by Lisa Ladew
On the date of my sentencing I remember walking into the courtroom and feeling horrified because my father was sitting there in a wheelchair. My counselor in Suck Bottom - that’s what me and the other kids used to call it, we couldn’t bring ourselves to say Straw Blossom - had contacted the home he was in and arranged for him to be brought to the sentencing.
So I walk in, handcuffed and in an orange suit with SB on the front, and my dad is sitting in a wheelchair right next to my counselor. I hadn’t seen him since I left the house a month before to go walking. He looked right at me, and he almost looked like he knew what was going on, and who I was. But that didn’t make me feel good. It made me feel awful. Like I was all he had in the world, and look what I go and do. Some stupid shit that got me arrested and now he has to be in a home.
The only time I’d ever felt worse in my life was when I had that kid in my arms, shaking all over the place, slobber coming out his mouth, and blood from the back of his head leaking out on my shoes.
So then the judge gets me up in front of him and he wants me to tell him how I got there. So I told him about meeting Rodney and almost getting into the gang. And my counselor stands up and says ‘wait, that’s not how you got here. Tell him about what happened to your dad and then when your mom left.’
So I have to explain to this stuffy guy I don’t even know everything that’s happened to me since I was 6 years old, in the hopes that he will take pity on me and not throw me in jail. In real jail. I was only 16, about to turn 17, but you know America’s justice system. We like to charge anybody and everybody as an adult, even 12 year olds, if the crime is bad enough.
The judge listens to my story and never says a peep till the end. Then he says ‘Son, do you know what happened to that boy you assaulted?’ and I say ‘no’ and the judge says ‘he’s dead.’
And I about fall over on my fucking head. I’m not kidding. My legs just wouldn’t hold me anymore. I kind of crumpled to the ground. I was screaming ‘dead dead dead dead dead’ over and over again inside my head. I felt like I was going to rupture my brain or something. I’d killed somebody. You couldn’t take that back. You couldn’t atone for that. No matter what, he’d always be dead.
But then the judge keeps talking. He says ‘he spent 2 weeks in the hospital recovering from the hit on the head you gave him, and then he went straight to jail, because he had a warrant. While he was there, he attempted to escape and he was shot by the guards.’ I didn’t know it at the time, but the boy was 19, had been a gang member since 12, and his warrant was for rape. Not that I think that justifies anything, but it was something the counselor made sure to tell me after my sentencing.
Like turning off a faucet, my mind shuts up and stops screaming at me. I hadn’t killed him after all. All of a sudden I didn’t understand why the judge was even telling me this. I felt almost relieved of most of my guilt, because one minute I’m thinking I killed him, and the next I find out I didn’t, not at all. So I’m on my knees, and I push to my feet. I’m waiting for the judge to say something else, and I hear my dad’s voice behind me. He hadn’t said much at all since my mom left. In two years, I think I’d heard him say maybe 50 words.
His voice sounded shaky and weak, like he was 80 years old, but it was my dad, I would recognize the voice anywhere. ‘Judge’ he says, ‘he’s a good boy. He takes good care of me. It ain’t fair that he’s gotta.’ I’m still staring at the judge, but now I can feel tears spilling out of my eyes. My dad hasn’t even acted like he recognized me for over a year. And here he is trying to testify on my behalf in court. It was the last time I ever heard him speak.”
Jerry stopped talking and held his almost-empty beer bottle to his forehead. His cheeks burned. He wasn’t sure if it was shame or sadness or something else, but he wasn’t sure if it mattered either. He was almost done though. He looked forward to repacking this little piece of history back into the vault in the very back of his mind and throwing away the key for good.
“I look up at the judge and I know he’s made a decision. I can see it on his face. I was prepared for a year in juvenile detention at a minimum, and terrified that I’d actually end up with 5 years in a real prison. So you can imagine my surprise when the judge announces I’m getting 5 years of probation and that’s it. But, in order to give me the 5 years, it means I was sentenced as an adult. And he says that if I ever step even one toe out of line, he’ll make sure that the next time I get slammed with the maximum penalty the law will allow.
