Arkansas Uncut- back to Arkansas 1969

And so, back to Arkansas, for a flashback. Who is Zeke really? (Remember him from the Maine chapter? He was trying to re-register as an Independent. Here's his backstory. Oh, go back and read the whole thing, would you?!)

Chapter 10

Graduation, Little Rock, Arkansas, 1969.

 Zeke took his mother’s arm, escorted her to the buffet.  “Here, Mom.  Have some of this nice roast beef.”  He piled it up on her plate.  Looking down at her, he had to smile.  She was still so young, so beautiful, she turned guys’ heads even when they realized she was someone’s mom. 

“I’m only sorry your father isn’t here,” she said softly, not for the first time that weekend.

“Me too, Mom.  But he’s in my heart.”

Zeke didn’t mind showing his feelings.  He was sure of his masculinity, that sureness being reinforced daily on the baseball field, and nightly in sweet Corinne’s bed.  Besides, he missed his dad something fierce.  It was so wrong, his dying of a heart attack when he was only forty three.  He had missed his son’s graduation from the University of Arkansas by a month. 

“I’m so glad he saw you pitch your last game,” Jane said, adding some green salad to her plate.  “Here, put some greens on your plate, Zeke.  People eat way too much meat nowadays.”

Zeke just smiled, and let her pile up the salad for him too.  They found seats at an already crowded table, and Zeke introduced his mother to one of his favorite professors.  “Zeke’s been our pride and joy,” said Professor Monmouth.  “We’ve never had a student so gifted in political analysis.  He’s going to go far.”

Zeke chuckled.  “As a matter of fact, I am going far.  I’m going to Europe.  At least that’s what they promised.”

“So you took the Federal job, then?” Professor Monmouth looked pleased.  “You’re a credit to the country.”

“It was that or get drafted,” Zeke answered.  “You know how much I want to serve our country.  It’s just that I don’t agree with the Vietnam war.”  Jane put her hand over Zeke’s.  It was a touchy subject, one that most people didn’t want to talk about. 

“It’s okay, Mom.  Here at the University, you can say anything you’d like.”  Outside of Little Rock, it was still nineteen fifty.  But at the University, while it might not be Haight Ashbury, in San Francisco, it wasn’t Podunk, either. 

“It wasn’t always like that,” Jane said.  “But times are changing, and the things that could tear a person apart in my day are just winked at now.  But you still can’t speak ill of the government.  So just be careful.”

Zeke nodded.  “Especially if I’m going to work for them.”

“Any idea where you’ll be sent first?” Professor Monmouth asked.

“Nope.  After I get my training at Langley, it could be anywhere.  But since I speak Greek, Italian, French, Spanish and some Arabic, I’d guess it wouldn’t be Vietnam!”

“You should be proud of that boy,” the professor said to Jane.  Her face pink with pleasure, Jane could only nod.

                                    *            *            *

“Zeke, there’s something I need to tell you,” Jane said as they sat on a park bench in the warm Little Rock night.  It had been a grand day, with the first graduation of the class of 69 at Little Rock.  The school, joining the University of Arkansas ranks just that year, obviously prided itself in being a cut above the screaming Razorback fans at the Fayetteville campus, and Zeke had been an honored graduate at the top of his class.  Jane felt that the time was finally right.

“Zeke,” she continued, “there’s something I want you to have.”

Zeke looked down at his mother.  She could feel the tenderness in his glance.  He was so like his father.  Sensitive, smart, and willing to stand up for his ideals.  Jane remembered how Howard had stood up for her, twenty one years ago in Little Rock.  “Twenty one years was not long enough to be married to your father.  I miss him so much.”

Jane saw the tears start in Zeke’s eyes, and she blinked her own away.  “When you were ten, Zeke.  When you were ten, I found something.  I found something in the chicken yard.  I kept it.  It’s the only secret I ever kept from your father.  And now I want you to have it.”

Jane reached into her handbag, and pulled out a cloth bag.  She handed it to Zeke, and watched as he loosened the draw string.  He emptied the bag into his palm.  A lump of glass.

“What is it?” he asked.  It was so like Zeke, to ask, not to judge. 

