“Bail is set at one hundred thousand dollars!” Judge Wm. P. Robbins didn’t need to bang the gavel. I jumped in my seat without it, thank you very much.
The dick of a crown prosecutor had convinced Judge Robbins that Mother was a definite flight risk with her expertise in stealth, “Expertise to which her daughter attested to in the presence of Deputy Almond.”
A hundred thousand freaking dollars!
This was way beyond what I’d expected. Way beyond what I’d scraped together. Mother would have to spend a few more hours — God if it wasn’t for the fact that I’d soon have the fucker in jail, probably a few more days — in jail before I could get this together. Of all the rotten….
“Ready to go, Dix?” Mother was all smiles.
“There’ll be a slight delay, Mother,” I sputtered. “That hundred thousand dollars caught me off guard. But with any luck, I’ll have you out of here by noon without posting a dime.” Of course I didn’t know if Noel Almond would move all that fast to get my mother out. And there still was the matter of the missing Frankie Morrell.
Cotton Caron leaned forward and shook my hand. His grip was firm, rough and warm. “Ms. Dodd,” he began. “There seems to be a bit of a miscommunication here. Bail has been taken care of. Instructions were left with my assistant last night — no matter what the sum.”
“Holy shit.”
My first thought was of Peaches Marie. But on associate professor salaries, both of them, I doubted that either she or her girl friend would have that kind of cash on hand. And how the hell would she have found out? I know bad news travels fast, but really! That fast across the ocean?
Dylan? The Foremans had money, and they could certainly swing it. But this fast? And Dylan would surely have told me.
Mother looked at me, perplexed. “If not you, Dix … then who?”
With a snap of his fingers, Cotton summoned forth one of his clerks. She delivered to him a UPS envelope, then backed away practically bowing, to take her seat again.
“This was couriered to my office last evening. It’s a blank cheque made out to my trust account. I was instructed to fill in the amount, and get Mrs. Dodd ‘the hell out of jail’. It’ll take a couple of hours to clear it through the system — less if I hover around the desk sergeant.” He smiled at my mother. “I’ll do that off the books, Katt. My pleasure.”
Despite the assurances she was on her way home shortly, despite Cotton’s obvious kindness to my mother, there was worry in her voice when she spoke again. “But who arranged this, Cotton? My friends don’t have that kind of money. I sure as hell don’t.”
I answered for Cotton. “Jane Presley.”
The gentleman looked up at me and nodded.
I knew Mrs. Presley was a shrewd businesswoman. I knew she was a thrifty person. And though I’d never given it much thought, it didn’t really surprise me that she’d have that much cash at her disposal.
But how did I truly know it was Mrs. P? It was the ‘get Mrs. Dodd the hell out of jail.”
“Jane? Jane did this?” Mother’s voice was small. “I’m … I’m grateful, but she doesn’t even really know me. We just met the other day.”
I tried to shrug, but it came out stiff and awkward.
True to his word, Cotton Carson had Mother out of jail in an hour and a bit. I watched him work, or rather, I watched him watching everyone in the Sheriff’s office work on Mother’s file. He not only watched, Cotton scrutinized. With open hostility. He dogged them with his eyes and chased them with a demanding, unwavering, confident scowl that said ‘screw up and I’ll have your ass’.
He didn’t have to by any means — and he assured us it was off the clock — Cotton Carson drove us home. His articling clerks looked more than relieved as they headed to the bus stop.
“Poor kids,” he said glancing at them going. “I ride them hard, but it’s a tough business. I’d rather them get used to the grumpy old bastards like me now rather than later when it really counts. Those two will make hellishly good lawyers some day.”
“You mean it’s all an act?” I asked from the back seat.
“An act?” He smiled at me. He winked in the rear-view mirror. “Hell no. I
Mother laughed, “somehow I doubt that, Cotton.”
When we arrived back at the Wildoh, it took a minute for the mechanical chair topper to descend the wheelchair from the top of the car. But once it was down, it took no more than ten seconds for Carson to settle himself into it, engage the hand gears and wheel around. He opened the door for mother while I let myself out of the back.
I knew not to dally getting out of the car. I did not linger or stroll or wait for Mother.
Much. Okay, so I’m a nosy daughter. I wanted to know what was going on.
But it didn’t take shitloads of intuition to figure out Mother had a little bit of a crush on Cotton, and though he was younger than she, I knew damn well the feeling was mutual. No harps were playing overhead. No birds were chirping delightfully and smiling in that cartoon way (or I’d have to kill them). And if I
Cynical? Who me?
But it was nice to see this flirtation between Mother and Cotton.
I’m not saying Mother was ready to jump his bones. Nor am I implying that it was a case of love at first sight. They weren’t holding hands; they weren’t smooching away.
But there was something more than a little endearing about Mother’s mini crush on Cotton. Namely: he wasn’t Frankie Morrell.
Yep, I don’t miss much.
Cotton and mother said their good-bye on the small front step. A long, extended goodbye. Oh yes, all the nosy neighbors were hiding behind their curtains, peeking out the window watching them. I know, for I was hiding behind the curtain on one of the living room windows watching them watching. At the smaller window. Mrs. P had kicked me out of the better view. Mother wasn’t on many people’s happy list right now. And the rumor mill at the Wildoh was already running on tales of her.
So of course Mother knew as she stood out front with Carson, she was being watched. She knew it as she said goodbye. As she took his hand, and he smiled at her very fondly. And Katt Dodd knew it too, when she bent to kiss the gentleman on the cheek and aimed her ass at the lot of them.
The first thing Mother did when she got inside her condo was to hug Mrs. P.
“It’s not such a big deal,” Mrs. P said, and her shrug came easily. Or as easily as a shrug can come through the bear-hug grip of Katt Dodd. “You got troubles … we all got troubles. And I’ll get it back just as soon as Dix cracks this case wide open.” She snapped her fingers for emphasis.
I had to smile at that one. I was closer than even Mrs. P thought.
Mother was exhausted. She’d been up all night, mostly consoling Bobbie Sue. Turns out the young lady (aged sixteen) had been out on the mean streets all of two days before being picked up by the cops. She’d run away from her home in Delaware. From what Mother related to me (though she’d never break Bobbie Sue’s confidence and give the specific details, even to me) she didn’t blame Bobbie Sue one iota for leaving home. Things had been bad there. Very bad. But Mother convinced Bobbie Sue there had to be a better life out there than one of selling herself on the streets. By the end of the night, Mother had convinced her to take a bus to North Dakota where she had an aunt she was fond of. Phone calls were made. Tears shed. Truths told and promises given. Authorities notified.
Bus fair paid (compliments of the blue-haired, Frankie-knowing hooker).
One hundred and seventeen bucks shoved in her pocket (thanks to Officer North who took up a collection around the station overnight).
Drive to bus stop given (compliments of Officer Vega who reportedly waited at the bus stop until Bobbie Sue was safely boarded and the bus was heading down the road).
Hugs and hope given (by everyone there).
