Pain Management

“And we’re dealing with it, Michael,” his father said, gently. “Nobody is going to bother Jenn, okay?”

The kid nodded, not entirely convinced.

“Here’s the problem,” the father said. “I don’t know you. I doubt Kevin knows you.”

“He doesn’t,” I said. Thinking this guy wouldn’t make the same mistakes an amateur like Kevin would, judge by appearances. I knew a guy in prison once. Ferret-faced, with a weak, trembly chin, and watery, frightened eyes. He was a stone life-taker. And I had the strong sense that Joel knew the same truths I did.

“So . . . what’s your word worth?” he asked. “That’s what it comes down to, you understand that?”

“I do.”

“And . . . ?”

“I haven’t got any references. None that would mean anything to you.”

“Try me.”

“I can’t do that, either.”

His pale eyes took my pulse. “Tell us what you can,” he finally said.

“I’ve been to prison,” I said. “But I always went in alone. Where I live, your word is your life. Good or bad. If you promise to do something . . . anything . . . you have to do it. Otherwise, your protection’s gone.”

“I don’t understand that,” the girl said.

“He means if you threaten someone you have to make good on the threat,” her father said.

I nodded to show he had it right. “That’s one side of it, sure. Not the only one. But . . . all right, here it is. I’ve done all kinds of things in my life. Some I think you’d approve of, others I know you wouldn’t. That’s okay, I don’t expect you to be my friends. Here’s what I never did: I never went out to hurt a kid. Or use one. Or turn one up for people who wanted to do any of that.”

“Is that because—?” Jenn started to say.

“Yes,” I cut her off. I didn’t want the empathetic pain that had suddenly flashed in her deep, dark eyes. “I was a runaway myself when I was a kid. Much younger than Rosa is now. More than once. And I would have rather died than go back to where I ran from. I give you my word that I will never bring her back if she doesn’t want to go.”

“I don’t know how to tell,” Jennifer said, honesty and fear mingling in her voice.

“I do,” her father said. “But I also believe in insurance. And I think it’s time to take you up on your earlier offer, Mr. . . . Hazard.” He turned to his son, “Michael, would you get me that little hand mirror your mother has on her dresser, please?”

After I’d rolled my thumbprint onto the freshly Windexed mirror, the father said, “Ask your questions.”

I nodded my agreement to the deal we’d never spoken out loud—he wasn’t going to show the thumbprint to anyone in law enforcement unless I broke my word. Turning to Jennifer, I asked, “Which one are you, Maida or Zia?”

“Oh!” Her blush turned her beautiful face into a work of art.

I waited, patiently, deliberately not pinning her with my eyes.

“Zia,” she finally said. “I thought you’d think . . .”

“That it was she and Daisy, yes?”

“Yes. They’re so close, those two. But . . . I should have known. Daisy is very . . . grown-up for her age, I think. But Rosa’s her big sister, you know?”

“Yes.”

“I knew she was going to run,” Jennifer admitted.

I stole a glance at her father. If he was surprised at the revelation, I wouldn’t want to play poker with him.

“And it’s you who plants the letters for Daisy?” I asked her.

“Yes. But Rosa plants them for me.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I don’t see Rosa. She calls, she tells me where there’s a letter. I pick it up, and I leave it for Daisy.”

“You haven’t seen Rosa since she split?”

“No.”

“Did she tell you why she left, Jennifer?”

“Do you know about Borderland?”

“Just what I read.”

“That’s all any of us know.”

“So the note, the one Rosa left, it was legitimate?”

“I don’t know about any—”

“It said she was going to find the Borderlands.”

“Oh. Yes, that was what she said to me, too.”

“Jennifer, do you have any way to leave a note for her?”

“No. No, I don’t. I asked her . . . but she said it was too risky.”

“But she does call you, right?”

“Yes. When she wants me to—”

“Okay. I’ve got an idea,” I said. “Something that could work, and ease your own minds about me. How about if you ask her to meet with me, wherever she wants, but you and your father come along?”

“What about me?” Michael said, belligerence all over his voice.

“Oh, Michael, she doesn’t know you,” Jennifer told him.

“Not for her,” the kid explained patiently. “For him,” he said, pointing a finger at me.

“We’re not there yet,” his father cautioned.

“I’m . . . scared for Rosa,” Jennifer said.

“Because . . . ?” I tried to lead her.

“Because this wasn’t supposed to last so long. If you know about . . . Borderland, you know it isn’t an actual place. It’s more like a . . .” She groped with it for a few seconds, then said, “. . . collective state of mind.”

Her father beamed at her.

“That means more than one person, right, Jennifer?”

“I’m not sure I understand. . . .”

“A collective state of mind. Rosa, she’d have to find others who felt the same way she did, to make that work.”

“Yes,” the girl said, more confident now. “She said she knew they were out there. I think she had an idea where she’d be going. Not to any one place, exactly. Or even with particular people. But . . . kind of where she’d find them, do you see?”

“I think so,” I told her. “You said this was making you scared . . . ?”

“Rosa wasn’t looking for a place. Or even for people. She was looking for some answers.”

“To what?”

“I don’t know,” the girl said, her voice too full of truth to doubt. “She would never talk about it. But it was something big. Something very important.”

“She wasn’t . . . pregnant, maybe?” I asked, taking a stab.

“No,” she said, almost snorting the word.

“You’d know?” I probed gently.

“Yes. I would know. Maida and Zia, just like you said. She told me everything. Except . . .”

Another hour’s conversation didn’t get me any closer. The father walked me out to my car. “What’s your take on Kevin?” he asked me, way too casual.

“I don’t know the words you do,” I said, stalling.

“I get the impression that you do. But say it however you want.”

“He’s a wrong number. A fucking three-dollar bill.”

“What makes you—?”