“I don’t really know,” Jane said.  “But I think, I think it’s an Ozark diamond.”  She saw Zeke’s eyes go wide.  “Yes, and it’s huge.”

“Have you had it looked at?”  Zeke’s voice was hoarse.

“No.  But I did a lot of research, here at the library, every time I came down to Little Rock.  And I’m pretty sure.”

They were silent for a bit.  “Why didn’t you tell dad?”

“I don’t know.  At first, it was because we were all so busy then.  Then, I forgot about it.  And by the time I had looked it up, I just sort of wanted to keep it to myself.  But now I’m sure of what it is.  And I’m ready to pass it on to you.”

“Uh, thanks.”

They both laughed a little.  “Yeah, it’s strange.  But I really think it’s valuable.  And I want you to do me a favor.  Don’t sell it unless you absolutely have to.  And if you don’t have to, promise me that if you have a daughter, you’ll give it to her when her first child is born.”

Zeke frowned at his mother. “Why?  Why such strange conditions?  I mean, I understand about not selling it unless I have to, I mean, if it’s real, it’s worth a bundle, look how big it is.  Maybe worth ten thousand dollars!”

“I doubt it’s worth that much!”

“Well, who knows.  But why about the daughter?  I may never marry, I may only have sons…”

“I know, Zeke, and if you never marry, fine.  And if you only have sons, give it to them, when they have a child.  But if you have a daughter, please, please, let her have something for her self.  Something that will always give her-- something to fall back on.  It’s so very, very hard for a woman in this world, and for a woman with a child, life can be very cruel.”

They sat silently for a bit longer.  Then Zeke put the rock back in the bag, and put it deep in his pocket.  “Mom, what ever you want me to do with this rock, I’ll do.  But always remember, you can come to me, you can turn to me.  With what I’m going to be getting paid, you won’t ever have to think about a rock for security.  Dad was your rock, and now I am.”

Jane put her head on her son’s shoulder, shut her eyes, and smiled.  She was truly, truly blessed.

Where did we leave Vanessa?

Our beautiful vamp, Vanessa, was last seen with the thugs, in the back of their van...

Chapter 9

 “I’m leaving you alone with her, but don’t do anything stupid,” Mitch said, turning the van’s motor off.  “I’m going to get Mike.  So keep your dumb hands to yourself.”

“No need to get mean, Mitch.  I just thought that since Mike sent us to get her, we should just get her, and not try to get any of the whoring money out of her.  I didn’t mean to piss you off.”  Vanessa had been listening to Derek whine and Mitch grumble for what seemed like hours.  Mercifully, Derek had stopped pawing her, and Mitch had given up on trying to double-time his boss, at least for now.

“Well, we wasted enough time arguing about this.  It’s almost four, and we have to turn her in at four.”

“You make her sound like a library book!”  Derek laughed.

“What would you know about library books?”  Vanessa heard the van door slam.

“Okay, sleeping beauty, you can open your eyes,” Derek said.  Vanessa complied.  No sense in faking any longer, especially since he knew it was a sham.  Derek opened the remaining buttons on her dress and laid it open.  “Now that’s some library book!”

Vanessa didn’t struggle.  Under the dress she had only her bra, having lost the thong in the ladies’ room at the lawyer’s office.  Nothing had worked out right, and now Derek here was going to get lucky.  It wasn’t fair.  She sighed.

“It’s not that bad,” Derek said, lifting her bra and letting her breasts bounce free.  “Oh, my god, you are beautiful.”  He stroked her breasts.  Then he ran his hands over her mound, and parted her legs.  “Come on, Vanessa, don’t just lie there like you’re dead.” 

Vanessa shrugged.  “The drug.  It makes me sleepy.  I have headache.”  It was true, and anyway, she knew she wasn’t in any real danger.  It wasn’t like he would stab her, or choke her if she didn’t obey.  He was going to have his way with her, that was obvious, but he wasn’t going to hurt her if he could avoid it.  The big problem is that she was too woozy to get away, and eventually he would turn her over to Mike.

“Not tonight, dear, I have a headache?”  Derek thought that was supremely funny, and was momentarily distracted from his rapacious task.  Vanessa propped herself up on an elbow.  The interior of the van, now stuffy without the motor on to run the air conditioner, spun around. 

