if he puts me with the kids my age, what
about the yard and the dining hall? And what about their
friends in my group? And that means he thinks I'm going
back.'

    `Ray, if you tell the juvenile authorities about your
attackers, they will not send you back there.'

    Bill interrupted. `Can you get that in writing?'

    `I'll try. If they write that down and sign it, will
you tell them who assaulted you?'

    That was difficult. `I dunno.'

    Bill asked the lawyer to go outside with him. They
spoke for a few minutes and Bill came back in alone.

    `What'd you talk about?' I asked.

    `Let's wait and see what Mr. Niedermeyer can do and
then we'll talk about it.'

    Bill had brought a couple of my best photographs with
him to hang on the wall behind my bed. The doctor came in
and told us the stool, as he called shit, from the afternoon
had less blood than the day before but that my blood and
urine tests showed there were still some problems with my
kidneys.

    Saturday, Bill brought my mother. We had a difficult
time coming up with things to talk about. We had never
really had any conversations. She mostly gave orders or
yelled about something I supposedly had done wrong. Bill
talked about my photography and how I played baseball. She
listened. Fortunately, she had to go to work and left. Bill
paid for a taxi. Michael came during the afternoon but Roy
and Adrian were not allowed because they were too young. I
wanted to see Cholito.

    Sunday, my mother didn't come. Bill brought a game of
Monopoly. We played with two of the other kids in the room.
It took three hours to finish.

    Monday morning, Bill brought my suit and crutches. He
followed the police car that took me to court. They were
going to decide where I was to go. I hoped home.

    At the courthouse, two lawyers, Mr. Niedermeyer and
another I hadn't seen before, met us. The new lawyer, Mr.
Becker, showed me a letter from a juvenile probation
supervisor stating that he would recommend that I not be
sent back to the Detention Center if I told who had
assaulted me. I understood the danger immediately.

    `So what if he recommends. What if the judge says I
gotta go back?'

    `I really believe the judge will follow this man's
recommendation,' explained Mr. Becker.

    Bill looked at me and said, `It's your decision but I
think it would be a good idea to tell who attacked you.'

    I had never ratted on anybody in my life. I hated
Ronald and Calvin for what they'd done and wanted to hurt
them. But being a rat?

    Bill spoke again. `Ray, it's time for you to decide
something very important. You have a chance now to get out
of the world you've grown up in. You have brains and talent.
And I'm here to help you, to make sure you get the education
to take advantage of your intelligence and talent. But in
this new world, the rules are different. Here we obey the
laws that protect us. If someone hurts us, we tell the
police, we don't get a gun or a knife. Those boys are very
bad people. What they did to you is a crime. They need to be
stopped so they don't do it again to anyone else.

    I thought about Benjamin. He might have been gay but
that didn't give those bastards the right to hurt him. It
was that thought that helped me make up my mind.

    I was taken to the office of the chief of juvenile
probation. The man who had spoken to me three days before
was there too. Milner and Foster from the Center joined us.

    `Ray, you are doing the right thing,' said the chief.

    I named Ronald and Calvin but didn't mention Robert,
the smaller boy who had taunted me in the shower.

    `And the others?'

    I just saw those two. Anyhow, they are the ones who
always start that kind of thing.'

    `They did it before?'

    `Not to me, to Benjamin, a white boy.'

    `Just those two?'

    `Miguel Solorzano.' Those three were the only ones I
was willing to mention.

    `That's very good, Ray. They will be arrested and put
into solitary. You will have to testify at their trial and
we'll ask Benjamin too.'

    `Then you'll have to get him out of there too.'

    `What's his last name?'

    `He's Benjamin Whitlock, answered Mr. Milner. 'He's
there for the death of his sister when he burned their
house.'

    `Ray, I can't take him out of there. We have no other
place for him.'

    `Then he's never going to testify. They'd kill him. He
told me so.'

    'We can move him immediately to a safer group,'
commented Mr. Foster, the intake officer.

    `Let's see what we can do. Now about your hearing
today.'

    `Wait.' There was something else I had to tell them.
`There's a white boy in the littlest kids group. He's
getting raped too, black kids are doing it.'

    `How do you know about that?' asked the chief. He
looked at me then Mr. Foster.

    `Another kid told me about it.'

    `Who?'

    `I dunno his name,' I lied. `But you gotta protect him
now. He shouldn't even be in there.'

    The chief raised his eyebrows at Mr. Foster. Mr. Milner
said, `I think he's talking about Jeremy Shackleford. If you
like, I'll look into it myself as soon as I leave here.'

    Mr. Foster glared at his subordinate.

    `Call me this afternoon,' ordered the chief. `I want
this shit stopped now!' He was looking again at Mr. Foster.

    `Anything else?' he asked me, still irritated.

    `No, sir.'

    All right, today, the judge will have to decide where
you will stay until your trial. That won't be any time soon
unless you cooperate with the police and tell them who sent
you into the jewelry factory. They know who it was but they
need you to say it, to testify. You've made a good start
here. You need to keep going, get all this behind you.'

    He gave me the same song and dance about the move out
of the city and police protection but I knew better.

    As everyone was leaving his office, the probation chief
asked Mr. Becker and I to stay. 'When you got to the
Detention Center, why did they say they were putting you in
that older group?'

    'They didn't say anything, just took me up there. I
asked Mr. Milner but he said it was because I got in
fights.'

