Lauren didn’t need to look back to know the blonde would never get it.
“Here, I’ll take it.”
Her persimmon colored dress had shoulder pads that were just a tad too big, out of date by a season or two. She wore that dress as if it was a cloak of gold. Against her persimmon dress she hugged a brown jacket, a yellow tie, and a short-sleeved white shirt with a stripe in an unidentifiable color running through it. She was handed a watch. She turned it backward and forward, looking at its face as if to determine it hadn’t been damaged. But damage wasn’t what she was looking for. Telltale signs of tampering, that was what she had on her mind. She’d have one of the men check it out later. Last thing she wanted to do was bring a bug into her house even though she knew there was probably one or two about anyway.
“Right here.” The officer pointed at the papers.
She signed the forms that were pushed in front of her and finally, finally, offered her son a tight smile that seemed more for the benefit of the custodial officer watching them take their leave.
“Henry? Are you ready to go?”
He nodded and followed his mother out the door, leaving the officer shaking his head. If he’d been that judge, he would have kept the kid under lock and key. Damn shame he was going home with his mother. Henry Stewart, of course, thought differently.
He looked neither left nor right as they stepped outside. Acne had flared during his weeks in jail and now cut a fiery, swollen path down the right side of his once handsome young face. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and he’d lost weight. At least now he wore his own clothes: jeans, a Tee-shirt with a bulldog holding a beer silk-screened on the back, and big sneakers that looked like the soles were made of lead. He walked with a slight bounce that betrayed his anxiety. It was as if he was afraid to break into a joyful run for fear someone might change their mind and make him stay in jail.
Yet, as excited as Henry was to be leaving, he was also cautious, not knowing what his mother thought about him. She’d think the same as his father and his father hadn’t said a word to him in the van that returned them to the detention center. Henry was disappointed that his dad wasn’t happy with him but he, Henry, had a lot to learn. That was George’s pronouncement, that was Henry’s charge and that was probably why George wasn’t happy.
Outside felt like summer but it was only spring. Inside his head was a flash, a thought that the man and woman who died in the bomb blast would have given anything to be walking down the street like he was. Henry stopped thinking after that. His dad always said he shouldn’t think too hard because he confused issues with opinions, right from wrong, honor from cowardice. His dad was always right about that. He felt confused almost all the time and never more than now when his mother was walking kind of ahead of him, kind of trailing her displeasure like other women might trail perfume. Still, she carried his clothes, had paid his bail, even put her hand on his shoulder like she had some comfort to give him. She might even have been happy to see him.
“Over there. We’ve got to go quick. Reporters are going to figure it out soon, and I want to get home before they do.”
Henry veered left and folded himself into the hatchback that was the family’s other car. The truck was impounded. They’d never see it again. Carolyn Stewart swung expertly out of the parking lot and drove silently toward Riverside, half smiling because traffic was light, and they were moving fast. She wore sunglasses. When Henry looked at her he could see her long lashes touching the lenses. One day he’d tell her how pretty her eyes were, but now they were home. They were just inside the door, when he felt she was ready for him to speak to her.
“Thanks, Mom.”
Carolyn was half bent over a chair, putting his court clothes down, when he spoke. She straightened and seemed to think hard about what to do next. When she faced her son, Carolyn made the move that she wasn’t sure she should. She put her arms around him and pulled him close. Henry closed his eyes, feeling tears of relief well up inside him. Thankfully, she didn’t hug him, just held him against her. If she had hugged him, he would have lost it.
“Carolyn, think George is getting any hugs where he is?”
Mother and son turned toward the man in the doorway of the living room. He was bigger than George Stewart but not as impressive. He looked like the kind of guy whose car dealership was the biggest in town because his father-in-law kept the books. He certainly didn’t look like a revolutionary leader.
“Paul, think you could let me do what I want in my own house?” Carolyn said stiffly.