“Oh, no.  I am going vomit.” 

“Don’t you dare!” Derek scooted quickly away from her.

“Oh, I think sicking.”

Derek opened the back hatch of the van. Tepid but new air rushed in.  It made her feel a bit better immediately, even if it was carbon monoxide-laced garage air.  She looked around.  They were in the deepest recesses of the casino’s underground parking lot, where only the employees ever parked.  She pulled her bra back down where it belonged, and pulled her dress shut. 

“Don’t do that!  We were just getting started.”

“Poor Derek.  But at least you stood up to Mitch.  I’ll make sure that you’re rewarded for that.”

“Please, Vanessa.  Don’t tell Mike.  Don’t say a word about Mitch trying to get the money.  He didn’t mean it, and I don’t want him to get in trouble.  Really!”  Derek’s gloriously handsome face looked even better in distress.  His perfect black eyebrows, usually gracefully arching over his dark eyes, were knit together in a movie-star version of concern, and his rich, full lips were pouting slightly as he worried about Mitch’s fate.  He climbed out of the van, and stood next to the vehicle while Vanessa put herself back together.

“Tell you what.  You just keep your hands to yourself, and we don’t have to talk to Mike about anything.  You did job, you got me here, you will not get in any trouble.”

“Thank you, Vanessa.  I really appreciate it.  I really need this job, you know.  I’m saving up to go to acting school.  I want to go to Hollywood, but I’m going to need a lot of money until I get discovered, so I just can’t afford to get fired.”

“Don’t worry.  But if you need money so much, why didn’t you let Mitch see if he could scare me into giving you some of the money from the back-door business?”  That was the casino euphemism for the little venture that Mike and Vanessa had concocted to generate some extra cash.  It hadn’t worked out too well, but that was hardly Vanessa’s fault.  She had brought in some lovely girls, and she certainly was pretty enough to lure the men back and do the commerce.  It was just that in today’s world, in the suburbs, the gentlemen didn’t want whores, and the ladies wanted too much of the money. 

Derek ducked his head away sheepishly.  “I knew you were awake, and I didn’t think you were going to fall for Mitch’s plan, and besides, I was hoping that since, well, if I kept him from badgering you, that maybe you and me, well, we could have a little real fun together.  Not just back here in the van, you know?  Unless you’re really committed to Mike, of course.  I don’t want to get in the way of that?”

“Sure, Derek,” Mitch’s voice came from the gloom.  “You thought it all through in a split second, didn’t you?  You’re the genius of group.  Of course she’s not committed to Mike, she ran away from him, didn’t she?  She would have gone along with the plan gladly.  And you would have your money for that chicken-shit little acting school you got into in LA.  Amazing Academy of Dramatic Arts!  Sounds like a scam to me.”

“Don’t you dare insult me! Or my school!”  Derek shouted.  Patches of red appeared on his high cheekbones, and his square chin jutted forward.

“Too bad you’re straight, Derek,” Mitch taunted.  “You’ll never make it with those pretty-boy looks unless you’re willing to sleep with the director!”  Mitch put himself between Derek and the van.

“Stop that, you little boys!  Why are you trying to have a fight?  Mitch, you stole me to take to Mike.  So take me to Mike.”  Mike would be better that the dueling security guards.  At least he was an adult.

“There’s a problem.”

“Is what, the problem?”

“Mike’s gone.”

Derek and Vanessa stared at Mitch.  “What do you mean gone?  Like gone home for the night?  It’s not barely four!” 

“Gone.  Gone to the hospital.  He got taken away in an ambulance around two this afternoon.  No one knows what’s going on.”

“So, we won’t get our money?”

“Will you shut up about the money, Derek?  I’m sure Mike will make good.  And besides, you got a little private nookie from Va-Va-Vanessa here.  What’re you complaining about?”

“So, Mike is gone.  He is in hospital.  So now, I am leaving this van.  Your party is over.” 

Neither man tried to stop her as she put her high-heeled shoes back on, straightened her dress, and walked away from the van.  Letting herself in by the employee door, she went straight to Mike’s private office.  She switched on the light.  His chair was turned over, his silver cake-cutting knife, a souvenir of his first marriage, lay on the floor beside the chair.  And on his desk was a spread-sheet, showing all of the income, expenses, and debts of the casino. 

