The Big Ugly Read online

  As I was filling it out, his phone rang.

  He picked it up. "Romandetto. Oh, hello. Yes. As a matter of fact, she's here now. Yes." He held out the phone to me. "For you."

  I arched an eyebrow, but I took the phone.

  "Hello?"

  A smooth male voice asked, "Ms. Ellie Bennett?"

  "Yes."

  "My name is Charles Hamill. I was wondering if you could come see me. Mr. Romandetto has told me that you might be the person I need for a small job."

  "Oh. Sure. What is the, uh … Can you tell me about the job?"

  "Well, how about we meet? I can tell you about it in person. Could you come see me about noon?"

  "Sure."

  He gave me the address, and I wrote it down on a pad of Post-it Notes on Romandetto's desk. The man on the phone said goodbye and hung up.

  I asked Romandetto, "What's the deal with this guy?"

  "Don't know. He called yesterday asking about you."

  "Well, who is he?"

  "Used to be an assistant DA. Now he works for one of these, whatchamacallit, legal advocacy groups."

  "What the hell's he want with me?"

  "Don't know. But at least it'll be legitimate work. Give it a chance. Be good for you."

  * * *

  After I left Romandetto, I went to breakfast. All things considered, it hadn't been a bad morning. I'd known some broads in Eastgate who'd had Romandetto for their PO and no one liked him much, but everyone said he was on the up and up. Most of the female parolees in our district got either Belton, Groggins, or Romandetto. Belton was a crook; he wanted cash. Groggins was a perv; he wanted sex, or at least groping rights. Romandetto, on the other hand, was a hardass who smoked like it was 1950 and treated you like a child, but if you didn't shoot anybody or develop a meth habit, he'd probably stay out of your way.

  I had about forty dollars to my name. I figured at least twenty of that should go toward a decent breakfast, so I drove down to the river district and parked by the water and walked up to the Sunlight Grill.

  The place was airy and open to the water. I sat there in the sun and ate a spinach and feta omelet made with real eggs. I had a side of thick cut bacon. I had a fruit cup with red grapes and big chunks of honeydew and pineapples. Then I washed it all down with freshly squeezed orange juice and two cups of coffee. It would take a few more genuine meals to flush the prison food out of my system, but that breakfast was a good start.

  Then the waiter brought me the check and I looked down at the date and remembered that it was my fortieth birthday.

  So much for breakfast.

  * * *

  Charles Hamill's office was located on the tenth floor of the Milner Building downtown. At forty stories, the Milner was the tallest building in Osotouy City. While various financial service companies occupied most of the floors, the tenth floor was leased to the Faith and Liberty Legal Initiative. Whatever the fuck that was. Riding up the glass elevator, I felt a little dizzy. The day before, I'd been in jail staring at the same nasty broads I'd been staring at for thirteen months. Now I could see the town drop away beneath me.

  The door opened and I stepped into a hallway that had FAITH AND LIBERTY LEGAL INITIATIVE on the wall in raised red letters. From behind a receptionist's outpost, a busty, short-haired blonde with a sharp nose and a pursed mouth looked up at me. Her name plate read: Gennifer. Gennifer was maybe twenty-five years old, and she had the air of a woman who got shit done. "Hello," she said. "Welcome to the Legal Initiative."

  "Thanks," I said. "Hi. Uh, I'm here to meet with Charles Hamill."

  She nodded, stood up and said, "Ms. Bennett?"

  "Yes."

  "Awesome. I'll take you to him."

  She came around the desk. Gennifer moved with youth and vigor, but she needed a little more practice in heels. As she hurried me down the hall, she threatened to blow out an ankle.

  We went, as far as I could tell, all the way to the other side of the tenth floor, to a door with Charles Hamill's name. She opened the door and led me into an outer office.

  Sitting at a large desk, with a framed Christian flag hanging on the wall behind her, was an older woman with plum-red hair. Her name plate read VIOLETTA LIPS, and she put aside a Weight Watcher's calorie counter and smiled as brightly as if we'd burst in with balloons.

