The Perk

by Mark Gimenez

  The D.A. worked his jaws as if he were grinding granite into dust. Beck didn't like the D.A. standing over him so he stood.

  "Judge Hardin … Your Honor … you don't transfer a case or set a trial date without asking me."

  "Where does the law say I need the D.A.'s permission to exercise this court's authority?"

  "It's customary."

  "Not anymore. Things are going to be different in my court."

  The D.A. snorted. "Your court? If Slade hadn't beaten up that Mexican kid, I'd be sitting in that chair and you know it."

  Beck wanted to say, Not if I had gone public with your half-Hispanic child in Austin. Instead he said, "You gave up the judgeship for Slade McQuade?"

  "No. For Quentin McQuade. But only for a year. This time next year, it'll be my court." He stepped to the window and gazed out for a long moment. "You stir things up in the barrio, Judge, you're gonna get some dead Mexicans on Main Street."

  "The best way to prevent that is to let justice prevail."

  The D.A. turned to Beck with a bemused expression.

  " 'Let justice prevail'? This isn't moot court in law school, Judge. This is the real goddamn world. And your decisions have real consequences. For everyone."

  "Friday morning, nine o'clock."

  A finger pointed at Beck. "If this town explodes and Mexicans die, it's your doing. Remember that."

  "Then take Slade to the grand jury. Let those twelve citizens determine probable cause."

  "You know damn well the law requires grand juries to represent the county population."

  "Meaning there are Latinos on the grand jury?"

  "Three."

  "That leaves nine Germans. Takes nine to indict."

  "Which won't happen."

  "But then you've got Latinos marching in the streets on Thanksgiving weekend, scaring off tourists. That won't be good for business."

  "Won't be good for the Mexicans if a few of them get killed."

  "Then do the right thing."

  " 'Do the right thing'?" The D.A. shook his head. "Is that what you told your corporate clients at your big Chicago firm? Look, Judge, I know the kind of lawyer you were. So don't come to my town and preach to me, okay? Besides, those Mexicans won't ever get to Main Street."

  "Why not?"

  "Trust me—it won't happen. And you don't want it to happen. So best thing is for you to find no probable cause."

  "That's what the examining trial is for—to determine probable cause."

  "No, Judge, it's to keep a lid on this town. We had this deal worked out for everyone—"

  "Except Julio."

  "Everyone that counts. But you stuck your nose where it doesn't belong, so now this town is in your hands. You're responsible now."

  "I'm responsible for seeing that justice is done."

  "Justice? You screw this up and you'll see what justice looks like."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Look, Judge, the Mexicans know you're not aligned with the Germans, so if you find no probable cause, they'll believe you." He smiled. "Heck, this could work out even better than we had planned. They trust you. Your word could end this."

  "Why do they trust me?"

  "They know J.B. partnered up with a Mexican. They figure like father, like son."

  "They'll hear Julio's testimony and the deputies'. Grady won't let his men slant their testimony."

  "No, Grady figures he's above it all now." The D.A. shook his head. "Worst thing that ever happened to this county, Grady getting rich. Now he can afford to be honest."

  "I've read Julio's affidavit and the deputies' reports—there's probable cause. There's no way I could rule otherwise."

  "There'll be a way."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You'll see Friday morning."

  Beck drove out the back parking lot of the courthouse and turned onto Main Street. Heading east, he crossed streets named Adams, Llano, Lincoln, Washington, Elk, Lee, Columbus, Olive, Mesquite, and Eagle, names selected and arranged by the city so the first letters would spell ALL WELCOME.

  Just beyond the city limits sign where Heidi's body had been found, Beck turned south onto Old San Antonio Road. He drove over Meusebach Creek where it merged into the Pedernales River. Open land lay before him. He liked that about a small town: you could pull out of your parking space in downtown, drive five minutes in any direction, and be in the middle of nowhere. Drive five minutes from downtown Chicago and you're two blocks away.

