man, but not an exceptionally good man, I'm afraid. He bought and sold companies for a living, just like his father had done, and his grandfather, too. I was under the impression that we had a very strong marriage, that I was the love of his life and that he cherished our son above all things. When he died from a heart attack a little over ten years ago, I learned that he had other women-an uncountable number, it would turn out-and other children, at least nine, though that number tends to fluctuate depending upon the month and the lawsuit. So what was once a great amount of money was significantly less, but more than enough, certainly. Nevertheless, I've spent the better part of the last decade giving away most of the money to charities throughout Miami, trying, not so vainly, to undo some of what I think of as my husband's least admirable traits.'
Cricket stood up then and went across the room, picked up a few of the framed items from the sheet and handed them to me. They were certificates of appreciation from organizations like the South Beach AIDS Project, the Homeless Fund and the American Cancer Society.
'You've done good work,' I said.
There were also photos of her cozied up with numerous celebrities, including a few fellows who ran for president over the years. In some of the photos, it was hard to tell if she was out on a date and was caught by paparazzi or if she actually was doing good work, though everyone gets to make their own choices about what is and isn't work these days.
'I've tried,' Cricket said. 'I hate who I found out my husband was, but I still love Scott, the man I was married to, the boy I met in college. I've tried to honor that original emotion, but then everything got fouled up.' She went on to explain that her son, Devin, enlisted in the Marines after September eleventh, despite being in his second year at Princeton. 'It was foolish,' she continued. 'I tried to dissuade him from it but he said that he felt useless, that college wasn't for him, which it wasn't. He took that from me, I suppose. But he went and I'm happy to say he was a fine soldier, that he loved what he was doing.' Her voice trailed off then into silence.
'I was in Iraq for a little while,' I said. 'Anyone who went there, who lived even a day, is a better man than anyone walking on South Beach.'
'Still,' she said, 'I'd prefer he was alive.'
'How long has it been?' Sam asked.
'Two years last month,' she said. Cricket started pacing the length of the room, her story flowing out of her like an avalanche of utter personal misery. It was after Devin died that things really fell apart for Cricket O'Connor, if it's possible to have your life fall apart even more than finding out the man you loved happened to love several other women and a baseball team of children. At first, she was feted in the local press, a minor celebrity for the fact that her son had perished, that her son had even enlisted in the first place, since rare is the warrior who comes from grace, and grace is something Cricket O'Connor possessed in spades. Benefit after benefit called upon Cricket O'Connor to be the face of their own grief and she just kept saying yes, giving money and time and press. And then there were the dates with celebrities.
Meetings with politicians.
A place in society.
Her hair perfect.
Her clothes designer.
Her jewels sparkling on the pages of Haute Living, the society column of the Miami Herald following her every date, South Beach naming her the most eligible woman in the city, and the most giving. Palm Life naming her one of their Fifty Most Beautiful Under Sixty.
'And then I met Dixon Woods,' she said.
'Why do I know that name?' I asked.
'He did a little Special Forces time,' Sam said. 'The Tupac Amaru action in Panama?'
'I wasn't there,' I said. 'Not technically.'
'Neither was he,' Sam said. 'Not technically. Buddy of mine in the NSA says he was also not technically in Nicaragua, Haiti and Bakino Faso, but that he's technically been in private service since 2002.'
Just like every gun with a debt margin they want to work down, though I had a difficult time imagining anyone who'd done the things Dixon Woods was likely to have done somehow ending up in the arms of Cricket O'Connor. I had sensed the difficult part of Cricket O'Connor's life story was just now unfolding.
That and Sam was sort of twitching in his seat.
'Just how did you end up meeting Dixon Woods?' I said.
'On the Internet,' she said.
'Pardon me?' I said.
'I'm part of several online support groups for relatives of military dead. One of them is also for singles. He contacted me there.'
I already knew where this was headed. The world was simpler when people actually met each other in real life. The old model of getting drunk, dancing and doing things you regretted was a good one.
'You married him and he stole your money.'
The color drained from Cricket's face. 'How did you know?'
'Because predators can smell the weak even through a computer screen.' What I didn't tell her: Because if I'd lived a second longer with my father, if I hadn't gone into the military after high school, I'd probably be doing the same thing as Dixon Woods.
A bully can always find a victim.
'I hate to be a cliche,' she said.
'You're not,' I said. 'You're a foregone conclusion. That's worse, I'm sorry to say. But you don't need me to tell you that.'
'That's why I need your help,' Cricket said. 'I needed someone to tell me that, obviously, and I need someone to help me find Dixon before I lose everything.'
Need. Everyone thinks they need something. What Cricket O'Connor was really talking about was want: She wanted me to solve her problems, to fix what she'd wrecked with her own needs.
'I'm sorry your husband was a scumbag. I'm sorry your son is dead. I'm even sorry you married someone you met on the Internet. But you need to call the police. Let them handle this.'
'I can't do that,' she said.
'Sure you can,' I said. 'Dial nine-one-one. They'll ask you if this is an emergency. Say yes. Go from there.'
'Sam said you'd be able to help find Dixon,' she said.
'Really?' I said to Sam.
'Mikey,' he said, 'there're some mitigating circumstances that don't exactly scream for proper law enforcement involvement.'
'Is this where the sort-of drug dealers come in, or did I miss that part?'
'That would indeed be this part, yes,' Sam said.
Cricket explained that the last time she saw Dixon he informed her that he needed a substantial amount of money to pay off a debt to opium dealers he was 'engaged with in Afghanistan,' where, he told her, he was working under contract with a private security firm, overseeing 'certain American interests' in the opium trade. As soon as he got back from the job, he'd be reimbursed and she'd be reimbursed.
'And there'd be a little something on the back end for you, too, right?'
'Yes,' Cricket said.
'How much?'
'I don't know. A couple hundred thousand. Maybe less.'
'For a rich person,' I said, 'you sure are greedy.'
Cricket began to well up, and I decided that, no matter what was going on with this woman, I was having a hard time feeling any sympathy for her. You feel like you can run with wolves, every now and then you have to expect to get bitten.
'What do you take me for, Mr. Westen?' she asked, her voice just a whisper.
'The truth?'
'It would be refreshing these days.'
I told her. And then I told her if there was nothing else, we'd be on our way.
'Wait here for just a moment,' she said. She left the living room and made her way upstairs. I could hear her
