by Matt Kuvakos
***
Elliot sat in his office, staring at the newly assigned folder that had been allocated to him. The folder hadn’t moved from his desk for an entire day. He reached for his can of Red Bull and took a slow sip, his stare frozen on the name written on the front of the file, “Ricky Freemon.” He swiveled his office chair away from the file. He wasn’t ready to look it over yet. He then noticed the wooden framed picture of him and his dad.
The picture had been there every day, but now it seemed to pop out at Elliot for some reason. He picked it up and wiped the dust off the glass with his thumb, revealing his dad's smiling face. They had just gone golfing, and his uncle captured the photo of the two of them. Both of them were wearing striped polo’s and shorts. Elliot was laughing in the picture with one arm around his dad’s shoulder and the other in his pocket. His dad looked to be talking to either Elliot or his brother, Tim behind the camera. The memory flooded into Elliot’s mind.
“Will you shut up for one second, Paul. I’m trying to take a picture.” Elliot’s uncle Tim held the camera in one hand and a cigar in the other.
“Don’t be mad that you just lost to a college kid who never golfs and his old man.” Paul and Elliot laughed as Tim took the picture.
“Hope that turns out right.” Tim shrugged.
“Email that to me will ya?” Paul said as he and Elliot started to walk back to the golf cart.
“Absolutely. This is a rare occasion these days. All of us together, like this.” Tim snuffed out his cigar stub on the bottom of his shoe, leaning on the back of the golf cart.
“Tell me about it.” Paul elbowed Elliot in the side. “He’s a Montana man now.”
Elliot sensed the sarcasm in his dad’s voice. “Well, did you want to pay for my college?”
“He’s got you there, Paul.” Tim laughed as he sat in the driver seat of his golf cart. “Meet you guys at the clubhouse. Since I lost, lunch is on me.” Tim said as he sped past them.
“Sounds good.” Paul and Elliot sat down in the golf cart. Paul took off his white baseball cap and wiped the sweat from his forehead, still thinking about what Elliot said. “You know I offered to pay for you to stay here in, Phoenix and go to school.” He took a swig of water, staring at Elliot from the corner of his eye.
“I know you did. I just didn’t…”
“I don’t understand why you’re all the way out in Montana, playing with the Buffalo. You’re all I got, El.” Paul started to drive the cart. He shook his head, disappointed in himself and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Elliot rested his leg on the dash of the golf cart. They were silent the rest of the drive.
The tapping on the small glass window of Elliot’s office brought his mind back to reality. Elliot turned to look and saw Darren, another probation officer standing in the doorway.
“You starting on that preacher file?” Before Elliot could answer, Darren’s phone rang. “Give me a sec. I got to take this.” Darren walked away to take the call.
Elliot placed the picture back in its place and turned his attention back to the file. For the first time since receiving it, Elliot flipped the folder open across his desk. He already knew what it contained. For Ricky to remain out of jail, he was sentenced to a year of probation with weekly visits or more if needed, and no preaching for a year.
Elliot’s gut told him that this guy was going to be difficult to contain. The Deputy Chief thought so too since he reassigned two of Elliot’s clients to another probation officer.
“Second offense of disorderly conduct?” Elliot read aloud to himself, diving in all the way now. This was what he called the “bonding time.” His finger ran across each line of detail, absorbing Ricky’s life as if he was sitting in front of him sharing his story. That meeting would happen soon enough, though. The next day to be exact.
“Sorry. So that preacher file.” Darren peeked his head into Elliot’s office with wide eyes. Darren was short, stocky and from Boston. His accent always made that obvious. “Should be interesting, man.” He stepped in and sat down across from Elliot.
“Yeah, I didn’t realize this was his second offense. Did he have proba…”
“He served six months of house arrest,” Darren interrupted. “I think. Not sure what he did, but it should say in there.” Darren shrugged and pointed to the file. “I was surprised he only got probation time. Lucky you.” Darren smiled crookedly.
Elliot nodded, but kept his head down, scanning the file. “What the hell?”
“Huh?” Darren scooted forward in his chair trying to get a look.
“In that first case, he was arrested for disrupting the public and inciting a small riot because he…” Elliot’s face furrowed as he rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. “Prayed for a person that was missing multiple fingers, and according to the witness, each finger reappeared…” Elliot glanced up to Darren briefly before continuing to read as if he were being forced to. “Causing hysterics within the community for differing beliefs.”
“So, witchcraft? Magic? When was this?” Darren breathed a quick breath through his nose.
“Years ago in a small town in Illinois. And in his statement, Ricky said, ‘I only do what my Father tells me to do.’”
“Like I said, this should be interesting.” Darren stood up with a grunt, shaking his head. “Keep me updated.” Darren turned around slowly to leave the office.
“Will do.” Elliot closed the file and leaned back in his chair, thinking about how the first face-to-face meeting with Ricky might go. Before Elliot could reach for his Red Bull for another sip, his cell phone vibrated next to Ricky’s case file on the desk.
Unknown number. He pressed the green button to answer the call anyway. “This is Elliot Marisol.”
“Good afternoon, Elliot. I hope this day is treating you fairly.” The voice on the other end of the phone was one that Elliot recognized, but couldn’t pinpoint who it was exactly.
“Same to you, sir. May I ask who this is?” Elliot reached for the Red Bull and sipped slowly.
“My apologies, this is Sam Greenland.”
“Governor?” Elliot sat a little straighter in his chair as if the Governor had just walked in.
“Just call me Sam. Titles make me anxious.” Elliot could tell the Governor was smiling based on his tone.
“Um. Why or what…” Elliot stood up, and his mind that was usually a tornado of thoughts went quiet.
“I’m calling because I know you are going to be seeing Mr. Freemon tomorrow. Correct?” His voice lingered on the tip of Elliot’s earlobe as if his breath reached through the phone.
“That’s right, sir. I’ll be meeting with him tomorrow evening. I actually…”
The Governor interrupted. “His file is an interesting one isn’t it?”
Elliot remembered the Governor’s puffy face streaming with tears, filling the deep wrinkles on his cheeks during an interview the day after his daughter’s funeral. He also remembered the anger he expressed, calling for justice against Ricky.
“Yes, sir. Definitely something you don’t see every day.” Elliot cleared his throat. He did that when he was nervous.
“Be prepared for protestors. I guess they’ve been covering his property for weeks now.” The governor chuckled. “I’m going to be blunt with you, is that alright?”
“Absolutely.” Elliot moved to his office door and pushed it shut.
“Mr. Freemon’s case will be closed after your interview. A man like him should not be allowed to take another step on our soil here in Montana after what he did. You understand?”
“I’m not sure I do. Can you…” Elliot wasn’t sure if this was a fact, threat or just an opinion.
“I thought I put it bluntly enough. But I’ll try again.”
Elliot imagined the Governor standing with his hands firmly placed on top of his desk, leaning forward with his tie slightly swinging like a ticking hand of a grandfather’s clock.
“My opening introduction doesn’t usually last too long, anyway. Am I being removed from this case? If so, then why should I even conduct the interview?” Elliot thought this was sounding more like a threat of some kind.
“Simply do your interview and leave. I and the Missoula police will be in contact with you after.” The Governor’s voice was quiet. “Goodnight, Elliot. I’m sure you’re great at what you do.” The line went dead on the other side of Elliot’s ear.
He held the phone, lost in thought until the dial tone made him drop it to the desk. He crunched the empty Red Bull can and tossed it into the trash.
