Too Close to Home

  “The mayor.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Okay, that’s good, because he’s what I need your help with.”

  “What is it you want, Drew?”

  “You know what he did, don’t you? Between what Sherry told me, before she died, and what Lance told me before I killed him, and what you told me from when you worked for him, I figured out that he was one of the ones. One of the ones who killed my daughter. They all killed my daughter, you know. All the men who used her, who paid her for sex.”

  “I see your point, Drew.”

  “But I don’t think you were one of them, even though your name was in the book. I did at first. Then, after I got to know you, I figured you wrote down your number so Sherry could call you for help, right? And that was a nice gesture, but it turned out to be kind of meaningless, didn’t it? An empty gesture. You should have done more, Jim. You were there, weren’t you, when the mayor was doing it to her. And yet you didn’t get her help right then and there, like you should have. You should have done something to that man, called the police, had him arrested, helped my little girl. I mean, you’re a decent person, and even you did nothing. I’ll bet Sherry never got closer to getting help than she got when she ran into you.”

  “What about you, Drew? What were you doing?”

  “What?” For the first time, he sounded angry. “Where was I? I was in fucking jail! That’s where I was! Counting every fucking day till I got out, so I could help my little girl! Her mother, she was nothing but a useless bitch, you know that? She never did anything to help Sherry, never gave her a goddamn thing but a last name because she wouldn’t marry me. She was a drunk, she was a drug addict. She could be dead now for all I know and I hope she is. I did my best by Sherry. I tried, I swear to God I tried, even went so far as to rob a fucking bank to try to get some money to raise her right. And you know what happened then. I got sent away, and there was nobody to look after her. No one to guide her, no one to point her in the right direction. All I could hope for was that there’d be some people out there, some people with some sense of fucking decency, who’d help her until I could get out and do it myself. And maybe you came the closest of anybody, but you didn’t do enough.”

  “But you came to kill me because you thought I was a customer,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice softer now. “But then, when I screwed up and got the wrong house, I decided to take it a little slower, to watch you first, and then you offered me a job, and I got to know you a bit, right? And decided, maybe I wouldn’t kill you. At least I’d think about it first, you know? But the others in that book, Sherry’s customers, they all had it coming.”

  “Like Lance,” I said. “And there were two others, a few weeks ago.”

  “And there are more in the book I haven’t got to,” he said. “I might not get to all of them.” I could hear the regret and resignation, the tiredness, in his voice. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

  “You should turn yourself in,” I said. “Get yourself a lawyer. You’ve got a good case, Drew. These men, they all did terrible things to your little girl.”

  “What little girl?” the mayor asked. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “The one I want,” Drew said, “is the man you’re with. But I don’t think I want to kill him. I think I want to do something to him that’s even worse than that.”

  “What, Drew? What is it you want?”

  “This is the night, right?”

  “What night?”

  “The night where he tells everyone he’s going to run for something, not be the mayor anymore. Something big. Derek was telling me all about it.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “And it’s soon, right?”

  “Pretty soon.”

  “You tell the mayor that when he goes onto the stage, he has to tell everyone that he had sex with a girl. An innocent, underage girl. A girl who was selling herself to get by, and that he took advantage of that fact. He has to tell everyone what he did.”

  “That’s going to be a tall order, Drew,” I said. “I don’t know that he’s going to go along with that.”

  “You’ve got one of those phones, right? That can take little movies?”

  “Yeah. It can do that. In short doses.”

  “You take a picture of him, making that speech, with all the people there. He has to tell them that he hired a little girl, she was only a child, that he hired a girl to have sex with him. If he doesn’t do that, I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill your boy, Jim. I’m going to kill your boy, and I’m going to kill your wife. I really hate to, honest I do, but I will, if the mayor doesn’t do what I say, and the two of you don’t come here after. You do that, and I won’t hurt your family. But don’t go thinking about calling the police. I see any police show up around here, I hear anybody coming close to this house, and I’ll kill them right away, whether the mayor does what he’s supposed to do or not. Do you get what I’m saying, Jim?”

