Part 9 (1/2)

She was still shaking her head as she fanned the papers. ”Even before I started working as a clerk there, Judge Roberts has been s.h.i.+pping kids to North River. Look at this sentencing history. Year by year. Twenty-one. Thirty-three. We're barely two months into the new year, and he's already signed the orders for sixteen more.”

”I told you. I don't care. What's that got to do with the two cops I just told you about? Didn't you hear me? They took my license, Nicki, wrote down my address, said they'd be back to finish the job if I even spoke to you. You want to explain that?”

”I just did. North River.”

I went to the fridge for a beer. I didn't offer her one.

”Have you been following New Hamps.h.i.+re's recent debate about privatizing prisons?” Nicki asked.

”Nope.” I popped the top and leaned against the counter.

”Diversion programs are an alternative form of punishment,” she continued, undeterred by my lack of interest. ”Here's how it works. Parents of the juvenile offender, because they are minors, get together with the judge, and if both parties come to an agreement that this type of intervention makes sense, the judge executes the order, and the juvenile offender is locked up at North River.”

”Here's how I know you're full of s.h.i.+t. Brian's mother wasn't at the courthouse. That's why I was there. I'd gone to Longmont to advocate on her son's behalf, so no way in h.e.l.l would Donna Olisky agree-”

Nicki grabbed a fax from the table, waving it under my nose. I s.n.a.t.c.hed the page from her hand. There was Donna Olisky's signature approving Judge Roberts' recommendation for North River, time-stamped with last Friday's date, a few hours after she'd called me in tears, hysterical.

”How does this North River work?” I asked her. ”Exactly.”

”You remember that old c.o.c.kroach commercial? You check in, but you can't check out.”

”I think you mean the 'Hotel California.'”

”I hate the Eagles.”

”Everyone does, Nicki.”

”I like kitsch better. Old commercials, PSAs from the '70s. 'How a Bill Becomes a Law.' Cheesy '80s music-”

”Terrific. I feel like I know you so much better.” Nothing kitsch about it when you survived the s.h.i.+t the first time. ”What I mean is who funds this thing? If it's not private, the state subsidizes?”

”North River's main source of revenue is from the clients themselves, the parents, and from nonprofit donors. And it's not cheap. These places can run upwards of a thousand bucks a day.”

”I've been to the Olisky house. They don't have a thousand dollars, period.”

Nicki shrugged. ”That's the least disturbing part.” She ran her finger down a page till she found the figures she was looking for. ”The facility started out with thirty beds. Look at this chart. Over the past three years alone, North River has seen a 300 percent increase in new inmates. Wings and additions are being added almost daily, the grounds in a constant state of construction. Complex is ma.s.sive.”

”Okay,” I said. ”Once more for the cheap seats-this concerns me how?”

”It concerns your friend.”

”I told you. We aren't friends. His mom holds an insurance policy with our company.”

”You said he's a good kid. Band geek, right?”

”Yeah.”

”Don't you think it's bulls.h.i.+t he's doing hard time for telling a fib and a joint?”

”Sure. But the world's a s.h.i.+tty place. I know at your age, you want to believe if we all join hands and try our best we can make a difference. Plant a tree, buy local produce, change the world. But none of that matters. Go campaign for cleaner ozone, free Tibet, whatever the f.u.c.k you college kids think matters. I'm just telling you it doesn't.”

”How the h.e.l.l did you get so cynical?”

”By walking around with my eyes open.”

Nicky pointed at the paper trail. ”Jay, there are kids, some as young as thirteen, locked up for popping Mom's pills and posting on social media.” She flipped through her Xeroxes. ”This girl, Wendy Shaw? Who got accused of cyberbullying? Her princ.i.p.al wouldn't let a trans kid go to the prom-”

”Trans kid?”

”Transgender?” She said it like my not picking up her new American slang painted me a dinosaur. ”Wendy rallied support for the student on her blog. Criticized school officials for being h.o.m.ophobic and discriminatory. All she did was write about it. Judge Roberts slaps her with that cyberbullying charge. She's been in North River for a year.” Nicki plucked another page. ”Another boy. Nabbed shoplifting lip gloss for his girlfriend. Almost two years.” She practically shoved the papers in my face. ”Dining and ditching. Fistfights. Egging a house on Halloween. Pot, pills, E. All sent to North River by Judge Roberts.”

I pushed her hand away. ”You know why people like to believe in conspiracies, Nicki? Because it means that no matter how s.h.i.+tty life is at this moment, at least it isn't completely random-there's someone who knows what the f.u.c.k is going on, a puppet master calling the shots, a wizard behind the curtain-and that however wicked, nefarious, or just plain evil that ent.i.ty may be, it is still preferable to the alternative. Namely, that we are on our own. Everyone is running this race blind. The train's gone off the rails, s.h.i.+p's rudderless, each crazy b.a.s.t.a.r.d as screwed up and clueless as the next.” I finished my beer and set it down hard.

”How much have you had to drink?”

”Enough that I don't have patience to play intrepid reporter with some riot girl who just read Sylvia Plath for the first time.”

”You don't have to be an a.s.shole.”

”No. I don't. But I don't feel like being nice, either. It's been a bad few days, and you've only made it worse-”

”I said I was sorry.”

”I know. I appreciate it.” I clapped my hands, sincere. ”But besides two cops who would have no problem dumping my body in a ditch-”

”Roberts sent them to scare you off-”

”-my boss told me, in no uncertain terms, to drop the Olisky case if I want any hopes of landing this promotion. Which I desperately do. If only to get away from this frozen h.e.l.lhole. Now, if you don't mind?” I pointed at her so-called evidence. ”Take your homework a.s.signment and go home.”

Nicki s.n.a.t.c.hed her handbag but didn't pick up the rest of her c.r.a.p.

I pointed at the paperwork cluttering my messy table. ”You forgot something.”

”Maybe when you sober up, you can be bothered to think about someone other than yourself. Innocent kids are languis.h.i.+ng in prison for nothing.”

”When you walk out the door,” I said, ”that s.h.i.+t goes in the trash.”

Nicki shook her head and split without another word.

At least she left the Chinese.

CHAPTER TEN.

I DIDN'T THROW away the photocopies Nicki left behind. I abandoned them to the rest of the trash on the table and grabbed a container of pork lo mein, returning to my movie and beer, stewing. Nicki was young, but the girl knew how to push the right b.u.t.tons. Must be an innate female trait. I was lousy at not thinking about pink elephants.