by Trixie More
Determination wasn’t something that had come to Marley naturally, the way it came to Karito. Marley had to learn it after that night. He’d brought her home, and they’d kissed on a bench by a park, delaying the moment when they would arrive at her apartment, where her mother would be waiting. His arm around her had been firm. Yes, she hated to admit it, she still thought him handsome, even after everything, the one night of lovemaking and the many nights when she received no calls. Even after the baby. He’d never asked her who the father was, none of them had. Not the Mastrelos, not the other workers at the restaurant, only her mother had asked.
Tell him, her mother had urged. Tell him he is a man today.
So old-fashioned! Men didn’t have rights of passage in this country. Her mother was living in a dream. Marley had held her head up. She’d be damned before she begged a man to love her.
Beside her, the result of their quick and quiet coupling squirmed on her chair. That night, that single night, he’d loved Marley gently, silently, so the old woman sleeping in the other room wouldn’t hear the worn springs on the blanket covered sofa. When he’d left, he’d taken her future with him, swapping what would have been with what was. Her heart, too, had been transfigured, her adoration of him changed into this fierce devotion to the commotion that was Karito.
Karito swiveled to the side and tipped her head. “Why can’t I go back to Mrs. Geysner’s room?”
Marley rolled her eyes. “You know why, Karito, my heart. Nobody wants a girl who acts out and throws a fit in school. Now they could make you stay home.” Karito’s icy blue eyes flashed.
“I hate my new school.”
“You haven’t been here long enough to even know about your new school,” Marley said. “If the principal won’t let you apologize today, I don’t know what we’ll do. I can’t stay home and teach you. We need the money. If they don’t let you come back...” Marley shut her mouth. It wasn’t fair to put the weight of the family on the child. The family didn’t have structure, with Marley always working and the energetic seven-year-old left to smolder in the hot apartment with her grandmother. Then again, it wasn’t all that fair that Marley carried the weight either. She knew how her daughter felt. Part of her wanted to kick the chair, too.
The shabby wooden door to the office opened, and a harried looking white lady poked her head out. “Araya?”
“Come, Karito, let’s go.”
She stood and waited for her daughter, suddenly less energetic. Her thin arm wrapped around Marley’s thigh, her left hand creeping up to her face, the small hand covering her mouth. Marley stroked Karito’s hair. The gesture was a habit. Her daughter no longer sucked her thumb, but she’d never stopped reaching for her mouth, so the gesture changed to a curtailed hiding of her face. Marley’s heart ached. So bold and so uncertain. Wasn’t it always so? She dropped down to a squat, getting eye-level with her daughter.
“My heart,” she brushed the girl’s hand from her face, “there’s nothing to fear. You can do this. Just say what’s true, you wish it never happened. You will try to do better. You like Mrs. Geysner.” Marley left out the word sorry because she already knew that would backfire. Karito was often contrite, but never vocally sorry. She looked into the wide blue eyes, so unlike her own. “After that, we will be strong and do what we need to.” She stood up and together they entered the office.
Mr. Booker’s desk sat perpendicular to both the door and the window. Flimsy plants clung to the ledge of the window, bare stems with sporadic outbursts of leaves. Marley hoped the children in this school were thriving better than his greenery.
Mr. Booker was robust in comparison, relatively young, perhaps mid-thirties, his tight, black curls weren’t cropped so close to the head, reminding Marley of a young Sidney Poitier. Unlike the actor, Mr. Booker had a relaxed demeanor, his dress shirt untucked over black jeans, white kicks on his feet. His smile was warm, and Marley liked him immediately. Maybe this would go well. This man looked so comfortable and comforting, surely Karito could give her apology in her own way and this could all be over. Marley could get back to her job at Allison’s Kitchen, and Karito could return to school today.
“Have a seat, Ms. Araya,” he said. He smiled at Karito. “Karito, how are you today?”
Karito started to turn her head into Marley and stopped as if remembering she was no longer a baby. “Good,” she said.
