By Saturday morning Clare’s physical hangover was gone, but the emotional one clung like a barnacle. She made a grocery list and ran out to the Kroger, glad for something to do. While she shopped she thought more about how spectacularly bad Thursday night and Friday morning had been. The self-flagellation went on and on. This bad shit didn’t simply happen to her—she was responsible for getting drunk and sleeping with Ben and then screwing up the motion the next morning. She couldn’t trust herself, and now that she knew booze was her nemesis, she swore off the stuff. Pills hadn’t gotten her into trouble. She’d stick with those.
For all her disappointment at the dullness of living in Money Creek, she didn’t want to leave it. She was sick at the thought of losing her job, which she surely would if she screwed up a second time. She loved working with Elizabeth and she was getting good work to do, work that challenged her and gave her real responsibility. She loved her little house and cooking dinners and even cleaning the dishes and putting everything away in its proper place. She was getting to know Freya, who seemed way more interesting than anyone she’d met in a while. Then it occurred to her for the first time that Freya might have heard about her sleeping with Ben. They were partners, and partners told each other everything, didn’t they? What if she pulled away from her, repulsed by a sloppy drunk who dragged men home with her?
As she got back in her car her phone pinged and she saw a text from Freya. Checking in to see how you’re feeling. Christ. Ben obviously told her. Why would she ask how she was feeling? How awkward would it be the next time they ran into each other, which was as sure a thing as any in a town as small as Money Creek? She didn’t reply to the text.
She pulled into her driveway and saw her neighbor Sally in her front yard, bundled up and bent over, picking at some dead plants that were poking through the fresh snow. She hoped to avoid a conversation. Sally stood straight and watched her with her hands on her hips. She wore a bulky parka, a hat with flaps over the ears, and an enormous hand knit scarf. As soon as she was out of the car, Sally said, “You feeling okay? You were pretty sick the other day.”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Because I saw you on Thursday night. Happened to look out my window when I saw a man helping you into the house.”
“So, you’ve said.”
Sally came closer to her and lowered her voice. “It looked like you were feeling pretty good, what with the singing and everything.”
Clare was cringing on the inside but tried to appear unconcerned. “As I said, I’m feeling fine. I have to get these groceries in.” She turned her back on Sally and pulled a couple of paper bags out of the car. When she turned back, she was still there watching her. What a fucking busybody. How many people did she tell about Clare coming home with a man and singing her heart out at one in the morning? She unloaded the car and shut the front door of the house behind her. She could still feel Sally’s critical gaze upon her. How dare she judge her? She wanted to open the door and yell at her to mind her own business. This was the real drawback to small town life. No one in Chicago would tell a virtual stranger what they thought of their behavior. Here she was fair game. She put her groceries away and got ready to pick up Henry for the get-together with his friends. The good times kept on coming.
She parked her car in front of Henry’s apartment and rang the buzzer. Evan appeared and opened the door for her. “Hi, Clare. Come on in.” He sounded like they were best friends, which was odd given they’d met only once. “Your date isn’t quite ready yet.”
“He’s not my date. Why would you say that?”
“Because I’m teasing you.” He dropped onto the couch and pointed to an adjacent chair. “Have a seat. He’ll be out in a sec.”
She sat on the edge of the chair and looked at her hands. The apartment smelled sweet, as if someone had just made a batch of chocolate chip cookies.
“Henry likes you, you know,” Evan said. “I tried to call dibs, but he ignored me. He doesn’t like many girls.”
Terrific. The last thing she wanted was to be Henry Nelson’s girlfriend. Or Evan’s for that matter. She was absorbing this news when Henry appeared in the living room, impeccably dressed as an East Coast preppie. He had on a camel colored wool sweater over a crisp, white button-down shirt. He wore corduroy trousers instead of jeans and his shoes were a British tan, like they’d come from Brooks Brothers. He stood in front of them with a smile.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Clare. I’ve been looking forward to this.”
Evan looked at Henry. “Remind me why I wasn’t invited to this party?”
Henry frowned. “You’re too low-level.”
Evan’s face was a mask. “That’s what I thought you said.” He stood and walked out of the room.
“That seemed a little harsh,” Clare said.
He dropped into Evan’s vacant spot. “Don’t worry about him.”
She looked at him closely. “You made it clear when we last met, or should I say when you ambushed me in my car, that I didn’t have much choice about going.”
Henry had one arm stretched along the top of the couch. He looked thoroughly relaxed. “No, no. I’d never do that. The only thing I have on you is the same thing you have on me. I thought we both had acknowledged that.”
Now he was gaslighting her. She hadn’t been that hungover she couldn’t remember their previous conversation. “Okay. I’ll play along with you,” she said.
“Great.” Henry jumped to his feet and offered Clare a hand. “Let’s take off. We need to get there before my friends.” She ignored his hand and stood, following him to the foyer where he got his black wool coat from the closet and opened the door for her. He gave her directions out of town and settled in to talk, which he did a lot of. He talked about Chicago and the Cubs, his college courses, Money Creek, and whether spring would arrive early this year. He chattered like a speed freak, which she should know. She turned the conversation toward something she was more interested in.
