The Perk

by Mark Gimenez

Stutz stood and walked out just as Mavis walked in. Behind Stutz's back, she held her hands up and formed a cross, as if to ward off the devil. He liked Mavis more each day. She was as wide as she was tall, she was a part-time goat rancher, and she had a crush on J.B. What wasn't to like?

  "What do we have this morning, Mavis?"

  "Divorces. I hate divorces."

  Beck donned the black robe, and they again climbed the staircase—Beck went first—and entered the courtroom. Beck sat behind the bench. On his desk were eight gold file folders. Gold for divorce.

  No county inmates sat shackled in the jury box and guarded by Deputy Clint, and no D.A. gave Beck suspicious glares. The same lawyers were present, but with a different set of clients. Criminal cases yesterday, divorce cases today—the life of a country lawyer. The spectator pews looked like a wedding: groom's family on one side, bride's on the other. Husbands to the left, wives to the right. Mavis called the first case.

  "Danz versus Danz."

  A rugged-looking middle-aged man wearing a firmly set jaw, jeans, boots, and a plaid shirt stood in the spectator section and walked to the bar; he looked like he could throw a bull to the ground. He held the gate open for an attractive but slightly chunky woman who might have been beautiful twenty years and as many pounds before. Beck glanced at the file: Lynnette Danz vs. Earl Danz. They had been married for twenty-five years and had four children, ages twenty-three, nineteen, fourteen, and eleven. Two lawyers escorted them to the bench. One of the lawyers was familiar.

  "Mr. Polk."

  "Judge."

  Beck opened the gold file, another case inherited from Judge Stutz.

  "Well, everything looks in order. All I need to do is sign the decree and your divorce will be final."

  Beck searched the desktop for a pen, but couldn't find one. He turned to Mavis. She felt around her puffy hair a moment, then withdrew a pen and handed it to Beck. He put the pen to the order and started to sign, but looked up at Mr. and Mrs. Danz.

  "Twenty-five years … y'all were high school sweethearts?"

  Earl said, "Yep."

  "Your kids live here?"

  "Not the older ones. Kids these days, soon as they graduate high school they hightail it to the big city. Oldest boy, he's a real-estate broker up in Dallas, making money hand over fist. Girl, she's studying up at Tech. Straight As."

  "You seem proud of them."

  "Yep."

  "Must've been good parents."

  "We tried."

  "They upset about this, the kids?"

  "Pretty much."

  "How's it going to work with your young children?"

  "Well, Mom here … I mean, Lynnette—"

  Lynnette spoke up. "The boys are gonna live with me—Earl can't cook to save his life—but he'll still spend time with them. Boys need their father."

  "Is he a good father?"

  She nodded. "The boys are his life."

  "I lost my wife. It's been tough, raising my kids alone."

  "We're gonna work together, for the kids."

  "Good."

  Mavis was tugging at Beck's robe. He leaned her way. She whispered, "Don't go there."

  "Where?"

  "Playing Dr. Phil."

  Beck ignored Mavis and turned back to the Danzes.

  "My wife and I, we argued some, but now that she's gone, all I remember are the good times. Y'all must have had some good times?"

  "Well, sure we did, Judge, married twenty-five years."

  "Went to Hawaii one time," Lynnette said, "back between the second and third kids."

  "My wife and I went once. We had a great time." Beck raised his eyebrows. "A romantic time."

  Lynnette blushed and dropped her eyes. Earl glanced at her and said, "It was pretty romantic for us, too, Judge."

  Lynnette turned her eyes up to Earl. They stared at each other like newlyweds. Beck gave them a moment and Mavis an "I told you so" look. She just shook her head.

  "You sure you want me to sign this order? Twenty-five years, that's a long time. Lot of history there. You know, I hear Hawaii's still out there in that Pacific Ocean. You could fly out there, see if that romance is still there, too."

  Beck saw Lynnette's face soften; he thought, Dr. Beck saves a marriage! So without even realizing he was digging a hole for himself, he dug the hole even deeper.

  "I mean, if you quit now, it's like … well, it's like you're cashing in a CD before it matures."

  Lawyer Polk had been sleepy-eyed throughout Beck's marital counseling; but his eyes suddenly got wide and he backed up a step and gave Beck a sharp slash sign across his throat, as if to say, "Cut!" Beck ignored him, too.

