Suggestion of Death Page 7

  A hot spurt of adrenaline shot into his hands. He almost dropped the phone. “How is that possible, ma’am? Shouldn’t it at least be the same as last month with the money I paid her from my writing?”

  “Interest, sir. Interest is applied to every missed payment.”

  Interest. He’d forgotten about interest. He hung up and sat down, gasping for breath, feeling like he was drowning, going down for the third time. Maybe he would be better off dead. Not the kids better off. Him. How would he ever catch up? How did anyone catch up with interest?

  The following day when he arrived at court, some of the same faces from his previous court appearance glanced at him as he entered and climbed over the men to sit in the same spot as last month. People were visiting like old friends at a reunion, the mothers with the mothers, the fathers with the fathers. Commiserating. Jim wouldn’t get too friendly with anyone. He needed to treat them like the interview subjects he hoped some of them would be.

  Pat was nowhere to be seen. Would Judge Lopez cancel the hearing if Pat didn’t show? He wasn’t sure the judge could take any action if Pat wasn’t there. Wouldn’t it be like a criminal case where the complaining witness had to appear?

  The time for court to begin drew near, and Deputy Wink entered from the hallway. The room grew quiet and dead still. Wink looked taller and meaner than ever. The previous month he’d heard her tell Pat she had a couple of kids. If that were true, the father must be a hell of a man, and it must be a hell of a relationship. Jim shivered just thinking of being in a clench with the likes of her.

  Judge Lopez entered the courtroom, the expression on her face as black as her robe. The bailiff hollered out. Everyone stood. Everyone sat. Mrs. Peterson took a chair at a desk next to the judge’s bench and handed up a stack of papers and a file. The judge called out a case number and name just as before. A man and a woman stepped forward, just as before. Something about the judge’s demeanor looked scary, but worse than before.

  Jim was prepared to show the court how hard he’d worked at finding a job and at selling his writing. He’d been online with the Texas Workforce Commission every day. He’d kept his information up to date. He’d followed up on every possible job.

  He also checked the Internet for jobs every day. He’d gone to job search sites, but there were no jobs for an unemployed reporter. Could she put him in jail even if he’d been doing everything he could?

  Just as he thought it, he heard it. The judge threatened the man standing before her with jail. Could he afford a lawyer? She explained if she intended to put him in jail for more than six months, she must appoint a lawyer if he appeared to be indigent.

  Judge Lopez launched into an explanation that indigent for the purposes of getting a court appointed lawyer was different from indigent for the purposes of incarceration for civil nonsupport, which is different from criminal nonsupport.

  Jim’s eye twitched. Would she be explaining all that to him in a few minutes? Would he be getting a court appointed lawyer?

  She quizzed the man about his financial status. Did he own a car? What year, make, and model? Paid for? Did it run? Own any real estate? A home? Acreage? Any cash in his pocket? A checking account? A savings account? Certificates of deposit? Cash values of any life insurance policies? What about boats? Motorcycles? Airplanes? Stocks? Bonds? Federal income tax refunds? Any other expectancies? Had anyone died recently and left him money? She exhausted all possible income sources including could he borrow money from his mother.

  Jim would be able to tell her about a potential job. That afternoon, he had an appointment at a tiny newspaper in a small town fifty miles away. They couldn’t afford an investigative reporter, but it was a permanent, full-time job. He would be doing a bit of everything. Everything but throwing the paper, though he had an inkling if one of the carriers got sick, he might be doing that as well.

  Assistant Editor sounded good to his ears. The money was not substantially more than his unemployment, but he hoped it was enough to keep him out of jail. Enough to enable him to hire an attorney and go into court for a reduction.

  The judge cleared her throat and everyone in the courtroom looked up, hoping for something dramatic as long as it didn’t involve them. She continued talking to the man in front of her. Explaining the right to a jury trial, the judge’s eyes flickered up and to her left, back down to the man, and back up again, like a script was screwed to the ceiling. She twirled a pen between her fingers and answered the man’s questions, making sure he understood the seriousness of his situation.

  The woman—the children’s mother—whined in a sharp voice that sent a piercing pain through Jim’s temple. Judge Lopez cut her eyes over at the woman.

