'I checked all the charges, Ms. Comstock. With the crack cocaine charge alone you're in some pretty serious trouble.'
Her head went down as though she was ready to be punished. He tried to determine how old she was. Sometimes with crack whores it was difficult to tell. If the crack didn't whither their skin, their horrendous nutritional habits did. He decided she might actually be pretty if she cleaned up and put on ten pounds. As for her age, he guessed that Carrie Ann was maybe twenty-five or twenty-six. Her rap sheet had only estimated it. He wondered if Carrie Ann even remembered how old she was.
'I can help you, but we need something you can bargain with. You understand what I'm saying?'
He knew if she was a friend of Heather's she would understand. She looked up at him, and yes, there was already a look of recognition and relief in her bloodshot eyes. That was one thing he liked about his clientele. They could be very grateful to anyone who offered help. They were so used to everyone giving up on them-family, friends, even the justice system.
'When the time comes you'll need to listen and pay close attention to what I tell you. And you'll need to stay clean through the end of the week. If you want to stay out of jail, you'll need to do exactly as I say. Do you understand?'
She nodded, sitting on the edge of the chair as if ready to do whatever was necessary right now. 'I know I'm in big trouble. If I just could have one more chance. That's all I need.'
'I know. That's why I'm going to help you.' Max wiped his forehead again. God! It was hot in the small apartment and yet Carrie Ann didn't seem at all affected by the heat. She didn't even have any of the windows opened. He wondered again why the hell he bothered to come to his clients' homes. This was ridiculous.
'I really appreciate this, Mr. Kramer. I don't know what I'd do if you couldn't help me. I really can't go to jail.'
'And you shouldn't have to. But like I said you'll have to be able to do and say what I tell you. Okay?'
Another nod.
'I know you'll want partial payment today,' she said as she slid off the chair onto her knees. 'Right?' Without looking up at him she reached up and began pulling down his zipper.
In a matter of seconds Max Kramer remembered exactly why he came to his clients' homes.
CHAPTER 9
10:45 a.m.
Melanie watched the waitress's frustration grow. It wasn't her fault the cook kept getting Jared's order wrong. But the woman shouldn't be taking it out on Jared, either. How could she expect him to eat runny eggs when he'd ordered them fried and well done? Okay, maybe not the first time. Melanie thought she had heard him say sunny side up, too, although she didn't dare say so. Besides, Jared insisted he hadn't, and Charlie backed him up, saying Jared should know how he ordered his own eggs. Here they were, arguing with the waitress for the third time, the entire Cracker Barrel dining room watching them.
Melanie wanted to squirm her way out of the booth. Instead she looked out the window, wishing they weren't the center of attention. She had spent a lifetime trying to blend in, trying to be like everyone else. That's how she had survived her childhood, and as an adult that's how she had become so good at lifting the things she did. She strived to be seen as ordinary as she possibly could, never drawing unnecessary attention to herself, It allowed her to blend in whether she was shoplifting at Lowe's or Dillard's or even Borsheim's.
Jared, however, seemed to want everyone to notice him, to see what injustices had been done to him. Had he always been like this? Or had his time in prison changed him? He usually didn't waste so much time with the small crap. Mostly he just focused on the things or people who pissed him off. Why get so pissed about some fucking eggs and whether they were firm enough? Or was it really about eggs? Hard to tell with Jared these days.
'I'm beginning to think you don't like me, Rita,' Jared was saying in that same tone Melanie had thought earlier was sarcasm.
'No, not at all,' the waitress said. 'I'm just wondering why it took you several bites to figure out they still weren't to your liking.'
Melanie's eyes went back to the window and the parking lot outside. This waitress was only making matters worse.
'I guess I was just in shock, Rita. I couldn't believe that you could screw it up for a third time.'
Jared's voice had that singsong tone that made Melanie cringe. Outside in the parking lot she concentrated on a KKAR-news station wagon whose driver had a map spread out on the hood, holding it down with the palms of his hands to keep the wind from blowing it away. But he wasn't looking at the map. Instead, he was scanning the sky, and that's when Melanie noticed how dark the clouds had grown. Several pole lights that lined the lot had automatically started blinking, as if trying to decide whether or not to come on. Up on Interstate 80 she could see headlights.
'Forget about it, Rita.' Jared was responding to something Melanie had missed. 'I don't want any more eggs. What might make me happy-'
'Let me guess,' Rita interrupted him. 'You'd like me to not charge you for the eggs.'
'Actually, considering how many times you and your friend back in the kitchen screwed up…' He lifted his hands, palms up in a hopeless gesture, allowing her to fill in the blanks.
'You'd like me not to charge you for your entire breakfast. Is that it?'
'If you insist.'
'Jesus,' Rita muttered, scratching out a new ticket. 'It's no skin off my nose. I get paid this afternoon, cash my check, pick up my daughter, and we're off for a whole week in Vegas.'
'Really? Vegas?' Jared sounded so interested that Mel-anie glanced at him from her perch at the window. Was he finally cutting the poor waitress some slack? 'Well, you have a good time, Rita.'
'I'll pick this up whenever you're ready. No hurry, of course.'
Melanie wondered if the poor waitress would be back. She stared at Jared, trying to decide whether he meant what he said. Did he respect that the woman stood up to him? Hard to tell. He sat back in the booth, grabbing his fork, wiping off leftover eggs with the napkin and then finishing his manicure.
'You said in your message that today is the day,' Melanie said, trying to keep the impatience from her voice. But when Jared's eyes found hers, she knew she hadn't been successful.
'Rita threw me off track,' he said, putting his thumbnail in between his teeth to reach what the fork's prong could not.
'But we're still doing it, right?' Charlie jerked forward, knocking the table and sending Melanie's untouched coffee splashing over the cup's lip. 'You haven't changed your mind?'
Before Jared could answer, a mechanical symphony started playing in his shirt pocket. He grabbed the cell phone, looking for the on button. Melanie knew the phone wasn't his. In the last week she had seen him using what seemed to be a different cell phone every time.
'What?'
Melanie glanced at Charlie. His outburst suggested he knew more about what they were doing here than she did. But Charlie seemed as impatient as she felt. She could see a slight twitch to the left side of his body and knew, though she couldn't see it, that his left foot was pumping up and down a mile a minute under the table.
'I already told you, I'm handling it,' Jared said into the phone, sounding neither angry nor particularly urgent. 'It'll be taken care of today.'
Whoever was on the other end must not have been convinced because Jared sat listening, his eyes scanning the parking lot. She couldn't measure his expression, but his silence bothered her. Who could possibly have commanded Jared's respect to be allowed such a long audience? Finally Jared said, 'I told you, I've got it taken care of.' Then he flipped the phone shut, slipping it back into his shirt pocket.
'What's going on, Jared?' Melanie asked. 'When are you gonna let us in on this job that you've been planning?' Out of the corner of her eye she could see the look exchanged between Jared and Charlie, and then she knew.
