X-Ray Vision Ch. 12: Exposed

Skinny kid behind the counter, bored.

"Any new arrivals? Moved in this morning?"

The kid looks interested; nothing much happens here most days I suppose.

"Yup! D13, guy with a van! Cold storage, far end! Two guys, tattoos, furniture and household! Paid month-to-month!"

Probably not supposed to tell us all that, but he's too excited to care.

Tito is poking around the racks, they sell trailer hitches, boxes, labels. Finds a padlock.

"How much?" Kid names the price and Tito pays.

Driving slowly back we find row D, tool down the row past 13, park against the fence. Don't want to alert the mark?

No moving van now, but on D13 the AC is running, the overhead door is not locked. Risky, unless somebody is in there.

That explains the padlock. Tito rips it open, unlocks it, pockets the keys.

We exit quietly, walk slowly to the unit. Tito gently slips the padlock on the hasp, Click!

I had to grin; this was so easy! He's locked up now, in the unit most likely.

"How we gonna get him out?"

Tito doesn't answer, just walks around the side, eyes the AC unit.

It's crude, just a normal household AC window unit, carpentered into the sheet metal, a stretch to call it 'cold storage', probably not really very cold in there. But without the AC it can get really hot in these things, the sun beating down on the tin roof. Probably makes it bearable.

Tito gives me a leg up, and I pull the plug. AC gives a throaty rattle, then silent.

Nothing for a minute, then the door goes grunch-thunk! Somebody inside trying to open it.

Time to make the play. Tito knocks, hollow sound on the metal door.

"Crinshaw Bail Bond Service! Mr. Jakes? We have a few questions."

Silence inside for a beat, then,

"I got all day; I got water, food, a porta-potty. Better get comfortable! I won't be coming out all week."

Tito was having none of it. "You won't be coming out at all! I got a lock on the door."

Silence for a bit, Tito letting him think that through.

"Tell you how it's gonna go down. We're gonna drive off, forget this ever happened.

"The sun's gonna get high in the sky, that unit will heat up. 80? 90? over a hundred is my guess.

"Maybe we come back in what? a month? Your court date? See if there's anybody still in there to appear. If not, well, that's a tragedy. Probably be in all the papers."

Silence for a minute, he's thinking it over.

"I was gonna appear. You don't have to get all pissy."

Tito gives me a look, like 'sure, and I'm the king of Norway'.

"You bet you're gonna appear. Next face you see when that door opens is a cop, taking you to jail. Your bail is revoked."

Now only angry noises, the door jerks up and down a few times but no way is it gonna open, not even a few inches. He's well and truly fucked.

We went back to the truck, tooled slowly past the door, letting him hear us leave. Back to the lot office, use the phone, call the cops, get him re-incarcerated. Skinny kid is super-excited, soaking it all up.

"You didn't have to tell him all that; we didn't have to say anything. He was stuck."

Tito nodded. "But it felt good, didn't it?"

I grinned back at him. Today was a good day.

Last stop on the list, an address in the court past the railroad tracks.

Not a bad place; maybe I'll be able to afford a unit here someday. Not a great investment, trailers only go down in value. But cheap, comfortable, all the amenities. And private.

"Felony dealing, assault."

Our client is sitting in a lawn chair, smoking something he puts out quickly as we walk in the gate. One arm in a cast, elbow bent, propped on the armrest.

A brace on one knee, a bandage on his nose, bruises, lots of bruises. This guy has been messed up, recently.

We get close, he's not much older than me. About Tito's age, maybe a little less.

"Crinshaw Bail Bond, just doing a routine check!"

He nods, waves us into two empty chairs around the grill. Something in there; some smoke coming out the cover.

I look at Tito; mark's not gonna run, not with those casts, probably no harm in sitting down. More friendly that way.

So we sit.

"You didn't have to put that out; we're not cops."

The smell was distinctive, and not coming from the grill.

He looks grateful, pulls the joint out again, lit it with a lighter. A big pull, hold it, sigh, smoke coming out both sides of his mouth.

"It helps with the pain." He's pretty messed up; has to feel like shit.

"Your attorney has some concern about your appearance date."

He closes his eyes, takes another pull, let it marinate, exhale.

"I told him I had an appointment, get the cast off, maybe he could reschedule. And he tells you I'm not gonna show?"