    'So you were never in the intake unit?'

    'No, sir.'

    `Tell me what you know about the Shackleford boy.'

    I told him what Miguel had told me. He made notes.

    The hearing wasn't until two in the afternoon. Both Mr.
Milner and Mr. Foster from the Center were there. My mother
and Mr. Martinson came together. My teacher's presence
lifted my spirits. Then I saw Ms. Peters.

    `Why's she here? I asked Mr. Martinson.

    Mr. Becker, the new lawyer, answered. `She brings your
school records. The judge will want to see them.

    It was a judge I hadn't seen before, a man about Bill's
age but bald and stern looking.

    He asked who everyone was. A man from the district
attorney's office came in during introductions. The judge
explained to the lawyers that `as Mr. Becker knows, this is
juvenile court and we do things differently here. Plus, this
is just a hearing to determine where Mr. Molina will be
housed until his trial date, which, it appears, has not been
set.' He paused. 'Is the young man's last name Molina or
Hoolihan?'

    'It's Molina, sir.' answered Mr. Becker. 'Mr. Hoolihan
is his biological father but he isn't listed on the boy's
birth records and does not, has not ever lived with him.'

    'All right, fine, Molina.' He wrote something down.
'Ramon, you are here due to an incident at the Detention
Center that your lawyer and, apparently, others feel makes
it dangerous for you to go back there. I have a medical
report from a Dr. Banner explaining some serious injuries
you sustained. However, according to your probation
officer's report, you are refusing to tell them ..'

    `Your honor,' interrupted the probation officer,
`excuse me. Ray has since agreed to cooperate and has named
his assailants and implicated them in a similar assault on
another boy.'

    `Do you have a new report reflecting that change?'

    'It's on your desk, sir.' He went to the judge's desk
and helped him find it.

    `Sir,' continued the probation officer, `this was very
difficult for Ray, to name his assailants. He.'

    `Thank you, I fully understand the situation. Now, I
also have a school report which describes numerous incidents
of violence by Mr. Molina, incidents which make it
difficult for me to place him in an open environment where
he can do harm to others.'

    Mr. Becker, my second lawyer, interrupted this time.
`Your honor, those incidents are history now. The last one
was some months ago.'

    `Not very long ago, Mr. Becker,' commented the judge.

    `Agreed but as Ray's teacher, who is here on Ray's
behalf, will testify, he has made a complete turnaround in
his behavior. May he speak?'

    The judge waved his hand in assent. Mr. Martinson told
of my new ability to make friends, my greatly improved
schoolwork and good classroom behavior. The judge thanked
him.

    `I believe his school counselor is here also. Do you
have anything to say to that, Ms., uh,' he looked at a
paper, `Peters?'

    She stood. `It is my belief that although Ray has shown
some improvement of late, his long record of fighting and
extortion speak to a deep seated problem that cannot be
considered a thing of the past. This boy needs strict
supervision for the protection of others.' She sat.

    `Well, Mr. Becker, you see where I am. Ramon indeed has
a long record of violent behavior and only a few months of
improvement probably because of the attention shown him by
his teacher and Mr. Winston here. What is going to happen
when these good influences are not available?'

    I wondered if the judge knew Bill.

    The probation officer spoke again. 'The problem we
have, sir, is that we have no other.'

    'I'm aware of your lack of facilities, Mr. Kulacki,'
interrupted the judge. 'What I need here is a solution and
one that does not require the state to provide round the
clock police protection.'

    'We have a number of potential foster and group homes
and Mr. Winston has agreed to provide protection through an
agency he has an interest in.'

    'Is that true, sir? You are willing to provide twenty-
four hour protection?'

    Bill stood. 'Yes, your honor.'

    The judge sat back. 'That's very generous. Would you
explain why you are willing to spend what is certainly a
significant amount of money on this young man? I assume the
lawyers are here at your expense also.'

    'Your honor, I met Ray in Central Park when I was
taking photographs as I do quite often. He and his friend
showed interest and I let them take some pictures. Ray's
were quite good. We met there a number of times and I became
convinced the boy had a great talent that he has proven
through rapid improvement of his photographs. He is a very
bright boy with tremendous potential. I saw, I see in him a
desire to change his life and have been willing to help. As
you probably know, I can afford it quite easily.'

    'So there are no misunderstandings,' explained the
judge, 'I live in a building owned by Mr. Winston's firm.
However, we have never met before today and I am not in any
way moved in one direction or the other by this connection.'

    'You honor,' bid Mr. Kulacki, 'I'd like to suggest that
we accept Mr. Winston's offer and that I be allowed to find
a placement for Ray and that we keep his location
confidential considering the obvious danger he faces.'

    The judge fiddled with his pencil for a few moments.
'Does the district attorney's office have any comments at
this point?'

    'None, you honor.'

    'I must admit to being uncomfortable with putting this
young man in such an insecure situation as a group or foster
home. He is here for a serious crime that normally calls for
secure detention. However, I am also cognizant of the danger
he would face returning there.' He looked at me. 'Mr.
Molina, I'm going to grant the request to put you in a
group or foster home for now. However, if I hear of any
problem, any altercation, anything, you'll be back in the
Detention Center post haste. Do you understand that?'

    'Yes, sir,' I answered though I had no idea what an
altercation was.

 By dinnertime, I was in a group home in Suffolk County,
well outside the city.