Part 16 (1/2)
Nicki grabbed the page and spun it in her direction, pointing at a line item halfway down. ”These are the figures from the district, how many kids Longmont-and in particular Judge Roberts-has sent away to the North River Inst.i.tute. Look at this, Jay.” She kept her finger on the line. ”Can you see the increase in the last six months alone? The uptick over the past year is insane. Read those charges. Public intoxication? Truancy? Loitering? Possession raps tacked on to slap-on-the-wrist tickets, and those kids end up behind bars. They are padding numbers, big time.”
I saw that Roberts' conviction rates had skyrocketed of late, a majority sentenced to North River, and over nothing much at all-but one and one wasn't amounting to jack s.h.i.+t. Not without some endgame prize.
”You're telling me the Lombardi brothers are financing this whole project, trying to sell out seats at North River. Okay. Why? What's their play?”
Fisher cast a knowing glance. This was the news he'd been waiting to spring, the real reason he'd summoned me on a dark and stormy night.
He pulled out a folded newspaper, the late edition I hadn't gotten around to reading. He pushed it across the table to me.
Law to Privatize New Hamps.h.i.+re's Prison System Expected to Pa.s.s.
I skimmed the article. The proposed facility would cover more than just New Hamps.h.i.+re; the rest of New England's most dangerous weed-smoking scourge would be housed as well. I got to the meaty section: the who, the what . . . the where.
UpStart headed a group of investors preparing to build the state's largest private prison. And the proposed site for the ma.s.sive juvenile detention center? The newly available TC Truck Stop on the edge of my hometown.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
”THIS IS JUST like Big Daddy,” Charlie said.
He was behind the wheel of his old Subaru hatchback beater, half maroon, half-rusted piece of s.h.i.+t with long gashes and cigarette holes in the upholstery. The car belonged to his mom before she died. When Charlie lost the phone company gig, he lost the company van too, dragging this monstrosity off the automotive graveyard and back into action.
The latest forecast didn't have the blizzard wreaking havoc until much later. We had plenty of time to get out in front of the storm. I argued that as long as we were here, might as well check out the families in town. Nicki and Fisher went to call on a couple kids on the other side of the mountain, while Charlie and I paid a visit to the parents of Wendy Shaw, the sixteen-year-old girl who'd been locked up over a year for defending a gay cla.s.smate. One of the things I'd gleaned from my year as an investigator: people have a much easier time hanging up a phone than they do slamming a door. Plus I knew if we called it a night, Nicki would be the one taking me home to Plasterville. Empty house. Late at night. The heels of rejection on the precipice of a disaster, I didn't want to deal with temptation. Fat guys on diets don't walk past the cake shop.
”Remember, from The Simpsons?”
”I don't know what the h.e.l.l you are talking about, Charlie.”
”The fake spin-off featuring Chief Wiggum as a private investigator in Louisiana?”
I tried to read route numbers as we snaked through the twists of the mountain. Fat flakes started to fall, lullabying through headlights. The engine was hot enough to melt them on impact, but the soft, fluffy down had begun to slick the roadways. Still several hours till midnight, I wondered if the forecast had gotten it wrong.
”The Simpsons,” Charlie said. ”It's a cartoon. Been on television over twenty years-”
”I'm aware of The Simpsons, yes. What the h.e.l.l does that have to do with any of this?” I'd grown up in these mountains. You'd think I'd be able to find my way around in the dark by now. The Ashton foothills were nothing but a labyrinth of secret alcoves and hiding spots.
”It's an episode. On The Simpsons. 'Chief Wiggum, PI.' But a pretend show. It's not real.”
”None of it's real. It's a f.u.c.king cartoon.”
”That's not what I mean,” Charlie said, growing exasperated. ”You remember Chief Wiggum? Y'know, the fat, dumb Springfield cop?” He chuckled to himself. ”Kinda like Turley.”
”Make your point, man.”
”It's a spin-off, dude. Troy McClure hosts. Princ.i.p.al Skinner is 'Skinny Boy.' Wiggum's kid-what's his name? Wrote the Valentine's Day card to Lisa-I choo-choo-choose you? Ralph!” Charlie chuckled over the funny memory. ”Every week's episode features the same villain, this New Orleans kingpin, Big Daddy. Get it?”
”No.”
”Lombardi is Big Daddy.”
”You're an idiot, Charlie.”
The inside of his car smelled like a rat had died in a bag of McDonald's french fries. At least we could smoke. I lit a cigarette with an old Zippo I found in the ashtray.
”It's a good a.n.a.logy,” Charlie said, softly. ”Why are you so p.i.s.sy?”
”I don't know, man. How about because you've been busting my b.a.l.l.s a whole year? Anytime I'd mention the Lombardis, you'd give me h.e.l.l, while the entire time you knew Fisher was playing Hardy Boys on the sly, investigating s.h.i.+t I'd asked you to drop.”
”I wouldn't call it investigating. More like-”
”What?”
”A hobby.”
”A hobby I asked you both to drop.”
”Like you dropped it?”
”You didn't have to make me sound nuts any time I brought it up.”
”I didn't want you driving yourself crazy. Last winter tore you up, man. I saw how rough that was on you. Sure, I knew Fisher was still poking around, but not the extent of it. Obsessing over this wasn't helping you any. I didn't want you blowing a good thing. You had the family. A good job.”
”Not anymore.”
”I figured if Fisher ever stumbled on something worthwhile, I'd bring it to you then. Until that time well, y'know.”
”No. I don't.”
”Before North River popped up on the map, I honestly didn't think he'd find anything.” Charlie dug out a cigarette. ”I'm never getting those things.”
”What things?”
”A Jenny. An Aiden. A family.” He squinted to find a path in the darkness. ”I see the way people look at me. At the Dubliner. Around town. You.”
”Forget about it, man.”
”I'm never leaving this place. I'm getting fat, losing my hair. I drink too much. s.h.i.+t, I know I peaked in high school. It's cool. But I'm not meeting a nice girl at the bar and settling down. I'll die alone.”
”We all will, Charlie.”
”I was trying to protect you.”
I scrolled down the names and addresses I'd cribbed from Fisher's notebook, double-checking best I could through my eyes watering from the smoke. The problem with finding houses in these parts, people moved up here to stay lost.
”Pretty sure the Shaw place is over that ridge,” I said.