The more I knew about this public defender, the lower my opinion. Sure he got one out of four right; but it seems pretty obvious a soccer mom and a gimp are not any kind of risk.

Tito did his probing-statement thing, playing the therapist.

"Lotta folks, facing a felony, maybe somebody real mad at them..." he tilted his head at the cast, "would think about catching a bus."

Gimp admitted the possibility, it had occurred to him.

"I got this place, now I'm out of work and no disability. Racking up bills, no way to pay.

"This is all I got. I'm gonna try to hang onto it. That's what my little side-business was about, trying to make the payments easier, maybe make some improvements."

Tito looked around, gave an approving nod. The place was nice, as such things go. An awning on one side, fenced behind; patio stones and the grill made a pleasant outdoor entertaining spot.

"So what's the story? Who had it in for you?"

He was more than ready to tell his tale; one of those everything-went-wrong-at-once kind of things.

"I was dealing; I copped to that. Just half an ounce to a couple regulars.

"So this guy hears about me, thinks he can get it for free. Comes up with an iron pipe, demands I hand it over. I don't.

"He swings, misses. I push him; he falls back, hits the wall, cracks his head.

"Real mad now, he goes over me with the pipe, leaves me like this. Takes my what? ounce and a half, leaves me bleeding. Cunt."

That was a sad story, if it was true. Under that amount, not even illegal.

So why the felony?

Tito caught that too. "Charge says felony dealing? Assault? Something doesn't add up."

"You're tellin' me! That 'attorney', shithead that he is, says if I admit to dealing maybe he can get me a reduced sentence. But I don't have the stuff to surrender, the asshole took it. So I'm facing the max."

"Where does the assault charge come from?"

"Asshole says I assaulted him! Never! I just pushed him away; a dick comes after you with a pipe, you're allowed to dodge, push back, right?

"I'm not a fighter; I'm a lover. I don't even want to fight the judge. I just want this to go away. But I don't think it's gonna."

Tito took a deep breath; this had him upset for some reason. As upset as he gets anyway.

"You want some free advice? From an amateur?" The dude is willing.

"The felony means the assault is gonna stick; you can't claim anything for your own injuries, you can't sue for damages incurred during commission of a felony. You gotta address that first.

"The dickhead didn't surrender the goods? No? Probably sold it by now or smoked it. That means no evidence.

"No evidence; no felony. Even if he surrenders more than an ounce and a half now, says he took it off you, by this time the cops will arrest him, he's been holding, he's culpable.

"Tell your attorney you aren't gonna plead no-contest, he's gonna have to actually defend you. Tell him, counter-sue dickhead for your pain and suffering, once the felony charge is reduced to a misdemeanor.

"Your injuries are greater than his? Threaten to sue him for more; ten times what he's going after you for. He's gonna settle, or drop the suit entirely?"

The guy looked like an angel had appeared to him, rising from the smoke from his grill. Saint Tito!

He tried to get up, maybe give Tito a hug but didn't get any further than a wince and collapsed back into his lawn chair.

We shook hands, and we were done here.

"So now you're the stoners' best friend!" Walking back to the truck, I was kidding Tito, but he just looked mad.

"Everybody failed this guy! A common story! He's trying to make ends meet, does something dumb but hey he's a kid. Nobody looked any further than the surface, happy to send him down for nothing, just put him away, get him off their books and move on."

Maybe Tito should be a cop! No, that'd just make him more frustrated, seeing the lazy indifferent prosecution, not often but enough, too often.

I didn't know what he should be. Worth thinking about; thinking about where I wanted to go with all this too.

The list was done; we drove back, checked in with Jillian, left her the truck keys. She took Tito's report to the boss, they had a good laugh back there.

Jillian came out, said Good Job! and the boss says Well Done! Tickled about the storage-lot collar; she'd be telling that story for months.

Take the rest of the day off! Have a drink on the Boss!

We headed to Trevor's, give our friend our business when we can.

Over a beer, I asked the question I'd been sitting on since I met Tito.

"What's your end-game? Bouncer, bail agent, then what?"

He didn't answer, not sure he was gonna tell me. Came back with "What's your goal? Taking money from folks down on their luck? Made a bad decision, make it cost them even more?"

So he wasn't really fond of the bail-bond game. Not sure I was either, not after today.

I took a pull from the beer, stalling, thinking.