  "Oh, thank you, Gennifer."

  "Of course."

  Gennifer swept out.

  The secretary said, "Ms. Bennett?"

  "Yes."

  She nodded. "So nice to meet you. Brother Hamill will be expecting you."

  She picked up her phone and hit a button. While she did, I glanced around. On the wall behind me hung a painting of Jesus holding the Bible in one hand and the US Constitution in the other. Violetta Lips, or Sister Lips as I hoped people called her, spoke into the phone, "Brother Hamill, your noon appointment is here. … All righty, I surely will."

  She hung up. "He'll be out in a sec, hon."

  "May I ask a question?"

  "Of course."

  "What do y'all do here?"

  "We're a legal defense fund that works to promote religious liberty. Whenever folks are discriminated against for their Christian beliefs, we're there to help them work through the courts."

  "Like the ACLU for fundamentalists."

  Sister Lips blinked and then smiled at that. While she was trying to think of a way to respond, a door at the other end of the room opened. As it opened, I noticed a red, white, and blue campaign sign taped to the inside that read: JERRY KINGSTON FOR SENATE.

  A man in a dark blue suit and a red tie walked through the door and extended his hand to me. "Charles Hamill," he said.

  Trim and clean, with eyes as blue as Easter eggs, Hamill was almost pretty. Though he was a little taller than me, his handshake was weak.

  "Ellie Bennett," I said.

  He took me back to his office, a giant corner space with a view of downtown all the way to the river. A couple of larger Jerry Kingston signs sat propped against the walls.

  "I see you're a big Kingston supporter," I said.

  He glanced at the signs. "Yes," he said. "Yes. Brother Kingston will make a fine senator." He nodded and gestured at a chair in front of his aircraft carrier of a desk. "Well, please have a seat."

  I sat down. He walked around to the other side of his desk. It took a while.

  When he sat down, he said, "I hope you don't mind if I jump right to it, Miss Bennett … do you prefer Miss or Ms. Bennett? Never too sure with all the political correctness these days."

  "You can call me Ellie."

  "Fine. I hope you don't mind if I jump right to it, Ellie."

  "Of course not."

  "Fine. I understand that you just got out of jail."

  "Yes." When I said it, I felt small.

  "And before that you were a guard at Eastgate."

  "Yes."

  He nodded. "I'm wondering if you knew someone while you were there."

  "Who?"

  "A woman named Alexis Kravitz."

  "Yeah," I said. "I knew Alexis. We were in the same section."

  "Know much about her?"

  I shrugged. "She's about twenty-five, I guess, but she seems younger."

  "In what way?"

  As I searched for a nice way to answer the question, Hamill said, "Please feel free to state it bluntly. I'm interested in your unvarnished opinion."

  "Oh, I don't know. Some people, they live a hard life and it ages them. Other people live a hard life, but it's like they get stuck being thirteen somehow. Alexis isn't stupid, but she's sort of … permanently innocent."

  "Yes, that's Alexis. Did you get along with her?"

  "Sure. We weren't chummy or anything, but we never had any problems—either when I was a guard or a prisoner."

  Hamill nodded and tapped both of his index fingers on the desk at the same time. "Well, as you may remember, she got out of jail a few months ago."

  "Yeah, maybe six or more."

  "Eig
ht, actually. And in an effort to get clean, she entered a Christian drug rehabilitation program called Free At Last. We here at the Legal Initiative fund various programs, including Free At Last. We considered Alexis one of our success stories. She was doing really well for a few months. But now, now she's gone missing."

  I sat there with my legs crossed like a lady, smiled politely at the pretty man in his corner office, and waited for him to tell me why he called me. He just gave me that vacant lawyer stare they must teach in law school, though. Finally I asked, "Have you notified the police? Checked with her PO?"

  "Well …" he tapped the desk with both fingers again. "Her parole officer is Mr. Romandetto. We've been led to believe that he is quite strict with those under his charge. If Alexis has fallen back into drugs, then she is certainly in violation of her parole. We'd—I'd rather just try to find her and bring her back."