  “I hear you, Drew.”

  “You talk it over with him and give me a call back.” And then Drew hung up the phone.

  I closed mine.

  “Jesus Christ on skates, you were on there for a fucking hour,” the mayor said. “You’re going to make me late to my own announcement. What was that all about, anyway?”

  I turned to Randy and said, “You’re going to have to make some changes to your speech.”

  FORTY-ONE

  MAYOR RANDALL FINLEY SAID: “You. Are out. Of your fucking. Mind.”

  “That’s what he wants,” I told him, both of us standing outside the town car, the engine still running. “He says if you don’t do it, he’s going to kill Ellen and Derek.”

  “Oh, come on, Cutter!” the mayor said. “Has it occurred to you that he’s probably going to do that anyway? And that my saying a bunch of lies isn’t going to make any difference? Jesus, Cutter, I’ve got a reputation to think about here.”

  I grabbed him by the lapels of his thousand-dollar suit and threw him up against the side of the car. “Randy, I don’t think you’ve fully grasped the seriousness of the situation. And if it’s any comfort, you won’t have to tell any lies at all. You’ll be telling the truth.”

  “I didn’t know,” he said, shaking his head like a little boy. “I swear I didn’t know.”

  “Don’t give me this shit,” I said. “The minute I walked in there, I could tell she was a child.”

  “I didn’t force her to do anything,” the mayor protested. “I didn’t force her to choose that line of work.”

  “That’s right,” I said, moving my face an inch away from his. “You’re totally blameless. You’re just an innocent consumer.”

  “It was Lance,” he said, spittle forming at the corner of his mouth. “It was his fault. He’s the one set it up. He said he knew this girl, she was great, so I let him handle it. You see what I mean? How I was always better off with you handling everything? You’d never have booked her for me. You should never have let Lance do that.”

  “It’s always someone else’s fault, isn’t it?” I said, still holding him, my nose up to his. “Because you don’t know how to control your impulses, and the rest of us should realize that, so if we don’t stop you, we’re the ones who’re to blame.”

  “I’m just saying, that’s all,” he squeaked.

  “Because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants, because you thought nothing of fucking around with teenage hookers, I’m in one fuck of a situation right now. There’s a guy with a gun holding my wife and my son hostage. Things have a way of coming back and biting you in the ass, Randy, and now they’re biting me, too. That girl’s father, you know how many people he’s killed so far, by my count? Six. Not counting the guy he killed in front of me a couple of nights ago. If you don’t go into that hall tonight and tell everybody what he wants you to tell them, he’s not just going to kill my family. He’s going to kill you, too. The only thing is, Randy, he’ll have to beat m
e to it.”

  “Okay, okay, okay,” Randy said. “Let me think, let me think.” He glanced at his watch. He was due at his own function in fifteen minutes. “Maybe there’s a way I can make this work. . . . You know, the whole Jimmy Swaggart thing, confess my sins . . . Shit, it’ll never work.”

  His cell phone rang. I moved back enough to allow him room to reach into his jacket.

  “Hello?” he said. “Yeah. . . . Right. . . . I know. . . . We’re on our way. . . . Right. . . . See you soon.” He put the phone away. “They’re having shit fits that we’re not there yet.”

  “They’re going to be in for quite the surprise,” I said, backing away, opening the door, grabbing Randy by the arm and throwing him into the backseat.

  Once I was behind the wheel, he said, “You know what this is, don’t you? This is kidnapping!”

  “Randy,” I said, “I’m taking you to your own goddamn press conference. But I am issuing a death threat. If you don’t do what this guy wants, and my family ends up dead, I swear to God, I will kill you.”

  I threw the car into drive and tromped on the gas. Randy, who was leaning forward to tell me something, was thrown back into his seat so hard I caught a glimpse of his shoes in the rearview mirror.