  “The only remedy I can give you for non-support is to put him in jail, lady. What’s it to be?” The judge’s tone of voice would have crushed most people like a car compactor, but not that woman.

  “What’ll I do for money?” She took a step toward the bench but had the good sense to realize her mistake before Bitsy jerked her back.

  “There’s no other form of coercion, lady. Jail is the ultimate remedy. If you don’t want him going to jail, I’ll dismiss the Motion to Enforce Child Support by Contempt. What’s it going to be?”

  Would Pat ask the judge not to put Jim in jail? He didn’t think so. Jim glanced behind him. Pat sat in the back row across the aisle. She was writing notes with another woman. She saw him out of the corner of her eye. Her smile said bet-you-thought-I-wasn’t-going-to-make-it-but-I-did. She nodded and shifted her attention back to the woman sitting next to her.

  The man who had gone ahead of Jim last time, Mr. Johnson, was not present. Jim searched the courtroom. Neither was the former Mrs. Johnson. Had they made an out-of-court agreement? Did the judge allow that? But, Mr. Johnson owed fifteen thousand dollars. He hadn’t looked like he could come up with fifteen dollars or even fifteen cents.

  Jim whispered to the man next to him. He hadn’t looked earlier, but now it turned out to be Richard Cook. “Hey, man.” They shook hands. “Have you seen Mr. Johnson anywhere? Didn’t the judge tell Mr. Johnson he had to be back today?”

  “You don’t have to come if you pay up,” Cook whispered.

  Though he’d vowed not to get too friendly with any of the other men, Jim kind of liked Richard Cook. So what would it really hurt? And maybe he could use him as a source. “How long you been coming here?”

  “Over the last ten years? A lot.”

  “Ouch. Ten years?” Jim’s eye flickered again and his life passed in front of him. Ten years of sitting in court. Ten years of humiliation. Degradation. Demeaning glances from courthouse people. “How do you stand it?”

  “You get used to it,” he whispered. “Besides, I haven’t been coming every month for ten years. Just occasionally. Depends on my circumstances.”

  “Circumstances?” Jim glanced at Deputy Wink, but her attention was focused elsewhere.

  “I work construction. When I get laid off, she files on me. Makes me come in. Says terrible things. Won’t let me see my kids. Lies. The judge chews me out. I keep coming back until I get hired again. I pay up. I don’t have to come anymore. Get it?”

  Jim’s stomach muscles felt like writhing, hungry snakes. If only he could pay up so he wouldn’t have to come back. “You laid off now?”

  Richard’s smile revealed crossed front teeth, but it was the smile of someone who knew he held the winning card. No worries. No stress. “Injury. On the job. I have a suit filed. I assigned the case to her, my ex-wife, but the judge wants me to come to court anyway. I gave the assignment to her the last time I was here and a copy to the judge for my file. They don’t trust me or my lawyer to pay when it comes in.”

  “It’s a lousy system.” Too bad Jim couldn’t have been hurt on the job right before he got laid off. Well, hindsight and all that.

  Richard shrugged. “What else do I have to do? I can’t work.”

  “You think Mr. Johnson paid up?”

  “I don�
��t know.”

  “How would he? Where would he have gotten the money?”

  Richard shrugged again and pressed a finger to his mouth. “Maybe he won the lottery,” he muttered through lips that hardly moved.

  Snorting behind his hand, Jim whispered, “I would have read about it in the paper, if I could afford to buy one.”

  “Why you worried about him?”

  “Don’t know. Just creepy, you know?” Head down, whispering through his fingers, Jim said, “It’s kind of like when you go to school and the teacher arranges you at desks in alphabetical order. You get used to the same kid sitting in front of you every day. When they don’t show up, they’re sick or something, nothing seems right.” He glanced sideways at Richard. “Besides, if Mr. Johnson isn’t here, I have to go in front of the judge earlier. His case was before mine.”

  “You ever wonder how they decide what order we go in?”

  “Is there some significance to it?”

  “Don’t know. Just all the times I been in here, I got to wondering.”

  “Ms. Johnson isn’t here either, so she must know Mr. Johnson isn’t coming.”

