Face on the Wall (27 page)

His second meeting with the six inmates of M.C.I. Concord was much like the first. They were all there. No one had failed to come back. They were still anxious, still in a hurry to get out of this fucking place. The mandatory minimum sentencing law had them by the balls.
Gawd!
It was only a little cocaine, for shit's sake, and the judge, she said she had no choice, she had to put you away for twenty years,
twenty fucking years. Without parole, for shit's sake.

Homer agreed with their indignation, he agreed with their obscenities. But his sympathy would do them no good. They needed retrials, they needed a change in the law, they needed popular support outside the walls, they needed a governor more interested in justice than re-election. It was a vengeful and rancid time, and these poor bimbos were victims as well as offenders.

Gordie was still worried about the taxes he might have to pay on the money socked away in his girlfriend's bureau drawer.

Hank still had not received payment for services rendered, and again he was unwilling to specify what those services had been.

Homer had pursued the matter of Jimmy's greedy wife. He had found her just as the twenty-eight-cubic-foot refrigerator was being manhandled out the door by a couple of husky men. Jimmy's wife came out carrying a large lamp.

“Stop,” Homer said, “you've got to send those guys away.” And Jimmy's wife had been mad as hell.

Homer had also obtained the records of Ferris's trial, and discovered that Ferris was right. His court-ordered defense counsel had been incredibly stupid. “Maybe I can persuade them to give you another chance in court.”

“Well, thanks,” said Ferris, pleased and surprised, because the news from outside was usually bad.

As for Barkley, he now had fifteen precedents to put on the table. He had found three cases in which the sex of the child and that of the molester were the same as in his own case, and so was the age of the child.

“Just what were the age and sex of the child in your case?” said Homer.

“Four-year-old female,” said Barkley. “Just like in that other case, you know,
Commonwealth
versus
Kettle.”

“Four years old!” Homer could hardly control his disgust.

“You bastard,” cried Ferris. “Animal,” shouted Hank. They fell on Barkley and knocked him out of his chair.

Homer had all he could do to restore order. After class the supervisor of prison education spoke to Homer. “How's it going? I thought I heard a commotion in there this morning.”

“Oh, no, it was fine,” said Homer, smiling feebly, hurrying away to meet Mary in the parking lot. “It was absolutely fine.”

Chapter 41

When my heart began to bleed,

'Twas death and death and death indeed.

Mother Goose rhyme

“B
ob? This is Fred.”

“Fred Small! My God, where have you been? I've been trying to get hold of you. Your house, it's supposed to come down tomorrow. Pearl's signature on the papers, I've got to have her signature before they'll do anything. They can't touch the house without her name on the dotted line.”

“The papers? Oh, sure, I've got them right here.”

“Well, for Christ's sake, get 'em over there. Ted Hawk, he'll be there by seven
A.M
., he'll want the papers. He's been bugging me. Where the hell have you been?”

“Oh, all over the place. The fact is, I'm looking for somebody.”

“Looking for somebody? You mean Pearl? You mean she's really a missing person? I thought you said she was in Albany, you got her signature.”

“No, no, I'm not looking for Pearl. Never mind. I'll be there tomorrow at the site with the papers. Seven
A.M
., right? Right. So long.”

“Wait, Fred, hold it. Where can I get in touch with you? There's things we have to decide.” The phone went dead. “Shit,” said Robert Gast.

“Daddy?” said Charlene.

Her father was watching a basketball game. The Celtics had run up a score of 110, but the New York Knicks had rushed up from behind. In the fourth quarter they were two points ahead. “Sink it,” shouted Bob Gast, as Hubie Buckle made a feint to the left, slammed down his enormous shoes, and pivoted to make the throw.

“Daddy!”

“Not now, Charlene.”

Charlene came closer and muttered something in her father's ear. In spite of the roar from the television as the ball circled the rim of the basket, he heard her all too clearly.

He stared at her, and said, “Oh, Jesus, Charlene.”

For Bob Gast it was a problem of cash flow. The property in Southtown was finally freed up, but from now on he would need a lot of ready cash, a big loan. There would have to be more percolation tests, a couple of paved roads, a heavy-duty drainage system, and the removal of every trace of occupation by pigs. All those gruesome feeding platforms would have to be bulldozed out of there and the whole ninety-nine acres plowed under to remove the burdock. And all the new little trees too, because they didn't fit the landscaping scheme of the classy new land manager.

Classy! He was classy, all right, and extremely expensive. But you had to have a really professional land manager, Bob Gast knew that.

“What about an entry?” the land manager wanted to know. “Are you planning a formal entry?”

“Oh, of course,” said Gast, thinking of the elegant gateposts and plantings at Meadowlark Estates.

“And what about the environmental-impact statement? Do you want us to handle that? Those environmentalists on the planning board, they're going to say some of those lots are wetland. So you've got to have a professional analysis of the soils and get the results of the perc tests, how long it takes rainfall to drain away from the soggy places. What you do is, you wait for a really dry week before you do the testing. And don't forget the wildlife.”

“Wildlife! You mean the pigs? The pigs are gone!”

“No, no. Raccoons, deer, pheasants, birds. Those people, they're really serious about nesting sites for birds. How about meadowlarks and song sparrows?”

“Song sparrows! God! The only birds around Small's place are crows.”

It was all very exciting, but also very scary. Bob Gast had never been so deeply in debt. And now there was this goddamn thing of Charlene's. Of course, compared with developing from scratch a ninety-nine-acre piece of prime real estate, the cost of an indoor pool was peanuts. The only question was where to put the damn thing.

After Charlene went to bed, Bob talked it over with Roberta. At first she was shocked, but then, as usual, she came up with a solution. “Tear down the wing.”

“The wing? You mean Annie Swann's new wing?”

“It's not hers, it's ours.”

“But she's got a lease. My God, Roberta!”

“Talk to my boss. He'll fix it up. Talk to Dirk Sprocket.”

“No problem,” said Sprocket, waving Gast's doubts aside. “Piece a cake.”

“Are you sure?” said Gast nervously, smoothing down the 999 hairs that remained on his balding head. “But it was part of the out-of-court settlement. I signed it. Roberta signed it.
She
signed it. We agreed she can stay in the house as our tenant.”

“Wrong,” said Sprocket, leaning back in his chair, grinning, poking the air with his cigar. “Tenant
at will
.”

“At will?”

“At
your
will.” Sprocket put his cigar in his mouth and chewed it sideways. “You want her out? She's out.”

“Well, thanks,” said Gast feebly. He couldn't summon the spiritual conviction to smile. “That's just great.”

“I'll get an eviction notice,” said Sprocket. “I got a judge in my pocket. We'll serve the papers this afteroon.”

“What?” cried Annie, staring at the envelope. “No, I won't accept it. Take it away.”

“You gotta accept it, sister,” said the process server at her door. “Contempt of court.”

Annie put her hands behind her back. “No, no, I won't. Go away.”