KIDNAP.org

by Peg Herring

  His tone said Robin was a little slow. “It was that or jail time.”

  “Then what happened?”

  Elmer looked away. “I checked in with the judge’s personal assistant, who showed me to the guest house and told me what my duties would be. As soon as she left, the judge showed up.” Taking a final drag on his cigarette, he crushed it against the brick wall of the building. “It didn’t take long to figure out the rest of it.”

  “But you stayed?”

  “Hell, yeah.” He smirked as if to ask who wouldn’t. “Two weeks later we were in Cabo.” He leaned against the wall. “Gram saw it as a big sin, and she hated that I never went back to school, but to tell you the truth, I had a ball. I never lived that high before, and all I had to do was pretend I liked the old biddy.”

  “And did you?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Bev is a real piece of work. Still, she lives good, so I got to live good too.”

  “When your six months’ sentence was up, you parted amicably?”

  “I don’t know what that word means, but we parted.” Turning away, he lit another cigarette. “She gets bored easy, and I was kind of sick of putting up with her crap.” He shrugged. “The others said the same thing.”

  Robin stopped breathing for a second, and she barely managed to keep the excitement in her voice under control. “You’re in contact with other men who went through the program?”

  Elmer looked at the glowing tip of his cigarette. “One night the guy who’d been with Bev right before me came in here. I’d seen a photo of them together, and I just had to introduce myself.”

  “Did the judge tell you not to talk about your time with her?”

  He sniffed disparagingly. “She used to say it would be the word of a law-breaker against the word of a judge. I don’t think she ever thought her boys would get together and compare notes.”

  “Could you put me in contact with some others who’ve been in the program?”

  Elmer frowned. “You aren’t going to make trouble for them, are you?”

  “Not at all.” Robin opened her purse. “I’ll give you fifty bucks for each name.”

  He dug his phone out of his pocket. “I got a couple right here.”

  The first name on Elmer’s list, Vic Unser, was slightly less cheerful about his time with Beverly Comdon than Elmer had been. Unser had been arrested for car theft, though Hua reported there was uncertainty about how much he was involved or if he even knew the car was stolen. Robin located him at his workplace the next morning, a slightly musty-smelling grocery store on the outskirts of the city. Unser was in the break room, drafting a work schedule for the coming week. When he learned her purpose, he got up to close the door on the busy scene behind her.

  “I don’t like to talk about it.” Like Elmer Simpson, Unser was taller than average, with dark hair, wide shoulders, and the kind of symmetrical face that appeals to the majority of humankind.

  “Your name won’t be mentioned,” Robin assured him. “And your time is worth a hundred dollars.” She set two fifties on the table. “I only need to know if what I’ve been told is true.”

  Unser rolled his eyes. “Is it true she tricks guys into her sleazy rehab program, treats them like personal sex toys, and tosses them out a few months later? Yeah, it is.”

  “You didn’t know that was going to happen?”

  He rubbed a knuckle under his nose. “I guess I should have. People talked about the guy before me, but I didn’t get that I was the next in a long line.” He glanced around the room. “I was lucky to get this job back.”

  “Did the judge treat you well, aside from demanding your, um, cooperation?”

  “Not bad, I guess. Good food, a nice room—” He looked away. “Not that I got to sleep there very often.”

  That brought a distasteful picture to mind, but Robin asked, “Do other guys feel the same way?”

  He made a noise of disgust. “Rafael, the guy before me, was kind of a weirdo.”

  “Weird how?”

  “From what people said, he actually liked the old girl. He was heartbroken when she let him go.”

  “Did you ever do anything that might be considered job training?”

  He huffed sarcastically. “She’d say things like, ‘The pool needs skimming, Dear Boy,’ and we were supposed to hop to it.” Unser’s face flushed. “You were always ‘Dear Boy’ to her, like you didn’t have a name she could bother to remember.”

  With Hua’s help Robin located Rafael Cardenas, currently working second shift at a small factory. When she called, he was less than cordial. “Why do you want to know about the sen͂ora?”