Vanessa pulled the chair upright, put the knife back, and sat down in Mike’s chair. She didn’t even glance at the ringing phone.  She fished a calculator out of his left hand drawer, and took up the spread-sheets.  They were her favorite form of fiction.

A little action, a little diamond

Chapter 8

I unlocked the door to the little office above the Starbucks at 5:45. The street was bustling with early diners, families with Soccer League kids in tow after practice going out for a pizza and Cokes, and office workers getting out of the small office buildings along Sanville Road, picking up a couple of items before heading home.  The fall air was sweet, and the evening would be light for at least another hour, inviting the town residents to enjoy the last of Indian Summer in Northern California.  Even in this economy there was still money for a latte, or some specialty cheese to go with the evening cocktail.

 Loan Brokerage was neatly lettered in gold on black on a brass plate next to the outside door.  Nothing said “Lisa” on it.  I didn’t usually use this office for sharking clients, and definitely not local ones.  The last thing I needed was an indiscreet comment at a PTA meeting.  Anything local, I met them at my Lisa’s Loans office in Fremont.  Less classy, less convenient, but a whole lot safer.  I was taking a risk here, but I thought it would be okay.  Besides, I hadn’t had a prospect in a while. 

A an intercom with a buzzer button next to the sign allowed me to let my clients in upon arrival while keeping the street level door locked.  Granted there was almost no crime in Sanville, but given my work, it never hurt to be careful.  Up a flight of stairs, my clients would meet the glass door to the actual office.  Again, in discreet lettering, my “loan brokerage” announced itself.  It was, I had to admit, a somewhat unusual form of loan brokerage, but when you came right down to it, how different was it? 

In fact, I have a real estate license, and can act as a main-stream loan broker, arranging conventional mortgages for clients looking to buy or refinance their homes.  Five years ago, before the bubble burst, that kind of work was so prevalent that even I did some bona-fide brokering. 

We all know what really happened.  The bubble burst, and suddenly, the housing values lost steam like a balloon losing air.  No one could refinance, no one could sell, and foreclosures became rampant. 

With all those loan failures, of course, there were no longer any conventional loans to be brokered.  But in the “unconventional” loan market, also known as hard-money lending, we, ahem, loan sharks were suddenly very, very much in demand.  It pays to be counter-cyclical, I always say. 

John knew nothing of my extra-curricular lending, which is surprising when you realize that he knows more about economics than most professionals.  As the economy slowly turned sour, he was grateful that I still had the occasional loan to broker, and he was relieved that while his practice had slowed, mine was still vibrant and healthy.  With two kids in college, that was a major relief.

I was early to the meeting with Catherine.  I am always early to meetings in my office.  It is unprofessional to arrive, panting, at the last moment, as if the intended client is the only one you have.  In my business, appearance of propriety is vital.

I had changed out of the clothing I had worn to Mike’s casino.  For one thing, when I go to collect, I always wear athletic shoes and clothing that will stretch and let me move easily.  One never knows if one will be required to perform some athletic feat in the course of collection, just as I had done today.  I regretted the snapping of Mike’s arm.  I hoped that it could be set without surgery.

I was now wearing grey slacks, a white silk blouse, and pearl earrings.  Though my pumps were elegantly slim, they were still rubber soled.  I didn’t want to hobble myself unnecessarily.  I had pinned my auburn hair into a loose bun.  I wore blush and mascara, and a little foundation to ease the years away. 

When the buzzer sounded I verified that it was Catherine and buzzed her through.  I tried to imagine what she would look like, based on her voice and her urgency.  When the door opened, I congratulated myself.  I had hit most of the details.  I stood up to shake her hand, and to measure her height with my own.  She was tall, maybe five eight, and blonde.  I knew she would be blonde, and her hair was in what I call the Sanville bob:  straight, curling in just below her chin, no bangs.  Her eyes were green, though, not blue, and she was younger than I had guessed.  She was probably in her very early thirties, if that.  Maybe late twenties.  And she had a stunning figure.

