Marco followed the first officer into the police station as slowly as he dared, the man behind him shoving him forward. Face burning with humiliation he was marched past a counter and over to a row of seats, shackled into one of them beside a girl clearly high on some illicit substance. Masses of tangles hung round her shoulders as she mumbled incoherently. A drunk sat on his other side while two men cursed each other in the foulest language he had yet heard directly behind them. Chewing his lip he stared ahead, hating his presence among them.

His heartache changed to rage as the entrance slid aside revealing the entire group of his attackers minus the two who had been injured. They lounged against the counter demanding to see someone about making a complaint. The harassed officer behind the counter urged them to take a seat; she would be with them directly. Grumbling and cursing they sat on some plastic chairs, gazing boredly round the room. 'Hey, professor,' one muttered at an elderly man who remained at the counter, insisting his dog had last been spotted near the market.

'Sir, if you'd just take a seat we'll be with you shortly,' the officer begged.

'But the dog's dangerous. If she gets someone, I won't be held accountable,' the man protested pulling on a white beard. 'I reported her lost yesterday.'

'And we'll get to it, sir.'

'Relax prof. Just give us a hundred bucks and we'll shoot it for you,' one of the youth said, making a rude hand gesture. Marco squeezed his eyes shut.

'And what do we got here?' one yelled in joy, striding over to the drunks. 'Drunk and disorderly, ah. Hey, there's the spic.' His cry attracted the attention of his friends who jumped up gladly to crowd round Marco. 'We'll get your bitch,' he said, face close to enable him to hear his whisper. 'What's she like?'

'Go to hell,' he snapped, his cuffs preventing him from placing his hands round his neck and squeezing.

'That's where you're headed, dude. Of course she'll follow you real soon, once we've had our fun…'

'That's enough already,' a voice yelled. 'Take your seats. Get moving,' the officer snapped, unlocking his cuffs. 'That way,' he muttered, pushing Marco forcefully away from the group. 'Just can't seem to quit looking for trouble, can you? Sit down. Name and address?' He banged the door to the interview area behind him, the sound indicating finality.

Marco scowled at the table in silence wishing for nothing more than to be released so he could deal with the entire group. 'You deaf, or are you going to pretend you don't speak English?' continued the officer in growing annoyance.

Marco drew a deep breath. 'They attacked me,' he said, eyeing the incredulous officer.

'Of course they did. That's why we got two of them on their way to hospital as we speak. Name,' he repeated. 'Okay son, have it your way. You can spend the next few days in the hole if you like.'

'Marco Almeida,' he said quietly, wondering why he was being assigned the entire blame.

The officer regarded him quizzically. 'Are you a citizen of this country?'

'No,' he said. 'I'm studying here.' WERE studying here, more like it, Almeida!

'Then you're not entitled to free counsel,' the police officer said with satisfaction. 'Why don't you tell me what happened in the park?'

Marco began the explanation of how they were accosted from behind some bushes but the officer frowned at him. 'The truth, I mean. This isn't going to help you.'

'It is the truth,' he protested bitterly.

'Fine,' remarked the officer unsympathetically. 'You're off to processing. Anytime you change your mind, let me know. Let's go.'

Marco followed him from the room, the hated cuffs back on his wrists as he was led further into the police station. He was ordered to place his thumb in a patch of ink and watched the prints taken in silence, marshaled over to a tape measure beside a wall before he could gather his thoughts. You've been fingerprinted, like a real criminal. Heart beating wildly he struggled to pull an impassive face when they took his picture. 'Fine,' the officer told him. 'Move it.' Not having any other option he followed him down the corridor to a door consisting of steel bars, which the officer unlocked.

'Welcome to the fish tank,' he said sarcastically, leading him over to a crowded room filled with the worst bunch of desperadoes he had ever seen. 'Get inside. I strongly recommend you greet everyone properly, we don't tolerate any fighting in here!' He left, giving Marco a meaningful look, slamming the door behind him.