I remember dropping my eyes and almost drowning in the feeling of relief. It was huge! Like nothing I’d ever experienced. I felt light as a feather. Like everything from then on was going to be OK, no matter what. Of course it didn’t work out like that - it never does. But my counselor had managed to track down my Dad’s sister and we both went to live with her. I’d never met her because her and my dad had a big falling out when they were in their early 20s. It had something to do with when my grandparents died without a will and my Aunt Betty went through the house and took everything that was worth any money and sold it. Well, I don’t know if Aunt Betty was trying to make up for that or what, but she was always good to me and my dad. She took over taking care of him and she helped me get my GED and then when I said I wanted to go to Paramedic school she looked up how to get me in and helped me apply for state grants to pay for it. I got approved easy since my dad was disabled.”
Jerry stopped talking. His eyes suddenly felt like lead weights. If he didn’t fall into bed soon, he was going to sleep right here in the chair. He winked heavily at Emma, so she knew he was OK.
“And that’s it really. I was arrested at 16 for assault and charged as an adult.”
Emma got up and came around the coffee table, sitting directly next to Jerry. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his shoulder. Jerry knew she was probably crying for him. Shedding tears he wouldn’t. He put his right arm around her and held her, feeling a strange mixture of lightness and heaviness.
He looked at Craig and raised his eyebrows.
Craig shifted positions. “I don’t think it will matter,” he finally said. “It was what, 15 years ago? And you didn’t ever get mixed back up in a gang. You made a mistake, you paid your dues, and now this is something totally different. And from what it sounds like, you didn’t even harass Detective Gagne - you just annoyed him. I’m betting the right judge will throw it out completely.”
Jerry nodded thoughtfully. He felt some relief at this.
Emma picked her head up and looked at him. Her red-rimmed eyes told him he was right about the crying. “Jerry, does Sara look like your mom?”
Jerry reacted as if she’d poked two fingers at his eyes. “What?”
“You know me, I like to play analyst, and I just find it really strange that you’ve fallen so completely for this Sara, when you’ve never seemed to care if most women stayed or went. If they were around, great. If they weren’t, that was fine too.”
Jerry’s face tightened. He pulled his hand back from Emma and rubbed his neck with it. Images flashed in his mind. Dark hair, dark eyes. A smirk. A laugh. “No. She doesn’t.”
Emma frowned and shuffled her feet on the carpet. “Does she remind you-”
Jerry raised a hand and cut her off. “No. No, and no. She doesn’t look like my mom, she doesn’t act like my mom and I am not having some crazy mommy issues.”
Emma flinched and pulled back. Jerry sighed and pulled her into an embrace. “Look Em, I’m sorry, I’m just tired.”
“OK,” Emma whispered into his shirt. “You get some sleep.”
“I will. I’m going in two seconds. But you guys have to promise me you’ll go on your honeymoon.”
Emma nodded eagerly, and her phone rang. She looked at it. “Vivian.” She answered it and slid into the kitchen.
Jerry watched her go and then addressed Craig. “Emma said you had a list for me?”
“Oh yeah, here.” Craig pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket.
/> Jerry looked it over. There were 18 items on it. The first four read: 1. Did she rent a car? 2. Are there cameras at the apartment building? 3. Are there cameras outside the reception hall? 4. Did she take a taxi? Jerry nodded as he read. This is what Gagne should be doing. But would he? Jerry ticked off a few in his mind that he could check out himself. But could he really? Not being a cop would people even talk to him?
An idea came into his mind. He knew it was a bad idea, but he had to ask anyway.
“Craig, would it be super horrible if a civilian like me borrowed a friend’s badge. Say a police or FBI badge, not for personal gain but to investigate a crime?”
Craig nodded. “Yep, it would be more trouble than the person or the friend ever wanted to deal with if they were found out. But I know a way that nobody would get in trouble for, and it would work almost as good.”
Jerry leaned forward. His tongue snaked out and wet his lips.
“You can get fake press credentials. And as long as you use your real name and don’t access anything you shouldn’t like actual video, it’s not even a crime. And people will talk to the press even more eagerly than they do the police.”
