fifty-six:
friday, late afternoon

One police cruiser sat next to Jerry’s pickup and a white, unmarked sedan parked askew nearby. It had a government-issue vibe. As raids went, it appeared to be a civilized affair.

Inside, Jerry introduced Trudy to three men—one city cop, one from the Colorado Office of Homeland Security and one who was a contractor working for the state, “an identification specialist.”

Trudy didn’t try to remember names. They were huddled around two laptops and a stack of manila folders in a cardboard box.

Jerry gave her a “follow me” head nod and they stepped back outside.

“Weird timing,” said Trudy. “Did they say why?”

“They don’t need a why.”

Jerry’s scowl appeared to be hours in the making.

“Are they finding anything?” said Trudy.

“They aren’t giving me a blow by blow,” said Jerry. “Lots of muttering. Worse than the dentist while they’re poking around in there, jabbing one tooth for an hour. No idea what they’re finding.”

“They haven’t been asking questions?” said Trudy.

“A few,” said Jerry.

“Maybe it’s all fishing,” said Trudy.

“I don’t think they’ll find anything,” said Jerry. “But we need to be ready.”

“For what?” said Trudy.

Jerry looked at her like she was a high school graduate who didn’t know how to read. “For any major problems,” he said.

“And then we’ll deal with them,” said Trudy. “Totally on the up and up. We aren’t trying to get away with anything and so we’ll deal with it.”

“You’re not worried?”

“No more than any other business that depends on labor,” said Trudy. “We’ll see what they find, have a conversation about it, and move on.”

Jerry wanted her to panic, wanted the “raid” to bring her back in closer orbit. He shook his head, ever so slightly.

“I can’t stay,” said Trudy.

“What?” said Jerry. “This is your business. They are poring through the records of your business.”

“My name is on it,” said Trudy. “Sure. I’ll answer any questions. I’ll be around.”

“You’re going to leave me?” said Jerry.

Trudy took a second to process the fact that he meant alone with the cops. She had been thinking how to answer the same question, only on a much bigger scale.

“There’s nothing for me to do,” said Trudy. “And if you’ve been through the records they probably aren’t going to find an undotted i. It’s a scare, that’s all. It’s a scare. Somebody saw my truck where they didn’t think it belonged, called their cop friends to see if they’d put a jolt of fear in me. In us. In the business.”

Jerry didn’t believe a word. He shook his head. “Where were you?”

Was it worth going into it all? Did she have the time to go into it?

“A place in Rifle. Trying to figure out who had come to my place. We’re close. Duncan is close. The reporter.”

She was having trouble with full sentences, knowing where to start. She was sure it showed.

“Well, you must have created some conversation,” said Jerry. “You got someone’s attention.”

Trudy took a step down toward her pickup, took a breath, turned back around to face Jerry, knowing they both had reached the same conclusion. She couldn’t imagine sticking around long enough to watch it all explode. The finality of it was sad, but she would never be okay with Jerry’s world view. It was as if there was a whole layer of the city he didn’t want to see. Accusing him of anything, leveling charges, made no sense.

One of them would have to utter the words hanging in the space between them and, knowing Jerry, it wouldn’t be a quick conversation.