  “We want to be sure Rehabilitate Louisiana is legitimate.”

  Rafael became belligerent. “Sen͂ora Bev is a great judge. She does many good things for the people.”

  “Mr. Cardenas—”

  “Leave me alone, or I call the police.” The call ended abruptly.

  “You should have guessed at least one of them would take her side,” Em said when Robin reported in. “Leave Mr. Cardenas his happy little fantasy and go to the next name on your list.”

  That was Ricky Miller, who directed her to a pool hall where he was in the middle of a game when she arrived. Though he looked at her like she was lunch, Robin remained businesslike. “I’m here for information, Mr. Miller. I don’t need a drink and you don’t need my number.” Without explanation, she set a hundred-dollar bill on the lip of the table. It disappeared into his pocket with hardly a second’s lapse.

  A chain smoker with no job and no prospects, Ricky’s story wasn’t much different from the others. He’d come before Bev Comdon on a robbery charge. When she’d commented on his muscles, he’d sensed her interest and flirted a little. “I got seven months in the judge’s rehab program,” he reported grimly. “I thought I got a gift, but it was a different kind of hard time.”

  “You regretted taking the deal?”

  He shrugged. “I guess it was better than the alternative.” A speculative gleam appeared in his eye as he added casually, “I got a pretty interesting recording if you’re willing to pay for it.”

  “What’s that?”

  He shrugged. “This guy Elmer was one of Bev’s Boys. He works at a bar.”

  “I already spoke with him.”

  “Well, he don’t know about this. One night three of us met up, had a few beers, and started comparing notes on the old girl—what she liked, what she said in private moments. It was pretty funny.”

  Despite a feeling of revulsion Robin managed, “And?”

  Ricky’s eyes took on a nasty gleam. “I had my phone, and I recorded about ten minutes’ worth.” He picked at a piece of tobacco stuck on his lip. “For five hundred I’ll send you the file.”

  Robin took her wallet out of her purse. “Send it.”

  ***

  Later that night in her hotel room, Robin found herself stuck between sleep and wakefulness. The room was tasteful but institutional, and she found she missed her space at home, filled now with items from second-hand stores that spoke to her, no matter what their style. She’d added modern touches to the old-fashioned floral wallboard by hanging dollar store posters and a set of brushed-nickel shelving. In her bedroom she’d installed a sleigh bed that took up most of the space and needed a board under one foot to balance it. Her sitting area had two mission oak dressers and a Duncan Phyfe-type table with Danish straight chairs on either side. It had been satisfying to make the space hers without worrying whether a landlord would deduct from the security deposit or her father would comment on her “stupid” choices.

  But home was far away. She was here to do a job.

  Except I don’t think I can.

  It’s the kind of thing Mark would be thrilled to have found.

  Was she becoming her father, using whatever means she could devise to get what she wanted?

  “Sit right there and look real sad.” Mark pointed to a bench outside the county courthouse. “If someone stops to talk to
you, don’t say a word, understand?”

  Six-year-old Robin nodded, having learned it didn’t pay to argue. Mark had taken to punishing Chris when she displeased him, knowing she couldn’t bear to see her brother suffer.

  People passed, glancing at the tearful child alone on the bench. A few stopped to ask if she was okay. If they were male or old or plain, Mark appeared and identified himself as her “daddy.” When they went on, he returned to the shadows.

  Finally a pretty young woman stopped. “Are you all right, honey?” Remembering her instructions, Robin said nothing. “Are you waiting for someone? You don’t look very happy.”

  Mark appeared, apparently solicitous. “Sorry I took so long, Babe.” He turned to the woman. “I had some, um, business inside, but I didn’t want her to—” He stopped, as if unwilling to explain.

  “She seems upset, poor thing.”

  Mark’s smile was rueful. “She hasn’t spoken since her mother—” He paused and swallowed. “—left us.” Turning again to Robin he said, “Mommy’s in heaven now, right, Babe? We’ll be okay, you and me.”

  The woman’s hand went to her heart. “I’m so sorry.”