At her height, she could carry weight I would never have attempted, but where I was lean and wiry, she was curvy and feminine.  There was not an ounce of misplaced fat on her body, but where the good Lord had deemed us to be round, she was global.  And it looked natural, as round above as below.  She wore a shirt-waist in light blue, with pink trim, and beige sandals, perfect Sanville wear, but on her the effect was of a goddess in suburbia.  Fortunately for my self-esteem, her hand was ice-cold and wet.

“Catherine, Lisa,” I said, my voice a little harder than I intended.

Catherine sat at the edge of the chair, fingering her Prada handbag.  I would consider taking that for collateral.  I pulled out a client-intake sheet.  “Do you want to fill this out, or give me the information?” I asked.  She raised her eyebrows slightly, not realizing how much easier it is to lie when you have control of the pen.  I handed her the sheet and my pen.  She bent to the work. 

At the usual spot she paused, and looked back at me.  “Reason for loan” was a critical juncture in the application.  Unlike mainstream lenders, I lent my own money, and I lent it to people who had screwed up somehow, and couldn’t go anywhere else.  Yes, I had them over a barrel, but they could change the balance of power more easily than they realized.  I was like a bail bondsman in a sense, trusting the untrustworthy, and taking measures to make my trust justified.  And that involved invading their privacy, more than just a little. 

“Why do you want the loan?” I said clearly.

She nibbled the end of the pen.  She was unbelievably beautiful.  “To pay a debt,” she finally said, very softly. 

“To whom?”  I was relentless.  Grammatical, but tough.

“Why do you need to know?” she asked, showing a little backbone.

“Look at it this way, Catherine.  I am about to put in process a loan that will hand you a hundred and fifty thousand dollars on Tuesday.  I’ve never met you before, we aren’t going to go to a title company, or put a deed of trust on your house, and I’m not going to get paid back for six weeks.  I need to trust you, and to trust you I’ve got to know a little about you.  So, how about you answer my questions, be reasonably honest with me, and if you check out, you’ll get your money.  And if you don’t, you won’t.  I couldn’t care less about your private life.  Do you think that people come to me to borrow for reasons they could publish in their alumni magazine?”

Catherine shook her head.  I could see the tough love getting through to her.  But she still had her pride.  I had to break her of that.  Loan sharking is a brutal business.  Look at Mike.

“Fine,” she whispered.  “I need the money for a gambling debt.”

My eyebrows shot up.  I’d guessed wrong again.  I had figured cocaine, or a lover, or blackmail, but not gambling.  “Mesa Casino type gambling?”

It was her turn to look surprised. “Oh, no.  Mesa makes you post your money first, then you can gamble.  You can’t gamble more than you’ve got on file.”  So she was an habituée.  “This is a lot worse.”

“Tell me.”  At this point, I was just curious. 

“I’m embarrassed.”

“Of course you are.  Everyone who sits in that chair is embarrassed.  If they aren’t, they don’t get their loan.  I mean, if someone is desperate enough to come to me, they had better not be crowing about it.”

I don’t know what made me open up to her like that, but she seemed to appreciate it.  “It’s ugly, but here goes. 

“Obviously, I’ve been to Mesa, and to Coblentz, and to Caipa Tribe Casinos, since I know how they work.  But I wasn’t always a compulsive gambler.  I used to love to go up to Tahoe, play the slots, play twenty-one, craps, but I was always under control, just doing it for fun.  My girlfriends and I would go up a couple of times a year, have a few lemon-drops, play some games, and fool around with guys.  That’s how I met my husband.

“Mickey was a security specialist.  I mean, he is a security specialist, but he was a specialist at one of the biggies up there.”  She mentioned a name that was nationally synonymous with high stakes gambling.  “He’s a brain, not a body.  You know, someone in security whose job it was to set up, or implement a security plan, not a goon that stood guard.

“I was up there, three and a half years ago, on one of the trips with my gals, and we were a little loaded.  After we’d spent our cash, I wanted to keep playing.  I went to the booth, and offered my credit card.  That’s usually plenty, and I had lots of room on it.  They took it, but when they came back, it was with a couple of goons in suits.  They said my card was stolen, and they told me to follow them into a back room. 

