Suggestion of Death Read online

“You’ve been telling that same story since you started coming here, Mr. Johnson,” Lopez said, stroking her lower lip with the backend of her pen. “You know what? Your children would be better off if you were dead. At least then they’d get Social Security like Ms. Klein’s are going to.”

  Shockwaves swept Jim, chilling him all over his body. He jolted upright. “Did the judge really say Mr. Johnson should be dead?” he whispered to Richard Cook. In all his years as a reporter, he’d never heard anything like that come out of a judge’s mouth. Never thought he would, either.

  “See, even the judge thinks you’re worthless,” Ms. Johnson said, pointing her finger in Mr. Johnson’s face.

  “Why—why you...” Mr. Johnson made short shrift of the space between them.

  “Bitsy!” the judge said.

  Deputy Wink grabbed Johnson’s fist before it could make contact with Ms. Johnson and twisted it behind his back. “Get back into the gallery, Ms. Johnson,” Wink said, jerking her head toward the back of the courtroom. “You, Mr. Johnson, get over there in the jury box.” She jerked his arm in the direction she wanted him to go.

  The judge frowned and rubbed at the deep line that parted her forehead. “I’m going to reset this case for thirty days and appoint you a lawyer, Mr. Johnson. If you haven’t paid a lump sum by the next court date, bring your toothbrush. Have your lawyer notify me if you want a jury trial.” She waved her pen at him. “Any questions? Stay where you are until court is over and the clerk will give you the information you need.”

  As if to prove she was capable of jailing people, the side door nearest the bench opened and another deputy sheriff, a man—finally a man—came through with two handcuffed men dressed in orange jumpsuits and scuffs. He sat them behind Mr. Johnson in the jury box and handed a sheet of paper to the clerk. He remained standing at the mouth of the jury box.

  Jim dug around in his pockets for some anti-acids to calm his stomach before his turn rolled around but came up empty-handed.

  Judge Lopez banged her gavel. “Next case.”

  The ex-Mrs. Johnson tossed her head and pushed her way to the back door. Judge Lopez nodded at Deputy Wink and pointed at Ms. Johnson and the bailiff ran out the side door again. Through a glass panel, Jim saw Ms. Johnson waving her hands in the air. Deputy Wink shook her finger in Ms. Johnson’s face and pulled a card out of her pocket, shoving it at the woman.

  An elbow jabbed Jim’s ribs. “That you?” Richard Cook whispered. “Better pay attention. The judge looks pissed.”

  “I said Dorman versus Dorman.” Judge Lopez’s raised voice echoed.

  “Shit,” Jim murmured. His chest felt like a vise was clamped down on it making it hard to get his breath. He glanced at the clock on the back wall and stood. He adjusted his glasses and tucked in his dress shirt where it had pulled out and brushed at the creases in his pants. How could Pat have done this to him? He could wring her neck. He approached the bench and tried not to make eye contact with the judge, but it was impossible. There was something almost magnetic about her gaze.

  “Are you James W. Dorman?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” On close inspection, he could see that in spite of her very dark complexion, her weird eyes were the color of over-ripe peaches with very dark pits. Her blond-highlighted hair reminded him of windblown shrubs. If he hadn’t been on the defensive, he would have studied her small, gnome-like face, and figured out what drew his attention—other than her being the authority figure. He focused on keeping his hands steady, but they felt like someone else controlled the shaking.

  “And you’re the father of Patrick and Jeanette?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” He clenched his fingers around his thumbs and held his hands by his sides to halt the quaking, hoping that neither the judge nor Pat noticed. He especially didn’t want Pat to see him scared. Bad enough she had to humiliate him by having him summoned there.

  “What’s the situation here, Attorney Wilcox?”

  “Judge, Ms. Reinhart, the former Mrs. Dorman, filed with the attorney general’s office several months ago when Mr. Dorman’s arrears reached three thousand dollars. He hasn’t made a full payment since March tenth, about six months after the divorce.

  “And just why have you gotten behind in your child support, Mr. Dorman?”