  As Drew had instructed, I called the house.

  Ellen answered. “Hello,” she said.

  “It’s me. How you holding up?”

  “We’ve been better. He’s right here, he wants to talk to you.”

  Then Drew’s voice. “What did he say?”

  “We’re heading to the press conference now. I’ve explained to the mayor what he has to do.”

  “That’s great, Jim. I really appreciate it.”

  Like I’d just offered to let him borrow my car.

  “Jim, I’d like to talk to the mayor,” Drew said.

  “Sure thing.” I held the phone away from my head, looked at Randy in the mirror, and said, “He wants to talk to you.”

  “Christ, no, I don’t want to talk to him,” Randy said.

  “Take the phone, Randy,” I said.

  He reached over the seat and took it from my hand. “Hello?” he said. “Yes, it is. . . . Uh-huh. . . . Of course, I can understand how you might feel that way. . . . I’m afraid I was unaware of that. . . . Well, let me put this to you, sir. What sort of father lets his daughter get into that line of work?”

  I couldn’t make out the words, but I could hear Drew shouting at that point.

  Randy, backpedaling, said, “Okay, okay, okay. I’m sorry. You’re right, perhaps that was a bit out of line. . . . Yes, well . . . Okay.” And he handed the phone back to me.

  I put it to my ear. “Yeah?”

  “He’s an asshole,” Drew said.

  “You see, Drew?” I said. “There are things we can agree on. I’d like to talk to my wife again.”

  “I don’t know, Jim. I think it’s better you just get done what you have to get done.”

  “Drew,” I said, “if the mayor does what you want him to do, does that settle things? You going to do to him what you’ve done to the others?”

  There was a long pause at the other end of the line.

  “Drew?”

  “I want to talk to him after. I want you to bring him here. I want him to explain himself to me face-to-face.”

  Then Drew ended the call, without promising he wouldn’t kill Randy, and without promising he wouldn’t kill me. The only ones he’d promised to spare, if he got what he wanted, were Ellen and Derek.

  “What did he say to that?” Randy asked.

  “Your performance better be a good one,” I said. “What’d he say to you?”

  Randy was quiet, then, “He said a bunch of stuff. Told me I should be ashamed of myself. Seems to me there’s plenty of shame to go around. He’s the one got sent to jail, didn’t look out for his daughter.”

  I wondered if Randy would ever get it.

  WHEN WE PULLED UP out front of the Walcott, Maxine Woodrow, Randy Finley’s campaign strategist, was standing there, waiting. She looked liked she was about to have a heart attack.

  If she hadn’t had one yet, she surely had one coming.

  The moment the Grand Marquis stopped, she had the mayor’s door open and said, “We were all getting so worried about you! We’re all ready to start!”

  She took the mayor by the elbow and started leading him into the hotel. I left the car sitting there and followed them inside. As we rounded a corner and headed to where the convention hall was located, we could hear upbeat music—“Don’t Stop (Thinking About Tomorrow)” by Fleetwood Mac, it sounded like—and people talking. As Randy entered the room, the eyes of about fifty supporters were on him and cheers went up.

  “Randy! Randy!” they chanted.

  There were a couple of local news crews there as well. The lights on their cameras came on, and suddenly Randy was bathed in white light. He held his hand up, shielding his eyes, but waved at the same time. The son of a bitch was actually smiling. Adoration, even when it’s coming only moments before total humiliation, was impossible for him not to enjoy.

  “Everyone’s so excited!” I heard Maxine shout above the chanting.

  “Yeah, well, me too!” Randy said.

  “Randy! Randy!”

  I stayed close to him. Normally, I’d hang back, grab something to eat. I was, after all, just the driver. But this time I wasn’t letting him out of my sight. I was barely going to let him out of arm’s reach. I didn’t trust him to do the right thing once he got to that podium.