  “You’ve really got a bug up your—”

  “Order.” The judge pounded her gavel and gave them a look with her weird little eyes that said she’d like to tie them up and throw them under the jail. “How am I supposed to conduct court with all this conversation going on? You want to talk to your neighbor, take it outside.”

  Bitsy Wink stalked over to the bar separating the front of the courtroom from the spectator section and pointed her finger at Jim and Richard like a gun ready to go off. The rose smell hadn’t waned.

  Jim’s heart was beating like a pounding gavel. He slumped forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. He felt like a school kid, chastised to wait until recess to visit with his buddy. He absolutely refused to look at the judge or Deputy Wink. His knee started bobbing. He pushed it down and hoped Cook didn’t see it.

  Richard leaned back like he was in his living room and crossed his legs. Maybe after ten years, Jim would act and feel like that. He hoped not. He hoped he wouldn’t be there after ten years.

  Judge Lopez called the next case. “Johnson versus Johnson.” Silence enveloped the courtroom. The atmosphere was still. The air-conditioner stopped blowing the Texas flag. No one coughed or sniffed. There was no movement.

  The judge called the case again, louder, almost as loud as a locomotive horn. “Johnson versus Johnson.”

  Mrs. Peterson cleared her throat. She handed the file to the judge. Concealing her mouth, Mrs. Peterson said something to the judge. The judge opened the file. She again read the cause number and Mr. and Ms. Johnson’s names and the children’s names. Then, “Let the record reflect that Mr. Felix Ostermeier, the court appointed attorney for Mr. Johnson, filed a Suggestion of Death in this cause. Attached thereto is a certified copy of the death certificate signed by the county medical examiner. The Motion for Enforcement by Contempt in this cause is hereby dismissed. Next case.”

  Jim froze as he watched the judge matter-of-factly close the file on Mr. Johnson and exchange it with the clerk for another one. His ears buzzed. What happened to Mr. Johnson? An elbow jabbed his ribs.

  “Am I going to have to baby-sit you every time? The judge’s calling your name again, fella.” Richard’s not quite shit-eating grin said he was enjoying himself.

  Jim shook his head to clear it. Easy for Richard to get a kick out of everything, to laugh at the other men. He knew he’d get out of his jam the moment his attorney settled his injury case. It wouldn’t be so easy for Jim.

  Pat stopped at Jim’s row and crooked her finger at him. Dressed in a pair of white slacks and a flowered, short-sleeved blouse tucked in at the waist under a matching jacket, she looked like a well brought up lady. She held the gate for Jim and walked up with him, glancing at his face before she gave her attention to the judge.

  As he listened to the litany of his offenses, Jim fidgeted with the papers he’d brought to show the judge, straightening the paperclips, making sure the tabs lined up. His hands grew sweaty anyway. He wiped one on the sides of his pants then switched the papers to his other hand and wiped the other. That was beginning to be a habit. He couldn’t remember ever reacting like that in his life except once when he had an assignment in a war zone.

  Settling down, he half-listened to what he thought of as the charges against him, the rest of his attention went back to Mr. Johnson. What had the judge said? Worth more dead than alive. What had happened to the man? Heart attack? Stroke? Cancer? AIDS? Or—what? An accident? Something else?

  Jim’s stomach continued to feel like something with a mind of its own lived down there. Surely he was overreacting. The judge, no matter how little, shriveled up, weird-looking or what, did not kill Mr. Johnson. She had merely suggested that he was worth more to his children dead than alive. For Social Security payments. Whatever had happened to him had to have been a coincidence.

  When the judge stopped talking, Jim exhaled and said, “Yes, ma’am, Your Honor, I brought papers to show you I’ve been looking for a job. May I hand you the unemployment office printouts?” Jim stood straight, shoulders back, and stared right above the judge’s eyes, hoping to appear respectful. He remembered his behavior at the last court hearing, thinking and acting like he was too good to be there. He could cut out his tongue for having said what he did. He knew now how serious his situation was.

  “Yes, you may give the papers to the bailiff.” She extended her hand, and Bitsy Wink took the papers from Jim, handing them to the judge.