“It’s not your house,” the big man reminded her. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You lost your house same as I lost my business. This is just a roof you rent.”
Carolyn gave Henry’s arm a short pat but distanced herself from him. “I don’t need to be reminded of that. I don’t need to be reminded that my husband isn’t here because he’s fighting for all of us. So, if you don’t mind let’s just get on with it. Is everyone here?”
“Yep. The feds took pictures, though. We all got snapped, but we didn’t try to stop them.”
“Thank God for small favors,” Carolyn muttered. Henry was heading for the stairs that would take him up to his room just as she took the first step down to the basement. She paused on that first step. “Henry. You’ll be wanted.”
“Mom, I...”
One look was enough to know that there was no choice. He closed his eyes. He was so tired. He wanted to put on headphones and listen to music. He wanted his mom to bring him a sandwich and ask if he was okay after such a horrible experience. She would do neither, so he would go with her downstairs and listen to the men who were already there and talking about him. He hated them all. Well, almost all of them. He didn’t hate Nick Cheshire, but he didn’t know him very well either. The others, well, they weren’t the ones who had been in jail and still they were the ones who talked like they knew all about it. Reluctantly he followed his mother and Paul into the paneled room. It was worse than he thought. They stopped talking when they saw him.
Carolyn sat between Paul and Nick. Henry would have liked to have sat there. He had a feeling that Nicholas, so gentle when he talked, would have understood that sometimes all this just didn’t seem worth the effort. But tonight shy, quiet Nicholas was looking at him curiously, same way as everyone else. Well, almost the same way. Nicholas seemed to actually be trying to communicate. His smile of encouragement was so small Henry wasn’t even sure he saw it, so he just told himself he did whether it was the truth or not. Henry sat down on a chair without arms.
“So, here we are.” Paul had taken over now that George was gone. Henry admired his father in a lot of ways, but he didn’t admire Paul, who was full of hot air. Like a big balloon set down in the middle of the basement, he had everyone’s attention. He tried to look wise. He looked stupid. “Why don’t you tell us about it, Henry?”
Henry moved, kind of rocked from one side of his rear to the other. “It was okay. Food was good.” He yucked once, still a kid laugh at eighteen. One look at the men and women in the room told him no one was laughing with him. He lowered his eyes and muttered. “It was okay.”
“That all you did in there? Eat? You been in there a good long time, Henry. We want to hear who you talked to.”
Henry chanced a glance at his mom, but she didn’t give him any help. He took a shot in the dark. “I talked to other guys sometimes. I didn’t see much of anybody. They let me and Dad hang out sometimes. That was nice.”
“Oh, Lord,” someone swore in disgust. It was James Harker. James had taught Henry to shoot when he was ten. It was one of the few things his own dad hadn’t taught him.
“It was, James. It was nice,” Henry insisted, proud he had been courageous enough to say that.
“Where, Henry? Where did they let you see your dad?”
“In his cell; sometimes mine.” Henry smiled wanly. Those gathered around did not. Carolyn didn’t give him one of those “listen-and-learn” looks. She didn’t
give him one of those softer ones that said “I know this is hard to understand now”. All his mom did was look at him like the rest of them. He would have preferred his father’s lectures to this. He tried again. “They let us sit together for meals.”
“Who else did you talk to, Henry? The FBI must have come around at least.” This was Nicholas asking softly.
Henry’s skinny shoulders rose toward his ears. “Yeah. I mean sometimes. I talked to the guards sometimes, too. I don’t know. I read a lot. Oh, there was one really nice guy...”
Suddenly, Henry was still. He was so still he believed those around him could actually see his heart beating in his chest. Under lowered lashes he looked about, catching his mother’s guarded eye. He had seen that look before, on his twelfth birthday. There had been a meeting that day instead of a party for kids. The gathering was sober, as it was now. Those who spoke did so one at a time. There had been no lively discussion about the ills of the country, the failings of the so-called leaders, the sad plight of the true citizens of this land. That night they discussed the need for action against one of their own who seemed to be questioning the militia’s objectives. Henry had listened from behind the closed door of the bathroom, catching only bits and pieces of what was said. It was enough to scare him silly when he was twelve. Now eighteen, he was frightened again because it was him they were talking about.
