In Plain View

“Law school?” I prodded.

Curzon shrugged. “Didn’t stick for either of us. Marcus ended up going to work for his father’s construction company.”

“You guys are friends?” I asked.

“Not close.”

Senior hacked out one of those old-man gargle sounds. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

“Dad.” It was a warning.

Too late.

“So you guys are enemies?” I repeated with the same cheerfulness.

“Marcus is running for sheriff,” Curzon answered in a bland voice.

“Why shouldn’t he? You aren’t putting up a fight,” his father accused. “Shit or get off the pot, son. If you don’t, the dogs’ll get you with your pants around your ankles.”

“You want another drink?” Curzon asked me politely. “I’m going to the bar, Dad. You want something?”

“No.” Senior flapped a hand in dismissal. “Fine. Go on then.”

“Phaw. You tell me ‘keep it up.’” Nana jut her jaw forward and blew a stream of smoke straight up.

“Give it a rest, Ma.”

Curzon took hold of my elbow and walked us toward the patio serving area. Clearly, they didn’t need an audience to enjoy themselves.

“So what’s Pat doing here?”

“Pat who?”

“Pat, Tom Jost’s buddy, who is right now, sidled up to your frenemy Marcus. That’s who.”

“Marc’s got a contract with the hospital. Those two know each other.”

I looked back at Marcus Wilt. He was dapper enough to be entertaining a gentleman caller. “Are they like, together?”

“Christ. I’ll give you twenty bucks to ask Marc that question.” Curson laughed. “No. It was my mother’s idea. She asked Marc to invite the guy. And here’s Nicky. Perfect timing,” Curzon grumbled. “Now you can ferret out the rest of the family secrets. I’ll leave you to him.” Another brief introduction and Curzon marched off in the direction of the bar.

I tried to think of Nicky Curzon as the bad-cop type, but it just wouldn’t stick. A couple inches shorter and a couple years younger than the sheriff, he had the same width in the chest and shoulder. Cop-sized. He’d changed into a red-on-black Be Like Mike T-shirt which, given his earlier net loss, seemed kind of cute.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” He shook my hand-not squishy, not stiff.

I didn’t want to launch straight into the Jost thing. Rarely does the best stuff flow at the start of an interview. I glanced across the patio at Senior. “Seems like your uncle’s pretty annoyed with the sheriff.”

Nicky shrugged. “It happens.”

Occupational hazard of mine-with only a taste of information, I felt compelled to feed him another opening. Something vague and open-ended like, “He doesn’t think Jack’s fighting for it?”

Nicky shot me a skeptical look. “Jack talked to you about the election?”

“More or less.” Curzon would gut me with a spoon if he caught me wheedling personal secrets out of his cousin. I smiled, casually.

“Jack told me to watch myself around you.” Nicky gave me a smug once-over. “Guess that’s because you got to him first, huh?”

I feigned a little maidenly modesty.

Nicky plopped down on the bench beside me and stretched his legs out in front of him, making himself comfortable. He had the blunt body of so many cops. Not clumsy, but stiff. Made to be in motion, they never seemed quite happy at rest.

“I have to agree with Uncle Mike. Jack’s not trying very hard. I think he wants to lose.”

“Really? Why?”

“Don’t know. I do know the work’s a part of him. Being sheriff, law enforcement, all of it. Part of his heritage. You can’t just walk away from that.”

“Not easily.” I took a stab. “Do you think the divorce had something to do with it? It’s not uncommon. Guy splits with his wife, wants to make some changes across the board.”

Nicky stared hard at me. “Jack talked to you about that, too?” He exhaled as if he were blowing off steam. “It’s been two years since the She-bitch left. Guess it depends on whether the change improves things or makes it worse. He’s a good sheriff. He knows the job. Marcus-” The look I saw was long-suffering and skeptical. “I don’t want Jack to lose. None of us do. Some good press would help.”

Ah ha. My invitation to the party suddenly made sense.

“Good press can be hard to come by. Tell me about your letter to Jost’s commander at the fire station.”

Nicky was ready for my question. “Maybe I was trying to keep things from getting worse.”

“Tell me.”

There was no camera running. There was no one to hear but the two of us. Sometimes, guy has a problem, all it takes is someone asking nicely.

“What did the girl say to you?” he asked.

“Rachel Jost said you interrupted a clinch. She sounded ashamed and worried for Tom.”

“For him? Jesus. Why?” He shifted around, aggravation coming through in his body language. “She didn’t have a thing to be ashamed about. He was the one acting like a dick.”

“How so?”

“They’d already steamed up the windows when I rolled up on them but Jost must of opened something to keep the air circulating, because I heard her ‘No,’ clear as you and me talking right here. More than once she said it. ‘No, please no.’” He said it quick and rough and absolutely flat, in a rumbly baritone. On his face, it was clear that wasn’t how he’d heard it.

I pulled in a deep breath and let it out slow.

“And I heard his answer, too.” Nicky upended his beer bottle and chugged like he was washing out his mouth. “‘Stay,’ he told her. ‘Stay!’ Like he was talking to a dog.”

He was lost. He asked me to stay, I turned him away.

“And then he says, ‘If we do it, you’ll stay with me. I know you will.’ Word for word, my hand to God, that’s what Jost said-right before I dropped on his ass,” Nicky added, grim and satisfied.

“You think he was about to rape her?”

“Girl said no.”

“Fuck,” I said softly.

“Exactly.”

“More ‘paraphilia of a sacrificial type.’” I sighed. Tom Jost was desperate enough to pressure Rachel physically in order to coerce her into marriage. He knew Rachel was conflicted enough about her feelings and conservative enough about sex that losing her virginity to him would seal the deal. She’d marry him.

“What?”

“Rachel was Tom’s sexual sacrifice. Tell me about the memo.”

“They were gonna let him walk. No record. No report,” Nicky confessed. “Firefighter. One of the brotherhood. Nobody got hurt; no real crime. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Sure.”

“I seen guys like that before. Goes right back to his life. Eventually, it’s gonna happen again. You know it. I know it. He’s gonna hurt somebody. Some woman probably.”

He was playing for my sympathy and I was having a hard time resisting.

“Maybe.”

“I kept thinking about her and what Jost had said in the car. I made a couple calls. The guy was no angel. I decided somebody ought to know.” He sucked back another quick swallow of beer. “I wrote his chief and put it on the record. I knew there was a chance I’d take shit for it.” He looked me in the eye and shrugged. Nice eyes. Curzon eyes.