Marley smiled at the lie.
How young we learn what to say, she thought. When they were settled, Mr. Booker came around to the front of his desk, leaning his ass against the metal edge and folding his arms. He smiled.
“So Karito, do you want to tell us why we’re here?”
The girl shrank back into her chair. Mr. Booker waited. When it was clear there would be nobody speaking for her, Karito said, “I gave a fit.”
“A fit. That’s what you call it when you throw the eraser at your teacher?”
Color washed over the girl’s face.
“Mr. Booker,” Marley intervened. “Karito has something she wants to say.” She turned to her daughter. “Karito?”
The blue, blue eyes looked up into hers, the light brown eyebrows raising. Marley had to suck in on her cheeks in order to not laugh. She could practically see Karito trying to remember the words. Her daughter’s expression cleared, and the blue eyes turned to Mr. Booker. “It never happened.”
Diay. Marley wanted to slap herself. “Karito, you mean you wish it never happened...” she prompted.
“No. It never happened. My teacher likes me!” Karito’s expression was volatile, evolving, and Marley felt the familiar sense of urgency, of the need to head off the coming explosion. Too late. “I want to go back to my class!” The child looked expectantly at Mr. Booker. For his part, he addressed himself to Marley.
“Ms. Araya, it appears that Karito doesn’t yet understand that she had a role in this.” His voice was mild but firm. Returning to his chair behind the desk, he opened a folder and began taking notes while Marley’s voice died in her throat.
Stick up for your daughter, she thought. There must be something you can say.
“Mr. Booker,” Marley began, “that is not what Karito came in here intending to say. She’s told me many times at home that she wished it never happened. My daughter knows how important it is to try to do better. Karito’s full of energy, and it’s hard to stay still all day, but she’s going to try. She likes her teacher very much!”
“I understand, Ms. Araya,” his face was calm, serene, as if he believed he did understand. Marley doubted it, and her own temper flared. “But I think it’s best for the other children if Karito takes the next two days to think about the privilege of being in our school and how her actions impact the other kids. You and I both know that her outbursts are escalating and I cannot tolerate abusive or violent actions toward anyone in the school, not the children, not the teachers.” He was looking at Karito now, his elbows on the desk, hands palm up, as he spoke. “Karito, what if Ms. Geysner threw an eraser at you?”
Her daughter’s eyes grew wide, but just as quickly, they narrowed to cold slits. “No.”
“Right. That would be wrong, and I wouldn’t tolerate it. I wouldn’t tolerate any of your classmates throwing things at you either.” He sat back. “I can’t allow anyone in this school to throw something at another person. That means I can’t allow you to throw erasers. You go home and think about that, and I’ll see you on Monday.” He looked up at Marley and handed her another folder from his desk. “We have some resource materials for you to read that you might find helpful. There’s a number in there if you would like someone to discuss this with. Karito is suspended until Monday, at which time, she is welcome to return to class. However, I expect this to be the last of her outbursts.”
Heat. That was all she felt, heat in her face, her body. There would be no returning to work today, and that sent a spear of ice into her stomach. Her paycheck would be small this week. Another wave of shame and heat washed over her. She co
uldn’t hear what Mr. Booker was saying. She was a bad mother; her daughter was somehow broken. It took all of Marley’s focus to keep her head high, to take the folder and thank the awful man, and gently, so gently, careful to not shake or yank, take Karito’s hand and walk them both out of the suddenly unwelcoming school.
Chapter 2
Would this old windbag ever finish his sentence? Sophia narrowed her eyes at the rumpled attorney seated across from her. He must have said the same damn thing five different ways. Every word inched past his lips like a glacier.
“Look, Mr. Brown,” she tried. He spoke right over her, his words running together in a nasal whine like he was pinching his nose while he threw himself a pity party. She hoped like hell the guy wasn’t married.
“Mr. Brown.” He paused just long enough to draw breath, and Sophia lunged for the chance to get a word in. “I get it! You believe your client was at home, his mother is verifying it...”