“I didn’t tell them anything. I did just what my dad said to do. I talked to them, but I didn’t tell them anything about us, not even when they tried to trick me.”
Henry’s voice faded away, leaving his defense hanging in the air. His heart beat faster. He grabbed the side of his chair, just now realizing it had been the only one left for him to sit in. It had no arms and was straight-backed, like the chairs in jail. He tried to swallow but his throat was dry. He wanted to go to his room and sleep in his own bed. He’d been scared since the minute he got in the truck with his father and saw that they were pulling the trailer behind them. It wasn’t until he saw the explosion, though, that Henry knew he shouldn’t have been scared—he should have been terrified.
“You know, Henry, we’ve been talking about just that. We’ve been having a discussion on what it is you talked to all those people about inside that prison.” Paul sat back and heaved a big sigh. He carried a spare tire at waist level, and it made Henry sick to look at all that flesh in one place. Paul looked like he was melting. “We know your dad’s not talking. That’s why we all look up to him. We can trust him with our lives, Henry. And believe you me, Henry, this is about our very lives.”
“I know that, Paul. I can be trusted, too. Mom? Mom? Tell them. Tell them I didn’t say anything that would hurt any of us.”
Henry turned toward his mother. Carolyn smoothed her persimmon skirt over legs that half the militia men would love to have wrapped around them. But Carolyn was George’s wife and George was a natural-born leader. Right now, though, George was a martyr commanding them from the stake while Caufeld tried to decide whether or not to light the tinder. They would take care of business at home while they waited.
“He didn’t say anything,” Carolyn answered, but she evaded her son’s eyes and her tone was resigned. As George’s wife, she was the final say in how far they would go with Henry. As Henry’s mother, she wished things could be different.
“We appreciate that, Carolyn.” Al Johnson cleared his throat after every word even as he lit another cigarette. “But you have to admit, it’s pretty odd. That judge did everything but pat Henry on the head and tell him to go home. I find that awful strange, Carolyn. We put up his bail, and Henry didn’t put up a fuss. He ran right out of there.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Henry wailed. “He said it was the law that I should be able to go home.”
“We don’t recognize that law, son,” another man piped up. Henry heard it but couldn’t identify who spoke.
Yet another. “Now I’m worried. If Henry doesn’t know that, then we’ve made a big mistake.”
Grunts and murmurs of approval. No one wanted to hear what Henry had to say. Carolyn stood up while the only other woman in the room put in her two cents.
“We put up his bond. I think we ought to get something for that. I think we ought to be sure about your son, Carolyn.”
Carolyn raised an eyebrow but that was as far as she came to defending Henry.
“If you have any concerns, you put him to the test.” She looked around the room so everyone knew she wasn’t afraid. Finally, Carolyn looked at Henry. “Go ahead. You know what George wants, and I suppose you figured out how you want to handle it before we ever got here. Henry will do what needs to be done.”
Carolyn left Henry behind. He wished he were back in his jail cell. He wished he were back in that truck with his dad. But this time they would head anywhere except toward that little building, in the middle of a block, on the wrong side of downtown LA.
Lauren left the sports club, headed up Sepulveda, made a right on Wilshire Boulevard and drove through Westwood thinking it had been a long time since she’d seen a movie on the big screen. Fresh from her talk with Allan, feeling better about the morning and confident about what lay ahead, she thought about doing something fun. She could take surface streets all the way downtown just to have some time to herself. She could cut up to Sunset and wind through Hollywood. Then Lauren wondered why she’d want to do something like that. To be completely quiet, at peace, at rest and actually enjoy driving the city streets was frightening. It meant that you were sliding down the chute instead of climbing up the ladder. She was fighting the urge to zip down to Westwood Boulevard and head for the freeway when a multicolored Toyota ran the light at Veteran and Wilshire and crashed into the side of her racing-green, rag-top MG.