  His chin rose heroically. “Thanks. We’re new here, so I don’t know the procedures. Don’t even know who to ask.” Another pause, another swallow. “Things are pretty tough right now.”

  The woman paused, no doubt taking in Mark’s boyish good looks. “I have to get back to work, but if you two would like to meet later for coffee—” She smiled at Robin. “—or a soda, I’m a good listener.”

  “That’s so sweet of you.”

  Mark would show up alone, armed with a lie about his daughter getting a chance to spend time with a friend from school. He’d say he came alone because he needed so much to talk to someone. Of course it would end up going much farther than that.

  He’d been in a good mood that day as they left the courthouse. “You see how easy it is to get what you want, Babe? That’s how the world works. Your old man is showing you so you don’t turn out to be a sucker like her.”

  She imagined the Comdon KNP, the lies she would tell, the fake smiles she would plaster on her face. How she would urge her innocent friend Cam to lie. Pushing those thoughts away, she drifted into a troubled dream in which Mark followed her around, saying over and over how clever she was. In the background, peeping out from behind a chair or a tree—even a refrigerator once—was a disapproving Thomas Wyman, Private Eye.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Robin rationalized her nightmares away by giving herself a strict lecture. The accusations against Judge Bev were true, and the KNP was justified. She called to tell Hua and Cam to meet her in Monroe, Louisiana, where they would intersect the path of the judge’s current speaking tour. When Robin fretted to Em about the two men traveling south on their own, she made a rude sound. “I swear you can’t breathe without something to worry about, girl. They’ve got GPS, and they’re doing better at acting like normal people than I ever expected they would.” Shaking her head she added, “Who’d-a thunk it?”

  Though their lives were pretty weird by “normal people” standards, Cam could answer when a stranger spoke to him and Hua no longer stared at his surroundings as if he’d just stepped off a spacecraft. They were learning to blend in.

  Well, sort of. Hua still asked questions that were hard to answer in public, like the time a sales clerk in all black clothing with an assortment of piercings in her face waited on them. While she was still in hearing range he’d asked, “Robin, do you think she might be undead?” Cam still stuttered when asked a question he wasn’t sure how to answer, since he couldn’t shake his early teaching that lying was evil. When someone asked seemingly innocuous questions like, “What are your plans for the weekend?” Robin always interceded, because Cam was liable to answer, “We’re planning something secret, so I can’t tell you.”

  Hua had obtained a set of earwigs, and they’d practiced until Cam remembered not to talk back when Robin gave instructions. While he was no Don Juan, he repeated the words and tried to copy Robin’s intonation. There was a lag between what he heard and when he repeated the line, but Em said his stunning good looks would go a long way toward covering his limitations.

  Judge Comdon was scheduled to speak at the university law center, and she’d booked a room in a downtown hotel for the night. There was no handsome young man along on the trip, which was a stroke of luck. Em thought introducing Cam in a new setting, where the judge might be in an adventurous mood, would increase their chances of success.

  Robin and Cam arrived two hours before Comdon’s speech in order to look the location over. Like many conference rooms, it had a narrow, raised dais at one side and space for a few hundred chairs. Forty-five minutes before the event, the techs tested the sound equipment. Ignoring the repeated, “Test, test, test,” and the scuff of fingertips across the mic’s surface, Robin led Cam to a spot in the front row where he’d be in Comdon’s direct line of sight. “Now don’t be polite and give up your chair,” she warned.

  “But what if somebody can’t see over me?” he asked. “I’m pretty tall.”

  Pretty. Tall. It’s what I’m counting on.

  “Just this once it’s okay to ignore what other people need. Ms. Comdon should notice you, and when she does, make sure you smile right at her, okay?” Reaching up, she took hold of his chin and made him look directly at her. “Eye contact. Smile. Got it?”

  “Okay.” He spread his lips experimentally. C-3PO might have done it better.