  "You'd like me to find her."

  "Yes. I would."

  "To be honest, I don't know if I can."

  "Of course, but you know her. She wouldn't—we're afraid she might run if she thinks someone is looking for her. In fact, when you find her I'd rather that you call me, so I can talk to her. You don't need to confront her or bring her back. Just locate her. You know her and you're likely to know some of the people she's running with. You have enough social currency in that world to find her."

  "I've never heard of being an ex-con referred to as 'social currency' before," I said, "but I guess I take your point."

  "Good."

  "Did she take her kid with her?"

  "Her …" He stumbled. "I … uh … don't know."

  "You know she's got a kid, right? About five years old. Something like that. A little girl named … Haylee? No, Kaylee. Kaylee Kravitz. I remember because I've always thought alliterated names are goofy."

  "Oh yes. Yes. Of course."

  But it was too late. I'd caught him in a lie. Until I told him, this guy had no idea that Alexis had a daughter.

  He recovered with a smile and leaned into his desk. "Now, I know you're just out," he said, opening a drawer. "And you need to get back on your feet." He passed me an envelope. "Here's five hundred dollars. Find her and I'll give you another five hundred."

  I took the envelope. It was thin but wonderful.

  Hamill stood up. "If you need to call me, my number is on a slip of paper in the envelope."

  I stood up. "Thank you."

  "Miss Bennett, Ellie, I hope you'll respect that we all care very deeply about Alexis and just want her back in the fold, under the protection of the Lord where she belongs. As such, I hope you'll treat this employment as a private matter. Part of what that money buys is a certain amount of discretion."

  "Of course."

  We shook hands and I let myself out. I waved to Lips at the desk, to Tits at the outer desk, and then I rode the see-through tube back to the street.

  After I stumbled out into the daylight, I stood there dazed for a moment.

  What the hell was that?

  CHAPTER THREE

  When I got back to Nate's place, he and Bethany had a little birthday party for me. Cake, punch, some presents of perfume and earrings, a gift card to my favorite salon.

  Felicia still avoided my eyes, but she gave me a leather journal that her mother said she'd bought with her own money. The girl told me, "I thought you might want to write about your life."

  "Thanks, kid."

  I gave her a half hug, and she gave me a half hug back and then disappeared.

  "Sweet girl," I told her parents.

  Bethany ran some water into the sink to wash dishes. She said, "She is."

  "Won't look at me though."

  "Give her time," Nate said.

  Bethany nodded. "Yeah, she just has to figure out how to act around you. She's never known a criminal before."

  Nate turned to his wife. "What the hell …"

  "Well, I didn't mean any—Ellie, you know what I meant …"

  I put the journal on the table next to my other presents.

  Nate snapped at his wife, "My sister is not a criminal."

  All the blood in Bethany's face shot to her cheeks, so her face reddened and paled at the same time. Though she was embarrassed for what she'd said about me, she also glared at Nate for snapping at her. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

  The last thing I wanted to do was stand there as my brother and his wife worked out how best to talk about me.

  "I'm going out for some fresh air," I said.

  That made Nate angrier at Bethany, which made Bethany more embarrassed and angrier at Nate.

  "Look," I said. "Bethany, I know you didn't mean anything by it. You're right. I went to prison and the kid's never known anybody who went to prison. You don't have to be a psychologist to figure it out." I started for the door. "I just need to go get a drink, relax, think about things. It's okay."

  I'm not sure they believed me, but they didn't protest as I left.

  I walked across the street as the sun was going down. The nearest bar was a couple of streets over, a nice little sofa lounge above a restaurant. Not what I was looking for. I kept walking until I hit what had once been the textile district.

  Blinky's was a neighborhood bar snuggled between a pizza joint and a hipster consignment store. The doorman was young enough to be my son. He nodded me through without checking my ID.

  The place was stone walls and dim lighting and a decent jukebox kept at a rational level. "Papa Don't Take No Mess" was playing as I slid onto a barstool.