  Jim rubbed his lips together. “Well, you see, Judge, I’m an investigative reporter. I lost my job when the Angeles Evening Star closed its doors, and yes, that was about six months after our divorce became final. If you’ll look at my record, you can see I made every payment on time until I got laid off.” He couldn’t bear to look at those wolf-like eyes. He found a nail hole in the paneling on the front of the bench and stared at it. The trembling settled down to a low rumble, and he drew a long breath trying to calm himself even further. He could only hope the judge would be sympathetic when she understood it wasn’t that he wasn’t paying because he didn’t want to pay, but that he had an inability to pay.

  “How far did you go in school?” the judge asked, stroking her chin.

  Jim swallowed several times to wet his dry mouth. If he could only have a drink of water. He ran his tongue across his lips. The soft patter of the court reporter’s machine sounded like rain sprinkling on grass. The bailiff had returned to the courtroom and stood not far from him, her hand resting on her handgun again. What was her obsession with that gun? Was that supposed to make a man feel safe or intimidated? His vote was for intimidation.

  A strong smell of roses filled the air from the direction of Deputy Wink. The judge soared above him like a queen on her throne. The woman he’d heard called an assistant state’s attorney general stood to Patty’s right. The whole scene was like a bad dream.

  This was nothing like being a reporter and sitting in the spectator section when he was trying to get a story. Nothing at all. In spite of himself, his eyes met the judge’s. “In school?” His voice broke. He glanced at Patty who clasped her hands before her like a prima ballerina and faced the bench. It was her fault he was there in the first place. He swallowed around a boulder in his throat. “I lack my thesis.”

  Judge Lopez’s forehead wrinkled up like a Roman shade. “Your master’s thesis?”

  “Yes, ma’am, Judge.” Jim looked at Patty’s face, hoping for some sign that this whole thing had been a mistake. She was so beautiful with her long lashes and deep-set eyes. He remembered the first time he’d seen her selling tickets at the movie theater near their college campus. One look and he was a goner. Now he wished he’d never seen her, that she hadn’t been working that night. She’d done nothing but make his life miserable the last few years.

  He didn’t know what made her tick. He never had and now never would, but he hoped this humiliation was what she wanted. Just one more opportunity for her to make sure he was reduced to ashes like a burned-out campfire. His neck felt hot. Perspiration gathered in his pits. He wanted to do something, say something to make it all better, but there wasn’t anything that would put it right. He had told her he would pay just as soon as he got his first paycheck—which would be just as soon as he got another job. He had feelers out all over the state.

  “Mr. Dorman, I asked you a question. You have a bachelor’s degree in what?” The judge’s eyes were like armor-piercing bullets.

  Jim shook his head. He needed to pay attention, get his mind back on the judge before he made things worse for himself. “Medieval literature with a minor in journalism.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and wished he could sprint for the door. He didn’t want to go to jail even for a little while.

  “And can’t find a job anywhere?”

  “Look, Judge, I told her I’d pay just as soon as I landed a job or sold my book, whichever came first.”

  “So, you’re writing a book, are you?” The judge grinned and leaned back into her overstuffed executive chair. Her gums were just beginning to recede, which together with her large, white teeth and amber eyes made her look even more like a wolf.

  Jim smiled bac
k, beginning to relax. She couldn’t help how she looked. She was probably pretty nice when she wasn’t on the bench. “Actually, several. Which one would you like to know about?” He watched her face for signs she sympathized with him, that she would be more understanding than she had been with Mr. Johnson. Maybe she could see he wasn’t like the others.

  The judge licked her lips again. “Why don’t you tell me about the one that is going to provide nourishment for your children?”

  Jim’s gut clenched, and the air rushed out of him like big Bitsy had turned and sucker punched him. He almost would prefer a physical beating to what was happening before the bench. At least he knew a beating would end eventually. He clamped his teeth together and stared down at the floor. Just how was he supposed to respond? Clearly the judge relished her role as chief ridiculer. He gasped for breath before answering. Oh, he would answer. He had to. But no way would he look at Patty. No way would he let her see what this was costing him.