  The supporters were waving signs in the air. There was Finley for Congress and Finally, a Man Like Finley and Finley First! Music was pulsing through the speakers, the kind of stuff you hear at sporting events to get the crowd going. It wasn’t all that big an event, and wisely, Maxine had not booked that big a room. Rule number one in politics: Always book a room that’s too small.

  Maxine was approaching the microphone, holding up her hands to get everyone to settle down. She blew into the mike and a raspy blast shook the room. “Is this on? Can you hear me?”

  A number of people shouted yes. “Well,” she said, “it is my extreme pleasure to be able to introduce to you this evening a man who has served you so proudly for many years now as your mayor, a man who’s always put the constituent first, a man who knows what the people need and is willing to fight for them to get it, our man of the hour, Randall Finley!”

  The crowd applauded. The mayor mounted the three steps to the raised platform on which the podium stood, gave Maxine a hug, and positioned himself by the mike. He looked down at the first row, saw his wife, Jane, sitting there, and gave her a wave. He must have decided that wasn’t enough, because he walked back off the stage, down to where his wife was seated, leaned over and embraced her. He put his arms around her, pressed his cheek to hers and kissed her. He also took a moment to whisper something in her ear. Maybe something along the lines of “Get ready.”

  Then he was back on the stage, something close to a spring in his step, and looking at him, you’d never have had an inkling.

  I stood off to the side of the small stage, no more than ten feet away, my phone out. I’d bought this gadget to take video of customers’ yards when they wanted landscaping done, but never got much more out of it than two-minute snatches. I’d have to make that work.

  “Good evening, good evening!” Randy said. “Thank you for that wonderful welcome. It’s really terrific to be here. It’s truly an honor. We are on the threshold of exciting times!”

  “Exciting” wasn’t the word I would have chosen.

  “As you know,” he continued, “I’ve always tried to do my best for you as mayor of Promise Falls, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and the skills I’ve brought to bear on a local level, I would like to apply on a national level.”

  There was some murmuring in the crowd, some applause, then people whispering “shh” so Randy could continue.

  “This nation is in a terrible mess,” he said.
“It’s in an economic tailspin, it’s being eaten away by a pervasive moral decay.”

  He had that right.

  I hadn’t hit the record button on my phone yet. Nothing Randy had said so far stood a chance of rescuing my family. Or saving his ass, either.

  “This nation needs to be put back on the right path, and I believe that if you send me to Congress, I can help put it back on that path. I am the person for that job.” He paused, giving the room a chance to cheer and applaud. Everyone obliged.

  “And there are a number of reasons why I may be,” he said, “the perfect person for this assignment. I know what it means to be on the right path, and I know what it means to have strayed from it.”

  I held up the phone, got ready.

  “As you know, I speak my mind, I’ve gained a bit of a reputation for doing things to excess occasionally. I’ve had to pay to clean a few rugs in my time.”

  That brought laughter.

  “I think a real leader needs to have done a few things wrong in his life to know how to get things right,” he said. “My father, God rest his soul, was a wise, decent man, and he used to say to me, ‘Randy, you show me a man who’s made no mistakes along the way and I’ll show you a man who hasn’t gotten anywhere.’ He was the kind of man who knew that to embrace life, to accept its challenges, meant making mistakes, because without mistakes there are no accomplishments. If it weren’t for mistakes, and failures, how would we be able to measure our successes?”

  He was taking the long way there, but he seemed to be going in the right direction. Maxine Woodrow whispered in my ear, “He’s gone off text. What’s he doing?”

  I held up my hand to shush her. Randy glanced over, locked eyes with me, and I felt him sending me a message. Something along the lines of If this is what you want, you’re going to get it, and then some.

  I started recording.

  Randy looked back at the crowd and continued, “There are many different kinds of mistakes. You design a bridge, you make a mistake in the engineering, that can result in catastrophe. You overthrow a dictator with the best of intentions, to eradicate his weapons of mass destruction, and they turn out not to be there, well, there are consequences to those kinds of mistakes in judgment.