AFTER the conference with Wolfeson, White, Mona closed the door to her office and dialed the cell number on the card Maws had given her.
“I want to meet,” she said.
“Wonderful! Do you know the Players’ Club on Wiltshire? Shall we say eight?” he said.
“I’ll be in your office in forty minutes,” she said.
Maws was behind his desk, reclining in his big leather chair, smiling. He didn’t bother getting up. “You’re back,” he said.
Mona nodded. “I’m back, Mr. Maws.”
“I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but I’m not surprised.”
“You do sound arrogant.”
Maws grinned like it was a compliment. “I’ve been thinking about you, too,” he said. “Let me ask you something: Is Mona your real name?”
“No.”
“I knew it! You’re up to something, I can tell. I like a woman with secrets. What is it?”
“What?”
“Your real name.”
“You can call me Ms. Jimenez.”
He affected a crestfallen look. “Now that’s not very friendly, is it?”
“Mr. Maws, last time I was here, I asked you about the $5.8 million that your company received from the Border Security Corporation of America.”
“Ah yes, the detention-center contract. And I told you, Miss Mona, there was nothing unusual about it. It’s just good business.”
Mona said, “I’ve just met with the BSCA’s legal team, Mr. Maws. They know they’re in trouble. They’re looking for someone to take the fall.”
Mona’s bluff worked. The smile melted from Maws’s face.
“He didn’t tell you about the meeting, did he?” she asked.
“Who?”
“Your old crew mate. Michael Marvin.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Mona leaned forward. “Cards on the table, Maws. Here’s what I know. I know that in the winter of 2015, Michael Marvin came to you with a scheme. He asked you to give up your restaurant and set up a catering company. He said he would make you rich. I know that you went to Saint Ignatius Loyola Academy with Marvin. The same school your son, Archie, goes to now. I know that the detention-center contract with the BSCA is a sham, a cover for something else. I also know that you solicit sex workers on Western Avenue and are a regular at a strip joint on Santa Fe. I know that you went to Tijuana thirty-four times between January 2016 and August 2018, and I think I know why. I know a lot, Mr. Maws. But the most important thing I know is this: Michael Marvin is not your friend. He is not going to protect you. To him, you’re just muscle. Someone to row the boat. The minute you become a problem, he’ll throw you overboard. And your sex addiction has become a problem, hasn’t it?”
He kept leering at her as if it were a shield, like it was all that stood between him and annihilation. His face was defiant, but his body slumped under the weight of shame. She felt almost sorry for him.
“I heard about your stunt at the school fund-raiser,” he said. “What did Michael do to you, anyway, that pissed you off so much you’re trying to ruin his life?”
“A client of mine died in his detention center out in Paradise.”
“The whore who got bitten by a snake? How is that his fault?”
Mona said nothing for a minute. She let the ugliness of Maws’s words hang. She could see the desperation in his eyes.
“Here’s my offer. I can get you a deal with the prosecutor. No jail time. You can go to rehab. There’s a place in Arizona that specializes in helping people like you.”
“And in return?”
“Tell me what $5.8 million buys Michael Marvin.”
She shut up and waited for Maws to decide. He sat there for a long time, blinking, the corner of his mouth twitching. She wondered what the private terrors he was working so hard to conceal looked like. Eventually he said, “Ms. Jimenez, the money to which you refer is to feed detainees at the detention center out in Paradise. What else would it be for?”
She stood.
“You’re making a mistake, Maws. One way or another, I’m going to get Marvin. I’ll find out what the money’s for. And when I do, believe me, you’ll wish you’d taken the deal. You think he’s a friend, but he’s not. He’s using you. Men like Marvin don’t have friends. Marvin won’t protect you. His every move is calculated. He’s always in control. But you”—she pierced him with a stare—“you can’t help yourself, can you?”
She walked out.
Later that evening, Mona was on the couch alone, enjoying a glass of wine and watching a telenovela called Flores Amarillas. Finn had gone to bed early. The show finished, and Mona was about to do the same when her cell rang.
“Hey, Mona,” slurred a man’s voice.
“Mr. Maws.”
“‘Mr. Maws.’ Why don’t you call me Edward, Mona? Or Ed? Why don’t you like me? Mona. Mona. Mona. Has anyone ever called you Mona Lisa?”
“Maws—”
“They should. You’re pretty as the picture, Mona Lisa. Hey, Mona. I’ll tell you, Mona, what I want to do.”
He was singing now.
“You should stop now,” said Mona.
“Build a house next door to you.”
“You’ve been drinking, Maws.”
“Yes. Yes, Mona. I’ve been drinking.”
