The Big Ugly (3 page)

"Yes, that's Alexis. Did you get along with her?"

"Sure. We weren't chummy or anything, but we never had any problems—either when I was a guard or a prisoner."

Hamill nodded and tapped both of his index fingers on the desk at the same time. "Well, as you may remember, she got out of jail a few months ago."

"Yeah, maybe six or more."

"Eight, actually. And in an effort to get clean, she entered a Christian drug rehabilitation program called Free At Last. We here at the Legal Initiative fund various programs, including Free At Last. We considered Alexis one of our success stories. She was doing really well for a few months. But now, now she's gone missing."

I sat there with my legs crossed like a lady, smiled politely at the pretty man in his corner office, and waited for him to tell me why he called me. He just gave me that vacant lawyer stare they must teach in law school, though. Finally I asked, "Have you notified the police? Checked with her PO?"

"Well …" he tapped the desk with both fingers again. "Her parole officer is Mr. Romandetto. We've been led to believe that he is quite strict with those under his charge. If Alexis has fallen back into drugs, then she is certainly in violation of her parole. We'd—I'd rather just try to find her and bring her back."

"You'd like me to find her."

"Yes. I would."

"To be honest, I don't know if I can."

"Of course, but you know her. She wouldn't—we're afraid she might run if she thinks someone is looking for her. In fact, when you find her I'd rather that you call me, so I can talk to her. You don't need to confront her or bring her back. Just locate her. You know her and you're likely to know some of the people she's running with. You have enough social currency in that world to find her."

"I've never heard of being an ex-con referred to as 'social currency' before," I said, "but I guess I take your point."

"Good."

"Did she take her kid with her?"

"Her …" He stumbled. "I … uh … don't know."

"You know she's got a kid, right? About five years old. Something like that. A little girl named … Haylee? No, Kaylee. Kaylee Kravitz. I remember because I've always thought alliterated names are goofy."

"Oh yes. Yes. Of course."

But it was too late. I'd caught him in a lie. Until I told him, this guy had no idea that Alexis had a daughter.

He recovered with a smile and leaned into his desk. "Now, I know you're just out," he said, opening a drawer. "And you need to get back on your feet." He passed me an envelope. "Here's five hundred dollars. Find her and I'll give you another five hundred."

I took the envelope. It was thin but wonderful.

Hamill stood up. "If you need to call me, my number is on a slip of paper in the envelope."

I stood up. "Thank you."

"Miss Bennett, Ellie, I hope you'll respect that we all care very deeply about Alexis and just want her back in the fold, under the protection of the Lord where she belongs. As such, I hope you'll treat this employment as a private matter. Part of what that money buys is a certain amount of discretion."

"Of course."

We shook hands and I let myself out. I waved to Lips at the desk, to Tits at the outer desk, and then I rode the see-through tube back to the street.

After I stumbled out into the daylight, I stood there dazed for a moment.

What the hell was that?

When I got back to Nate's place, he and Bethany had a little birthday party for me. Cake, punch, some presents of perfume and earrings, a gift card to my favorite salon.

Felicia still avoided my eyes, but she gave me a leather journal that her mother said she'd bought with her own money. The girl told me, "I thought you might want to write about your life."

"Thanks, kid."

I gave her a half hug, and she gave me a half hug back and then disappeared.

"Sweet girl," I told her parents.

Bethany ran some water into the sink to wash dishes. She said, "She is."

"Won't look at me though."

"Give her time," Nate said.

Bethany nodded. "Yeah, she just has to figure out how to act around you. She's never known a criminal before."

Nate turned to his wife. "What the hell …"

"Well, I didn't mean any—Ellie, you know what I meant …"

I put the journal on the table next to my other presents.

Nate snapped at his wife, "My sister is not a criminal."

All the blood in Bethany's face shot to her cheeks, so her face reddened and paled at the same time. Though she was embarrassed for what she'd said about me, she also glared at Nate for snapping at her. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

The last thing I wanted to do was stand there as my brother and his wife worked out how best to talk about me.