  “There just aren’t many jobs out there for English majors, Your Honor. I don’t have a teaching certificate; my short stories haven’t sold, and so far I haven’t had a bite on either of the novels I have circulating.”

  “Have you applied to bag groceries down at the HEB supermarket where Mr. Johnson hasn’t been drinking beer?”

  Jim didn’t appreciate her sarcasm and wished he could tell her so. The slow burn he’d felt a few moments ago continued to build, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. “No, ma’am, and I haven’t applied at McDonald’s, Subway, or Wendy’s either. They only pay minimum wage, and my unemployment is more than minimum wage.”

  “How fortunate for you.” The judge repositioned herself in her chair and leaned toward him. “But besides what the record shows has been withheld from your unemployment, have you given your ex-wife anything else?”

  Pat fidgeted with her purse strap and kept her eyes fixed on something unfathomable.

  “Mr. Dorman, I asked you a question.”

  “I haven’t had anything else to give her, Your Honor.”

  “Sir, you understand you are to give her twenty-five percent of everything that passes through your hands. You know that, don’t you? So if you find a dollar on the street, you are to give your children’s mother twenty-five cents of that dollar. That’s the law in Texas.”

  “Yes, ma’am. And I certainly would do that.” He scratched at the callous on his palm. He wasn’t going to tell her he worked off part of his rent in manual labor. She’d be sure the attorney general’s office added it to what he owed. It’s not like he got cash, but they didn’t care. They didn’t seem to care if the fathers starved so long as the mothers got their money.

  The judge cleared her throat and picked up a sheet of paper, reading from it. “You’ve really got to do better than this unemployment, Mr. Dorman. This is a pitiful amount.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. Pitiful.” He wished she’d tell that to whoever decided how much someone like him got for unemployment. Not much. He frowned when he thought of what he’d let go since he lost his job. A quarter of his unemployment might not make much difference to the judge, or even to Pat, but to him, it meant the difference between having a cell phone or buying a new pair of socks when his toe poked through the ones he had or even having a cup of coffee when the spirit moved him.

  “I’m resetting this case for thirty days.” The judge pointed at him with a Monte Blanc pen. “I want you to get a job that pays a lot more than your unemployment, you understand? And start making regular payments before the next court date, Mr. Dorman, or you’re going to become a guest of the county.” She gestured at the clerk. “Step over there, and the clerk will give you the time and date of your next hearing.

  Jim followed Pat to the door and held it open for her, trailing her outside into the hall. A hot flush swept his face, and he knew he’d better get as far from her as he could before he said something he’d soon regret. He stalked to the elevator and thumbed the down button, keeping his back to her. No more mister nice guy that day. No more pretending everything was fun and games. He just wanted to get away from there.

  He could smell her perfume and knew she stood behind him. He spoke over his shoulder. “Damn it, Pat. I can’t believe you put me through this. I’m doing the best I can.”

  “Your best isn’t good enough. The kids need summer clothes, and when school starts again, they’ll need supplies.”

  He punched the elevator button again several times. “If we were still married it would be almost as bad. I’d still be out of a job, and my unemployment still would be shit.”

  “Well we’re not married, thank goodness. I couldn’t count on you then, and I can’t count on you now.”

  He spun around. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He hated looking at her. It brought back too many memories, good and bad, even when he was bursting with anger.

  She lowered her voice. “You know exactly what it means. You were never there for us.” She stepped close to him, sticking her face up to his as if taunting him.

  Jim had never hit a woman and never would, but no one could push his buttons like Patty. “You know, Pat, you’re turning into a bitch. I won’t let you put all the blame for our breakup on me.” Jim searched the hallway for an exit sign. He needed to get away from her and quick. “You were just as much at fault as I was, and you know it,” he said, pointing his finger in her face. Just as the elevator dinged open, he located the red sign at the end of the hall and stalked away from Patty as fast as he could.

  He didn’t stop to see whether she got on the elevator or not. He just wanted to get into the stairwell where he could be alone for a moment. He knew he wasn’t totally at fault in their breakup. He’d take his share of responsibility, but she had to take hers. He might have been off working when he should have been home, but he had wanted to work things out. If her boyfriend hadn’t gone back to his wife, Pat would have married the man.