  "Like you're selling an investment before its full value is realized."

  Lynnette Danz abruptly turned to Beck and imbedded her fists into her hips like a Sumo wrestler facing off an opponent. Her face was no longer soft; her voice was firm.

  "That's exactly what I said to Earl. I've invested twenty-five years of my life in this marriage and I want it to pay off!"

  Earl stiffened and his square jaw clenched. "See, Judge, that's the deal: women look at marriage as some kind of goddamn investment. Men look at marriage as an adventure. I ain't nobody's CD. I ain't her investment. I'm a goddamned man that wants an adventure! I want some excitement in my life before I die! Twenty-five years later, biggest excitement I got is looking at the underwear ads in the Sunday paper!" He caught himself then added, "The women's."

  "That's all he talks about," Lynnette said, "having an adventure … excitement. He wants me to buy a thong!" She turned and pointed at her bottom. "This butt in a thong—that's his idea of excitement?"

  Beck glanced at Mavis for help; her face was now buried in her hands. But Earl's face was now bright red; his jaws were clamped so tight he could crack walnuts between his teeth. He reached over and banged a gnarly finger on the order.

  "Sign the goddamned thing!"

  Beck quickly signed the order dissolving the marriage of Earl and Lynnette Danz. They stormed out of the courtroom. Mavis looked after them; she shook her head.

  "Heck, I'd wear a thong to keep Earl in my bed."

  Kim Krause was lying. She knew where Heidi had gone that night. She might have even gone with her. But why would she lie about it? Did she know the man … the men … Heidi had been with that night? Was she protecting them? Or Heidi? Or herself?

  Beck opened the case file to the interview statements and found Kim's. She said she had picked up Heidi about noon on New Year's Eve, and they had driven into town. Heidi had been wearing jeans, a tee shirt, and sneakers. Beck turned back to the Evidence Report: Heidi's body had been found clothed in a skirt and blouse, not jeans and a tee shirt. Back to Kim's statement: She said most of the stores had closed early for New Year's Eve, so they had window-shopped on Main Street and eaten at the brew pub. At approximately 4:00 P.M., Kim had gotten bored and returned home. Heidi wanted to remain in town. She said she'd call her mother to pick her up. That was the last time Kim had talked to Heidi. She had stayed at home the rest of the night. Her father had vouched for her presence.

  Claude Krause did not strike Beck as a liar.

  But he was sure Kim was lying.

  Beck exited the courthouse and cut across the lawn past the Eagle Tree. Brown oak leaves were floating through the air on a cool northerly breeze and falling on the courthouse grounds. Traffic on Main Street consisted of three cars backed up at the red light at the busiest intersection in town. Rush hour.

  He walked east on Main Street two blocks and turned up the rock path leading to the bookstore. He needed a coffee and he needed to ask Jodie about Heidi; the sheriff said she had hung out here. Beck found Jodie at the checkout counter.

  "Hi, Jodie. Small nonfat latte, please."

  She looked up at him. "Figured you'd be over at the primary school, Judge."

  She looked back down. Judge?

  "Jodie, are you okay?"

  "I'm fine."

  "You don't seem fine." Beck Ha
rdin didn't know women, but he knew a pissed-off woman. "Something you want to talk about?"

  "Yes, there is." She called out, "Ella, I'll be in the courtyard!"

  "Can I get my coffee first?"

  "No."

  She came around from behind the counter and walked outside; Beck followed her to the two-person bench. They sat quietly while she worked up to what she had to say.

  "Beck, I've tried to help you with Meggie."

  He nodded. "We're making progress."

  "Then I don't want to see her regress."

  "Regress? How?"

  "Finding out her father is dating her teacher. Beck, it's all over town."

  "How can it be all over town? We haven't even gone out yet."

  "It's a small town." She faced him. "Don't you think Gretchen's a little young for you?"

  "That's what I told her."

  "And what did she say?"

  "She said she has needs."

  Jodie gave a knowing nod. "She wants sex."

  "She hasn't had a date in over a year."

  "Oh, what, this is like community service for you? You're just being neighborly to the teacher? Carrying her books to the car, cleaning the chalkboard, satisfying her needs …"

  "She's twenty-five."