"I'm going out for some fresh air," I said.

That made Nate angrier at Bethany, which made Bethany more embarrassed and angrier at Nate.

"Look," I said. "Bethany, I know you didn't mean anything by it. You're right. I went to prison and the kid's never known anybody who went to prison. You don't have to be a psychologist to figure it out." I started for the door. "I just need to go get a drink, relax, think about things. It's okay."

I'm not sure they believed me, but they didn't protest as I left.

I walked across the street as the sun was going down. The nearest bar was a couple of streets over, a nice little sofa lounge above a restaurant. Not what I was looking for. I kept walking until I hit what had once been the textile district.

Blinky's was a neighborhood bar snuggled between a pizza joint and a hipster consignment store. The doorman was young enough to be my son. He nodded me through without checking my ID.

The place was stone walls and dim lighting and a decent jukebox kept at a rational level. "Papa Don't Take No Mess" was playing as I slid onto a barstool.

A college-aged couple groped each other in a corner booth. A middle-aged couple sat at a table talking over beers. Two drunk dudes at the bar watched
Family Guy
on a muted television on the wall. The subtitles were on, and the dudes read along and chuckled.

A skinny bartender with tattooed cleavage and long brown hair came over. I vaguely remembered her.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi. Can I have a vodka tonic?"

"Any particular kind of vodka?"

"Something cheap that won't hurt me too bad in the morning."

She smiled and scooped some ice into a glass. "Got some men around here that fit that description."

"Well, point out a decent one if you get the chance."

Still smiling, she glanced up from fixing my drink. "You serious?"

I gave her a
what-the-hell
grin.

She handed me the drink. "It's a deal," she said.

I sipped the drink, and it loosened all the strings.

As I sat there and sipped it, savoring the buzz, people drifted in, people drifted out.

My first day of freedom had been odd. I was pretty happy I had the five hundred bucks in my purse, but I didn't understand why a guy with a corner office in a skyscraper would pay me to find a goofy kid like Alexis.

I sipped my drink. The clock on the wall said five after nine. Alexis could wait until the morning. Tonight, I had other, more pressing, concerns.

The bartender was named Massie. We chatted a bit. She vaguely remembered me, too, as it turned out. She made the drinks strong, so I barely touched mine. I didn't want to get sloppy. I wasn't there for that.

One chubby guy chatted me up, but he tried to compensate for his weight by pretending to be overly pleased with himself. After I blew him off, Massie slid up to me and muttered, "Good decision. Bad word around the powder room about that one," before she slid off again.

About nine-thirty, a guy came in. He was a little short, but he wasn't fat and he had a nice face.

"Hello," he said to me—with just the right balance between a friendly hello and the initiation of a conversation.

"Hi," I said in the same tone.

"Not too busy in here tonight. I got a good seat."

"Me too."

"What are you drinking?"

"Vodka tonic."

"Hmm, that sounds good. Hey, Massie, can I get a vodka tonic?"

When she brought over his drink, she gave me an encouraging smile.

His place was clean, like he was expecting company. We came in about two o'clock, dizzy with drink but not too dizzy and I let him lead me to the bedroom and undress me in the moonlight pouring in through two uncovered windows.

The sex was great. Or maybe it was just good, but I was tipsy and I hadn't had sex in over a year. We explored each other and switched positions a few times, and we didn't hurry and we didn't take too long. He got me off before I got him off and then he collapsed into the pillow beside me.

We lay there panting and sweating and I asked, "Bathroom?" and he pointed to a door.

I went and peed and came back. I collected my clothes from the floor.

He asked, "You're leaving?"

I slipped into my bra. "Yeah, I should go."

"Don't have to," he said.

As I pulled on my blouse I didn't know what to say, so I just said again, "I should go."

He grabbed a bottle of Maker's and a couple of glasses from his nightstand. "Have a nightcap before you- go?"

"Sure."

As he poured, he said, "That was nice."

I buttoned up my blouse and smiled warmly at him in the moonlight. "It was really nice."

