Part 12 (1/2)
”Wait here,” I said, gripping the towel in place. I made for the bedroom to slip on my jeans.
”You have any coffee?” Nicki shouted.
”In the cupboard,” I shouted back. ”Knock yourself out.”
I couldn't find a clean s.h.i.+rt. With Jenny gone, my laundry was piling up. Every tee s.h.i.+rt in the hamper smelled like rotting cheese. Nicki shouted something again, but I couldn't hear. I headed back into the kitchen, s.h.i.+rtless, slicking back wet hair with my fingers.
”What did you say?”
”I wasn't flirting. I just meant you're in pretty good shape for an old man.”
”I'm thirty. Which isn't old. And I've worked outdoors all my life. You don't need a gym to stay in shape if you're not a lazy f.u.c.k. But never mind about my body.” My cheeks burned. ”What are you even doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?”
Nicki spun around, leaning against the counter, arching her back and letting her s.h.i.+rt rise enough so that I could see her belly b.u.t.ton, stomach tight as a snare drum. ”Nope. Fired.”
”Sorry to hear that.”
”Don't you want to know why?”
”Got caught looking in to Judge Roberts' sentencing again?”
”Making 'unauthorized' photocopies.” She even did the fake air quote thing I hate.
”Some people never learn.”
”Yeah,” she said, flatly. ”I don't think they knew what I was photocopying. You have to log in at the courthouse with your employee ID number every time you make a Xerox.”
”Fascinating.”
”Funny thing was, I wasn't even looking into Roberts. Just some peripheral stuff. Places they s.h.i.+p kids out of state. I hit my limit of acceptable photocopies, apparently. Everyone's a bean counter. Do you know how many kids get sent out of state? To private prisons? Kentucky. Arizona-”
”I don't care, Nicki.”
”You don't care?”
”Nope.”
Nicki pointed at the blank s.p.a.ce on the kitchen table. ”Where are those photocopies I left with you?”
”Threw them out.”
”Really?”
”Really,” I said. And when she wouldn't relinquish the expression of disbelief, I added, ”Doesn't matter.”
”The lives of hundreds of kids don't matter?”
”Don't make it sound like they're all innocent little cherubs. You don't get arrested unless you break the law. You don't get sent before the judge unless you did something wrong.”
”Wow.”
”What?”
”Cynical is one thing. I didn't take you for such a heartless b.a.s.t.a.r.d. The other day, you seemed so concerned about your friend.”
”I told you. He's not a friend. My company insured his mother. Business.”
”A nerd locked up in North River for a joint?”
”And lying on an insurance claim, yeah. Attempting to defraud a company out of thousands of dollars. Kind of a big deal. And you don't know how long he'll be in there. He could be out in a week.”
”Bulls.h.i.+t. You read that report I left.”
”Maybe I did. So what?”
”Then you would know that the average stay at North River is three years. Three years for shoplifting hair products. Trying to buy beer underage. A joint. And that's the average. Meaning there's kids in there a lot longer.”
”And shorter. Because that's how averages work.” I wasn't so hot at math, but I'd retained that much from high school.
”Come on, Jay. There are lives being ruined, irreparable harm being done.”
”Not. My. Problem.” I opened my arms, revealing my joyless, messy, rented house. ”I have bigger problems to worry about.”
”Your wife still hasn't come back?”
”That's none of your f.u.c.king business.”
Nicki stepped toward me. ”Why do you hate me? What have I done to you?”
”I don't even know you enough to hate you! But since you asked. You've done nothing but f.u.c.k up my life since the day I met you. You keep bugging me with this . . . bulls.h.i.+t! I don't know what you think I can do. I'm a junior claims investigator at a two-bit insurance company. I don't have any access to court records or a pipeline to the police. And by the way, next time mention you're dating a cop.”
”I told you. I'm not dating a cop. I've never dated a cop. I don't know any cops! Do I look like I'd date a cop?”
”Well, one of them sure seemed to know you.”
”Think about it. You and I were digging around-”
”I wasn't digging s.h.i.+t.”
”Fine. I was digging. But you don't know Longmont. It's an old-boy network. Judge Roberts has those pigs on payroll. He was sending a message.”
”About what? You're the eager beaver, the nosy one. I'm just a guy trying to do his job.”
She went to touch my arm. I pulled away.
”You're scared,” she said.