“I was scared.  My friends were still in the bar, waiting for me, and I had drunk a fair amount, but I wasn’t completely wasted.  I knew that I didn’t have a stolen card, and I was afraid to follow them.  I told them I was going to tell my friends what was going on, and come right back.  They were having none of it.  Next thing I knew I was surrounded by three of these huge goons, and they were talking really softly to me.  If I didn’t want to make a scene, I would follow them quietly.  They were sure this could all be worked out privately.  I was terrified, but didn’t know what else to do.

“So I went with them, and next thing I knew I was in a little room with two of these creeps, and they were leering at me.  One kept licking his lips, and repeating ‘juicy, juicy’ over and over.  The other guy thought it was pretty funny, but he was obviously in charge.  The net of it was that they were going to run a charge for instant cash on my account, and if it came up paid, they’d give me the card back.  If it didn’t, they were calling the cops.

“Now I knew that the card wasn’t stolen, so I said, go ahead.  Run it.  The saner of the two gave me a form to sign, and I did.  He ran the charge, it okayed a thousand dollars, and they took it to the cage.  He came back with the grand, and I thought he would give it to me.  Instead, he cut my card up in front of me, and told me to get out of the casino within five minutes, or I would be arrested for scamming them.  And if I tried to cancel the charge, they had the form I’d signed, saying I had received a thousand dollars cash.  I was screwed.

“The lip-licker opened the door for me to leave, but he said, before I left I had to give him a kiss.  I told him to go to hell, and he shut the door again.  Finally, I gave in, and with my teeth clenched, I let him kiss me.  As he did he pinched my ass so hard it left a bruise, but I didn’t care, I was so eager to get out of there. 

“Imagine how surprised I was when my way was blocked by another suit.  This one, though, said something like, ‘Thanks.  We’ll take it from there.’  It was Mickey.  And he had recorded the whole thing.  It was a sting, and they caught the two jerks red-handed.  Apparently, the cashier at the cage had been told to watch for a tall blonde who would say exactly what I said, and let the sting begin. 

“Mickey explained the whole thing, and when the gal who was supposed to run the sting showed up, we all had a good laugh.  Mickey and I got married six months later.”

I was mesmerized.  “Wow.  That’s quite a tale.  But it doesn’t answer my question.”  There was a lot more substance to this Sanville honey than I had thought, though.

“Yeah, sorry, I got sidetracked.  I haven’t been able to tell this story to anyone, except Mickey of course, since I moved here.  Not exactly the most understanding of communities.”

I shook my head in agreement.  John and I had raised our two kids here, for better or for worse, but the pressure to conform, to achieve, and to never let the world see the cracks in your armor was intense in this upscale suburb.  Not a happy place for someone with a past.

“Mickey’s work takes him to casinos all over the world.  He doesn’t want me to gamble, he says it’s all a sucker’s bet.  But everywhere he goes, it’s a casino.  We’ve agreed on some limits, and I’ve been gambling at the best. 

“But when the bug finally bites, it bites deep.  I won a lot, and I loved having the money that my dull job at the college had never given me.  Mickey makes an incredible living, but I always feel like it’s his money.  So, once we moved here, and we started trying to start a family, I didn’t travel so much with him anymore.  I got lonely, I got bored.  I didn’t know anyone, and I don’t work at my job at the college anymore since we had been doing all that traveling, and besides, Mickey makes enough that I don’t really have to work, but I liked having my own money.  So I started to go to card parlors.  I couldn’t tell Mickey, of course.  And one thing led to another.  And now, I’m in the hole for a hundred thousand dollars, and if I don’t pay up by Tuesday…”

She trailed off.  But that was the question that I was asking.  “If you don’t pay up by Tuesday, who will do what?”

“Pappalou will tell Mickey.”

Pappalou.  The most disreputable gambling host in Northern California.  She must be deeply addicted.  “And if he tells your Mickey, what will Mickey do?”

There were tears in her eyes.  “I don’t know, divorce me, something.”

“There has to be more than that.”

She stared past me, out the window, to the greening hills beyond Sanville.  “I need to have a baby.  I need to have a baby, and if Mickey leaves me, I won’t.  He can’t find out.  He can’t.  Please, please, Lisa.  Let me show you the diamond.  Please lend me that money!  Please!”

“How are you going to pay it back to me?  With more gambling?”

