by Ben Rehder
We had these details and more to discuss, and I was hoping Mia would ask me to come over to her place. Unfortunately, all she said was, “I’ll text you later,” and she hung up.
And she did, at 9:47 that night.
Finally heard from Roscoe. 2:00 tmw at his house. That okay?
I’d been sitting around most of the evening, watching TV and moping.
I gave her a thumbs up, then said: Need to talk strategy?
She said: Will call in the morning.
I said: Okay. Miss you.
She didn’t reply.
I lay in bed later, wide awake. I could feel the vibration of music from my neighbor’s apartment. Not loud, just lots of bass.
My phone was on the nightstand. If Garlen’s BMW came within three hundred yards of Mia’s house, I would hear an alert. I sincerely hoped my phone would remain silent throughout the night, and in the days to come. I didn’t want any drama. I just wanted Garlen to disappear and not come back. Maybe fall off a building or move to a different country. Was that too much to ask?
22
The home smelled of cigarettes, neglected litter boxes, and unwashed dishes. The walls were scuffed and dirty, the ceiling was covered with that old blown foam “popcorn” popular back in the 80s, and the carpet was eight different shades of brown, none of them from the factory.
Roscoe and Lorene were seated on a plaid couch, Diana—aka Adrienne, the attorney—had taken an upholstered chair at a right angle to the couch, and Mia and I were in two of the three dinette chairs Roscoe had pulled in from the kitchen to accommodate us. We formed an oval of sorts. That left one remaining chair—which was quite obviously for Dennis—but Dennis wasn’t present.
“So the shot fucked you up, too, huh?” Roscoe said, looking at me. I had walked from the car and into the house with my hands behind my back.
Diana had been well versed by Mia on how to respond to various scenarios. “Let’s hold off on any discussion until your brother joins us.”
“Well,” Roscoe said, “I ain’t so sure he’s gonna. Hard to predict. We might oughta hash this out between the five of us.”
Diana was shaking her head. “The purpose of this meeting is for Dennis and me to talk, so I can determine if he would make a suitable client, and for him to decide if he wants me to represent him. Or am I mistaken?”
Roscoe shrugged. “Ain’t much I can do about it.”
“Okay, in that case...” Diana stood up, preparing to leave. Mia and I followed suit.
“Jeez,” Roscoe said. “Take it easy. Just hang on a second.” Then he yelled, “Dennis!”
Five seconds passed.
“Dennis!”
Then came a reply— “What?” —from a hallway that led to the rear of the house.
“Come out here for a second,” Roscoe yelled.
We all waited silently. About ten seconds later, I could hear someone coming. Then Dennis walked into the room, his arms straight above his head. “Don’t shoot,” he said, and he gave everyone in the room a broad grin. He had probably used that joke dozens of times by now.
“Everybody, this is Dennis,” Roscoe said, with all of the enthusiasm of someone describing a recent bout of stomach flu.
“Hello, Dennis,” Diana said. “My name is Adrienne Guthrie.”
But Dennis’s gaze lingered on Mia, and he gave her a small nod of acknowledgment. Obviously, he recognized her from the parking lot at Academy, and from her front-porch conversation with Roscoe four days earlier. We’d been wondering, of course, what might happen at this moment. If Dennis had written that note for Mia because he knew she was trying to document the fraud he was committing, would he drop the pretense now and ask us to leave? If the note was authentic—indicating that Roscoe and possibly Lorene were forcing Dennis to play a role in this scheme—would he use this opportunity to get help?
“Hi, Dennis,” Mia said. “I’m Mia Madison, and this is my brother Roy.” She gestured in my direction.
But Dennis’s eyes remained on Mia. “I have a dentist appointment later,” he said. By now he had lowered his arms.
“’Member when I told you about that lawyer?” Roscoe asked. “Well, here she is. Sit down for a second and talk to her.”
“I got a lotta stuff to do today,” Dennis said.
