Go-Between

by Lisa Brackmann

  Michelle swallowed hard. “No. No, I’m not.”

  Caitlin smiled. “Good. I didn’t think you were.”

  I’m not here to help you, Michelle wanted to say. I’m not your friend. And if I’m being at all smart, I need to get on the phone to fucking Gary and tell him that you’ve slipped your leash. Unless of course that would trigger whatever endgame he has to blow things up and blame me for it.

  “So … it’s not like I met Troy and I suddenly had a come-to-Jesus moment,” Caitlin said. “I was thinking a lot of this stuff already. I just … I didn’t want to think it all the way. Does that make sense?”

  “Sure,” Michelle said. “Yes. It does.”

  “He’s really helped me take that last step, and …” Now Caitlin did blush. “I don’t feel so afraid.”

  But you should feel afraid, Michelle thought. You really should.

  “That’s great to hear,” she said.

  “And you know … you’ve been a part of it too. You showed up at just the right time. I really have wanted to make some changes. To … to just get moving again. You gave me the push I needed. And I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.”

  Michelle felt tears gathering in her eyes. Stop it, she told herself. You don’t have time.

  “That’s nice of you to say. But … you did it on your own. Without me, and without Troy. You’re a really strong person. Just … remember that. Okay?”

  What the fuck was she going to do?

  Caitlin gave her a look that Michelle couldn’t quite interpret. Some combination of measuring and amused. “You are one fierce lady,” she said. “One of these days you’re gonna have to tell me how you got that way.”

  They rode for a while in silence, the car turning away from the sea road with its cliffs and pines.

  “I don’t want to embarrass the people who’re hosting the event,” Caitlin said with a sigh. “Though, I don’t know, I also don’t want to take peoples’ money under false pretenses. Because when we get back to Houston, I’m planning on switching up our priorities. I don’t want to put our money into this election. I might not agree with legalizing marijuana, but it’s a waste of our resources fighting it. And I definitely don’t want to support going after this sentencing proposition. It makes no sense to me at all. But a lot of the folks who’re coming tonight, well, they’re only showing up because of our positions in this election.”

  She hesitated.

  “What do you think I should do? How should I handle it?”

  Oh, Christ, Michelle thought.

  “Shake their hands and take their money?” She said it with a smile, lightly, like she was making a joke, but she knew that of all the things that could happen tonight, this would be the safest option for Caitlin, and for her.

  “Yeah, except I don’t want to deal with the mess when they start screaming for their money back.”

  Michelle scrambled around for the next best option.

  “Maybe … say something along the lines of what you did in Los Angeles. That your goal is a safer America, and you’re open to new approaches on how to achieve that.”

  Caitlin grinned. “You know, I invited Troy to come along tonight. He didn’t think that was a good idea. Said he could just see people’s heads explode. But I’m still gonna put him on the guest list. Maybe he’ll show up. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?”

  “Hahah, yeah.”

  Please don’t show up, Troy, Michelle thought.

  This was already going to be bad enough.

  From what Michelle knew, Sea Cliff was one of the wealthiest areas in San Francisco, with large homes on actual reasonably sized yards instead of the postage-stamp lots found in most of the city. Still, they were dwarfed by the compounds of River Oaks, by the estates in Beverly Hills for that matter. Land in San Francisco was simply too scarce.

  There was a valet station set up at the drive of one of the larger houses in the neighborhood: a yellowish cream Mediterranean-style three-story villa with a Spanish tile roof perched on a corner lot. Michelle suspected it would have an ocean view from the other side, or would it be considered the bay? She didn’t know San Francisco all that well, not the way she knew Los Angeles.

  “Thanks, hon,” Caitlin said to the driver. “We’ll see you in an hour and a half or thereabouts.”

  As they started up the red terra-cotta stairs that led to the front door, Caitlin drew in a deep breath.

  “Here’s hoping we can get through tonight without completely pissing everyone off,” she said. “Wish me luck.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Michelle said.

  She wished she actually believed that.

  The party was hosted by one of San Francisco’s richest men, a venture capitalist and hedge fund manager named Garth Johannsen. He’d been a big donor to Safer America in the past, one of the more useful bits of information Michelle had gotten from reviewing the DonorSoft database with Caitlin the other day. And it was pretty easy to see what his stake was: he’d invested heavily in the private prison industry and the various companies that provided food and other services to the prisons. Some of his other investments included companies that used a lot of prison labor. It hadn’t been that hard for Michelle to track all this down. Just a couple of hours of work during some downtime here in San Francisco, and if anyone asked, she was just getting up to speed on an important donor, one they needed to coddle with informed flattery.

  Inside, the house was contemporary, a mismatch with its original style: spare, straight lines and sharp angles, recessed lights, carefully chosen art.

  Garth Johannsen and his wife greeted them in the entry.

  “Ms. O’Connor, it’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

  He was in his sixties, trim, with a handmade suit and expensive haircut.

  “Please, call me Caitlin.”

  “Caitlin, I’m Mary. Welcome to our home.” This was his wife, several decades younger, round cheeked with a pixie cut and eyes set in a permanent twinkle. She was originally from China and they’d met when she’d worked at Johannsen’s firm as a new hire out of Harvard Business School. Her family had ties to the Chinese leadership, Michelle recalled.

