“Of course it’s a private plane, dear,” mom says. “You don’t think we’re going to abscond to another country flying coach, do you?”
They both laugh their affected laughs and I really think there’s a chance the two of them were dropped on their heads as children…and then again as teenagers…and then another time when they entered adulthood.
As I was coming out of the jail, a thought began to occur, but I quelled it before it had formed entirely. I don’t have to go with my parents. I mean, I’m not leaving the country with them no matter what, but right now, I don’t have to be here in a car with them waiting for the press to show up.
Actually, it’s kind of weird that there haven’t been any reporters or cameramen at all.
“Did you guys pay off the press?” I ask. “Why haven’t they turned the front of the jail into a temporary red carpet?”
“John takes care of those things,” mom says, waving her hand as if swatting at a fly.
As if he’d heard his name, Johnson B. Witherton VI, Esq. opens the driver’s side door and gets in, saying, “All right, it looks like we’re clear for now at least. Is she going with you?”
“No,” I answer, though both my parents respond differently. “I didn’t do anything wrong and I’m not going to start acting like I did just to take the focus off the two of you.”
I don’t usually talk to my parents like this, but they’ve crossed the line a bit more than usual this time.
“That is true, dear,” mom says. “Once we’ve touched down in Urug—I mean, wherever we’re going—”
“Smooth,” I quip.
“We can start leaking the story—trusted associates, of course. Once everyone’s heard what we’ll say happened, they’ll have to exonerate her, won’t they, Charles?” mom asks dad.
“What exactly are you planning on saying happened?” I ask.
“I still think it’d be better if she came with us,” dad says. “If they do take her in after we’ve left the country, they might try to use her in order to get us to return and face prosecution.”
“I’m not going with you,” I tell him. “Whatever you’re planning, it better include me being cleared of any kind of involvement in any of this.”
“Of course, dear,” mom says, flipping her hand up and down in my direction in a gesture I’ve seen a few thousand times, but have never been quite able to decipher. It’s not a shooing motion, it’s not a wave. It’s kind of like a come here/go away thing, though I doubt that’s what my mom’s thinking when she does it. “Your safety and peace of mind through all of this is most important.”
“We need to leave now!” Johnson shouts out of nowhere. Honestly, I’d kind of forgotten he was in the car there for a minute.
“I’m not going,” I tell him. “You can just drop me off at my place and be on your way.”
“You’re just being ungrateful!” Johnson yells. “We’re going to the airport.”
I look at the lawyer. I really would have thought someone like him would be better in a crisis. If this is the way he’s dealing with things, though, they must be a lot worse than I think they are.
“Ungrateful?” I ask. “Should I be grateful that I was just put in jail for something I had nothing to do with? Should I be grateful that you guys thought it’d be a good idea to basically steal my identity so you could fund your fraudulent enterprise?”
“I really do think it should be her choice, John,” dad says.
The lawyer huffs, “We don’t have time. We need to get out of the country and we need to do it now. If one of us stays behind, how do we know that person’s not going to call the cops while we’re still on the way to the airport?”
“I just want out of this,” I tell the lawyer. “I want nothing to do with it. I’m not going to talk to anyone, I just want to—”
“Get out,” Johnson B. Witherton VI, Esq., who had previously been so nice to me, says. Maybe nice wasn’t the word, but he wasn’t this hostile when he was bragging about getting me into the pee room.
“John, please,” mom says.
“It’s fine, really,” I say. “You guys have a fun trip to Uruguay. Let me know if you’re going to be extradited back home and I’ll come visit you at whichever white-collar resort they send you to.”
Before anyone utters another ridiculous syllable, I open the car door and get out.
The door’s barely closed before Johnson peels out of his spot, though given the space between the rows, he has to stop again just as quickly and make a three point turn to get pointed in the right direction.
I really don’t think that’s the guy I’d choose to be my lawyer, but what do I know?
Now comes the thing I’ve really been dreading: I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Mason’s number.
When I was coming out of the jail, I considered telling the lawyer that I already had a ride and call Mason to come pick me up. It was more a fantasy than a real plan, though.
Whatever he feels about Chris being locked up, there’s no way it’s going to go over well that I’m already out on bail while Mason’s brother sits remanded. Town’s five miles away, though, and I’d just really like to get as far away from this building and this parking lot as possible.
Chapter Nineteen
La Petit Mort
Mason
This is so stupid.
I was trying to get some kind of answer out of the clerk at the city jail when Ash called. I guess I should have figured they’d take her to county.
I’m about half a mile away from the same building my brother’s locked up in, and my knuckles are white as I grip the wheel. He’s there on remand and Ash is out the same day.
I’m not mad at her, though.
When I get close enough to the county jail to see into the parking lot, I immediately spot Ash sitting on a low concrete barrier. Her shoulders hunch forward a little as I can see her letting out a deep breath.
I pull up in front of her and unlock the doors to the car. She gets in.
“Hey,” she says. “Thanks for coming to get me. I’m sure you’re sick of this place by now.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I wasn’t just going to leave you here, though.”
“Mason, I want to start by telling you that—” she starts, but I interrupt her.
I tell her, “Let’s just get you home and then we can go from there. You must’ve had a pretty rotten day.”
“You can say that again,” she says.
I wonder if Chris is having a worse one or if he’s already conned the people in his cellblock into thinking he’s everyone’s best shot at getting out early. That seems like the kind of thing he’d do to make friends in there. Of course, his inability to get out of there when someone finally catches on might have him behaving very differently.
“It’s kind of weird that they have both men and women in there,” Ash says. “I think we’re on different halves of it, but still, don’t they usually break that sort of thing into gender?”