  A college-aged couple groped each other in a corner booth. A middle-aged couple sat at a table talking over beers. Two drunk dudes at the bar watched Family Guy on a muted television on the wall. The subtitles were on, and the dudes read along and chuckled.

  A skinny bartender with tattooed cleavage and long brown hair came over. I vaguely remembered her.

  "Hi," she said.

  "Hi. Can I have a vodka tonic?"

  "Any particular kind of vodka?"

  "Something cheap that won't hurt me too bad in the morning."

  She smiled and scooped some ice into a glass. "Got some men around here that fit that description."

  "Well, point out a decent one if you get the chance."

  Still smiling, she glanced up from fixing my drink. "You serious?"

  I gave her a what-the-hell grin.

  She handed me the drink. "It's a deal," she said.

  * * *

  I sipped the drink, and it loosened all the strings.

  As I sat there and sipped it, savoring the buzz, people drifted in, people drifted out.

  My first day of freedom had been odd. I was pretty happy I had the five hundred bucks in my purse, but I didn't understand why a guy with a corner office in a skyscraper would pay me to find a goofy kid like Alexis.

  I sipped my drink. The clock on the wall said five after nine. Alexis could wait until the morning. Tonight, I had other, more pressing, concerns.

  The bartender was named Massie. We chatted a bit. She vaguely remembered me, too, as it turned out. She made the drinks strong, so I barely touched mine. I didn't want to get sloppy. I wasn't there for that.

  One chubby guy chatted me up, but he tried to compensate for his weight by pretending to be overly pleased with himself. After I blew him off, Massie slid up to me and muttered, "Good decision. Bad word around the powder room about that one," before she slid off again.

  About nine-thirty, a guy came in. He was a little short, but he wasn't fat and he had a nice face.

  "Hello," he said to me—with just the right balance between a friendly hello and the initiation of a conversation.

  "Hi," I said in the same tone.

  "Not too busy in here tonight. I got a good seat."

  "Me too."

  "What are you drinking?"

  "Vodka tonic."

  "Hmm, that sounds good. Hey, Massie, can I get a vodka tonic?"

  When she brought over his drink, she gave me an encouraging smil
e.

  * * *

  His place was clean, like he was expecting company. We came in about two o'clock, dizzy with drink but not too dizzy and I let him lead me to the bedroom and undress me in the moonlight pouring in through two uncovered windows.

  The sex was great. Or maybe it was just good, but I was tipsy and I hadn't had sex in over a year. We explored each other and switched positions a few times, and we didn't hurry and we didn't take too long. He got me off before I got him off and then he collapsed into the pillow beside me.

  We lay there panting and sweating and I asked, "Bathroom?" and he pointed to a door.

  I went and peed and came back. I collected my clothes from the floor.

  He asked, "You're leaving?"

  I slipped into my bra. "Yeah, I should go."

  "Don't have to," he said.

  As I pulled on my blouse I didn't know what to say, so I just said again, "I should go."

  He grabbed a bottle of Maker's and a couple of glasses from his nightstand. "Have a nightcap before you- go?"

  "Sure."

  As he poured, he said, "That was nice."

  I buttoned up my blouse and smiled warmly at him in the moonlight. "It was really nice."

  "You're still leaving, though."

  "Yeah, but I'm not leaving because it wasn't nice. I just need to get back home before daylight."

  He nodded and considered his drink a moment. "I haven't seen you around Blinky's before."

  "I've been away."

  "Out of town?"

  Once I had my clothes on, I sat on the bed next to him. "Yeah."

  He grinned and sipped his drink. "Hey, I don't mean to pry. If you don't want to talk, I can stop."

  I took the glass of Maker's and nipped at it before I said, "I've been out of town. Up in Whitfield."

  "Around Eastgate Penitentiary?"

  "In Eastgate Penitentiary."

  His grin died a slow death. When it was finally gone, he nodded and sucked in his lips and gave the clipped "Huh" that implies Well, I'll be damned. That's something interesting, isn't it?

  I said, "Yeah. That's another reason I'm leaving."

  "Were you in there for killing men after sex?"

  I grinned. "No, I was not."