His gray, dry, curling hair fluttered in the draft from the AC vent inconveniently situated above the counsel table. They were in a tiny, windowless room, with severely abused paint and a scarred table. Mr. Brown lifted his face, so creased and drooping, it might have been made of an old yellowing bed sheet. His mouth twitched, but Sophia rushed on. He started to speak, and she raised her voice. “You’ve repeated that several times! You haven’t explained how come we have him on camera fifteen blocks away at the same time.” Did she dare pause and let him answer? No. Absolutely not.
“Young lady, you might be young and beautiful, but I’ve been practicing law for decades,” he began. “Do you think you’re going to get the better of me in court?”
It took physical effort for Sophia to resist rolling her eyes.
“The plea, Mr. Brown, I’m offering him a year.” In the car, there’d been a brown bag full of stolen scratch-off tickets which the lottery commission could prove belonged to the deli the kid had robbed.
The man’s thin chest expanded with his prodigious intake of air.
Please don’t let him use all that air to answer, she prayed.
“I’ve already pled out five times today,” he confessed. Sophia shut her eyes. So that was it. She shook her head. Even defense lawyers had their pride, she supposed.
“I see.” She wracked her brain. Why was she the one who had to figure out how this adenoidal loser could save face? “Come on,” she said, standing. She didn’t look to see if he was following her as she left the room.
Twenty minutes later, they stood huddled before the judge. Sophia explained her evidence, and his honor looked annoyed.
“Ms. Moss, didn’t the prosecutor’s office make this defendant an offer?” The judge eyed her coldly. “Surely, you can find some way to save the court’s time here.” The judge never even considered that the old geezer had turned her down. Sophia reminded herself it was the results that mattered, not the fact that the judge thought she was incompetent. People always assumed that she was an air-headed beauty queen, and while that pissed her off, she’d learned to move on. Sometimes it even worked to her advantage.
“Your honor, the people will accept two years if the defendant will plead.”
“Two years! It’s a first offense, your honor, and there was no weapon,” Mr. Brown wheedled. “No weapon, and first offense, acting alone, you know, without a weapon. He’s never been charged before, it’s his first offense. He was at home. His mother will testify, being as it’s his first offense.”
His honor waved his hand as if there were a gnat near his ear. “Mr. Brown.”
“Six months’ probation.”
“Eighteen months,” countered Sophia.
“A year.”
“Your honor, the people accept that.” Two years ago, she would have smiled at the absurdity of it. She’d offered him a year in the conference room. Now, she just wanted to get out of there. She’d had six cases today, and she had another bunch waiting for her back at her desk. All of this prevented her from finding out more about George Connelly. She needed time to speak to the officer who’d responded to the call at the bodega. There was always a chance he’d seen the man in the grainy photos. Without Ben testifying to the contents of the bag he’d handed over and the reason for it, she had nothing. For Sophia, it was all hearsay. Ben was the one who’d received the note in his work bag, telling him to pay George’s debt. While Sophia had seen cash put in the bag, and had been in the room while Derrick, Allison, and Ben discussed handing the money over, if none of them would corroborate her story, she had nothing. Less than nothing, Sophia thought glumly, punching the elevator button. There wasn’t a Connelly case, if she wanted to be honest about it, which she didn’t. As far as her boss was concerned, George Connelly left his family, happens all the time.
Sophia mouthed the words, her heart bitter. No. Evidence. Of a crime.
“Excuse me?”
She glanced to her right. Standing next to her was a narrowly built attractive man, dark hair, dark brown eyes that tipped up at the corners, a white button-down, sleeves rolled up his forearms, an open and friendly face.
“What?”
“Oh, I thought you said something.” His expression was mild, his eyes friendly.
“No.” The doors opened, and she exited without looking back, but she could tell, he remained behind her.
He was still behind her after she’d left the courthouse and walked the block back to her office, after she passed through security and, incredibly, in the elevator with her again as she rode up to her floor.