  Wonder how that affects his investments, Michelle thought.

  “This is Michelle,” Caitlin was saying. “If you need anything from me or the group later, just get in touch with her, and she’ll make sure it happens.”

  “What can we get you ladies to drink?” Mary asked. A server in white and black had appeared next to them—Chinese? Michelle wondered.

  It looked to be another gathering where most of the guests were white.

  “Just water, thank you,” she said.

  The next half hour passed in a blur of introductions and handshakes as she trailed Caitlin, collecting business cards and making notes. The guests were bankers, business owners, wealthy retirees, a police chief from a nearby city, a representative from the state prison guards union, one of the few non-white faces here, aside from Mary Johannsen and the serving staff.

  Caitlin was good. She’d stuck to the one glass of wine, but it was more than that: she was focused, charming, on her game.

  Well, she’d need to be, tonight.

  The guests had started to settle in the living room, where Caitlin was to speak. You could see the remodeling here, too, Michelle thought: floor-to-ceiling windows had been installed for the ocean view she’d figured the house would have on this side. She couldn’t see the ocean because of the fog, but she could hear the boom of the waves through the double-paned glass.

  “Well, look who’s here,” Caitlin said.

  Michelle turned to Caitlin, who was smiling like she meant it.

  Coming across the living room was Troy Stone, excusing himself a few times as he worked through the crowd on his way to her side.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Troy said in a low voice.

  Caitlin actually cackled. “You know you love it.”

 
He snuck a grin. “Yeah, maybe I like seeing heads explode.”

  “Well, here comes your first chance. Our host is on his way over.”

  Garth Johannsen was heading in their direction. Michelle checked her phone: 7:40. Time for Caitlin to give her remarks. Her pulse quickened.

  It’ll be okay, she told herself. Caitlin’s a pro. She’ll handle this, and it won’t be a disaster.

  “Michelle, nice to see you again,” Troy said.

  She smiled back. “Likewise.”

  He didn’t actually seem happy to see her. But then, she sure wasn’t glad to see him.

  “Hello,” Johannsen said, extending his hand in Troy’s direction. “Garth Johannsen.”

  Troy took it.

  “Troy Stone.”

  It was always interesting to watch the male handshake ritual, Michelle thought. Garth would want to show his dominance, but there was no way he’d be able to crush Troy’s broad hand.

  A vigorous, quick shake.

  “Troy’s a friend of mine from Los Angeles,” Caitlin said. “He heads up an organization called PCA, Positive Community Action. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

  She was enjoying this, Michelle could tell.

  Johannsen’s brow crinkled. “Sounds familiar.” He knew, or had an idea, Michelle thought. He just couldn’t make the knowledge make sense.

  “Your group’s working on Prop. 275?” he asked.

  The sentencing reduction proposal.

  Troy stretched out a smile. “Yes, yes we are.”

  “Oh. Well.” Garth looked to Caitlin, the question showing as clearly on his face as if he’d asked it.

  “We’ve been having some discussions about approaches to crime reduction and community safety,” Caitlin said.

  “Have you, now?”

  “Do you think I should do a little talk now? Have folks had enough chance to settle in?”

  “I think so.” He didn’t sound all that certain.

  A waitress had appeared at Michelle’s elbow. “Something to drink?”

  “Yes. Please. A glass of red.”

  “Well, I’m just delighted to be here.”

  Caitlin stood with her back to the wall of windows, illuminated by a soft pool of light cast by the overhead spots.

  “I’m a little worried, though, about some of the things I want to talk about tonight, because I don’t think they’re what y’all are expecting to hear. I apologize for that.”

  She did that trick of hers, the one where she looked around the room, making brief eye contact with people in the audience, making you believe she’d connected with you, if just for that instant.

  “But lately I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about our mutual goals—about creating a safer America—and asking myself, what does that actually mean? Does it mean making sure that more and more people go to jail? Is that really making us safer?”

  She paused. Surveyed the room again.

  “Now, we all know there’s dangerous folks who belong in prison, who do violent things and hurt other people. But I’m gonna admit to y’all here, I’m not so sure putting people in a cell for selling weed or shoplifting a couple pieces of pizza is getting us where we want to go. Which is to safer, stronger communities that are better for us and better for our kids.”

  She spread out our hands. “So … I’m open to suggestions. I’m talking to a lot of different people”—she gestured in Troy’s direction—“like Troy Stone here, from Positive Community Action, about the kinds of things we can do together to truly build a safer America. And what I’d like to do now is get some of your ideas on that.”

  For a long moment, no one spoke. Finally, a man at the back of the room raised his hand.

  “So … are you not supporting No on 275 and 391?”

  “To be honest with you? I’m not sure any more.”

  An audible buzz started up in the audience.

  Oh shit, Michelle thought. This was bad.

  “Our prisons had nearly twice the number of inmates they were designed to hold. The overcrowding was so bad we’re operating under federal court orders to fix it. We’re sending prisoners out of state, we’re releasing inmates to local jails, we’re double-celling in administrative segregation, and you want to starve the system even more?”