“I’m going to hang up now,” said Mona. But she didn’t. It was eleven at night. Maws had drunk-dialed her. She knew two types of drunks: the belligerent kind, and the maudlin kind. If he got aggressive, she’d hang up. But if he wanted to unburden himself of his secrets, she would let him talk.
“Unless you have something you want to tell me,” she said, softening her voice.
“Yes. Mona, I have something I want to tell you.”
She braced herself. “Okay, but I’m warning you, if I don’t like what I hear, if you disrespect me, I’m hanging up—”
“Relax, Mona Lisa. I’m not gonna ask you to marry me.”
“Okay. Glad to hear it.”
“Although, now that I think of it, that wouldn’t be a bad idea. Mona? Will you marry me?”
Mona physically moved the phone away from her ear. “Good night, Maws.”
“Wait.”
She waited.
“I know what happened in Paradise,” said Maws.
Mona made an effort to modulate her voice. “What do you think happened?”
“I don’t think. I know. I know what happened to that girl.”
Mona’s heart thumped like a kettledrum.
“That got your attention, didn’t it? Now you’re listening to me. See, that’s all I want. Someone to listen to me.”
Was he crying? Was that sobbing she could hear?
“I’ve done some bad things, all right, Mona? Some bad things. I know what I am. But I’m not like these guys. These guys, Mona. They’re animals.”
“Which guys? You mean Michael Marvin?”
She heard a wet laugh.
“Michael fucking Marvin. No, not Michael Marvin. I mean, he’s an asshole, but he’s not the one you want. You think he is, but he’s not. But I know. I know what you want. I know everything, Mona, and it’s bigger than Marvin. Way bigger than you can even imagine.”
“Okay. So then, who?”
More sobs. “Oh, Jesus. I need help, Mona.”
“Maws, where are you?”
“I’m at home.”
“I don’t think you should be alone right now. If you tell me where you are, I can come round.”
There was a long silence.
“Maws? Are you there?”
“Aren’t you alone, Mona? Isn’t everyone?”
Mona bit her lower lip. She loathed drunks. Her husband was a recovering alcoholic. He’d been sober three years, but listening to Maws brought back the feelings she’d felt at the nadir of Finn’s drinking—the way his lies and sneakiness and self-pity had darkened the sky like a storm that constantly threatened but never broke. She found Maws repugnant, but she needed him to tell her what he knew.
“Edward. Tell me what happened to Carmen Vega. Tell me what the money’s for.”
She heard a gurgling sound: liquid leaving a bottle. Then more sobbing.
Mona affected a consoling tone. “Edward, I can only imagine how you feel. I really want to help you. But to do that, I need to know what you want, and I need to know what you know. You understand?”
“I want to start my life over.”
“I understand. Listen, I just had an idea. Ask me to be your lawyer.”
“What?”
“If I’m your lawyer, whatever you tell me is privileged. And if I think it’s strong enough, then I’ll go to the prosecutor and, swear to God, I will get you a deal. And you can go to Arizona and stop the madness. If it’s not, then as your lawyer, I can’t tell anyone else. Either way, you’re protected.”
There was a pause while the logic worked its way through Maws’s alcohol-soaked brain.
“You’re really smart, aren’t you?” he slurred.
“I’m going to press Record on my phone, and then you’ll ask me to be your lawyer, okay?”
“Okay.”
Mona pressed Record. “All right, go ahead.”
“Ms. Jimenez, will you be my lawyer?”
“Yes, Mr. Edward Maws, I agree to act as your legal representative.”
More sobbing. She rolled her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” said Maws.
“Take your time,” said Mona, wishing he wouldn’t. She heard more gurgling; he was emptying the bottle.
“Feeling better? Okay, now, why don’t you start by telling me what you want.”
“I don’t want to go to jail. I want a new name, a new life. They’ll kill me if they knew I talked to you. You understand?”
“I understand. But who, Edward? Who will kill you?”
She heard the faint sound of a doorbell ringing.
“That’s Honey,” said Maws, his voice brightening. “She’s early, for once.”
“No. Stop. Edward, don’t answer the door.”
It was too late. She heard unsteady steps—Maws’s, she assumed, stumbling down a hallway. She heard him say, “Honey, is that you?”
She heard a woman’s muffled voice, as though from behind a door, answer, “Yeah, baby.”
She heard the sound of a lock opening. She heard Maws yell, “Wait, no!”
She heard two loud bangs.
She heard Maws say something. It sounded like “lawyer is lost.” Then another bang.
She heard a clattering sound.
A moment later, she heard different steps—stiletto heels on boards. She heard the sound of someone handling the phone. Then she heard a man’s voice say in Spanish, “Turn it off.”
The line went dead.