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They held their planning sessions in Hua’s rooms, which he’d transformed with paint bought in the discount aisle. Gone was the grime, and in its place were elegant pastels that shifted pleasantly from wall to wall. While Cam had chosen basic office-type furniture for his wing, Hua had opted for classic pieces, the more ornate the better. To see what he’d learned about Judge Beverly Comdon, they stood arched around a battered refectory table that held his computer, oversized screen, printers, scanners, and other geeky machines Robin couldn’t name, much less operate.
The downside of Hua’s fascination with technology was that he often spoke in geek, peppering his conversations with terms like bots, click-jacking, IP activity, and algorithm. When he waxed poetic about the packet-sniffers he’d sent after the data, Em ordered, “Cut to the chase. We just want to hear what you know about the old biddy.”
“Robin’s source seems to be correct,” Hua said obligingly. “Judge Comdon is a wealthy woman who seldom goes anywhere alone.” He showed them a photo of the judge at an event. “Along with her personal assistant and a couple of law students, there is always a nice-looking, very fit young man in her entourage.”
“And these men are convicted criminals?”
Hua pointed at a photo. “This one was caught selling heroin. His sentence was six months in Rehabilitate Louisiana.” Clicks sounded as he brought up a second picture. “This one stole an elderly neighbor’s money when he was supposed to be looking after her.” He leaned close to read details. “He spent five months with the judge.”
“Old Bev likes a certain type.” Em pointed at the pictures one by one. “When a boy who’s tall, dark, and handsome walks into her courtroom, she makes him an offer he can’t refuse.”
Robin leaned in to see the screen better. “When does her latest victim’s sentence end?”
“Actually he was released last week,” Hua said.
“She’ll be looking for new blood,” Em predicted. “We have to move fast.”
Robin gestured at the screen. “I thought I’d approach some of these men and see if they’ll talk to us.”
“They won’t help you take her down,” Em said. “She has the juice to send them to prison.”
“Well, if one of those pretty young men won’t go on record, how do we convince her she’s in trouble?”
Em tilted her head to one side. “Cam’s pretty.”
Robin turned to Hua, who shared her disbelief. “But Cameron has no—what are these—people skills.”
“He wouldn’t have to interest her for long, just enough time for her to embarrass herself,” Em said.
Robin frowned. “Could we teach him enough to get her interested?”
“That would depend on whether he’s willing to learn.”
“I don’t think—” Hua thought better of what he’d meant to say and stopped.
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Em said cheerfully. “Let’s ask him.”
They crossed the main house and went down the ramp to where Cam sat at his computer, lost in something called Virgins of Calamara. They had to wait until he finished a level so they could get his full attention. Even then he turned to them reluctantly, eager to get back to vicarious death and destruction.
Taking what she hoped was a persuasive slant on the proposal Robin asked, “Cam, you don’t want to have to force Judge Comdon into the van, right?”
He rubbed the front of his T-shirt. “I can’t push an old lady around, Robin. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Do you think you could flirt with her a little?”
Judging by his reaction, she might have asked the question in the ancient Calamarian language. “Flirt?”
Robin glanced at Hua helplessly, and he took a stab at it. “If you make her like you, maybe she would go somewhere to be alone together. Then Robin could talk to her, like she did the others.”
Cam’s frown cleared and then appeared again. “I don’t know how to flirt.”
“We’ll help you practice.” Robin turned to Hua. “Show him. Flirt with me.”
Hua’s smooth forehead wrinkled. “I have not done such a thing ever.”
She sighed in frustration. “Okay. You be Judge Comdon. I’ll be Cam.”
Cam snickered. “Hua’s going to be a girl?”
“It’s just a demonstration.” She turned to Hua and deepened her voice. “Oh, Judge Bev, it’s great to meet such an important person. And you’re very attractive too.”
“I saw her picture,” Cam interrupted. “She looks like Olive Oyl from the Popeye cartoons.”
“That’s part of flirting. You say nice things, even if they’re a little exaggerated.”
“That’s not exaggerating. It’s a great big lie.”
Robin rolled her eyes. “Just try, Cam.” She turned back to Hua and said in the same gushy voice, “It must be exciting to travel all over the state meeting people.”
“I would never say that,” Cam put in. “I don’t like meeting people very much.”
“We’re trying to put the idea into her head that you could travel with her.”
Cam considered. “Do I have to leave my games here?”
“You’re not really going to—”
“You should get him an earwig,” Em suggested. “Then you could tell him exactly what to say.”
“Can just anybody buy those?” Robin asked.
Hua shrugged. “Almost everything is buyable on Amazon.”
“The problem will be how he says what you tell him.” Em made her voice into a fair impression of Darth Vader. “That robot warrior voice of his won’t work.”