As she was thrown against the driver’s side door, Lauren’s eyes rattled in her head. Her first thought was that her car was totaled. Her second was that she might be, too. Then her eyes closed, and Lauren sat stupefied while the rest of the world came to a screeching halt. Behind her, people cursed, screaming the battle cry of Los Angeles to those ahead: go around! Slowly Lauren lowered her head onto her outstretched arms. It would be a few minutes before she could let loose of the leather-bound wheel. She was also fully aware that the man in the Toyota that hit her had taken everyone’s advice. He hadn’t just “gone around”, he had gone.
Sliding her head to the right she saw that the little bucket seat on the passenger side was mangled, the beautiful walnut paneling on the console was buckled. It was that walnut – polished for years by her mother and by her own hand after her mother’s death – that made this seem so tragic. As the west bound lanes of traffic slowed to a crawl and horns began to honk, as the driver of the car directly behind her got out and began to yell at her in Spanish, Lauren Kingsley started to cry. She was still crying big tears when the door opened, and she heard:
“Are you hurt? Can you talk?”
That voice was so nice; it was a savior’s voice. Rational and calm. He reached around her. From the corner of her eye she could see him and there was the sense that he was a big man. Then he was gone. The next voice she heard was one that made her feel as if everything might be all right after all.
“It’s okay. I’ll take care of it. I know her.”
7
“How’s she lookin’?”
Eli Warner stood in the doorway of Casey Mallon’s office and watched Casey put a final flourish on a Band-Aid gracing the small cut on Lauren’s hand.
“I think she’ll live.”
“I don’t know if that’s good news or not.” She looked up at Casey then over to the doorway. Eli stood exactly the same way he had on the courthouse steps, but this time she was the only thing on his mind. Lauren smiled to show him that his efforts hadn’t been wasted on someone without, at the very least, manners. “I’m tired, but I’m okay. I have a headache.”
“I’m surprised that’s all you have. That MG is about as safe as a sardine can.” Eli walked into the office and stopp
ed to lean against the wall. Casey said, “You’ll probably be really sore in the morning. It’ll take a few days for that to go away. I saw it all the time in Nam. Guys would yell medic and I’d get there only to find out it was the noise of an explosion that made them lay on the ground like they were hit. Their muscles would be so tight you’d think they were atrophied. The way I see it, you have a couple of choices. Go see your own doctor, take a handful of aspirin and head back to the office if you’re the workaholic type. Or you could go see your doctor, take a bunch of aspirin and hop in bed. ’Course there’s always option number three.”
“What’s that?” Lauren mumbled, testing her shoulder to make sure it still moved.
“Have this guy take you down for a bowl of soup while you decide if you even want to see your doctor.” Casey smiled at Eli Warner as he walked past him. “I’ve got about twenty hours of surveillance tapes to watch so I’ll let you guys figure it out. Nice to meet you.” He nodded at Lauren, tapped Eli’s shoulder, and was gone with a ‘see ya’. Eli stayed on.
“So, do you really want soup or does a stiff drink sound better?”
“Thanks. No.” She looked around for her purse but couldn’t seem to focus. He was there, her bag dangling from one hand, her briefcase in the other. She reached for both. He gave her the purse.
“Get your sea legs before you take on the heavy luggage.”
“Look, Mr. Warner...”
“Eli,” he corrected with an easy grin showing teeth so darn straight Lauren almost laughed thinking about the mother somewhere who was proud to death of that smile. She reached for the case again and kept her hand on it when he didn’t let go. “I really appreciate it, but I’ve got to see about my car...”
“Been towed. I have the number. Bill’s a friend of mine, and he’ll do all the insurance paperwork.”
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