Marco's eyes took in the entire room as he moved slowly from the door. A bench ran the length of the room, totally occupied. It appeared it was indeed a busy night in Chicago, at least in the police station. Men stood in groups or individually, cursing each other. He moved over to a corner of the cell leaning against the wall, fighting an overwhelming urge to cry.

'Hey, carnal,' a Latino greeted him, moving to join him. 'How come I never seen you round here before? Where you from?'

'Chihuahua,' he muttered, eyeing the man's tattoos.

'Ah, a Mexican. Why are you here?' Two more of his group joined him, studying him with interest.

Having little other choice, he explained the sorry tale as briefly as possible.

'That's no good, carnal,' his new friend told him, indignantly. 'Who were they, gavachos?'

He nodded dully. 'Sí.'

'You wanna give us some names? We'll deal with them.'

Marco shook his head in a hurry. 'I don't know their names,' he said bitterly. 'They didn't introduce themselves…' They just ruined your life, Almeida, that's all!

'You'll see their names on the court affidavits,' the Latino explained, obviously familiar with the judicial system. 'I'll be seeing you round, you just let me know and I'll send someone to visit them.' An evil smile crept across his face. 'Bruno Rodriguez,' he said. 'We're Latin Kings!'

Marco nodded, having guessed as much from the crowns tattooed on each of them. 'Gracias,' he said, having no intention of complying. The next couple of hours dragged by while he leaned against the wall watching the constant coming and going of inmates. Head spinning in the ceaseless racket it was almost a relief when an officer appeared and yelled his name through the bars. 'Almeida, get moving.'

Gladly. He walked through the open doors and back to the interview room where a different officer awaited him. 'Sit,' he ordered without looking up from his paperwork.

Marco sat back in the chair heart hammering. 'You wish to change any part of your story?' the officer inquired. 'I got seven signed statements assigning you the role of perpetrator.'

What? He stared at the officer in silence.

'Alright, you don't have to.'

Numb, he signed the document informing him of his arrest and followed yet another officer down a different corridor and into a tiny cell the size of a bathroom. 'Clothes,' the officer snapped, nodding his head at the bundle Marco had been handed at the reception desk. 'Get changed.'

Marco spent the worst night of his life dressed in the orange jumpsuit they handed him huddled in a corner, knees drawn tight to his chest. The thought of remaining where he was for any length of time terrified him. His lowest point came just before dawn when he was cuffed as they escorted him to a bathroom. Back in his cell he buried his head in his knees and wept.

Rita pushed her way past the officer and entered the captain's office. 'Tio Rodolfo,' she began, her voice wavering. 'I need a minute.'

'Sure, honey,' he agreed, a close friend of the Torres family since before her birth. 'What can I do for you? You didn't murder anyone and conceal a body, did you? I got two unidentified male corpses…' He paused, sensing her distress. 'Why don't you tell me about it?' he suggested kindly.

'You got my best friend here, and you got to let him out right away,' she began, drawing a deep breath. 'He didn't do anything wrong, except defend me from a group of hooligans. He'll die here if you keep him locked up.'

'Wow, let's slow it down,' the captain suggested, intrigued, the distraction welcome. Unidentified bodies were a major headache, necessitating countless reports and investigations, and so far neither of them corresponded to anyone on his missing persons register. A visit from his friend's daughter, her cheeks scarlet with indignation was pleasant, especially as it promised fresh gossip. Not that he actually listened to gossip, of course, but it wouldn't hurt hearing about something before his wife, for a change. Sipping his customary black coffee he begged her to take a seat, handing her a packet of cookies.

Ten minutes later, eyes large, he dared ask the question he had been considering since her arrival. 'You like this boy?'

'I love him,' she cried, her eyes lighting up. 'I'm going to marry him when we finish college.'

'What about Javier?' he inquired, well aware of Catalina's designs.