Of course! Jerry thought. What a good idea.
“Thanks man, I owe you one.” Jerry stood up and put out his hand.
Craig stood up too and shook it. “Not even close Jer, not even close.”
“Lock the door on your way out, OK? And tell Emma I said bye. And have a great time on your honeymoon.”
Craig nodded. Jerry disappeared into his bedroom and fell asleep as his head settled into the pillow. His sleep was deep and dreamless and when he woke he knew what to do.
Chapter 9
Sara became fully awake in less than a second at the sound of footsteps stopping at her apartment door. Her dream evaporated into nothing. She rolled silently out of bed, fully clothed, and slid her feet into her shoes. She ran noiselessly out of the bedroom, through the sitting room and to the door, threading her eye to the peephole without touching the door itself. Just a maid, consulting her chart. Sara took a moment to watch the maid and make sure she was what she seemed, and then padded silently back to her room. 8:45 a.m. Time to get up anyway.
Surveillance the night before had gone well, although she hadn’t liked what she saw. The neighborhood was rough. The yard was non-existent. There were people walking outside even at 1 in the morning and almost nowhere to bed down and hide. The house was small, but every shade had been pulled. A parabolic microphone probably wouldn’t work, and neither would a laser microphone. She had forgotten to get Manny’s cell phone number from Jessica, and so she hadn’t been able to use her ultra-secret spy gadget that had cost her $550,000 two years ago and that the U.S. government wouldn’t even admit existed. They wanted to use the technology for themselves without the courts interfering, so they just denied that such a tool had invented yet and spied on whoever they liked with impunity.
She had an idea though, of how it could be done with little fuss and no mess, if she was willing to use the last of her business drug stash. She was. She could always get more. These days it was easy to get the worst street drugs that money could buy, even the drugs that are generally rare in the United States.
Sara showered and got ready for the day swiftly, checking her alerts, then gathering her things and heading out to implement her plan in her usual, merciless way. She put aside her thoughts of pimps and murder and walked swiftly in the unbearable heat until she found a used car lot just off the strip. Planet Reliable Used Cars took up prime real estate any casino would have paid millions for. As she walked in the front gate she saw at least 20 salespeople with customers and 5 or 6 without. Las Vegas visitors must love to fly in, buy a car instead of rent, and then what? Did they abandon the car? And did Planet Reliable manage to get the cars back somehow? However they did it, it was working for them.
Sara felt eyes on her and looked up in time to see 3 salesmen closing in on her. She picked up her pace and did a quick jog between rows, looking for a woman. Usually the woman weren’t quite as … slimy, was the only word her mind could come up with.
She didn’t see any women, so she finally decided on a younger looking guy, in a blue suit with a striped tie. He looked different, fresher than his counterparts. She hoped he wasn’t a complete newbie or a complete jerk.
She strode to him, ignoring the other men and put out her hand. “Brook Barnes. I need a newer Toyota Camry with no problems, any color, and I need to be out of here in 45 minutes. Can you do it?”
The young man blinked. His hand went up on autopilot but his mind seemed to still be trying to process what she said. Great. She looked around. She’d have to choose one of these other guys.
“Yeah, yeah, I can do it,” he said quickly, seeing he was about to lose her. “I’ve got a gold Camry that’ll be perfect for you. And I’ll get you out in 44, Miss uh, Barnes.”
He squeezed her hand and held it too long. That was fine. It would help her if he decided he liked her.
“Perfect, let’s see it.”
He led her in through the maze of cars, took her on a short test drive, and in 58 minutes she was back on the street, driving her newer Camry that purred under her fingertips. Not bad. She hadn’t really expected to be able to complete the sale in 45, but she needed to give him something to shoot for.
After a heavy lunch, her next stop was a high end clothing shop inside a casino. Here she picked up 5 large silk scarfs, all in different colors, plus 5 drastically different pairs of sunglasses, and 5 different sun hats. She considered cutting her hair, and decided it wasn’t necessary, for now. She bought some hair ties, and 5 different shades of lipstick, plus a throwaway cell phone, then ran back to her car.