  That was the closest to Wink he ever wanted to come. He could smell her, a sweaty, rotting aroma of dying roses in week-old water. He stepped back and waited while the judge reviewed the papers he’d brought.

  “What else do you have for me?” The judge’s eyes were every bit as weird as he remembered. They were so strange; he wondered whether they were colored contacts.

  “I have a job interview later today, after lunch.” Jim handed Deputy Wink the letter in which he was invited to interview at the newspaper. His hand trembled. The judge showed a bit of teeth as she took receipt of the letter. He watched her face, trying to gauge her temperament. Did she enjoy seeing men quiver before her?

  When her eyes lifted from the paper, he said, “I brought you a list of every place I’ve sent my books, stories, and essays as well as queries. In fact, if you’ll look at my printout, Your Honor, you’ll see that I gave Pat—Ms. Reinhart, some extra money from several pieces that I sold.”

  “That’s correct, Your Honor,” Pat said. “It would have been easy for Jim—Mr. Dorman, to have hidden that money from me, but instead, he voluntarily gave me part of it.”

  A flare of surprise rose under his ribcage. Jim reached out to touch Patty’s arm but realizing where he was, he pulled his hand and put it over his heart, feeling a strong series of beats. Pat had spoken up for him. What was that about?

  The judge’s face wrinkled up as if to say tell-me-more. “Short stories?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am. I’m still hoping to sell my book, but I also write stories. Or did you mean what I sold? One essay. One story. Oh, and I won a little contest, but it was just a hundred dollars.”

  The judge nodded. “What else do you write?

  The judge must not remember him from the last time. “I’ve got another book coming along. And a couple I haven’t been able to sell.”

  “Nothing your children could sink their teeth into, I guess.” Judge Lopez cackled like a laying hen and threw her pen down.

  Jim’s shoulders slumped, and he dropped his arms by his side. She’d been toying with him. She’d remembered him all along.

  Pat said, “He’s going to write more nonfiction, too, Your Honor.” She gave him her teacher’s impatient look. “Tell her, Jim.”

  Jim widened his eyes as big as he could, trying to send Pat a message. This wasn’t the time or the place. She apparently didn’t read minds very
well.

  “Jim, tell her.” Pat’s eyes bored into his. “I’ll tell her, then. He’s hoping to write a series of articles on fathers who don’t pay child support.”

  The judge retrieved her pen and twirled it in her fingers like a baton. “Do tell.”

  Pat side-stepped closer to him. His chest burned.

  Pat elbowed him. “Yes, ma’am. He wonders if you’ll give him an interview.” Pat inclined her head as if to say, “Go on. Ask.”

  Jim felt his temperature rise. He did not want to interview the judge. Where did Pat get that idea? What he wanted was to vaporize and escape through the cracks in the floor. His eyes met the judge’s, and he nodded in response to her quizzical expression.

  “Well that’s real nice, Mr. Dorman. I’d love to give you an interview. It’ll have to wait ‘til I get through in here, though.”

  “Oh, today? Well, your honor, I do have that job interview after lunch. Maybe another time.” Jim relaxed at the thought of a reprieve.

  “How long could it possibly take?” Pat asked. “Judge, are you tied up here all morning?”

  What the hell was Pat doing? He had the feeling she’d help him off a cliff if one were available. So much for thinking maybe she did have some feeling for him. She probably just wanted him to hurry up and make some extra money.

  The judge’s nose twitched, and her cheeks puffed up full of air as if to keep from laughing. “No problem, Mr. Dorman. My docket is pretty light today. I can have you out of here by lunch time.”

  Jim’s stomach tightened. Damn Pat anyway. He glanced at her and saw a gleam in her eye. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “This cause is reset for one week so we can see the progress you’ve made and hear about your job interview, Mr. Dorman. You may wait in my chambers ‘til I’m finished with these hearings.”

  Mrs. Peterson handed Jim a paper with the next hearing information on it, and he escaped into the hall. On his way out, he couldn’t help seeing Richard Cook’s grim face. Would the men he wanted to interview be angry with him? He wanted to explain to Richard. In fact, he wanted to get permission to tell Richard’s side of the story as one of his five—he’d decided to use five families as examples of how situations could get out of hand