Cam didn’t seem at all upset by the characterization, so Robin asked, “If Hua gets us an earpiece and Em and I show you how to flirt, will you try this new way, Cam?”
He turned back to his game and picked up the controller. “Sure, Robin. As long as you tell me what to say.”
***
Hua hadn’t exaggerated when he said he was an excellent cook. Stuck in Buckram’s apartment twenty-four seven, he’d watched cooking shows from pure boredom and learned a great deal about food preparation. Claiming good meals deserved better than paper plates and plastic forks, he insisted they needed decent china and cutlery. Since he didn’t ask for much, Robin searched until she found an almost complete set of each at Goodwill. Hua was inordinately happy when she brought home the two dusty boxes, and she felt pleased that some nameless donor hadn’t seen the value in keeping Grandma’s good tableware.
“We must plant a garden,” Hua announced. “Fresh food is best for taste and health.”
Cam agreed, and the two of them chose a spot behind the house that looked as if it had been a garden long ago. They badgered Robin into buying hoes, rakes, and other garden tools, and Cam visited the local feed store for advice on what grew well in the area. He returned with packets of squash, beans, peas, carrots, and broccoli, along with a bag of onion sets and one of seed potatoes. He and Hua could hardly wait until the date of the last frost, April 7th according to predictions, to begin theproject.
The team for the Comdon Caper (Em insisted on calling it that) was Cam, Robin, and Hua. Keeping in mind Mink’s warning to always have an escape plan, Robin designated Hua as backup. He would stay on the fringes of the operation in the van, watching for trouble, warning them if he suspected problems, and picking them up in case they needed to make a quick escape. Em’s assignment was minding the house and the dog.
In the days before they left Kansas there was a flurry of activity. Hua and Cam thinned and weeded industriously in their small garden so Em wouldn’t have to while they were gone. Robin paid as many bills ahead of time as she could afford to, worried about what would happen if she were unable to return. “I’ll manage if you three have to go on the lam,” Em said, knowing her concerns without being told. “I’ll do what I can to divert the cops so you’ll have time to get out of the country.”
“And if we’re arrested—”
“We’ve talked it through a dozen times, Sweet-cheeks. I close this place down and Bennett and me get a bus ticket out of here and start over somewhere else. If they arrest you, the rest of us do what we can to help.”
She made it sound simple, but it wasn’t. If Robin were caught, there might not be much the others could do. She couldn’t imagine Hua, Em, or Cam executing a jailbreak. While Em was capable of plotting one, carrying it out with a couple of amateurs and a three-footed cane seemed unlikely.
A few days before the Comdon KNP, Robin left the house in Em’s car. The “pond” at the end of their driveway was drying nicely as spring progressed but it was still a hazard. Gunning the engine at just the right moment to make it up the incline, Robin watched for oncoming traffic. Not that there was much of that on Bobby Road.
Cam had proposed a half-circle drive that began and ended at either end of the property, where the slope was much gentler. “We won’t have to drive through that mud hole, and it will look nicer too.” Again it pleased Robin to see Cam’s growing confidence. Unless there was a stranger around, his stutter had almost disappeared, and his knowledge of practicalities meant the others often depended on his advice.
Too bad the flirting thing isn’t going so well.
Hacking into a popular blog hosting site, Hua had discovered the identity of the blog writer who’d complained about the “sinful” practices of a “certain lady judge.” The blogger was Ethel Simpson, grandmother to a young man who’d been one of “Bev’s Boys.” The blog was her attempt to let the world know about the judge’s “wicked” practices without smearing her grandson’s name.
When she arrived in Baton Rouge late that night, Robin went straight to the bar where Hua said Elmer Simpson worked as a bouncer.
Simpson was hesitant to talk about Judge Comdon, but the promise of anonymity and the offer of a hundred bucks helped. Robin hung around until the crowd thinned and he was free to talk.
“Tell me about the Rehabilitate Louisiana Program,” she asked when he finally sat down at a table across from her.
He shrugged, elaborately casual. “I did work around the judge’s place—lawn stuff and like that.”
“Did your work include sleeping with the judge?” He opened his mouth to deny it, but Robin had her own lie ready. “I’ve already spoken with your grandmother.”
He grinned sheepishly. “Gram thinks I was this innocent kid who fell into the clutches of an evil Maggie May type.” He touched his shirt pocket, where a pack of cigarettes showed.
“Would you like to take this conversation outside?” she asked.
He grinned, showing white, slightly uneven teeth. “That would be good.”
Once they were in the alley behind the bar, Elmer lit one. Waving the smoke away from Robin with his free hand, he began to relax, and the story came out. “My college roommate and I had this little business going, selling computer equipment that fell off a truck, if you know what I mean. When we got caught, he went to jail—like directly to jail—because it was his second strike. I was scared, and when Judge Bev offered to get me into her rehab program, I jumped at the chance.” He grinned. “I could tell she liked me, you know?”