“What was it like being raised by your parents?”
He looked at her curiously. “What was it like?”
“Yeah. Were they strict, did they come to your ball games, that sort of thing.”
“First of all, there were no ball games. I’m about as athletic as…Winston Churchill.”
Clare laughed. “Winston Churchill?”
“I was more math and chess club. My parents wanted me to do whatever I was interested in. They were very supportive that way. But they were strict. Mom would have a fit if I came home with less than stellar grades, and my homework time was very regimented. Dad pretty much left me alone.”
She turned onto a third gravel road. The countryside was a monochrome gray. Leafless trees bent with the wind, which she could feel pushing against the side of the car.
“I don’t understand how you got into dealing drugs. You make it sound like you were such a good boy.”
Henry rested his head against the back of the seat and stared in front of him. “That has to do with Bobby Hughes, one of the guys you’re about to meet. For a glorious year and a half there was a comic book shop in Money Creek, right where the used bookstore is now. Along with chess and math, I was also a comics nerd, as was Bobby. We’d see each other on Wednesdays, when the new books came out. It was about the only thing we had in common. He’s older than me, a high school dropout, but a very nice guy. We started hanging out a bit to talk comics. This was last year, when I started at Money Creek. He asked whether I knew of anyone selling drugs on campus.”
Clare turned to look at him. “I thought you were a senior. Where were you before Money Creek?”
Henry moved about in his seat. “I was at Princeton.”
“Princeton? And now you’re at Money Creek? What happened?”
Henry pursed his lips. “Let’s say that’s where my experience in the drug business began. Princeton and I decided to part ways. Anyway, I told Bobby I didn’t know of any drug dealers on campus, but I was pretty new. Bobby explained that he was a businessman and his business was selling drugs. He saw an untapped market on campus and asked me if I’d like to step in. He said the money would be excellent and that’s something I am interested in—making money.”
“He supplied you?”
“Right. Pot and cocaine mostly. Then he added ecstasy and mushrooms and finally, crystal meth. There wasn’t much of a demand for that at the school, but there is in town.”
“How about speed? There’s always a demand for that on campus.”
Henry smiled at her. “Your favorite. He didn’t have any connections for speed at first, but when I explained to him how huge the demand was at midterms and finals, he found one. That’s how I had some inventory for you.”
She was thankful for that. “It seems a stretch to go from nerd to campus drug dealer.”
“What can I say? I’m entrepreneurial. After doing this for a couple years, I have a solid business established.”
“Aren’t you afraid of being caught?”
“I’m very careful. You’re one of the few I sell directly to. I have Evan and a couple other guys act as go-betweens.”
He seemed overly confident about not being caught, but she hoped he was right. He told her to slow the car and look for a small road on the left. It was barely discernible, mostly hidden by overgrowth on either side of it. She drove up the narrow dirt road until she reached a clearing of an acre or so. A small ranch house stood in the middle and it looked like something condemned by the county. The yellow brick was sallow and sickly, the front door was pitted and dented, the gutters sagged off the roof. There was no grass or garden, only bare earth dusted with snow. She pulled up to the side of the house, and Henry popped out of the car and unlocked the front door.
The inside was equally bedraggled. He took her on a tour of the rest of the depressing house and then gestured toward a chair in the living room. She perched on the edge. He sat on the lumpy gold couch. “Can I get you a drink? Anything you like, I have a full bar.” He seemed unembarrassed by the house.
She shifted in her chair. She wanted a drink. It’d been two days since she had one and her hangover had been replaced with nerves. Valium was helping somewhat, but this was breakthrough anxiety. A drink would be good.
“No, thanks.” She could hardly believe it. She was not one to turn down anything on offer. The doorbell rang as Henry was walking to the kitchen for a glass of water for her. He detoured to open the door. Two men walked into the foyer and there was much slapping of hands and man-hugging. Henry led them to the living room and introduced them to her.
“This is Bobby Hughes, who I was telling you about earlier, and the other guy is Ray Barnes.”
She stood to shake hands. Bobby gripped her hand firmly while Ray did that thing men do when shaking hands with a woman, a limp grip that she could barely feel. They must think women’s bones were made of papier-mâché. Henry got drinks and everyone arrayed themselves around the seating area. Ray made himself comfortable on a grubby chaise lounge. He was a tall man with an athletic build, prematurely gray hair, and an intelligent face. He was still young, the flesh tight around the face. His eyes were an icy blue and they rested on Clare until she turned her gaze away. She didn’t get a warm feeling from him, in contrast to Bobby, who started chattering as soon as he took a seat. He was a big man and wore an old hoodie and jeans on his well-padded body. His smile was bright.
“It’s awesome to meet you, Clare. Henry’s mentioned you several times, so I knew you had to be special. Not much impresses Henry.” She wondered what about herself could possibly have impressed Henry. Bobby had a wide, cheery face and a bowl haircut that made him look like a little Dutch boy. He had even, white teeth. “I’m really psyched you made time for us today.”
“It’s not like I have a blinding schedule,” she said. “I left that behind in Chicago.”