She turned her beautiful green eyes on me.  “No.  I will have the money.  I am guaranteed at least that much, but it will not come for six weeks.  I am certain of it.  And if not, there is the diamond.”

I sighed.  “Okay.  Let’s see the rock.”

I've been away, enjoying the heck out of myself! But now I'm back, and back to work! And so is John, back in his office, where there's been a little surprise...

Chapter 7

Back at the office, October, election year, 21^st Century

The door should not have been unlocked.  John opened the door to his office carefully.  He looked around.  Keeping close to the door, he peered in, feeling his pulse throb in his throat.  He saw no one.  But what he did see was an unholy mess.

There were papers everywhere, and the drawers had been left overturned on the floor.  His computer was on, the screen saver fish swimming placidly back and forth, showing that less than twenty minutes had elapsed since someone had been on the machine.  But the computer was still there, and so was his silver whiskey flask from his brother’s wedding, and the pictures of the two kids, and the statue of Justicia, blind and holding the balance.

Nothing seemed to be missing.  He gazed at the room, rooted to the spot for a moment.  Then he bent to pick up some of the papers, and stopped.  He probably shouldn’t touch anything, in case the police could find prints.  But could there be fingerprints on a piece of paper?  He doubted it, but in an abundance of caution, he squelched his instinct to put everything back where it belonged.  Finally, he took out his cell phone and called the cops. 

They weren’t long in coming, there not being a lot of crime in Sanville beyond the weekly bank robberies in town.  Two uniformed officers arrived, looking solemn, prepared to serve the community.  The older of the two took out a notepad, and turned to John.  “So, the door was unlocked when you got back?”

John recapped the story.  He had been gone for almost two hours, at a hearing, and when he had returned, not only was the door unlocked but this was the mess he had found.  Nothing seemed missing, but he had not yet gone through the papers.

“Any dangerous clients, or angry ones?”

John started to say no, but stopped.  The cop looked up at him from his form, pen poised above the sheet.  John felt himself blush, and cursed his fair skin, but his mind had flashed on the strange tale of Vanessa, and her heated cleavage.  The policeman waited with professional patience.  “I don’t know,” John finally said, and sat down heavily in one of the chairs. 

The cop was silent.  John loosened his tie, and stared at the floor.  “I had a rather odd client come in today, someone new.  I don’t know if this has anything to do with this break in, in fact I can’t see how it would, but I did have a most unusual encounter.”

“What’s the name and address of the client?”

John paused.  “I think that would be confidential.  Especially in her case.”  Again, he felt himself burn with embarrassment at his own thoughts, and knew the cop was thinking all the wrong things.  Or the right things, for all the wrong reasons.  Either way, John was mortified. 

“Well, sir, why don’t you just take a good look through your papers and such, and if you find anything missing, let us know, okay?”  In this small, wealthy community, the citizens ruled.  Unless the cops had good reason to act otherwise, like the time that lady killed her husband out by their pool house and put his body in the recycling bin for Monday morning pickup, they left the extent of law enforcement more or less up to the residents.

Once the officers of the law were gone, John quickly picked up all the papers.  He had made a single page of notes from his interview of Vanessa, and sure enough, that notepad was gone.  He felt a little sick.  She had told him so little, and she had been so afraid. The break-in was obviously connected with her. 

He reached for the phone, to call the police back, ready to tell them all, but stopped.  What could he tell them?  That her boss wanted her to have a baby with him?  That she was afraid he would rape her to have his way?  That if she didn’t conceive, he would, what?  She had not specified what the consequences of that would be.  John scratched his head.  None of this made sense.  Why would Mike want a baby?  And why would he want one with Vanessa?  If she didn’t want a baby, she could use the pill.  If she didn’t want to have sex with Mike, she could leave the casino. 

Her plea to him had, in retrospect, been so vague, so odd.  She had begged him to protect her, to hide her.  When he had suggested a restraining order, she had been horrified.  Go to court?  Tell the world about her plight?  Never! 

