Heather looks startled at having come back into contact with reality, but she still finishes the thought. “I just wanted to tell you that you convinced me not to settle for someone who wasn’t going to make me feel the way you made me feel that day,” she says. “So, thank you.”
She’s still talking.
“It was a long time ago,” Heather says, turning to Ash. “I’m married now.”
“Well, it’s been great catching up,” I tell Heather. “Good luck with the marriage.”
This time, I don’t wait to see if Heather’s going to stop. I just start walking toward the car.
“Well, all right,” Heather calls, now behind me. “It’s good to see you!”
Ash catches up to me a couple seconds later. She looks over her shoulder and back.
I’m still not sure how I’d managed to get this far with Ash. I mean, the first time we met, I was half-naked with someone else’s blood on me. That’s not really the sort of thing that makes for a great first impression. That’s usually the sort of thing that’ll get people calling the cops.
Even with her nurse’s stomach, I was pretty damn lucky to get even a second look from Ash. Tack onto that my conman brother and the fact I used to pick up women in the food court at the mall, and I think we’re about done here. All that’s left is the breakup itself.
This is going to suck.
“You know,” Ash says as we near the car, “I get that you’ve been with other people and everything, but I swear that woman would just not stop talking.”
“It was a long time ago,” I tell her. “Well, I guess it was only a couple of years ago, but I don’t do that kind of thing anymore.”
“Oh, I don’t care about that,” Ash says. “I would have caught you if you were stepping out on me. You’re not a very subtle kind of guy, Mason.”
I don’t know how she’s so okay with what just happened. I’m not sure that I would be. Knowing your partner has been with other people isn’t a big deal, but having one of those other people walk up and give a detailed-enough account of the dirty hour or so we spent together back in the day is sort of a different thing.
I want to ask her why she’s not more bothered, but I don’t want to press my luck, either. Ash genuinely has nothing to worry about from Heather. Apart from spotting her in and around the food court of the New Hills Mall, I haven’t seen her at all since that day. We never had a repeat performance.
It would be great if I knew Ash was just being cool about this, but I’m still getting that feeling she’s only being cool because of whatever she’s hiding. Maybe her secret is so bad that she’s trying to soften my reaction by letting me off the hook about Heather and the wildly inappropriate conversation we just endured.
The question I’m really asking myself right now is whether this is something that I really need to get to the bottom of right now or not. I can press Ash, possibly even getting her to spill whatever’s been so on her mind; or I can just let it drop and hope for the best.
“We never got to the chocolate, did we?” I ask in the most thinly-veiled attempt at changing the conversation possible.
“It’ll keep,” Ash tells me.
Chapter Sixteen
Crimes and Crimes
Ash
Mason and I are sitting in the courtroom, waiting for Chris to be brought forward for his arraignment. They just brought him in, shackled in his red-and-white striped jail garb.
He was supposed to be arraigned half an hour ago, but it looks like the court is backed up with people in for possession of cannabis and others who are there because of identity theft.
“What do you think they’re going to do?” I whisper to Mason as the judge rules that the defendant must surrender his vehicle and he remands the teenaged pothead to state custody, pending trial.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Knowing Chris, though, I’m sure we don’t even know the half of it.”
“Did he ever tell you exactly what he did?” I ask.
“No,” Mason says. “I think—” he starts, but stops when the bailiff gives him a dirty look.
The judge calls the next defendant, a man accused of embezzling over $500,000 dollars from a local charity. The prosecutor explains that only about a third of the money has been recovered. The judge sets bail at $20,000.
Nobody says anything.
Next, the bailiff calls Chris and I give Mason’s hand a squeeze, whispering, “No matter what happens, we’re going to get through it, all right?”
“Yeah,” Mason says, his eyes set on his brother.
Chris shuffles down from the jury box and stands next to a lawyer wearing an immaculately-fitted, $60,000 Kiton suit. What can I say? My dad’s an enthusiast.
Right now, we’re about to find out whether Chris took Mason’s advice to heart, or if he’s already worked out some shady deal to avoid as much responsibility as possible. After sitting through enough defendants to get an idea how this court is run, I’m just glad Chris didn’t get caught with a joint or he might be in real trouble.
Then again, I still haven’t heard exactly what they’re charging him with.
Before the judge starts, the prosecutor speaks up, saying, “Your honor, before we continue with this defendant, I would like to amend the indictment to include four additional counts of fraud and twelve additional counts of theft by deception. More victims of Mr. Ellis’s cons have come forward—”
“Your honor, I am unaware of any such witnesses, and I move that the charges against my client, including those Mr. Babish decided to wait until the last possible moment to try to get filed, be dropped,” Chris’s attorney retorts.
“I do apologize for the delay, but many of these witnesses have only just come forward, your honor,” the prosecutor says, handing a file to the bailiff who takes it up to the judge. “Given the serious nature of the crimes Mr. Ellis has committed over the span of numerous years along with his natural ability to con and his apparent predilection of committing such crimes, the people ask that Mr. Ellis be remanded, pending trial.”
“Your honor, I understand that Mr. Babish is trying to grandstand here, but he’s suggesting remand before my client—who has never been arrested—has even had a chance to indicate his innocence!” Chris’s lawyer says.
“What do you think?” I whisper to Mason. “Do you think he’s going to plead guilty?”
“No,” Mason whispers back. “Even if he decided to listen to me, he’d never give up a bargaining chip like that. I think the best we can hope for is that he doesn’t take any illegal shortcuts to get a better deal.”
The judge looks down at his desk, assumedly at Chris’s file or the papers the bailiff just passed from the prosecutor, and he looks back up, saying, “On the charge of fraud against James Bodine…” the judge holds up the pages in front of him for a better look. He sets it down and removes his glasses, asking, “Is this going to be a split plea where I’m going to have to go through each of the…” he looks at the paper again, “forty-some-odd charges against your client individually, or can we cover this by type of charge, Mr. Silver? I recognize that this is unusual, but this court does have a full schedule today, and I’m reasonably certain we’ll be here ‘til lunch if we do it the other way.”