The Cost of Many Lives

The Cost of Many Lives

Rain and traffic filled the air with sounds coupled with a dark gloomy color that coated the sky. Bad weather wasn’t anything new in Philadelphia, it had been raining and snowing nonstop and dense for three days straight. Despite the severity, that wasn’t stopping anyone from living their daily lives; commuting to work, picking up groceries or salt for the snow, even speeding. The sleet came down heavily almost in sheets as cars passed through Lincoln Drive, most very slow and cautious as it was probably the most dangerous road in the city to drive on during poor weather. Lincoln Drive was long, the lanes were tight and met with sharp curves nearly at every foot. Suddenly, an older grey chevy coated in chipped paint and a low hanging bumper, hydroplanes, swerving into the wrong lane. Mixed with the slush, the lemon quickly crashes into the shoulder. The glass of the windshield shatters followed by a loud boom as the airbag explodes into the driver’s chest. The surrounding cars manage to break in time; fortunately, someone calls an ambulance. From their windows and mirrors, the only thing visible to the nearby drivers is that the man is fair-skinned probably in his late 40s.

The fact the wounded man isn’t unconscious is amazing, even in excruciating pain, he forcefully attempts to unhook his seatbelt to get himself unbuckled and out of the car. The drivers on the road just watch as it’s nearly impossible to pass by because the chevy left little space for anyone to drive around. Speculations began, some think he must be crazy while others assume he’s trying to flee the scene before the cops arrive. As soon as the ambulance arrives and offers help, the man takes off screaming while fighting the paramedics until he is sedated and finally put on a stretcher. Everyone on the scene ignoring him, uninterested in listening to a word he was trying to say. Soon after, the cops blocked off the road and proceeded to investigate the crash.

Vigilantly, Officer Smith starts going through the man’s car. In the glove box, he finds the car's registration to an Alex Jimenez, an immigrant name if he’s ever heard one before. He sees a medium-sized beat-up faux leather duffel bag in the backseat and decides to open it; he figures this Alex guy was most likely trying to smuggle drugs. He scanned the bag quickly and instead, he found about twenty thousand dollars in cash. For a quick second, he was stuck. This wasn’t something he came across every day leading his eyes to immediately light up. He was certain Alex was going to pass from the accident anyway so he might as well enjoy the cash. Besides that, he was sure the money was made from illegal behavior, and if he wasn’t in the country legally, then that money truly belonged to the hard-working American’s already here, like himself. He decides it’s in his right to take the money and discreetly puts it in the back of his police car when the coast is clear and nobody is looking.

Meanwhile, at the hospital, Alex awakens and is extremely frantic. His English is unclear and he keeps chanting “hija” and “dinero” but nobody is listening to him. The doctors figure Mr. Jimenez must be delirious from the medicine and critical injuries faced from the accident. As he painfully wiggles his casted arms, he continues to ramble what the staff consider meaningless words until the doctors put him under for surgery. Not a single one of them thinks to look into anything he has been whining about. He’s in an unfortunate position, the suspicious looks of the hospital staff make it clear his upcoming surgery is risky. In addition to his broken English, they are unable to locate a wallet or phone and aren’t able to get in touch with anyone from his family. 

Meanwhile, Officer Smith is still rummaging through the over-worn bag as he notices a small black notebook in a ripped side pocket. He opens the notebook and is surprised to find a time and place written for a mysterious meet-up. It’s a park Alex is instructed to be at tomorrow at 10 am. He was right— a drug bust! Smith can already smell the raise he is going to get after busting a bunch of Spics. He figured this Alex guy must be a part of a gang. This could turn into the biggest bust of his career. He planned to keep this to himself, show up casually and act as he stumbled upon the scene. All the credit and glory would go to him. 

In the meantime, he still had today to deal with. His shift was over soon, and he had a large amount of money to do anything that his heart desired. As soon as he left his station, he hit the town. His slight nervousness didn’t overcome him at all. Excited about the future of his career, he treated himself. Smith went from store to store buying clothing, a new TV, a high-priced steak dinner, and an extremely expensive bottle of champagne; all with money that wasn’t accounted for. He was finally going to live the high life he wanted. He made sure to put it in his home’s safe that night.  