Taking a drag on his cigarette, he went on. “I took the deal: six months in the program. If the judge was happy with my work, she said I’d get a stipend.” He chuckled. “I didn’t even know what a stipend was.”
Tilting her head to one side, Robin said, “You must have had an idea something funny was going on.”
He shrugged. “I had my suspicions.”
“You signed up anyway.”
His tone said Robin was a little slow. “It was that or jail time.”
“Then what happened?”
Elmer looked away. “I checked in with the judge’s personal assistant, who showed me to the guest house and told me what my duties would be. As soon as she left, the judge showed up.” Taking a final drag on his cigarette, he crushed it against the brick wall of the building. “It didn’t take long to figure out the rest of it.”
“But you stayed?”
“Hell, yeah.” He smirked as if to ask who wouldn’t. “Two weeks later we were in Cabo.” He leaned against the wall. “Gram saw it as a big sin, and she hated that I never went back to school, but to tell you the truth, I had a ball. I never lived that high before, and all I had to do was pretend I liked the old biddy.”
“And did you?”
He rolled his eyes. “Bev is a real piece of work. Still, she lives good, so I got to live good too.”
“When your six months’ sentence was up, you parted amicably?”
“I don’t know what that word means, but we parted.” Turning away, he lit another cigarette. “She gets bored easy, and I was kind of sick of putting up with her crap.” He shrugged. “The others said the same thing.”
Robin stopped breathing for a second, and she barely managed to keep the excitement in her voice under control. “You’re in contact with other men who went through the program?”
Elmer looked at the glowing tip of his cigarette. “One night the guy who’d been with Bev right before me came in here. I’d seen a photo of them together, and I just had to introduce myself.”
“Did the judge tell you not to talk about your time with her?”
He sniffed disparagingly. “She used to say it would be the word of a law-breaker against the word of a judge. I don’t think she ever thought her boys would get together and compare notes.”
“Could you put me in contact with some others who’ve been in the program?”
Elmer frowned. “You aren’t going to make trouble for them, are you?”
“Not at all.” Robin opened her purse. “I’ll give you fifty bucks for each name.”
He dug his phone out of his pocket. “I got a couple right here.”
The first name on Elmer’s list, Vic Unser, was slightly less cheerful about his time with Beverly Comdon than Elmer had been. Unser had been arrested for car theft, though Hua reported there was uncertainty about how much he was involved or if he even knew the car was stolen. Robin located him at his workplace the next morning, a slightly musty-smelling grocery store on the outskirts of the city. Unser was in the break room, drafting a work schedule for the coming week. When he learned her purpose, he got up to close the door on the busy scene behind her.
“I don’t like to talk about it.” Like Elmer Simpson, Unser was taller than average, with dark hair, wide shoulders, and the kind of symmetrical face that appeals to the majority of humankind.
“Your name won’t be mentioned,” Robin assured him. “And your time is worth a hundred dollars.” She set two fifties on the table. “I only need to know if what I’ve been told is true.”
Unser rolled his eyes. “Is it true she tricks guys into her sleazy rehab program, treats them like personal sex toys, and tosses them out a few months later? Yeah, it is.”
“You didn’t know that was going to happen?”
He rubbed a knuckle under his nose. “I guess I should have. People talked about the guy before me, but I didn’t get that I was the next in a long line.” He glanced around the room. “I was lucky to get this job back.”
“Did the judge treat you well, aside from demanding your, um, cooperation?”
“Not bad, I guess. Good food, a nice room—” He looked away. “Not that I got to sleep there very often.”
That brought a distasteful picture to mind, but Robin asked, “Do other guys feel the same way?”
He made a noise of disgust. “Rafael, the guy before me, was kind of a weirdo.”
“Weird how?”
“From what people said, he actually liked the old girl. He was heartbroken when she let him go.”
“Did you ever do anything that might be considered job training?”
He huffed sarcastically. “She’d say things like, ‘The pool needs skimming, Dear Boy,’ and we were supposed to hop to it.” Unser’s face flushed. “You were always ‘Dear Boy’ to her, like you didn’t have a name she could bother to remember.”
With Hua’s help Robin located Rafael Cardenas, currently working second shift at a small factory. When she called, he was less than cordial. “Why do you want to know about the sen͂ora?”
“We want to be sure Rehabilitate Louisiana is legitimate.”
Rafael became belligerent. “Sen͂ora Bev is a great judge. She does many good things for the people.”
“Mr. Cardenas—”
“Leave me alone, or I call the police.” The call ended abruptly.
