moved into my spot, racking the balls and starting a game. The woman and I were invisible behind their shield.
I took a seat, lit a smoke of my own. Waited.
It took her two more cigarettes to realize I wasn't going to say anything.
She had a chemotherapy voice, juiceless and resigned. "You have to make him stop," she said. "He's never going to stop."
I'd expected a battered wife, from what the old man had told me. But this woman's soul was carrying the scars, not her body.
"Just tell me," I said.
"I can pay. Whatever it costs, I can get it."
"This is part of what it costs."
"I thought…"
"I don't know you."
"And you don't trust me."
"That too."
She lit another cigarette with the glowing butt of her last one.
"I could lie to you," she said. Like she knew all about lying.
"No. No, you can't."
"You have a lie detector somewhere around here?"
"I am one," I said, holding her eyes so she'd understand, get down to it.
2
M y…stepfather," she finally said, the last word a mucus–coated maggot. A dangerous, deadly maggot.
"What?"
"He…had me. When I was a baby. When I was a girl. When I was a teenager. Now I'm away. But I'll never be free from him. I'll never have a boyfriend, never have a husband. I'll never have a baby–he burned me inside."
"There's people who can fix that. Therapists…"
Her eyes were corpses. "He burned me with a soldering iron. Right after I had my first period. He put it inside me and pushed the switch."
"What do you want?"
"I went to the police," she said, like she hadn't heard me. "They told me I came to them too late. Too much time had passed since the last time he had me. The statute of limitations, they said. He can't be prosecuted. So I went to a lawyer. He has money. I thought, if I could sue him, take his money, it would take his power. The lawyer told me I was too late too."
"Okay, so…?"
"The prosecutor, he was very kind. He told me I couldn't even get an Order of Protection. You can only get one if there's an ongoing criminal case. But he said if he…my stepfather…ever bothered me again, he'd lock him up. He said they know about him…from other things. He wouldn't tell me what."
"Would that be enough?"
"Nothing would ever be enough. For him to die, that wouldn't be enough. But if he could lose his power, if he could be in prison, that would…I don't know, give me a chance, maybe. To be free."
"What did you think I could do?"
"Hurt him," she whispered.
"Felonious assault, that's a big–time rap in this state. If you've got a record, you could pull twenty years inside."
"He has a record," she said.
"For what?"
"Rape. Before he married my mother. A long time ago. My mother didn't find out about it until much later. He told me first. When I was just a little girl. He raped a girl and he went to prison. He told me he'd never rape a girl again. He hated prison. That's why he married my mother. So he could do what he does and not go to prison again. He was like some kind of…gangster, maybe. He'd talk real hard on the phone sometimes. And other times, he'd grovel. Crawl on his knees to whoever was on the other end of the line. I heard him doing it once and he…hurt me very ugly that night."
I lit another smoke, watching her. "You want this bad?" "It's all I want," she said, holding my eyes.
Then I told her what it would cost.
3
H e lived alone. In a nice house in the suburbs. Neighbors on both sides, but he had a high fence all around the property. Solid cedar. It wouldn't keep out an amateur.
A hard, slanting rain wasn't doing much to break the summer heat as I rang his bell just before midnight. No dog barked. We didn't expect any, not after a week of watching and waiting.
I didn't hear footsteps before he threw the door open. A big man, paunchy, hair combed to one side exaggerating the baldness he was trying to conceal. Wearing a white T–shirt over baggy black pants, barefoot.
I asked his name, holding my wallet open so he could
I took a seat, lit a smoke of my own. Waited.
It took her two more cigarettes to realize I wasn't going to say anything.
She had a chemotherapy voice, juiceless and resigned. "You have to make him stop," she said. "He's never going to stop."
I'd expected a battered wife, from what the old man had told me. But this woman's soul was carrying the scars, not her body.
"Just tell me," I said.
"I can pay. Whatever it costs, I can get it."
"This is part of what it costs."
"I thought…"
"I don't know you."
"And you don't trust me."
"That too."
She lit another cigarette with the glowing butt of her last one.
"I could lie to you," she said. Like she knew all about lying.
"No. No, you can't."
"You have a lie detector somewhere around here?"
"I am one," I said, holding her eyes so she'd understand, get down to it.
2
M y…stepfather," she finally said, the last word a mucus–coated maggot. A dangerous, deadly maggot.
"What?"
"He…had me. When I was a baby. When I was a girl. When I was a teenager. Now I'm away. But I'll never be free from him. I'll never have a boyfriend, never have a husband. I'll never have a baby–he burned me inside."
"There's people who can fix that. Therapists…"
Her eyes were corpses. "He burned me with a soldering iron. Right after I had my first period. He put it inside me and pushed the switch."
"What do you want?"
"I went to the police," she said, like she hadn't heard me. "They told me I came to them too late. Too much time had passed since the last time he had me. The statute of limitations, they said. He can't be prosecuted. So I went to a lawyer. He has money. I thought, if I could sue him, take his money, it would take his power. The lawyer told me I was too late too."
"Okay, so…?"
"The prosecutor, he was very kind. He told me I couldn't even get an Order of Protection. You can only get one if there's an ongoing criminal case. But he said if he…my stepfather…ever bothered me again, he'd lock him up. He said they know about him…from other things. He wouldn't tell me what."
"Would that be enough?"
"Nothing would ever be enough. For him to die, that wouldn't be enough. But if he could lose his power, if he could be in prison, that would…I don't know, give me a chance, maybe. To be free."
"What did you think I could do?"
"Hurt him," she whispered.
"Felonious assault, that's a big–time rap in this state. If you've got a record, you could pull twenty years inside."
"He has a record," she said.
"For what?"
"Rape. Before he married my mother. A long time ago. My mother didn't find out about it until much later. He told me first. When I was just a little girl. He raped a girl and he went to prison. He told me he'd never rape a girl again. He hated prison. That's why he married my mother. So he could do what he does and not go to prison again. He was like some kind of…gangster, maybe. He'd talk real hard on the phone sometimes. And other times, he'd grovel. Crawl on his knees to whoever was on the other end of the line. I heard him doing it once and he…hurt me very ugly that night."
I lit another smoke, watching her. "You want this bad?" "It's all I want," she said, holding my eyes.
Then I told her what it would cost.
3
H e lived alone. In a nice house in the suburbs. Neighbors on both sides, but he had a high fence all around the property. Solid cedar. It wouldn't keep out an amateur.
A hard, slanting rain wasn't doing much to break the summer heat as I rang his bell just before midnight. No dog barked. We didn't expect any, not after a week of watching and waiting.
I didn't hear footsteps before he threw the door open. A big man, paunchy, hair combed to one side exaggerating the baldness he was trying to conceal. Wearing a white T–shirt over baggy black pants, barefoot.
I asked his name, holding my wallet open so he could
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