“Dennis, damn it,” Lorene said wearily.
“Just sit for a second,” Roscoe said.
Dennis raised his arms again to step over to the empty chair, and after he sat, he lowered them again. “Can’t be sitting around talking all day,” he said. He looked at Diana, then at me, and then at Mia again. His focus was on Mia.
“You need to talk to this lady,” Roscoe said. “She’s—”
“I’m here to talk to you about the problem with your arms,” Diana said. “May I ask you a few questions?”
“That’s about the only thing lawyers ever do is ask questions, as far as I can tell, and I think we should all object,” Dennis said, and he gave everyone in the room another grin. Roscoe had told Mia that Dennis had an odd sense of humor. Maybe Roscoe didn’t know the difference between odd and corny.
“That’s part of our job,” Diana said. “Asking questions.”
“I guess,” Dennis said. “I have a dentist appointment later.”
“What time?” Diana asked, glancing at her wristwatch.
“You ain’t got no dentist appointment,” Lorene said, sounding resigned, as if they’d had this conversation many times.
“Then when is it?” Dennis asked.
“You don’t have one,” Lorene said.
“I was supposed to, because I’m having trouble with my enamel again.” He turned to Mia. “Many people think the enamel on your teeth can repair itself, but that’s not true. Once you’ve worn a spot away, it’s gone for good. Then what happens is that spot becomes sensitive, so you don’t brush it as good, and before you know it, you’ve got gingivitis, and then you get a cavity there, and so on. Periodontal disease. That’s the fancy name for it. Tooth loss isn’t pretty. Do you want recessed gums?”
Roscoe said, “Dennis, quit screwing around.” He looked at Mia. “He’s just screwing around.”
“Dennis,” Diana said, “tell me about the injury that required a tetanus shot.”
“It wasn’t a big deal,” Dennis said. “I scraped my arm on a rusty condenser housing. Didn’t need stitches or anything like that.”
“But you needed a tetanus shot,” Diana said.
Dennis gave her a skeptical look. “That’s what they told me, but when I got to that doctor’s office, I could tell he wasn’t a straight shooter.”
“How so?”
“Dennis,” Roscoe said, impatient, “just answer her questions without a lot—”
“I’d like to hear about that doctor,” Diana said. It was important that she maintain control of the discussion. “What was your problem with the doctor?”
Dennis said, “None of his equipment was calibrated right, and he knew it, but he didn’t care. Same with the rest of his staff. They probably pay the inspector to give them a passing grade. That’s the way they usually do it. Am I supposed to trust a doctor like that?”
“Dennis,” Roscoe sighed, giving up. He was shaking his head, defeated.
By now I’m sure all three of us had concluded that Dennis didn’t have an odd sense of humor, he wasn’t playing a prank, and nobody was using threats to make him participate in an insurance scam.
“Sucks that I didn’t have much choice,” Dennis said, “and it wasn’t until later I figured out the shot was filled with toxins that damage nerve endings. That’s what they’re designed to do. I should’ve asked my dentist for a referral to a decent physician.” Now Dennis turned to me and said, “My dentist calibrates all his own equipment, and he’s been doing that for years. He’s certified to meet the standards, so I know everything is safe, including the X-ray machine. X rays are at the exact right wavelength to affect your cerebral cortex if the machine isn’t calibrated.”
>
Dennis stopped talking and the room went quiet for several seconds.
Then Mia said, “Dennis, we appreciate you talking to us. I think we have enough for now.”
“You’re going to help me, right?” Dennis said.
“I’m going to do my best,” Mia said.
“That’s why I picked you,” he said. “You looked like someone I could count on.”
Roscoe was frowning, puzzled. He didn’t understand what they were talking about, which indicated he didn’t know about the note Dennis had dropped for Mia.
Now Dennis stood, raised his arms, and walked out of the room.