  "And you're forty-two."

  "I feel like I'm sixty-two."

  "But she made you feel young?"

  He nodded. "Just her asking made me feel like I was nineteen again. I didn't feel so tired."

  "My husband said his secretary made him feel young."

  "He was an idiot."

  "I know that but how do you know that?"

  "Because I know you." Almost a smile. "Jodie, can I ask you something?"

  She nodded.

  "Would it hurt Annie? I feel like I'd be cheating on her."

  "Did you ever cheat on her?"

  "No."

  "Never?"

  "No."

  She gave him a suspicious look. "Not even a little touchy-feely with a secretary, maybe a few drinks and some grab-ass with a female associate after-hours?"

  "No. Nothing. I loved her. I still do."

  Jodie sighed. "Annie wouldn't mind then. It's cheating on us while we're alive that pisses us off."

  "She wasn't happy."

  "Annie?"

  "She told J.B., in her emails. Because I worked long hours, was out of town a lot. She said she was lonely, learned to sleep without me."

  "Ouch. It's hard to be married to a lawyer."

  "Were you ever happy, with your husband?"

  "Maybe at the beginning. It didn't last long."

  "You seem happy now."

  "Not living with a lawyer will do that."

  She straightened herself, and Beck noticed that instead of jeans, she was wearing a skirt and a short denim jacket over a black tee shirt. She was still wearing the red cowboy boots.

  "That's a nice outfit. Makes you look young."

  "Hey, I'm only—" She caught herself. "Nice try."

  "Thanks. Are we okay?"

  She smiled reluctantly and nodded.

  "Good. Do you know Kim Krause?"

  "Yeah. She tagged along with Heidi. No one ever saw her. Heidi got all the attention."

  "Was she jealous of Heidi?"

  "More like in awe of her."

  "She has nude photos of Heidi. Her mother took them."

  "Heidi's mom?"

  Beck nodded. "Her mom wanted her to pose for Playboy."

  "Playboy came to Austin one time. UT girls lined up. They were interviewed on TV, said their parents thought posing nude was a great opportunity. I remember thinking, an opportunity for what? Harvard Law School? Med school?"

  "I thought women wanted an equal right to be doctors and lawyers … and bookstore owners."

  "Girls don't want to be regular people anymore. They want to be Paris Hilton."

  "Why?"

  "Because she's rich and famous."

  "Kim said she doesn't wear any underwear."

  "Kim?"

  "Paris. She said all the girls here wear thongs, said you can buy them at the Wal-Mart."

  Jodie nodded. "Yep. I thought we had left all that behind in Austin, but it's here now. Only difference is, girls in Austin can afford to buy their thongs at Victoria's Secret."

  "In Chicago, at Luke's soccer games, all the mothers wore thongs. You could see them right through their shorts."

  "Soccer moms in thongs." She shook her head. "I thought feminism was about financial freedom. Turns out, it was just about sex. The thong won out over feminism."

  "So how do I protect Meggie from all that? Not let her wear a thong?"

  "Not at five anyway." She smiled. "You can't protect them, Beck. You just try to teach them to protect themselves, to think for themselves, to make good decisions. And when they make bad decisions, and they will, you talk to them and maybe you punish them, and then you hug them. You always love them."

  " 'Is your mama a llama? I asked my friend Dave. No, she is not, is the answer Dave gave.' "

  Beck was reading Meggie's favorite book, Is Your Mama a Llama? by Deborah Guarino. He had read it five times that night and had just started over.

  "J.B. has a llama named Sue," Meggie said.

  "He sure does."

  "Can I have a pony?"

  "You've got a goat."

  "I can't ride Frank."

  "When you're a little older."

  "When did you learn to ride?"

  "Oh, about your age, but I was raised here, in the country."

  "Other kids at school, they're riding horses."

  "They're country kids."

  "What am I?"

  "You're my kid."

  Beck found an email from March of last year:

  Dear J.B.,

  First chemo treatment. Beck went with me, but halfway through he had to leave the room. I think he was crying. I'm going to beat this disease, J.B., even if it kills me. (That's a joke.) Just threw up in the sink.