'He's a playboy and I hate him,' she said rapidly, cheeks a deeper shade than before. 'I love Marco. He defended me real well in the park yesterday and it was me who hit that man with the garbage can lid and not him, only he'll admit to that too to protect me. They'll put him in jail,' she finished, bursting into tears. 'It was all my fault; I wanted to go for a walk.'

'Does your mother know about him?' he was unable to resist the question.

'God no,' she cried, horrified. 'She'd kill him.'

The captain nodded, deciding she was probably right. 'And he asked you to marry him after only three months?'

'No, I asked him to marry me, and he said he would when we finish our degrees if I still want him,' she corrected, rubbing her eyes. 'You got to let him out. Please, please.'

'Let me look at the paperwork,' he suggested, needing time to examine the case. 'Why don't you wait outside, sweetie.'

Rita paced the lobby while he frowned through the case, shaking his head at her sadly as she returned. 'Sweetie, we got eight witnesses who swear he started the altercation and threw the first punch. The case has already gone before the prosecutor, and there's no way he'll be acquitted.'

'What are you saying?' she asked, horrified. 'You can't put him in jail!'

'There's no way he'll avoid it, looking at this realistically. Let's hope he'll make bail.'

'I'll pay it,' she said firmly, eyeing him disappointed.

'You sure about this boy, sweetie. It's an awful lot of money to lose when he takes the first train back to Mexico.'

'He wouldn't do that,' she insisted. 'Yes, I'm sure.'

The captain nodded. 'Why don't you go wait downstairs,' he suggested, resolved to speak to Marco personally, if only to protect himself from Catalina Torres once he skipped bail.

Eyes blank Marco sat in the chair Rita had just vacated, forcing an impassive look onto his face. His heart beat wildly as he cast a glance at the officer in the resplendent uniform, wondering what else he was about to be charged with. Something serious this time, by the looks of things, otherwise his presence would not be required.

'So you're Marco Almeida,' the captain began, leaning forward to study him intently, noting his disorientation and obvious depression. 'Why won't you explain what happened yesterday?'

The boy shrugged, eyes dull. 'What for?' he muttered, refusing to look up from the desk.

'I need to get a few things straight. Your two counts of assault will cost you a month of jail time each. That's two months, hmm. Not good, if you're planning on completing an intensive year at UIC.'

Marco gazed at him startled. 'They're not deporting me, sir?'

'Not for this,' the captain assured him. 'Now why don't you explain exactly how those assaults took place.'

He shifted restlessly. 'My friend wanted to go for a walk to see the stars,' he began, rubbing his face. 'These guys came out of nowhere, they insulted her and grabbed her arm and wanted to…to hurt her. I hit the first one to force him to release her, and I told her to run. Is he hurt bad?'

'He lost ten teeth and got a broken jaw,' the captain replied, studying him intently. 'Keep going. Tell me about the second assault.'

'They started hitting me and I got this lid to defend myself,' he muttered, averting his gaze.

'Interesting. You see, I have a statement from Rita Torres swearing she used the lid to defend you.'

Marco gasped, shaking his head in a hurry. 'No sir. I got the lid. I banged the guy on the head. How is he?' he questioned, praying he wasn't dead.

'He's recovering from a concussion with eleven stitches. Explain one thing to me, Almeida. How could you reach the lid surrounded by seven guys?'

Rubbing his neck he fought to recall the crime scene. 'I reached it just before they surrounded me, sir.'

'Aha. So this Rita Torres is lying?'

He glanced at the captain struggling to decide what was worse, assault or lying about it. 'Sí. She probably wants to protect me,' he muttered.

'He must love her very much,' the captain decided. Catalina Torres was going to have a battle on her hands judging by the look in the boy's eyes as Rita's name had been mentioned. An expression like that indicated he would go to the gallows to protect her. 'Good luck,' he said. 'I'll do what I can, of course, but it won't be much. You've got your arraignment hearing in an hour. You'll have to go back to your cell till then.'