“You should have guessed at least one of them would take her side,” Em said when Robin reported in. “Leave Mr. Cardenas his happy little fantasy and go to the next name on your list.”
That was Ricky Miller, who directed her to a pool hall where he was in the middle of a game when she arrived. Though he looked at her like she was lunch, Robin remained businesslike. “I’m here for information, Mr. Miller. I don’t need a drink and you don’t need my number.” Without explanation, she set a hundred-dollar bill on the lip of the table. It disappeared into his pocket with hardly a second’s lapse.
A chain smoker with no job and no prospects, Ricky’s story wasn’t much different from the others. He’d come before Bev Comdon on a robbery charge. When she’d commented on his muscles, he’d sensed her interest and flirted a little. “I got seven months in the judge’s rehab program,” he reported grimly. “I thought I got a gift, but it was a different kind of hard time.”
“You regretted taking the deal?”
He shrugged. “I guess it was better than the alternative.” A speculative gleam appeared in his eye as he added casually, “I got a pretty interesting recording if you’re willing to pay for it.”
“What’s that?”
He shrugged. “This guy Elmer was one of Bev’s Boys. He works at a bar.”
“I already spoke with him.”
“Well, he don’t know about this. One night three of us met up, had a few beers, and started comparing notes on the old girl—what she liked, what she said in private moments. It was pretty funny.”
Despite a feeling of revulsion Robin managed, “And?”
Ricky’s eyes took on a nasty gleam. “I had my phone, and I recorded about ten minutes’ worth.” He picked at a piece of tobacco stuck on his lip. “For five hundred I’ll send you the file.”
Robin took her wallet out of her purse. “Send it.”
***
Later that night in her hotel room, Robin found herself stuck between sleep and wakefulness. The room was tasteful but institutional, and she found she missed her space at home, filled now with items from second-hand stores that spoke to her, no matter what their style. She’d added modern touches to the old-fashioned floral wallboard by hanging dollar store posters and a set of brushed-nickel shelving. In her bedroom she’d installed a sleigh bed that took up most of the space and needed a board under one foot to balance it. Her sitting area had two mission oak dressers and a Duncan Phyfe-type table with Danish straight chairs on either side. It had been satisfying to make the space hers without worrying whether a landlord would deduct from the security deposit or her father would comment on her “stupid” choices.
But home was far away. She was here to do a job.
Except I don’t think I can.
It’s the kind of thing Mark would be thrilled to have found.
Was she becoming her father, using whatever means she could devise to get what she wanted?
“Sit right there and look real sad.” Mark pointed to a bench outside the county courthouse. “If someone stops to talk to you, don’t say a word, understand?”
Six-year-old Robin nodded, having learned it didn’t pay to argue. Mark had taken to punishing Chris when she displeased him, knowing she couldn’t bear to see her brother suffer.
People passed, glancing at the tearful child alone on the bench. A few stopped to ask if she was okay. If they were male or old or plain, Mark appeared and identified himself as her “daddy.” When they went on, he returned to the shadows.
Finally a pretty young woman stopped. “Are you all right, honey?” Remembering her instructions, Robin said nothing. “Are you waiting for someone? You don’t look very happy.”
Mark appeared, apparently solicitous. “Sorry I took so long, Babe.” He turned to the woman. “I had some, um, business inside, but I didn’t want her to—” He stopped, as if unwilling to explain.
“She seems upset, poor thing.”
Mark’s smile was rueful. “She hasn’t spoken since her mother—” He paused and swallowed. “—left us.” Turning again to Robin he said, “Mommy’s in heaven now, right, Babe? We’ll be okay, you and me.”
The woman’s hand went to her heart. “I’m so sorry.”
His chin rose heroically. “Thanks. We’re new here, so I don’t know the procedures. Don’t even know who to ask.” Another pause, another swallow. “Things are pretty tough right now.”
The woman paused, no doubt taking in Mark’s boyish good looks. “I have to get back to work, but if you two would like to meet later for coffee—” She smiled at Robin. “—or a soda, I’m a good listener.”
“That’s so sweet of you.”
Mark would show up alone, armed with a lie about his daughter getting a chance to spend time with a friend from school. He’d say he came alone because he needed so much to talk to someone. Of course it would end up going much farther than that.
He’d been in a good mood that day as they left the courthouse. “You see how easy it is to get what you want, Babe? That’s how the world works. Your old man is showing you so you don’t turn out to be a sucker like her.”
She imagined the Comdon KNP, the lies she would tell, the fake smiles she would plaster on her face. How she would urge her innocent friend Cam to lie. Pushing those thoughts away, she drifted into a troubled dream in which Mark followed her around, saying over and over how clever she was. In the background, peeping out from behind a chair or a tree—even a refrigerator once—was a disapproving Thomas Wyman, Private Eye.