  He downshifted when the Navigator began the slow climb up Mt. Alamo, a hill southeast of town that stood twenty-three hundred feet above sea level. Aubrey lived in Alamo Springs, an old hippie community atop the hill. Beck turned east onto Alamo Drive and drove over the Bat Cave, an abandoned narrow-gauge railroad tunnel that was now home to three million Mexican free-tailed bats. Every evening at dusk the lot of them emerged to forage the countryside for insects. A distinct advantage of living in Alamo Springs was that there were few flies to contend with during the summer.

  Beck continued past the Alamo Springs General Store & Cafe and turned south onto Apache Road, a dead-end. From that elevation, the view of the Texas Hill Country went on forever.

  The view of the Geisel house was not as good. The paint on the small frame house seemed lifeless. The grass in the front yard was brown, as were the plants in the gardens. Weeds snaked a few feet up the side of the house. The shades were drawn. The house had died with the daughter.

  Beck parked and got out, walked past an old Ford truck, and stepped up onto the porch. He knocked on the door. Aubrey answered without a second knock.

  "Beck, come on in."

  Beck stepped past Aubrey and inside the house. Aubrey was holding the cane in one hand and a beer in the other, and from the smell of his breath, it wasn't his first of the day.

  "Don't you have practice today?"

  "I can cuss drunk. Let's go out back."

  Aubrey led Beck through a den with a decor straight out of a funeral home, through sliding glass doors, and out onto a wood deck. Beck went over to the rear railing to catch the breeze. It was dry without a hope of rain.

  "Aubrey, you knew about Slade beating up that boy, getting arrested?"

  "Sure."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  He shrugged. "Because it don't involve either one of us."

  "It damn sure does. You're the coach and I'm the judge."

  "Slade don't answer to me … or to you."

  "Oh, he's going to answer to me."

  "I don't think so, Beck. Besides, I thought it was taken care of."

  "By whom?"

  "Quentin. The D.A."

  "You figured Quentin's money had bought Slade out of this?"

  Aubrey shrugged. "That's how things are done around here."

  "Not anymore. Slade's examining trial is set for Friday morning, nine o'clock, in my court."

  "Might be biting off more than you can chew, Beck. First week on the job, you gonna take on Quentin and the old Germans?"

  "I'm gonna do my job. And that might affect your plans."

  "What plans?"

  "Winning state, trading up for a college job, getting Randi back. If Slade's indicted, you won't win state."

  Aubrey limped over to the railing and stared out; after a moment, he exhaled heavily.

  "Hell, that ain't no plan, Beck. That's a pipe dream. My life ended the day Heidi died. She ain't coming back and Randi ain't either." He turned to Beck. "You do what you got to do with Slade. I'd rather put Heidi's killer in prison than win state. Now what do you know?"

  It was now Beck's turn to stare at the distant hills. Looking south, he could see the path the train had once taken after emerging from the tunnel; it ran right past Hillingdon Ranch, Alfred Giles' old place. His grandson now ran the ranch. Beck looked up and gazed into the blue sky; he watched an eagle ride the currents for a bit, then he turned back to his friend.

  "Aubrey, I know it's time to let her go. There's no chance of ever finding
this guy, and even if we did, he was probably a college kid. It was just an accident, Aubrey."

  Aubrey pointed the cane north toward town.

  "Giving cocaine to a sixteen-year-old girl, dumping her in a ditch—that ain't no goddamn accident! He killed her same as if he stuck a gun to her head and pulled the trigger!" Aubrey stared out into the distance again and calmed. "You're holding out on me, too, aren't you, Beck?"

  Beck didn't answer. But he wondered if he was doing Aubrey a favor or himself a favor. Was he telling Aubrey to forget his daughter so he could forget her, too?

  "I want to show you something," Aubrey said.

  He limped back inside the house, and Beck followed. They walked through the den and down a hall. Aubrey stopped, opened a door, and hit the light. He entered the room as if he were entering a church. Beck stepped into a shrine.

  The bed was neatly made with a pink comforter and fluffy pink pillows. Pink shag rugs dotted the wood floor. Framed photos of Heidi hung on the blue walls and played out her short life: a cute blonde toddler with her mother and father … a pretty girl about Meggie's age … a German Fräulein with braided pigtails … an all-American high school cheerleader … a beauty queen. She looked like Miss America. She did not look like the girl in the crime scene photos or a girl who would have had sex with two men in one night or a girl who would have snorted enough cocaine to kill a bull. She did not look like the dead girl in the ditch.