What did I have to think about? I knew exactly what I wanted.

"I want to catch the bad guys. Not these poor saps, struggling and lashing out and punching each other. The real bad guys, the ones that systematically prey on citizens, make everybody miserable."

Tito could understand that. Let it sit there, took a long draw. Silence for a bit. Came to a decision.

"I want to have an agency. Investigation, security, recovery, more. A business where every customer has a real problem, somebody preying on them, I can help make things work out. Use my skills to defend people from the rackets, from the people that want something for nothing."

Wow. Tito looked like a shallow puddle, a regular plain-speaking bouncer tough guy. But his ethics went deep, like a quarry dug to bedrock, clear water all the way down. Respect.

"What's it gonna take?" I had no idea how to start something like that.

"Oh, half a million, maybe a million. A partner. A deep-pocket client to start with."

Jesus! He had big plans! And here I was thinking of joining the police force. Maybe I should join his company instead?

First things first. Where was that half-mil coming from? Nobody I know.

Greg has money, I expect he put the bulk of it into that condo. The rest was for family; I'd heard on the grapevine, his family was growing! Glad for them, couldn't happen to a nicer guy.

And nicer gal. Jillian, a Mom! She was the perfect person for that. She'd accept her kid, however they turned out, whoever they were. Celebrate them; love them unconditionally; support them. That's all it took, really, to make a family.

I got a little emotional thinking about that, decided to stop talking.

We finished our beer in silence, each to our own thoughts.

...

Jillian

Take a deep breath, and knock.

"Grandfather? May I have a word with you?"

He was clearly getting ready to go, his coat on the chair, a bottle in a bag, off to play cards at the Vietnamese Seniors' Center.

But let me in anyway, his dear devoted granddaughter that he loved, always time for me.

I went in, took his coat off the chair, brushed some lint, straightened the collar, put it back.

He's waiting, patient, smiling, accepting my little attentions as his due.

Offers me tea? No thank you, I'll just be a minute.

I stand there, not quite sure whether to sit; stand, I think, because he's standing.

This family stuff, still hard for me.

"Greg and I have... some news. Perhaps Khang has said? No? Ok."

I cleared my throat, still not sure what response I would get. He was a self-described old-fashioned Vietnamese Grandfather. It would not be unexpected for our news to bring disapproval of some kind.

He put one hand to my shoulder, sensing my discomfort. "Perhaps if you just tell me?" A little smile, a gentle squeeze.

"We're, I'm, uh. Greg and I are going to be parents. I'm pregnant, and Greg's the father."

Blurted out, said too much, who else's would it be? Idiot.

But I'd said it. Out in the open. I held my breath, unsure what came next.

His hand dropped to his side; his mouth formed a hard line, then went all crooked.

Mad? No, not mad. Were his shoulders tense? Shaking? Maybe mad?

He closed his eyes, hard, and two tears spilled down his cheeks.

"Grandfather! You're not upset!? Hey!" I didn't know what to do, so I did my go-to family move: I put my arms around him, held him tight.

His shoulders were heaving, overcome. By what?

"Greg asked me to marry him! But we're expecting already! We'll be married soon! Before I show much! Khang said..."

He was shaking his head, scrubbed the tears away with the back of one hand. I pulled out his chair, sat him down.

Bending over him, to make sure he was ok, he put his hands to my cheeks, held me, smiling! Smiling!

"You're not upset?" Still unsure.

"Oh my dear Jillian! I prayed for this, to live to see this child! My great grandchild! Burned incense every day; brought fruit to the temple weekly. Left a red envelope, though it's not even Tet!

"The monk thought me confused, a doddering old man, but took my envelopes just the same!"

Oh. He was happy. Really, really happy, for me, for us. That was... good.

Was he crying again? His face is wet!

No, no, that was me, my tears falling, blending with his.

What else? There was something else...

"If it's a boy, Jessie! Greg's father's name.

"And a girl, the first girl, Trinh, after Khang's mother? If that's ok."

And he broke down, totally lost it, sobbing, shoulders heaving, overcome completely.

I guess it was ok. I knelt and held him, held him up, face wet with his, his head on my shoulder, mine on his, happy, together.

This family stuff? It's pretty good.

...

Wednesday

Jillian

A good day! Ok, overcast a little, and dang chilly. Probably rain, later, Greg said he could see it coming.