He had asked her to come back around four, when he would be back from court, and it was a little after four now.  He would put it straight to her.  He could help legally, with a restraining order, or send her to a shelter for battered women, but beyond that, she needed to go to the police.  He looked around his invaded office.  And he would have to get to the bottom of this break-in.  Vanessa would know who would want to know that she had talked to him.  If it was Mike, then he would have to have a stern talk with his old client.  Breaking into lawyers’ offices was illegal.  And if Vanessa’s story wasn’t fleshed out a little more, if she was lying, John would let the police know as much as he could without violating the attorney-client privilege, and be done with her.  The one thing John could not stand was a liar.

Once he made his resolve, John felt better.  He poured himself a little scotch from the flask, got a couple of ice cubes from the mini-fridge, and swirled them around.  Even if Vanessa came in when he was having a drink, it could be explained.  His office had been burglarized.  Anyone would want a drink after that.

By four thirty, John decided that Vanessa had been out to scam him somehow, and was never coming back.  He pondered what to tell Mike, if anything, about the lying employee he had.  Ultimately, he would tell him nothing, he decided.  The privilege was stronger than the need to alert his client to the possibility of a scam.  He would simply tell Mike that he needed to be sure to vet his employees carefully, and to let John know if any of them seemed suspicious.

As a matter of fact, he thought, he should call Mike anyway, just to make sure everything was okay at the casino.  There had been a lot less work, lately, from all sources, and Mike, in particular.  The downturn in the economy was sure to be coming around, but this slow time was not fortuitous, given that Aelisse and he now had two kids in college.  It was a bad time for work to be slow.  A little client development would be a good thing.

John picked up the phone to dial, and heard the beep-beep of messages.  Damn.  For the first time in years, probably from all the excitement, he had not checked his phone.  Maybe Vanessa had called to tell him that she would be late, or canceling, or that somehow she had worked out the problem with Mike.  Then he remembered that he hadn’t because he had thought the cops would dust for prints.  Maybe he could call them back out to do so.  He picked up the phone with a Kleenex. 

The only message was from Aelisse.  She had a meeting with a client come up suddenly, for this evening at six, and dinner would be late.  Aelisse’s work as a loan broker sometimes required unusual hours.  With the real estate market not yet turned around she still had less work than usual, so though he disliked eating late, he couldn’t really complain this time.  He glanced at his watch.  That was fine.  He could wait a little longer in case Vanessa came back.

John placed a call to Mike at the casino, but rang into voicemail. Usually Mike was at his desk well into the evening.  He must have been in the men’s room, or in a meeting.  He was prompt in returning John’s calls, especially since unlike other lawyers Mike had had, John didn’t bill for calls unless they were over five minutes and substantive.  John hung up, and went back to straightening out his office.  Then he picked up the phone again, to check if anyone had left a message while he had been calling Mike.  Dismayed at the lack of beeping, he hung up again and went back to his clean-up. 

Close to six, still with no word from Vanessa, he poured himself another scotch.  Leaving the drink on his desk, he carefully locked his door, using the upper lock, as the lower one had been jimmied into uselessness, and went down the hall to the men’s room.  As he passed by the women’s room he noticed a scrap of black on the floor, wedged next to the door. 

He looked around carefully.  He didn’t want to be seen picking up items from the floor in front of the women’s bathroom.  There were very few women on the third floor, but it would be awkward if one of them came out of the rest room while he was crouched in front of the door.  Gingerly he untangled the snag on the cloth, and pulled forth a lacy, black thong.  He held it between thumb and forefinger, unsure of what to do with it.  It certainly could not belong to any of the three gals who worked on this floor.  It would fit over only half of any of their back-sides. 

The turning of a knob behind him startled him, and he shoved the bit of lace into his pocket.  Four doors down, at the end of the hall, a tall, stooped man emerged.  Another solo, Bill Ferry was an accountant who kept very, very regular hours.  It must be exactly six o’clock.  “Evening, Bill,” John said.

“Working hard, or hardly working?” Bill said, as he did every time he saw John.

John smiled tightly.  He should tell Bill about the break-in, tell him to make sure he locked his door.  But Bill was already turning towards the stairs.  He would tell him tomorrow.  Bill would be in at exactly nine thirty.  No need to rush.  And besides, John knew that the break-in had been personal.  Personal and professional.  Fingering the lingerie in his pocket, he felt a strange emotion rising in his chest as he made his way to the men’s room. John was getting angry.  Angry, and a little excited as well.