The next morning, he got to the station early and was surprised the chief wanted to speak to him in his office. 

“Smith, you remember that car crash accident you were on yesterday?”

“Yes sir, what about it?”

“Well, the gentleman woke up at the hospital and asked about a bag of money in his car. He was assured nobody found any money on the scene, but witnesses say they saw you put a bag in your cruiser”.

“Sir I haven’t the slightest clue what they may have been talking about”.

“Exactly Smith. Politics about stuff like this can always be a messy business. I’m sure there wasn’t any money. Just consider avoiding any big purchases that might make you look suspicious that’s all”. The chief said winking at him as his chair rolled the other way and his face planted back into his computer.

“Understood sir. I’m going to go on my patrol now”. Smith walked out of the office smiling.

Smith drove around in his normal route until about fifteen minutes till ten, then sped to the spot mentioned in the black notebook. “Park” would be a generous way to explain the area, it probably was a park at one point but now it was an old abandoned and uncared for area nobody visits located in Kensington, a part of the city that you drive through quickly with your windows closed and doors locked. The streets were filled with drug addicts young and old slumped over, waiting for their high to subside so they can chase their next fix. Cops stood around, milking the clock just witnessing. The city— providing no solutions. The trash piled high, mattresses covering the sidewalks where homeless drug addicts spent their cold evenings, potholes filled the streets as cars continued to trudge through them. The neighborhood was rough— Smith knew this wasn’t an uncommon area for a bunch of low-life criminals to meet up. He made sure to keep his eyes peeled for suspiciousness but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Suddenly, there was a muffled scream followed by silence near 6th and Indiana behind the park. He quietly studied the area, when he looked over, he saw a group of white men running from behind an over-filled dumpster. Smith hears, “He should have shown up with the money”, and “Oh well that’s one less of them”. 

Smith went towards the muffled scream where he finds a tiny helpless Latina girl no more than eight years old with a stab wound in her neck and no pulse. Smith was so shocked he almost forgot to grab his radio to report the body. Twenty minutes pass by and a few city detectives show up at the scene letting him know this wasn’t the first incident. A group of anti-Latino white guys were kidnapping family members and holding them for ransom. It’s been a hard catch because the immigrants are either too scared to tell the police and find a way to pay the money, or they can’t accumulate the funds and the district would get a call about a dead body. It seems they leave the bodies to scare them into going back to where they belong. At that moment, Smith pondered on how he was wrong— he couldn’t stop thinking about the money stashed in his house and how Alex was using it to save his daughter.

He sat back at the station filling out the report when he overheard not only was the girl indeed the daughter of Alex Jimenez but that he died in the hospital early this morning from injuries. Smith wasn’t sure of the feelings that came over him, but he had a strong urge to go to the man's funeral. He wasn’t going to tell anyone he was going; he just knew this was something he needed to do.

He watched them lower Alex’s body into the grave and Smith questioned everything he thought he knew. He believed Latinos were dangerous, they did drugs, and they were in this country illegally. With just one incident, his entire views were challenged. He listened as friends and family told stories of how much of a great father he was. That he worked long hard hours in his struggling bodega to provide for his daughter and mother and some of his family back in Venezuela. How he had come to this country because he was desperate to flee the violence, poverty, and unstable political conditions to make sure his child grew up in a safer place. He wondered how many men like Alex he assumed were worthless just because of how they looked or spoke. He asked himself if he was any better than the type of men who killed his daughter. 

He looked over at the grieving mother as she sobbed hysterically with her face settled into her hands. Her thin dark hair stuck to her face soaked, skin nearly red and while he felt somewhat remorseful, he knew he had to keep his composure. He knew that his beliefs and lying had him in very deep. If he lost it or spoke up, it would ruin his career, life, and everything he worked for. He knew he wasn’t the one that deserved the money, it belonged to Alex’s mother. Even though he couldn’t give it back, Smith promised himself that day, he would look past things like skin color and ethnicity. He promised himself not to judge people based on the way he was conditioned to think, because maybe if he hadn’t, that day another life could’ve been saved.