  The air in the stairwell behind the fire door was musty and cool. Jim breathed deeply as he walked down. No flowers. No Patty scent. No Bitsy Wink overwhelming rose smell. Just musty dust. Wonderful.

  When he opened the stairwell door onto the lobby, Deputy Wink stood talking to Patty.

  Jim had to walk past them to get to the door nearest where his car was parked. He told himself he wasn’t eves-dropping on their conversation as he did his best to meander by.

  “I know how hard it is for you,” Deputy Wink said. “I’ve got kids, too.”

  Patty said, “I can barely provide for two children on my teacher’s salary, what with the increased cost of medical insurance the legislature passed.”

  Jim glanced over his shoulder and saw Wink lead Pat away. He wanted to follow, but one glance from the bailiff kept him at a distance. Not only did she wear all the uniform regalia, but tiny handcuffs adorned each earlobe and a small six-shooter replica tie clip held her tie together. The woman took her role too seriously.

  Deputy Wink produced a business card like she had earlier for Ms. Johnson. She offered it to Patty.

  He shrugged it off. He had other things to worry about, like getting a job in the next thirty days, but he sure wondered what was on that card and what the bailiff was saying to his ex-wife. He edged toward the rear courthouse door. He knew Patty could see him. He didn’t want to continue the fight, but he wanted her to stop him. Apologize. At least give him some hope. But she didn’t.

  As he started to leave, he saw her take the card from the bailiff, read it, and slip it into her purse. He had a bad feeling about that. Seconds later, he realized that paranoia would get him nowhere. After all, the worst thing that could happen would be what, he’d go to jail? The judge had already threatened him with that.

  As he stepped outside, it hit him. Shit. He’d forgotten to get his next court date from the clerk. He ran back to the elevator before Deputy Wink came looking for him, to put him in jail.

  Chapter Two

  Jim sat in the back of the courtroom and waited until the end
of the child support docket to get his next court date from Mrs. Peterson. Pretty much every case went like what he’d experienced. The payer humiliated. The payee gratified by the judge’s action. Pretty much in every case the payer was male and the payee, female. Except one. Finally something gratifying to Jim. The judge humiliated that female payer every bit as much as she had him. Equal opportunity humiliation. But he’d like to know how many women her honor had actually jailed.

  Afterward, he stopped off at Tex’s Tea and Koffee Klatch. When he opened the door to the aromas of baking bread and roasting coffee beans, he half expected to see the judge or the bailiff waiting for him, waiting to tell him if he bought a cup of coffee for himself he’d have to give a fourth of it to Pat. But the coast was clear, and the muscles in his stomach eased up.

  Though Jim hadn’t been in for weeks, Tex, a tall, motherly woman in a flowered full-length apron, gave him a toothy smile.

  “You’re looking mighty fit,” she said, pouring his coffee from the carafe. He didn’t get anything fancy, just your basic black coffee with cream and sugar. Anything else cost more.

  He glanced at the clock in the shape of a coffee pot. A few more minutes out of what had been a long morning shouldn’t hurt. “Been working out.” He didn’t mention that doing maintenance for reduced rent kept him outside and physically active. “Great to see you.” He groped in his pocket until he came up with enough change to cover the coffee and moseyed across the room.

  Psychology professor Ethan Hale sat at a corner table and stared out the window as if reviewing a movie in his mind. His blue work shirt rolled up to the elbows and his brown tweed jacket hanging over the back of his chair gave the impression he could be there all day.

  “How’s it going?” Jim put down his coffee and shook Ethan’s warm, soft hand.

  “All right for the end of a semester. Have a seat.” Ethan sipped from his over-sized, white china teacup. No one knew why Tex allowed Ethan, and only Ethan, to keep his personal cup at the coffee house. But then, Ethan could be found there any afternoon from three to five and often on days he didn’t drive into the city to the university. People learned his schedule and gravitated to his table, pouring out their hearts or listening to him talk books. “Whatcha been up to, Jimbo? Haven’t seen you around lately.”