  And one three weeks later, from April:

  Hair started falling out. I think I'm going to shave it all off, I'll look like a football player. Second treatment today. Makes me so tired. Beck's in trial, billions at stake. I told him I could do it alone. I wish now I had told him the truth.

  A month later, from May:

  I'm bald as a baby's butt now. Bought a wig. Hate it. Too hot, makes my head sweat. I look like an old guy with a bad toup. So I went to a biker shop and bought doo-rags. They had a biker tee shirt, on the back it said, "If you can read this my bitch fell off." I started laughing so hard I had to sit down on the floor and then I started crying. The shop owner is this big hairy guy with tattoos. He came over and asked if he should call the ambulance. I yanked off my wig and screamed, "They can't help me!" I shouldn't have done that. He sat down on the floor with me, said he lost his wife three years ago. Breast cancer. We cried together, the bald and the beast. He wouldn't let me pay for the doo-rags. Meggie wants to shave her head and wear doo-rags to school. She doesn't understand. Luke is getting scared. Beck is afraid to touch me now.

  EIGHTEEN

  Beck was wearing latex gloves.

  It was 8:30 the next morning, and he was in the sheriff's office. Grady was showing him the physical evidence from the crime scene box labeled GEISEL, HEIDI FAY. Grady removed a large plastic bag from the box. He unzipped the bag and removed a white blouse; he held it up with his gloved hands. The light shone through the material.

  "Nothing left to the imagination there," Grady said.

  "Where was the DNA sample located?"

  Grady pointed to a spot just below the collar on the right side.

  "Right there."

  He folded the shirt in mid-air and replaced it in the bag.

  "Hear you're dating Gretchen."

  "You know her?"

  "Beck, I'm the sheriff of a small rural county—I know everyone."

  "You know Kim Krause?"

  "Her and Heidi were friends. Said she wasn't with H
eidi that night, didn't know where Heidi went."

  "She's lying."

  "How do you know?"

  "I've cross-examined enough lying witnesses to know."

  "Why would she lie?"

  "That's what I don't know. Did you polygraph her?"

  "No reason to. Claude said she was home all night. But if you want, I'll bring her in, give her a little scare."

  "No. I need to figure some things out first."

  The next bag contained a black miniskirt that seemed too small for a sixteen-year-old girl. Grady pulled on the material then released it; it snapped back.

  "Spandex."

  Grady removed another black item from the next bag: a tiny black thong with a red sequined star on the front.

  "I never showed her clothes to Aubrey."

  "Why not?"

  "Would you want to know if your girl was wearing this stuff?" He shrugged. "And he never asked. Maybe he knew the way she was, didn't want to face it."

  "That's all she was wearing?"

  "That's all we recovered."

  "Kim's statement said Heidi was wearing jeans that day."

  Grady nodded. "Aubrey and Randi said the same thing. I figured she changed clothes. Girls do that. They get past the folks wearing jeans, then change to go partying in Austin."

  "No shoes? No purse?"

  "Nope and nope."

  "Your wife ever leave home barefoot or without her purse?"

  "Nope."

  "Doesn't seem right, does it?"

  "Beck, there ain't nothing right about this case. Or Slade's."

  NINETEEN

  The local paper that week made no mention of Slade McQuade's assault of Julio Espinoza or his upcoming examining trial. So when Judge John Beck Hardin climbed the spiral staircase to the second floor of the Gillespie County Courthouse at nine that Friday morning, he entered a nearly vacant courtroom.

  It was his fifth day on the job.

  He sat behind the bench. The D.A. occupied the prosecution table, and Bruno Stutz the defense table. Slade loomed large next to Stutz; he looked like an action-figure in a suit. Quentin McQuade sat directly behind them in the spectator pews; next to him sat a teenage girl who looked as if she'd rather be taking the SAT.

  Only a handful of people inhabited the spectator pews. On the front row across the aisle from Quentin McQuade sat a young woman with a small notebook in one hand and a pen in the other, no doubt a reporter. About halfway back sat a Latino boy whom Beck recognized as Julio Espinoza; sitting next to him was an older white-haired Latino man dressed in a suit, former Congressman Felix Delgado. In the pew directly behind them sat three Latinos whose body language said "La Raza Unida." Leaning against the back wall by the entrance doors was Sheriff Grady Guenther.