We'd had a tough morning, some problem with the phone company, I'd spent the first hour sorting that out, talking to people who didn't want to talk to me.

They'd switched our system out for a new one down at the phone office, didn't tell us, left us with half the lines dead and no on-hold message. Cost us half a day's paper.

It didn't really bother me, just a thing to do, a problem to solve, a part of the job, get it done and move on.

For some reason I was feeling great, feeling my oats, a spring in my step. Had decided to walk to work, then walk downtown at lunch, to the bank for my meeting with Renae.

To get Greg's money sorted out! He just left it all in a pile, no particular investments, just some CDs, most of it in a savings account. Far too much for a normal bank, their insurance only covered about 5% should they have a problem. Which they probably wouldn't have, but still.

So I go in, catch Renae's eye, she's dealing with a couple of college boys, opening an account? Hands them off to a teller, comes over.

"Miss Jillian! Are we ready to get down to work?"

Renae was clearly an investment wonk, her eyes lit up with the joy of a really meaty account to sort out. God bless folks like her, experts in their arcane field, willing to share their expertise!

We settled in a conference room, spread out her folder, considered where we were.

"By leaving the money in a simple interest-bearing deposit account, Greg has not participated in the positive market swings of the last five years. It's cost him the opportunity to grow the account by nearly thirty percent."

I nodded, following along, learning as I went. Not really my hobby, but Renae's enthusiasm was infectious.

"He said something about a technology fund?"

Renae nodded, getting excited. "When he was a new depositor he put his seed money, his inheritance, into a fund for two years. Not unusual for a young person, starting out, taking chances.

"Then cashed out after it nearly doubled. Normally not a bad idea, a risky investment, a windfall profit. But if he'd left even half of it invested, withdrawn just the principle, see how much benefit future growth would have come to!"

She showed some historical performance charts, a really hefty growth curve, exciting! But I was cautious; anybody can show you a winning racehorse after the race has been run. The trick is betting before the race!

We talked this over, settled on a strategy.

"As an investment goal, I'd like to see one half of the account in technology, medicine, energy, information companies. Bet on the future!

"Half of the rest can be in blue-chip industrials, something that has little chance of spectacular growth, but also little chance of catastrophic losses.

"Finally, I want to put money into local business, into entrepreneurs in our community and nearby. Folks who never would have a chance to play with the big investors, who might not even get started without someone to believe in them."

Don't know why I said that; it just came out. It seemed like the right thing to do, now that I'd heard myself say it.

Renae bit her lip. "Yeees, the first two are simple to accomplish. That last? requires an investment board, interviewing small business owners, reading business plans, estimating growth potential, commitment level!"

An obstacle, to be sure. But somehow, today, that seemed like a small thing, something we could accomplish. Together.

"I nominate you! To head the board. Then, we'll recruit folks from the community to serve, at least for a term, say six months at a time? I'll be on it to start, but I expect to be very busy come spring."

Busy with baby and crime, I didn't say.

Renae seemed startled, we had a board already? This was moving fast.

But she thought faster. "What demographic do you want to recruit? For what compensation?" Still cautious, but she'd not said No to my suggestion that she head the team!

"Most every demographic, all ages, from family-business owners to franchisees of national brands, even students, clergy and community leaders.

"For no compensation.

"Yes! That's important. I don't want anybody serving just for the bucks. I want them dedicated to community improvement, trying to boost their town, create opportunities for locals, for youth, elders, everybody."

She started to get it: we wanted local folks who had idealism, enthusiasm, commitment.

"If the returns on these investments are modest, such a program might have a... sunset."

She meant, we might blow all the money on losers in the first year or two. Didn't want to be too critical of my idea, but also pragmatic.

I nodded. "I want to do it anyway. I expect to infuse new money into this segment periodically, from other sources, until it can stand on its own."

Too soon to say, 'using drug money from a crate at the bottom of the bay'. Start small, carefully with the resources we have. Grow once we'd settled on a formula for success.

Renae sat back, fooling with a pen, thinking. Was she going to play wet blanket? Come up with reasons it couldn't work? Or would she...

"New business owners would benefit from mentorship. Avoid simple errors, easy to correct if you know they're coming. Cash flow, inventory costs, shipping and packaging overhead. Service charges, hiring and firing. Growing too fast; growing too slowly."