Rain lashed his face as he was shoved into a police car and driven the short distance to the court house where he spent the following two hours in a holding cell awaiting his appointment with the judge. When he was finally summoned he found his heart beating so wildly he was terrified he would pass out. Crowds moved through the building, a few in a hurry while the rest lingered outside individual courtrooms on chipped seats. The first thing he noticed as he was led to his seat was a white-faced Rita, hands clasped together in the front row. He managed to cast her a look of reassurance he failed to feel as he settled.

The judge glanced at him for a fraction of a second, read the prosecutor's report, and closed the document before he faced him. 'How many days of college have you missed since the beginning of term?' he inquired.

Marco's eyes widened at what he perceived an irrelevant question. 'None sir. My English is not good enough for me to be able to take days off.'

The judge nodded. 'I see no reason to refuse bail,' he decided, glancing once again at the young man before him. 'However….You're not a citizen of this country. You got no ties to this community. I shall have to set bail at a considerably higher level in your case to make certain you'll return for your trial. You're also required to surrender your passport. Have you got any family or friends who might post bail?'

Heart aching, he shook his head. 'How much is it?' he asked quietly.

'Ten thousand dollars.'

He shook his head again, numb.

'Think about it. Your trial won't be held for another two months. Do you really wish to stay in jail?'

Two months in a cell. No, no, definitely not! I didn't do anything! 'I don't have anyone,' he muttered. No way in the world could Papa raise even 500 dollars.

'Your choice. You're being charged with two misdemeanors, loitering and assault, plus two counts of assault causing bodily harm. Since you have waived the right to pre-trial release I'm ordering you confined to Cook County Jail.' Marco bowed his head in despair, helpless in the face of such unyielding bureaucracy.

'Wait a minute, your honor,' a familiar voice began. 'I'll post his bail. It was 10 000 dollars, you said?'

Shocked, he stared at his dearest friend as she rose to her feet, eyeing the judge. The judge stared at the young beauty and nodded. 'You're certain about this, young lady?'

'Yes I am, sir,' Rita replied, her voice unwavering.

Marco gazed from one to the other mystified, shaking his head. 'No, I can't go anywhere. You're not dropping the charges, right?' The judge shook his head, watching the pair of them intently. 'I'm not using your money, Rita,' he said emphatically.

'I've already decided to pay,' she cried outraged. 'Don't you turn away from me, Marco Almeida!'

'Querida, I can't cost you money. It's not right,' he insisted.

'But you're not. I'll get it back once you show up for the hearing. You saved my life,' she added, longing to slip an arm round him.

'She'll get it all back,' the judge agreed. 'I'll expect you back for your trial on the 3rd of December.'

'We'll be here,' Rita assured him, turning to him. 'You got something to sign. I'll sort out your bail.'

He signed the document informing him of the misdemeanors he was being charged with and left the building in relief, blinking in the warm sunshine, his head spinning from lack of sleep. Wordless he climbed into the Impala beside Rita, wanting only to rest. A hand touched his arm gently, massaging it.

'Are you okay, Marco?' the sweetest voice in the entire world asked. 'You got beaten up quite bad in that park.'

'I'm fine,' he whispered, his eyes closed.

'Will you ever forgive me?' Rita continued, her voice surprisingly shaky. 'Going for a walk was my idea…'

Startled at the shaky tone he opened his eyes, heart clenched at the sight of tears glistening in her eyes. 'Hey, Rita, none of it was your fault,' he began, determined to ease her guilt. 'We went for a walk, ok? There's nothing wrong with that. I could've told you no, but I didn't want to. I wanted to spend more time with you. If anything, I'm the guilty one here. I should've sensed those guys.'

'But they hurt you, and now you're being charged, and you'll end up with a record…'

'So I'll end up with a record,' he muttered, considering it made little difference as he was returning to his family the moment he finished his degree. 'I'm not the only one, querida. That place was packed out!'

'But they're charging you for the assault with the lid too, and it was me,' she whispered, giving way to tears.