  This was the representative from the prison guard’s union, standing toe-to-toe with Troy.

  “You’ve just stated the case for changing sentencing guidelines better than I could,” Troy said.

  “What about community safety? How’s releasing offenders into communities with no supervision going to help with that? What we need are more facilities, more resources—then we can get to more of the rehabilitation functions people like you are always going on about.”

  Troy raised an eyebrow. “People like me?”

  “Activists,” the union rep spat out.

  “Now, isn’t it true y’all are already spending more on prisons than you are on colleges here in California?” Caitlin said, neatly stepping into the conversation.

  “Mostly because we’re spending more money per prisoner to improve healthcare and rehabilitation opportunities.”

  “And salaries,” Troy said. “Let’s be honest, your members make fifty to ninety percent more than correctional officers in the rest of the country.”

  “Yeah, and so do California highway patrol officers. We got prisons in some of the most expensive areas of the country here. My officers are professionals who deserve to be compensated decently. Unless you’d rather see a bunch of poorly trained rent-a-cops like what the private prisons are hiring for shit wages.”

  Michelle took a few steps back, toward the wall of glass that overlooked the water. She’d drunk most of her glass of wine as the question and answer session broke into a general discussion, with Caitlin working the room and chatting with guests.

  Would a refill be a bad idea? She felt sick to her stomach. Not everyone here was hostile, from what she could tell. Many seemed interested in talking to Caitlin and hearing what she had to say. But much of this crowd had come to raise money to defeat the two propositions that Caitlin said she was now on the fence about. In the case of Prop. 275, she’d already decided, Michelle knew.

  “Looks like Ms. O’Connor’s had kind of a turnaround, doesn’t it?”

  Standing next to her was a man about her age. Sandy brown hair, rimless glasses with titanium frames, wearing an open-collar blue button-down Oxford cloth shirt and a blazer.

  “Her views are evolving, I think,” Michelle said.

  He chuckled deep in his chest. “I’ve been telling Garth he’s going to get caught out on the wrong side of this issue. If Caitlin O’Connor’s coming around, I’d say the tide has officially turned.”

  “Are you working on one of the propositions, Mr… . ?”

  He stuck out a hand. “Shane. You’re Caitlin’s person?”

  “I’m her assistant, yes. Michelle.”

  “I have a fund,” he said. “We’ve taken some positions on cannabis-related industries. I’m in with both feet, and I’m advising others to do the same.” He leaned over. “Heard of Budly? Or Skunkish? Green Goddess LTC?”

  She’d vaguely heard of Budly. “Budly … isn’t that … Facebook for weed?”

  “Potentially—more like Amazon. But you have the right idea.” He was watching Caitlin across the room as she listened intently to a red-faced man who was chopping at the air with his hands: Angry. Frustrated.

  “People are going to get very rich off this business,” Shane said.

  “People already have,” Michelle said.

  He laughed again. “I mean, legally. It’s already happening, with the medical industry. Once states start legalizing cannabis for recreational use …”

  “You’ll still have to deal with the federal government.”

  “This too shall pass. I’m not going to pretend it isn’t a little tricky right now, especially the banking end. But it’ll all get worked out. I can afford to be patient.”

 
Michelle glanced past him, out the window. By now it was completely dark, the night muffled in fog. She could make out a haloed string of lights somewhere out in the water. A bridge? A ship?

  “There’s a lot of money being made right now with the way things are,” she said. “A lot of the people in this room don’t want things to change.”

  Shane gave an easy shrug. “In any scenario like this, you have winners and losers. And you have people who know how to adapt to changing circumstances and stay winners regardless. If I’m wrong about this, I’ll lose money, but it’s not going to break me. If I’m right, I win big. And I’m pretty sure I’m right.”

  He continued to stare at Caitlin. She’d calmed the man she’d been talking to by the look of things, clasping his hand and resting her left hand on his forearm for a moment.

  Shane turned to Michelle. “How about introducing me to your boss?”

  “Sure,” she said. “I’d be happy to.”

  Dread sat in her gut. She thought she might actually be sick. She knew she’d never been in control of this situation, far from it. But now she had a palpable sense that things were spinning far, far out of her grasp.

  x x x

  Shane suggested they adjourn to a “speakeasy” in the Tenderloin after the cocktail party.

  “There’s a private bar down there that’s good for conversation,” he’d said. “Just follow me. I’ll get us in.”

  Michelle had Googled him on her iPhone. He looked like he was who he claimed to be: a very successful venture capitalist/fund manager and one of San Francisco’s richer men. His car was a red Tesla Roadster Sport.

  As the town car pulled up in front of the Johannsen house, Troy hesitated.

  “You’re coming, aren’t you?” Caitlin asked him.

  “You want to ride with me?” Shane called out the window of his Tesla. “We should talk.”

  Troy nodded. “Yeah. I guess we should.”

  A pro-legalization venture capitalist and an activist working on keeping drug users out of prison probably did have a few things to talk about, Michelle thought.

  “You know, I’m really having a good time tonight,” Caitlin said in the car. “Believe me, all the time I’ve been doing these events? That’s rare.”