  “No playing games on your phone. From the moment she arrives until she leaves, I want you looking at her as if she’s wearing skin-tight latex like those witches of Bardot or wherever.” As Cam frowned she added quickly, “She won’t be. Just imagine it’s a warrior princess up there and smile at her.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You’re flirting, remember? It’s how I’m going to get to talk to her.” Robin patted his arm. “She needs to know that what she’s doing is wrong, right?”

  “Yeah.” Cam ran a hand through his hair.

  Robin smoothed it for him. “She won’t talk to me, but she’s going to want to talk to you.”

  Still reluctant, he nodded. “Okay, but stay close.” As she walked away, Robin turned to look back. Cam was mouthing words, and she read his lips, “Stay. Smile. Flirt.”

  Beverly Comdon was a tough-looking woman in her sixties who wore bright red lipstick and suits cut to hide her flat chest and backside. As she passed Robin’s chair at the back of the room on her way to the podium, the scent of jasmine perfume wafted from her. Comdon spoke on the judicial system in Louisiana, tailoring her remarks to students who hoped to join the ranks of lawyers and judges at some point in the future. She claimed the law was the bones of society, providing a framework on which all other bits fastened, grew, and prospered. Justice was the basis for liberty, equality, and freedom. Her voice was compelling, her arguments persuasive. The audience was rapt.

  Robin had to fight the urge to shout the truth. This audience of young, idealistic students had a right to know how little real justice mattered to this particular jurist.

  No. That’s not how we decided to do it.

  It was easy to note the exact moment when the judge saw Cameron. He sat smiling up at the platform, as ordered. Though the smile was neither warm nor sincere, Robin hoped it would do in a pinch.

  It did. Beverly stopped mid-sentence but covered the flub in a practiced manner, making her pause into a little cough. After that, her gaze often returned to Cam. If he’d been an ice cream cone, he’d have turned to a puddle under the heat she sent his way.

  When the speech was finished, Robin saw Comdon look for Cam in the crowd, but he had disappeared, as instructed. They’d whetted the judge’s appetite and then snatched the bait from sight. She’d be unwilling to let him slip away a second time.

  Comdon and her entourage arrived at their hotel an hour later. Looking tired, the judge emerged from the limo, but she brig
htened when she saw Cameron standing nearby. Putting up a hand, she signaled a halt. Those around her obeyed as if she were an old-time wagon master, some confused, others glancing knowingly from their boss to the newcomer.

  She took a few steps toward Cam. “Weren’t you at the lecture hall earlier?”

  “Yes,” Cam replied in the manner of a middle-school thespian. “I wanted to get a picture with you, but there were too many people.” Comdon didn’t notice his emotionless delivery. She probably hadn’t yet registered that this godlike creature was capable of speech.

  When Cam’s comment finally penetrated, Comdon said briskly, “Well, then. We’ll get you a photo now.”

  A young man with acne and pigeon shoulders made a soft comment in the judge’s ear. When she nodded once, the man stepped forward and spoke to Cam. “Um, do you mind showing some ID?”

  “Show him your license,” Robin said. Cam complied with the request. “Now raise your arms so he can frisk you if he wants to.” Again Cam obeyed, and the intern did a hurried search to assure he had no weapons. When the man returned the license and backed away, Comdon stepped forward and took Cam’s arm. He recoiled slightly at the touch of a stranger, but Robin had warned it might happen, so he didn’t shake her hand off.

  “We need an attractive background.” Dragging him along, she went down the sidewalk a short way, talking as if she and Cam were old friends. Finally she turned back to the group. “Gail, take a photo with the awning behind us.” To Cam she said, “That way your friends will know where you were when we met.”

  The woman named Gail dutifully took Cam’s phone and snapped two pictures, showing them to Comdon for approval before handing the phone back to Cam. Comdon released his arm with obvious reluctance and said something in a low tone that didn’t come through well in Robin’s earpiece. When Cam nodded and flashed his not-quite-real smile, she knew they were in.

  “She wants me to come up to her room at eleven o’clock,” he said when the judge’s party had gone inside. “Room 1076.”

  “Great. Did she say why?”

  He shrugged. “She said she might have a job for me.”