Finally, a deputy brought him in.
Like the other prisoners, he wore orange scrubs with Harris County stenciled in black, and rubber shower shoes.
Unlike most of the other prisoners, he was handcuffed, hands behind his back. Why was that?
He didn’t see her, at first; she watched his head swivel back and forth, trying to spot her. She stood up and waved.
His eyes fixed on her. His face changed. She wasn’t sure what to make of the expression. Sad? Worried? Angry? Then he put on the familiar half-smile. The one he used to cover everything up.
The deputy walked him over to the stool. He moved stiffly, like he was guarding an injury. He hadn’t shaved today. His eyes were bloodshot, the lids dark with fatigue.
For a moment, Michelle didn’t know what to say. “Are you okay?” she managed.
He frowned a little. He hadn’t heard her. She pressed her lips against the metal speaker grate and yelled, like everyone else. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he said. But his eyes and expression said something else. A fractional headshake. A warning. Don’t ask.
He leaned in toward the grate, wincing as he did, arms pressed tight against his sides, his torso held too straight. Had he hurt his ribs? She remembered moving like that, when she had that injury. She put her ear up to the grate. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Michelle closed her eyes for a moment. As tempting as it was to say, “I told you so,” it didn’t seem like the time.
And besides, that might sound incriminating.
“We’ll deal with it,” she said.
“You didn’t need to come. We’ll have another bail hearing in the next two weeks, and Derek’s sure I’ll be getting out this time.”
Now it was Michelle’s turn to shake her head. She gestured for him to listen and spoke as clearly as she could into the speaker without shouting.
“Gary’s in Arcata. He showed up Tuesday night.”
She pulled away from the window so she could see his face. For a moment he looked stunned. Then he swallowed, and his face turned still with rage.
“Motherfucker,” he mouthed.
“Yeah.”
She gestured for him to listen. Waited as he shifted position, grimacing as he did, and pressed his ear against the grate. “He’s got some kind of job for me.”
“No.”
Michelle didn’t need to put her ear to the speaker grate to hear that.
“I think I need to take it.”
“You can’t.” His voice was faint, tinny. This wasn’t something he was willing to shout to be heard. She pressed her ear against the speaker and let him have his turn.
“You know what his endgame is,” he said. “No matter what he promises.”
“I don’t think there’s a better choice.”
“There is. Call Sam.”
One of Danny's old contacts, who’d helped set them up in Arcata with their shiny new identities. Michelle wasn’t sure she trusted Sam either. He’d be in an even better position than Derek to have sold them out. But she nodded anyway.
“I will. But look…” She forced a smile. “We’re going to need the extra money to pay for Derek, and this other attorney here. And the job sounds like it could be fun.”
That, of course, was a lie, one she told on purpose, in case anyone was listening. Danny knew it, too.
“What about Evergreen?” he asked suddenly. “I mean, you put so much work into the place.”
The rush of affection she felt for him just then, the intensity of it, took her by surprise. Suddenly it was clear to her how she felt about him, like a switch had been flipped.
Great timing, she thought. Just great.
“I can hire someone. Don’t worry about it.”
“Em…” He drew in a deep breath, and flinched. “Why don’t you… just… get away for a while? You know? Go someplace nice. Until this gets settled.”
Run, he meant. Hide.
“No. I want to help.”
“But this-”
“It’s the best option.”
“It’s not.” He laughed shortly. “Believe me, I can think of a bunch of better ones.”
Like you doing time? she wanted to ask. Because if she knew one thing for certain, it was that Gary had set Danny up, and people that Gary set up were pretty thoroughly screwed.
“I’ll handle it,” she said. “Don’t worry. It’s temporary.”
After she left the jail, all she wanted to do was go back to her hotel and take a shower. A long one. The jail’s stink clung to her clothes, to her skin, her hair. Her own stink clung to her as well, the panic sweat from when she’d given the deputy Emily’s license.
And have a drink. God, did she want a drink.
But she didn’t have time to do either of those things. She’d made an appointment with Marisol Acosta, the Houston attorney Derek had partnered with, and the offices weren’t far from the jail. Especially since she hadn’t rented a car, just taken a taxi here, it made sense to go see Marisol first.
It was almost 6 p.m. They didn’t start visits in the jail until afternoons, 4 p.m. weekdays on the days they allowed visitors, and 3:30 on weekends.
Crazy, she thought.
She stood outside the jail, in its massive shadow: a brick and concrete building that looked like a warehouse, nine stories high, squatting by the bayou. She couldn’t stop thinking about how many prisoners were held in that windowless place, piled on top of each other.
What had happened to Danny? Why was he in cuffs?
Who had hurt him?
Get to the lawyer, to Marisol Acosta. Maybe there was something she could do. Some way she could help to keep him safe.
I should call a cab, Michelle thought. But the idea of waiting for one here, of spending any more time in the shadow of the jail, made her shudder.
Hotter than hell outside, but at least it was real air. She thought she caught the scent of river water, a hint of decaying moss.
Taking another deep breath, she tapped Marisol Acosta’s contact information on Emily’s iPhone, and mapped it. Under a mile. I could walk there, she thought.
She’d be a sweaty mess by the time she arrived, but what the hell? Maybe the sweat would cleanse her, just a little bit.
x x x
The law offices of Carlton, Farris and Pollard weren’t far from the theater district, Marisol Acosta had told her. The attorney had agreed to meet her there, even though it was Sunday. There were no prison visits on Monday, and Michelle had told her that she wasn’t sure how long she could stay in Houston.
“It’s not a problem,” Marisol had said. She sounded young. “I have a loft downtown just a few minutes away. So long as you don’t mind that I won’t be in my office clothes.”
Did attorneys charge time and a half for weekends?
She started walking.
As unpleasant as Houston had seemed by freeway, on foot she was seeing some charm to downtown. Not a lot of people, but it was Sunday. Still plenty of late summer light. There were older buildings, nicely restored, a light-rail line that ran down one of the main streets. Then, the theaters. The Houston Grand Opera. They’d done a lot of interesting work, she recalled. Not that opera had ever been her thing, but she’d tried to stay current on cultural stuff, when she’d lived in Los Angeles.
She almost laughed, thinking about it. The concerts she’d go to. The gallery openings, the museums and plays.
Goodbye to all that. Hello, Harris County Jail.
God, it was hot.
Most of her memories of Mexico were accompanied by heat. The day she’d met Danny on the beach. That night with him in her hotel room. Later, when things had gone from bad to so much worse.
It was supposed to have been a vacation with her husband. A celebration of a business deal he’d been trying to put together. Tom had been lying about the deal, as it turned out. Or engaging in wishful thinking, more charitably. She supposed she could afford a little charity now. Knowing him, she didn’t think he’d intended to commit criminal acts. He was going to repay those investors, he really was. The fix was just one contract, one funding source, one deal away.