“For sure. But still, it’s great we get to spend some time with you.” This was the mark of an extrovert, a person who always wanted to spend time with others, whether they knew them or not. It was almost impossible for Clare to understand. “Is that water you’re drinking?”
Clare gripped her glass a little tighter. “Let’s say today’s a day I choose to not drink.”
“Isn’t that what they say in AA—one day at a time?” Henry said. He said this as if he were trying to support an alcoholic, which she wasn’t. She tried for a relaxed grin.
“It’s not a big deal. I’m simply not drinking today.”
“Fair enough,” Bobby said. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a couple of joints. “How about getting high? Is this a day you’ll do that?”
“Absolutely,” she said. She wasn’t a big fan of pot, but she’d take anything at the moment. She felt on display in front of the men, as if she was auditioning for a play but didn’t know which role was hers.
Bobby lit a joint and passed it. As she inhaled, Ray said, “I think the most interesting thing Henry told us is you’re a lawyer.”
Clare blew the smoke out and tried not to cough. “I hate to think that’s the most interesting thing about me, but it probably is.”
“I think it’s super awesome you’re a lawyer,” Bobby said. “That’s a lot of school to get through.”
“Henry also said you like your pills and bought quite a quantity from him recently,” Ray said. He hadn’t changed his relaxed posture and he spoke in an unhurried but deliberate way. She was pinned to her seat.
“Is that a problem?” Clare said.
“No, it’s the opposite. It makes you all the more useful to us.” Ray took a long drink of his beer and lit a cigarette. Dread crept down her chest and into her gut.
Henry leaned toward Clare. “It’s not so much that you’re useful to us as it is how we’re useful for each other.” Ray and Bobby looked at each other.
“I don’t know what the hell you guys are talking about,” she said.
“Let me explain. There are things Henry hasn’t told you,” said Ray.
“Henry hasn’t told me anything.”
Ray swung his legs around and sat up. “Bobby, Henry, and I work together. We’ve joined up to control all the drug activity in the surrounding counties, which has been a pretty big job. We’ve converted most of the small meth labs into our system. We’ve centralized our source of supply and we control the distribution network.”
Clare looked from one to the other. She could see Ray would determine what role Clare was to play, because, clearly, she was meant to be involved somehow.
Ray continued. “When you start making the kind of money we have, the number one problem is how to launder it so we can actually use it. And that’s where you come in.”
“I’m sorry. I must have missed where I agreed to being a part of your operation, because I certainly don’t.”
Ray smiled, tight-lipped. “We know how much you have to lose if Henry were to let his mother know her new star attorney is a drug addict. We’re also the only source of your supply you’ll find in the area. I’m sure you don’t want that cut off. I don’t like to place this kind of pressure on a person. I’d rather you join us willingly. But it’s your choice, of course.”
“I don’t understand what you want from me.” Her sense of dread grew as she saw them putting her in a stranglehold.
“It’s straightforward and shouldn’t be at all risky for you. We have a number of legitimate businesses through which we funnel money, and we’re buying up more. The guy we used as an attorney before developed quite a meth problem and ended up in rehab. We need a new lawyer to close the deals we’ve made to buy a Laundromat and tavern in Money Creek. We’re working on a few other places in Bloomington, where it’s less noticeable when one person is buying a lot of places.”
Clare breathed out. “This feels like blackmail.”
“That’s such an ugly word. This is a business proposition.” Ray gazed at her steadily.
“That’s not going to work. I’m a litigator. I don’t know the first thing about commercial law.” She looked at Henry, who sat still and quiet in one corner of the couch, avoiding her eyes.
“The dude lawyer didn’t either. He was my criminal defense lawyer and a customer of ours. He figured out how to close deals,” Bobby said. “You’re a smart lady. I’m sure you can figure it out too.”
She was sure that wasn’t true. “Is that the limit of what you expect of me? Because I will not have anything to do with moving money to offshore accounts.”
“In fact, we do expect you to manage the offshore accounts,” Ray said. “That’s not really a problem for you, is it?”
She left Ray’s question hanging in the air. Henry looked worried.
“It’s a deal breaker for me. That’s a whole other world of trouble. Find a crooked accountant.”
The room was silent. She passed the joint to Ray as if they were passing the peace pipe at a tribal council. It was a little longer than a roach and Ray stubbed it out impatiently. “Everything’s a negotiation. We can accept your terms, at least for now, but we need you to start work immediately on these deals. The sellers’ attorneys are sending us documents that should be handled by a lawyer.”
At least she had that minor victory. “Agreed, under protest.”
“No one wants to expose you, Clare, or cut off your supply. I think we understand each other.”
She understood. She couldn’t find a way around doing what they asked. Not yet, anyway. Bobby and Henry looked pleased and turned their attention to the packet of cocaine Bobby had placed on the coffee table. Henry took out a mirror, straw, and razor blade stashed in a drawer of the table and Bobby started cutting up lines. How bizarre to be partying with her blackmailers. Bobby and Henry acted like they wanted to be her friend. Ray was more of a puzzle. Henry pointed her to the long line of coke on the mirror and she bent over and snorted it up. At least the drugs were good.