  "She was my little princess."

  On a shelf next to the bed were trophies, crowns, and banners from beauty pageants. Peach Blossom Queen. Peach Festival Queen. Peach Days Queen. Homecoming Queen. County Fair Queen. Rodeo Queen. Farm Bureau Queen.

  "Won every pageant Randi put her in." Aubrey paused a moment to gather himself. "I tried to rehab the leg. Once I knew I'd never play again, it was like she lost interest in me … Randi. She knew I couldn't get her out of this town. From then on, it was like she put all her chips on Heidi."

  Aubrey focused on a photo of Heidi and Randi and wiped his eyes; Beck averted his and opened the closet door. Inside were the clothes of a sixteen-year-old girl: cheerleader uniform, dresses, jeans, sneakers, and one pair of low heels.

  "Any of her shoes missing?"

  "Hell, Beck, I didn't keep track of her shoes."

  "What about her purses?"

  "Those either."

  "Why didn't you let her have a cell phone?"

  "Seemed like the kids with phones always got in trouble, texting and sexting."

  "Were you strict on her?"

  "Not strict enough, I guess." Aubrey sat on the bed. "She was a great kid, Beck. Loved to go fishing and hunting, but she could never bring herself to pull the trigger on a live animal. I thought she'd always be that girl." He paused and his shoulders slumped. "When she turned fourteen and her body came in, men on the street started staring at her. It changed her."

  "How?"

  "Her world got bigger. She started thinking maybe her future was out there somewhere and not here in this small town. That she could have a better life than this." He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and blew his nose. "Other parents, they were always jealous 'cause she was prettier than their girls. Now I wish Heidi had been plain. I'd even take ugly. Because I'd still have her. I miss her, Beck."

  Aubrey stood and limped around the room, removed photos from the wall, and used his shirttail to wipe dust from each. And Beck thought of J.B.: Had he walked into Beck's room every day for the last twenty-four years and dusted his trophies?

  "I left her room just like it was, so I'd remember her like this. The way she was." He reached up and touched his daughter's image. "But I don't. I remember her lying on that slab at the morgue in Austin. That's how I remember my daughter, Beck."

  Four years, nine months, and two days before, Aubrey's life had stopped, suspended in time as if the hands of all the clocks in the world had frozen in place, just as Beck's life had stopped the day Annie had died eight and a half months ago. Beck didn't keep a calendar because he had only life to blame for his wife's death. Aubrey had a human being—someone, somewhere out there.

  "Aubrey, leaving her room like this, maybe that's not healthy."

  "Healthy? Like eating vegetables?" He waved the cane around the room. "Look around, Beck. This is all I got left of her." He limped to the door, but stopped. "Beck, you don't owe me."

  Beck's eyes fell to the cane and stayed there a moment. Then he looked up and pointed at a photo on the wall. Another girl was in it with Heidi.

  "Who's the girl?"

  "Kim Krause. They were best friends. She's Claude's daughter. He still owns the gas station on West Main. She works the desk."

  The Gillespie County Courthouse marks the boundary between East and West Main Street. To the east are the "Three Magic Blocks." The 1.5 million tourists who visit Fredericksburg each year park their cars on East Main Street, shop at the stores on the Three Magic Blocks, then get back into their cars and drive home. Few tourists venture west of the courthouse. There was no magic on West Main Street.

  The Krause Gas Station was located on West Main Street.

  Beck drove west down Main Street past the courthouse. He crossed Crockett, Orange, Milam, Edison, Bowie, Acorn, Cherry, and Kay Streets, the first letters of which spelled COME BACK. He drove past dilapidated homes and abandoned gas stations, the Zion Lutheran Church and the old Catholic convent, the Amish Market and the shuttered Knopp & Metzger Department Store where his mother had taken him shopping as a boy, a health food store, and the Choo Choo Trolley Patio Shop.

  The Krause station sat on the south side across from the Texas Pawn Shop just before the Y, where Main Street ended and split into Highway 290 West, the road to El Paso, and Highway 87 North, the road to Amarillo. Claude Krause repaired old cars in the old garage; Kim Krause watched the pumps from the desk inside and took the money. Krause's was not a pay-at-the-pump place.