Mia obviously had something to say, but she waited until we heard the door close at the end of the hallway.
“You people are ridiculous,” Mia said, looking at Roscoe, then at Lorene.
“What?” Roscoe said.
“How on earth did you think this would work? Did you think Dennis could fool the experts? Or did you think you could somehow get through this without him having to see any doctors?”
“Lady, I got no idea what you’re talking about,” Lorene said.
“I’m talking about Dennis’s illness,” Mia said.
She waited. Roscoe and Lorene kept quiet. They wouldn’t make eye contact with her now.
“What is it?” Mia said. “Schizophrenia? Or some other type of delusional disorder?”
Roscoe and Lorene continued looking at the carpet.
Mia said, “You want to tell us how the scam started?”
Another long pause.
Finally, Lorene said, “Y’all just need to leave.”
Mia ignored her. “I’m guessing Dennis got the tetanus shot, and then he began to question what was in it. He probably went online and found all kinds of wacky conspiracy theories. There are a few people who’ve made claims similar to his. When we first heard about Dennis, we figured he was copying those people. But he wasn’t. He truly believes the shot damaged his nervous system somehow. If I’m off target, just let me know.”
“Shit,” Roscoe said, dragging the word out, as if Mia were talking nonsense, but he didn’t rebut what she was saying.
“Then it got interesting,” Mia said. “And criminal. When Dennis began to walk like that—with his arms up—you probably asked him what the problem was, and he told you, and you ignored it for a while after that. Or you made fun of him, which is probably more in line with your character. Then you had an idea. A really stupid idea. You thought you could cash in on it.”
By now I’m sure I had a smile on my face. Mia was slamming the lid closed on this case and nailing it shut. Her theory explained everything, including the note Dennis had dropped for her, and the fact that he didn’t want the cops involved. Maybe he didn’t trust any authority figures, other than his dentist. That included Roscoe and probably even his own sister. Who knew what kind of elaborate alternate reality Dennis Babcock had constructed for himself? Sad.
Mia said, “My heart breaks for Dennis, but for the two of you to take advantage of the situation—well, that’s just truly horrible.”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” Lorene spat back, no longer attempting to maintain the charade.
“Then explain it to me,” Mia said, softening her tone somewhat.
Lorene said, “I’ve had to take care of him since I was about fourteen, and there ain’t no end in sight. You ever watch after a crazy person? It’ll wear you out like you wouldn’t believe. Full-time job, I guarantee. Anytime you wanna swap places with me, you just let me know.” Now she was staring Mia in the face, using an indignant attitude to justify the scam she and Roscoe had attempted to carry out. Look what his illness made me do! It’s not my fault! I was desperate!
“Is he on medication?” Mia asked.
“Yeah, but he won’t take it,” Lorene said. “Not for long, anyway.”
“What happens when he does take it?”
“He does okay for a while. Holds a job and whatnot. But then after a month or two, he stops, because he don’t think he’s sick. You understand that part? In his mind, he ain’t sick, and he thinks we’re all wrong and working against him. So then he’ll pretend to take his meds, but it ain’t long before I can tell he stopped.”
“Plus, looking after Dennis means she can’t work no more, either,” Roscoe said. “We’re dead broke now. Might lose the house. So, yeah, we did what we did. Fuck it. I’m a man and I’ll do whatever I need to do to take care of my own.”
Rationalizing their behavior.
“Besides,” Lorene added, “if Dennis thinks the shot made him walk that way, how’s that different from it really happening? Either way, he can’t walk right, so what’s the difference?”
Now the expression on Mia’s face was one of painstaking forbearance. She slowly said, “Well, because, in reality, the shot doesn’t cause that sort of neurological damage, and claiming that it does endangers other people who refuse to take the shot. They could die because of your scam. Surely you can understand how wrong that is.”
Lorene sniffed, meaning Whatever. That’s just fancy talk.