"You're still leaving, though."

"Yeah, but I'm not leaving because it wasn't nice. I just need to get back home before daylight."

He nodded and considered his drink a moment. "I haven't seen you around Blinky's before."

"I've been away."

"Out of town?"

Once I had my clothes on, I sat on the bed next to him. "Yeah."

He grinned and sipped his drink. "Hey, I don't mean to pry. If you don't want to talk, I can stop."

I took the glass of Maker's and nipped at it before I said, "I've been out of town. Up in Whitfield."

"Around Eastgate Penitentiary?"

"In Eastgate Penitentiary."

His grin died a slow death. When it was finally gone, he nodded and sucked in his lips and gave the clipped "Huh" that implies
Well, I'll be damned. That's something interesting, isn't it?

I said, "Yeah. That's another reason I'm leaving."

"Were you in there for killing men after sex?"

I grinned. "No, I was not."

"That's good to hear."

"Though a man was involved, of course."

He stared at me.

I sighed and put my drink on the bedside table. "I used to work up at Eastgate as a guard," I said. I started to put on my shoes. "I was there a while. A lot of COs aren't serious about it as a profession. It's a brutal job, and there's a lot of turnover, but I was different. They've never had a female warden up there. I wanted to be the first. I was on my way, too. Worked my way up to shift commander.

"But there was this other shift commander: Morley. Kitty Morley. We were friendly enough, but she was a little too shady for my liking. Like a lot of places, Eastgate has a bad drug problem, and I was half sure she had a hand in that. Nothing I could do about it until I was warden, though, so I looked the other way."

The man in bed waited politely for the bad part.

I picked up the whiskey, sipped it and said, "Kitty had a husband. A cop. Frank. He was beautiful. And nasty. And wonderful. I guess I loved him."

"You had an affair."

I nodded. "It went on for a few months. Then at work one day an inmate named Paquita Morales spit in my face. It was over nothing. I told her to make her bunk, and she spit in my face. I hit her. Once. Struck her in the face.

"The next day, the warden called me into the office and said that a complaint had been filed against me by three inmates who said I'd beat one of them. Paquita had shown up with bruises and busted lips and a broken nose, and she and two witnesses said I'd beat her while she was restrained."

"But you only hit her once?"

"Yes, but on the security feed, you can see me hit her. You see her go down. You see me move out of frame. There's a blind spot. That's where Paquita led me, to the blind spot between the cameras." I took a sizable drink. Then I took a deep breath. "It was Kitty who put them up to it. She'd paid them off. Drugs for the two witnesses. For the girl who spit in my face, it was increased access to her kid. I couldn't blame them. What did they care about a pissing contest between me and another CO?"

"Jesus. What happened?"

"Got fired and brought to trial. I was convicted of assault. Sentenced to two years. I did thirteen months. Got out yesterday. Five years parole. And that's that."

"Is there anything you can do?"

"About what?"

"You know, to clear your name."

"People only clear their names in movies. I was convicted in a court of law. My name's shit."

"Sorry. Wow. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah."

"They put you in the same prison with the same people they said you beat up."

"It's the state prison for women. No other place for me to go."

"Have any trouble inside?"

I rubbed my knuckles. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

"And now you're out. What are you going to do?"

"Try to make some money. Try to start over."

"But what are you going to do if you run into Kitty or Frank?"

I kept rubbing. "I don't know, but it'd probably be better for all of us if I don't ever run into them again."

My hookup walked me to his door, gave me a hug goodbye and didn't seem sorry to see me leave. I caught a cab back to Nate's place and slipped in quietly. I crept to the bathroom and took a shower. When I finished, I slid back the curtain and there I was, pink and naked in the bathroom mirror.

I'd lost weight in Eastgate. I'd always been in good shape, but I'd dropped ten or fifteen pounds inside. Mostly in my torso, around my stomach and in my tits. Stress more than exercise. I still had legs like a Clydesdale, and my arms had hardened—my forearms had turned to rocks.