  But Claude Krause was sitting behind the desk and downing a Dinkel Acker beer when Beck walked in. It was 12:01 P.M. Claude said he never drank before noon. He also said that Kim had gone home to watch her favorite soap; home was an old frame house just behind the gas station. Beck now weaved around a dozen junk cars Claude was dismantling for the parts and a pile of tread-worn tires and walked across a dirt yard shaded by wide oak trees. He stepped up onto the creaky porch and knocked on the screen door.

  Claude obviously enjoyed repairing old cars more than his old home; white paint was peeling from the siding and black paint from the wood trim. The Krause house made Aubrey's look new. Beck could hear a TV through the screen door. A young woman smoking a cigarette appeared and spoke through the screen like an inmate conversing with her lawyer.

  "Yeah?"

  "Kim?"

  "Who's asking?"

  "I'm Judge Hardin." Beck hoped his official title might encourage Kim to cooperate. "I'd like to talk to you about Heidi."

  If Kim was Heidi's age, she'd be twenty now; she looked thirty. She shrugged and pushed open the screen door.

  "You scared me, wearing that suit looking like the undertaker. Come on in."

  "Is your mother home?"

  Kim exhaled smoke. "She left us a long time ago."

  Beck didn't think it wise for a judge to be alone in the house with a twenty-year-old girl, so he said, "Let's sit out here on the porch."

  "Suit yourself."

  Kim came outside and plopped down on the top step. She was blonde and blue-eyed like Heidi, but she didn't look like Heidi. She was wearing a black tube top and cut-off jean shorts. She was a bit overweight, and she was barefoot. Beck took off his coat and sat next to her.

  "Why are you asking about Heidi?" she said.

  "A favor, for her father. We were like brothers back in high school."

  She nodded. "Me and Heidi, we were like sisters."

  "Tell me about her."

  "She was beautiful."

  "What did she want out of life?"

  "To be a star."

&nb
sp; "Why?"

  "To get out of this town."

  "Why? This is a nice place to live."

  "Oh yeah, it's a real nice place to live … unless you're a girl or gay or Mexican or don't like football or George Bush. Then it sucks."

  "How did she plan to become a star?"

  "Send her pictures to Hollywood, get an audition."

  "You have pictures of her?"

  Kim smiled. "Do I have pictures of Heidi Fay?"

  "Heidi Fay?"

  "Heidi Fay Geisel, but Geisel didn't sound Hollywood so she dropped it for her stage name." Kim took a drag on her cigarette and said, "Why do you want to see her pictures?"

  "I'm trying to understand why she ended up in that ditch."

  "You been to her house?"

  "Yeah, just now."

  "Seen her room?"

  He nodded. "Aubrey's kept it just like it was."

  "He would. Those pictures on the wall, those were for him."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, that wasn't the real Heidi." Kim hesitated then said, "I have her portfolio. Come on in, I'll show you. It's on my laptop."

  "Can you bring it out here?"

  "Suit yourself."

  Kim disappeared inside and returned with a laptop. She sat, opened the laptop, and took one last drag on her cigarette then flicked it into the dirt yard. She tapped the keyboard several times until the wide screen was filled with a close-up shot of Heidi's face: her hair was blonde, her eyes as blue as the sky, her skin smooth and flawless, and her teeth a brilliant white. She was, in fact, gorgeous.

  "She never drank tea or coffee," Kim said. "To keep her teeth white. And she never had braces or caps."

  Kim's face was now that of a kid opening Christmas presents. She tapped twice again, and another photo appeared on the screen. This one was a full-body shot of Heidi wearing short-shorts, cowboy boots, and a pink halter top. Her thumbs were stuck in her front pockets, the snap was unbuttoned, and the zipper was halfway unzipped, revealing a lot of white skin below her navel. Her abs were lean and her legs muscular. She was not the German Fräulein or the all-American high school cheerleader in the photographs in her bedroom. She was a sexy twenty-five-year-old woman.

  "Her legs were incredible," Kim said.

  "How old was she in this one?"