'Hey,' he said, reaching forward to slip an arm about her, an eye on the road. 'You stayed to help me. You used that lid because I was unable to fight anymore, so if that's not my fault, than I'd like to know whose it is. I let you down!'

She shook her head, struggling to focus on the traffic. 'You done great. You held up seven guys. I could've run for it.'

Marco fixed her with a stern gaze. 'You should've run for it! I told you to run for it! Try anything like that again, Rita, and the friendship is over!'

She stared at him horrified.

'I'm serious. You're tough, you can cope with crappy weather a lot better than me, and you hit that guy as well as I could've, but I don't want you doing anything like that again. Querida, you're a woman! You're not as strong as me, you never will be. Keeping you safe is my responsibility. How can I do that if you won't listen?'

She glared at him in annoyance. 'You got a caveman's mentality.'

'Sí, you're right. I'm the man; it's my job to protect you. My father would've protected my mother; it's the way it goes.' He stared into her annoyed eyes willing her to understand. 'I couldn't have lived with myself if anything happened to you,' he said gently, squeezing her shoulder.

Rita gulped, noting how pleasant the word 'responsibility' sounded when her safety was discussed. Caveman he might be, but he had defended her against eight men enabling her to dash to her car and flee the scene had she chosen to do so. She replayed the incident from his sudden authoritative voice ordering that disgusting man to take his hands off her to the first punch he threw, to the punches he'd dished out as he was surrounded by the remaining seven. A new feeling swept through her, pride. Apart from being intelligent, amusing and boasting looks to kill for, he was an excellent fighter. And he loves me. He's facing extra jail time to keep me from facing charges. She returned the squeeze on his arm, turning her face momentarily from the road. 'So you think you're responsible for me, Marco Almeida!'

He nodded satisfied to see she appeared to understand his point. 'Aha.'

She waited to hear an explanation of his reasons but he remained silent, apparently assuming it was obvious. A sense of peace filled her as she watched his exhausted face from a corner of her eyes. Hearing his breathing soften she turned towards her home determined to check his injuries and fuss over him, aware her parents were in New York for the following two days.

'Where are we?' he muttered sleepily as she shook him awake.

'My home. I'm going to put some band aids on that face,' she said, tracing a line of split skin.

He jumped in alarm at the thought of her mother discovering him in such a poor state. 'Rita..'

'They're not home,' she assured him, helping him from the car. 'Come in.'

Marco stepped inside a three storey house, his feet sliding over polished parquet. Three large vases stood in a corner below a mirror beside which a cabinet filled with smaller antiques stood. An oil painting of the family hung over it showing a much younger Rita with the older brother she had described, doll in her arms. A mahogany coat rack hung on the opposite wall, empty. Several doors opened from the hall and a spiral staircase led upwards. His eyes followed it, comparing the house to his own much more modest home.

'Come upstairs,' she insisted, grabbing his sleeve. 'The bathroom's that way.'

Ignoring her he stood rooted to the spot, his eyes studying the remainder of the building. 'Querida, I can't, it's not right,' he said gently.

'Don't be ridiculous! This is the twentieth century. I won't hurt you, I promise!'

He snorted in annoyance, following her upstairs slowly, limping with his left leg. She watched his progress making a mental note to examine it. 'There's the bathroom. Get undressed and I'll fill the bath. You can use that room over there, it's a spare one.'

He remained where he was, his cheeks crimson.

'I won't look,' she promised reluctantly. 'I'll just start your bath and wait for you downstairs. Take your time, we got all day.'

He nodded slowly, admitting the hot bath he slid into was the perfect cure for his bruises and his aching muscles. She had added something to the water, its pleasant scent filling the air as he laid his head back shutting his eyes. Alone for the first time since his release he pondered the consequences beyond the obvious one of facing a couple of weeks jail time. Oh boy, Mama and Papa will be mad when they hear about it. They'll insist on your remaining home after the next summer vacation. He shifted, allowing the bubbles to cover his stomach. They'll be hurt too. He sighed, sliding his entire body underneath the water to wash away the shame of the previous evening.