“Are you following me?” he asked, giving her an utterly charming grin.
Sophia wanted to roll her eyes. Another guy hitting on her. Although this one had indeed gone to great lengths to get her attention. What were the chances a guy would go through the security check just to talk to her? She marched over to her desk, watching him from the corner of her eye, and felt a flush of embarrassment when he walked past and headed into her boss’s office. So, not chasing her after all. Well. Hmm. She put her files away and stowed her coat, willing her face to not get any warmer. Maybe she wasn’t all that. She did allow herself to smile at that thought. She’d spent most of her life trying not to be judged by her looks. Maybe all she’d needed was to turn twenty eight.
Fifteen minutes later, the door opened, and her boss, Jack Abrams, appeared. Mr. tall, dark, and charming remained inside.
“Sophia?” her boss called.
What did Mr. Charming have to do with her?
“Yes, sir?”
“Can you come in?”
She grabbed a pad and pen and hurried to the office, following Jack inside.
“Have a seat,” Jack said, gesturing to a chair next to the one occupied by the mystery man.
To his credit, the guy stood and offered his hand. “I’m Jacob Park. You’re Sophia Moss?”
Tipping her head as an answer, she shook the smooth, dry hand. She was not attracted to him, she noted. She wasn’t attracted to anyone. She was, however, dying to know what this was about. She sat down, keeping her legs well away from his, conscious of the small space in front of Jack’s desk.
“Sophia, I have great news for you,” Jack began, and her heart double-timed. The Economic Crimes unit. That had to be it. Jack knew she wanted to move to the EC unit. The division handled tax evasion, credit card fraud, and identity theft. Working there, she’d be able to reopen the Connelly investigation using the bodega information. She was moving, she just knew it, to Economic Crimes or maybe the Criminal Enterprise Bureau. Either would work in her favor. Mystery man didn’t look like an organized crime busting kinda guy. She couldn’t imagine him interrogating a gangsta, but who knew?
“Sophia?”
What? Stay focused, she thought.
“Go on,” she murmured.
“You’ve been offered a terrific opportunity.” Jack smiled at her. She wanted to grin like a fool, but she kept her face smooth, calm. Her brother, Derrick, would have been proud. “You’re transferring to the Manhattan Cybercri
me Task Force.”
“Wait.” She struggled to gather her thoughts. “Oh, I thought you said Cybercrime.”
“That’s right. Congratulations.” Jack stood, and Sophia rose automatically.
Her boss extended his hand, and she numbly reached for it. Cybercrime? In Manhattan?
“But.” She paused to clear her throat, and then Jacob Park thrust his palm forward to shake her hand for the second time in five minutes. “But...” She started to sit, the two men bending their knees to follow. She rose up and they followed suit. A wild bubble of dry humor rose in her, and she considered bouncing in and out of her seat just to see their expressions. At the same time, her mind struggled to understand the ramifications. She hadn’t even known she was being considered.
“But, George Connelly...”
It was apparent immediately that was the wrong thing to say. Her boss gestured at her chair. “Sit,” he said gruffly. She complied. “His disappearance is a closed matter.”
Jacob was looking speculatively at her now, the ghost of his congratulatory smile sliding away. “Connelly?”
“It’s nothing,” Jack said.
Simultaneously, Sophia said, “George Connelly.”
Jacob’s expression sobered. “Never heard of him.”
“It’s closed,” Jack said firmly, and she knew to keep her mouth shut.
“I’m surprised to be offered this position, and…honored.” Sophia crossed her legs and tried to look more relaxed. “I had no idea Cybercrime was looking for a new assistant prosecutor.”
“It’s a tremendous opportunity.” Jacob seemed to have recovered his natural charm. “I should know, I was last year’s chosen one.” He smiled disarmingly.
“Congratulations,” she said. “I can’t imagine why I was considered for this position though, I’m relatively new.”
“Sophia, nobody, can manipulate a jury, or a judge or, hell anyone, as well as you,” her boss said.