“Who are you people, anyway?” Roscoe asked. He wasn’t the swiftest guy, but I gave him credit for understanding he’d been suckered.
“We’re videographers who investigate insurance fraud,” Mia said.
Roscoe grunted and popped a cigarette loose from a pack on the coffee table.
“So what now?” Lorene asked with the attitude of a teenager who thinks she is about to be unfairly punished.
“You realize you could be prosecuted for fraud?” Mia asked.
“Yeah, if you can prove it,” Lorene said.
“Lorene,” Roscoe said in an attempt to settle her down. I think he understood that they probably shouldn’t antagonize us.
What neither of them knew was that Mia and I were wearing small video cameras, recording everything. On one hand, it would be tempting to provide the video to our client and let them decide whether to pursue criminal charges. On the other hand, a decent lawyer would probably be able to get the video tossed out of any type of legal proceeding, since we were recording inside the privacy of their home. Or they’d argue that the conversation was protected by attorney-client privilege, which might work, even though Diana/Adrienne wasn’t actually an attorney. They thought Adrienne was an attorney, so that might be enough.
Then there was the issue of Dennis. Any punishment doled out to Lorene and Roscoe would be punishment for Dennis as well. What was best for him? His living conditions weren’t ideal, but where would he go if Roscoe and Lorene ended up serving time? I’m sure these questions were running through Mia’s mind.
“Here’s what’s going to happen next,” she said. “And there will be no debate about this. Tomorrow morning, you will issue a statement to the Austin American-Statesman saying you no longer believe the tetanus shot caused any problems for Dennis, and you’re no longer pursuing a lawsuit. You’ll say that anyone who needs a tetanus shot should get one. If you’re lucky—and I mean really lucky—that will be the end of it for you. I will give you the name and number of a reporter there you can call.”
Roscoe and Lorene wore sour expressions, but they didn’t object. They didn’t have any choice.
I had no doubt our client would be thrilled with this result. Mia would call her after this meeting with news of the forthcoming announcement from Dennis Babcock’s family. That way our client would know Mia was responsible for the resolution of the case. The client might be curious as to how Mia pulled it off, but she’d have to be happy with a vague explanation.
Mia said, “You also need to promise me that you’ll take care of Dennis as best you can, and that if you need any help, you’ll call me. There are programs out there that can help you, but you can’t expect them to fix everything. You have to take an active role yourself.”
Roscoe and Lorene didn’t respond. They had no interest in what Mia was saying. They were simply waiting for us to clear out of their house.
“
Is he on SSI?” Mia asked. “Medicaid?”
“I forget the names of ’em,” Lorene said.
“When was the last time he saw a doctor?” Mia asked.
Lorene shook her head, meaning she didn’t remember.
“Within the last year?” Mia asked.
“I think late last year,” Lorene said.
“Okay, then that’s another condition I’m adding,” Mia said. “Make an appointment for him as soon as possible. Talk to the doctor about the fact that Dennis won’t stay on his meds. Sometimes they have suggestions that will work, or they’ll try something else. But you can’t just sit back and expect someone else to help him. You have to be an advocate for him. Will you do that?”
Both Lorene and Roscoe reluctantly nodded their heads.
And I was thinking, Not a chance in hell.
23
“You were amazing,” I said thirty minutes later.
Mia and I were standing on her front porch, facing each other, about four feet between us. Diana had dropped us off a few minutes earlier in her Cadillac SUV, which was a believable vehicle for a reputable attorney.
“Thanks,” Mia said. “It wasn’t tough to figure out.”
“But the way you handled it. And them. Perfect.”
“I feel sorry for Dennis.”
“Me, too.”
“He deserves better than those two...”
She was struggling to find the right word, because she was too nice to label them as assholes or even pinheads. Finally she just let it go.
I started to say something, but Mia stepped forward and hugged me. I wrapped my arms around her. With her mouth near my ear, she said, “I’m sorry, Roy.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