In the car, she tied her hair back, put on a silver pair of sunglasses with reflective lenses, and a large floppy sun hat. She used a hair tie expertly to connect the edges of a bright pink silk scarf and put it on like a flowing shirt over her dark tank top. Reaching in her bag she found a lipstick and applied it with a heavy hand. She looked in the mirror and imagined who this woman was that she was looking at. Hint of a southern accent, lots of money, loud personality. She tucked a silk scarf around her bag, changing its color, and changed the cross-body strap to a hand-carry strap.
Ready, she looked up gun stores on her phone and headed out. She pulled into the parking lot of the Smoke N Gun and strutted in, heading straight to the counter. She knew what she needed.
A white-haired gentleman with a Sig Sauer pistol strapped to his belt came to her. “Help you?” he inquired, sounding bored.
“Got any boot knives, sugar?” she asked, in a high voice that sounded strange to her ears. Men loved it though. Women hated it so when she dealt with women she used her normal voice.
He raised an eyebrow, his boredom gone. “Yes ma’am, let me show you.”
He led her down the cabinet to the knives and pulled out three wicked looking knives, placing them on the counter in front of her.
“Know what you’re looking for?” he asked.
She picked up a long, black knife with a razor sharp blade. “I’ll know it when I see it. Got anything like this but with grips?”
He thought for a moment then turned around, leaving her at the counter. When he came back out he carried a lightweight knife with holes in the handle and a super-sharp point. She hefted it in her hand and stuck her fingers in the holes. This was good. She’d abandoned all her weapons at her old apartment except the Ruger. She couldn’t wait to feel well-armed again.
“I’ll take 2 of these, honey.”
The man nodded approvingly and wrapped up her packages. She paid and got out of there, already looking up the next gun store on her phone.
She hit two more stores, never buying anything that she needed to provide an ID for, and hopefully providing a different persona to the security cameras and watchful gun-clerk eyes each time. She didn’t want to be remembered in case anything went sour with Manny and some too-smart cop sniffed around
where he didn’t belong. She didn’t expect anything to go wrong with Manny though. He looked 100% soft and used to only dealing with women who didn’t fight back. He would be easy, especially if she played her cards right.
Done with the gun shops, she laid everything out on the seat next to her. The sun was setting outside and she wanted to go over her plan one more time. She was parked inside a large parking garage, on the 4th floor. Her car’s a/c kept her cool while she inventoried what she had.
2 boot knives with sheaths. Her small Ruger pistol with laser - the perfect concealed carry for a woman. A holster for it that would clip to her bra. 6 extra magazines for the Ruger, giving her a total of 43 easy access .380 rounds. A belt holster for the magazines. And her bag with her high-tech cell-phone sniffer and her no-tech drugs. She felt ready for anything. Well, maybe not anything, but certainly anything that a small-time pimp like Manny was likely to dish out. She’d seen his operation. It was barely an operation. Of course the women he was terrorizing might feel differently, she knew.
As she filled her magazines and put her holsters on, she felt a pang of some emotion in her chest she couldn’t identify. She pushed it away. Emotion wasn’t part of this job. Emotion got people killed.
Sara pulled out onto the street. She needed to make one stop to get Manny’s cell phone number and drop some things off to Jessica, and then she would get a few hours of sleep. Enough that she would be sharp. Even if it was a small-time, low risk hit, she was determined to be at her best.
Chapter 10
Jerry’s eyes flew open at exactly 5:59 a.m. He swung his feet onto the floor and strode into the bathroom. Today would be a grab breakfast on the go kind of day. He had a lot to do.
By 6:45 he was on the road. His first stop was the Eller’s Mansion where the wedding reception had been held two night ago. Two whole nights ago - the thought made him sick. If Sara had been taken somewhere by someone (he wouldn’t quite let his mind say kidnapped) anything could have happened in 2 nights. (He wouldn’t quite let his mind say raped and murdered either, although those were the two words that tried to surface most often in the darkest parts of his brain.)
