by Nancy Allen
ELSIE TRUDGED UP the stairs to her apartment, clutching the banister. She shivered in her coat. It wasn’t that late, but wrangling with JoLee and Donita had worn her slick.
The second floor landing, which led to her apartment door, was pitch-dark, the overhead light burned out. “Son of a bitch,” she groused aloud, mentally adding to the long tally of her landlord’s shortcomings. She had to dig for her keys, no small feat as she juggled her purse and briefcase. When at last she grasped the key ring at the bottom of her purse, she fumbled with it, trying to locate her apartment key by touch, and dropped the keys to the floor.
“Damn. Son of a bitch,” she whispered as she knelt and scoured the dirty carpet with her hands.
She found the keys. They lay beside a cardboard container, about the size of a boot box, blocking her door.
Elsie leaned back on her knees. “What on earth?” she murmured. She wasn’t expecting a package, and it didn’t look like it came from UPS or the postal service. But it might be a present. A surprise from Noah, to make up for their unfriendly parting. Sometimes he substituted a gift for an apology. In the early days of their relationship she found the practice endearing, but had long since tired of it. He once left a Victoria’s Secret bag hanging on her doorknob after an ugly spat. The memory still stuck in her craw. She would far rather receive a few sincere words of remorse than a lace thong and a push-up bra.
So it would be typical Noah to dodge an apology by dropping off merchandise. Still, she approached the box with caution. She had recently received a hank of poultry parts, after all. Elsie stood, brushing dirt from her knees, and unlocked the door to her apartment. Reaching inside, she flipped on her living room light switch. It illuminated the hallway.
In the indirect light, she knelt again, examining the box. It was a shoe box, but a good-sized one; probably it had contained men’s boots or shoes. She pushed the apartment door open wider; the light revealed a product name: TOMMY’S WESTERN WEAR.
Why would Noah be bringing me shoes? She was almost inclined to laugh. Her grandfather wore that brand of boots. Built for comfort. Not too hip.
She nudged the box with her hand. Something inside squeaked.
“What on earth,” she breathed again, and curiosity overrode caution. With a tentative hand, she lifted the box lid. Inside, she saw two bright eyes and a furry coat, with tiny babies nestled to the belly.
“Kittens?” she muttered unhappily. If Noah was trying to win her with a box of cats, he’d missed the mark, because she could not keep a family of cats in her small apartment. She was about to secure the lid, tempted to leave the offering where it lay, when the sight of a long hairless tail brought her up short.
The beast bared its sharp teeth and hissed at her: a wicked, ugly hiss. Elsie stumbled backward and fell on her backside, scurrying away in her fright.
“Goddamn possum,” she said. “I hate possums!”
The animal escaped the confines of the box with remarkable speed and shot into Elsie’s apartment, its offspring still clinging to its belly.
“No,” she wailed, but it was too late. She jumped to her feet and stood in the doorway of her apartment.
The possum was nowhere to be seen. Elsie leaned against the doorway, tempted to scream with frustration. She was not up to a showdown with a feral rodent. Especially a rodent with teeth like an alien in a horror movie.
Sometimes, having a cop as a boyfriend was a tremendous advantage. Still standing in the open doorway, she found her cell phone and dialed Noah’s number.
He answered promptly. “Officer Strong.”
“Hey, Noah, it’s Elsie. Oh, honey, I’m all shook up.” She laughed, her voice tinny.
“What’s the matter?”
“A possum ran into my apartment and I’m totally freaked out.”
Silence met her comment. She waited, wondering if the connection had been cut off.
“Noah?”
“Yeah. Maybe it’s your imagination. I don’t see how a possum could get into your apartment.”
Elsie paused. He sounded like he still had an attitude problem. “What?”
“Maybe you saw a mouse.”
“You think I don’t know the difference between a possum and a mouse?”
“Well, I don’t get how a possum would be in there.”
“I know a possum when I see one,” she said, her dander rising.
“Okay.”
“Some creep left it in a box for me to find.”
“And you took it into your apartment.”
“No!” She looked over her shoulder, peering into the dark, worried that the possum’s procurer was still nearby. “It ran into my apartment.”
“Okay.”
“There’s nothing nastier than a possum. I hate possums.”
“Okay.”
The line fell silent again. Elsie spoke first, saying, “So what do you think?”
“I think you ought to call animal control.”
It was reasonable advice, but her temper flared nonetheless. Why wouldn’t he come to her aid? Why wouldn’t he want to?
“Fine,” she said. “Fine. I will. ’Bye.”
She broke off the call. With her phone in hand, she looked furtively about her. She felt exposed in the dark hallway but didn’t want to be locked inside with the possum. She pulled her door shut with a jerk, then bolted down the stairs and took refuge in her car. Before she hit the lock button, she twisted around, peering into the backseat to ensure that no one was there. This is like a horror movie, she thought, shaking.
She began to dial information, to get the number for animal control, when she had an idea. She might try Ashlock instead.
She dialed his cell phone and was relieved when he answered on the second ring. “Elsie?”
“Oh, Ash,” she said, “I’m so glad I caught you. You are not going to believe this.”
“What is it?” he asked. As Elsie was about to launch into the story, she heard a woman’s voice in the background. Ashlock said, “Just a second, Elsie.” Then the sound disappeared, as if his hand were over the phone.
She felt a pang, though she couldn’t justify it. Ashlock was certainly entitled to have female company. It was no concern of hers.
But it gave her a sinking sensation, and she realized that she had taken comfort in the idea that Ashlock would always be available for her. Even though she was tied to Noah, she had privately relished the thought that Ashlock might carry a secret longing for her.
When he came back on the phone a second later, he said, “Sorry about that. What’s the problem?”
“Nothing,” Elsie said. “I’m sorry to bother you. Talk to you later.”
She slumped in the car seat, ashamed of herself. She had no right to call on Ashlock to save the day whenever she had a personal crisis. She looked at her phone again, and punched in the number to dial information.
AN HOUR LATER, when the animal control officer emerged from her apartment, cage in hand, Elsie was huddled on the stained green carpet of the second floor landing.
“Got it,” he said.
“Oh, thank the Lord,” Elsie moaned, pulling herself up to a stand, picking up her purse and briefcase.
“We’ll test her for rabies,” the man said. “Possums carry rabies, you know.”
“Yeah, I think I’ve heard that.”
“Did she bite you?”
“No.” Scooting inside her apartment, she dropped her belongings onto the floor with a groan.
He juggled the cage, handing her a clipboard. “Can you sign that?”
“Sure.” She leaned over and fished a pen from her purse.
“We’ll bill you at this address.”
Her jaw dropped. “You mean I have to pay?”
“Sorry. It will run about ninety-five dollars.”
Elsie tried to calculate t
he dent that ninety-five dollars would make in her budget, but she was too tired to do the math. “Whatever.”
“She had some offspring.”
“Yeah, I saw that.” Elsie nodded, leaning against the wall.
“I found three.”
She paused as she pulled off her coat. Had she seen more?
The man continued, “Sometimes there’s four or five. So keep an eye out.” He winked. “You got our number.”
The man left, pulling her door shut. Elsie spun around, half expecting to see possums in every corner. She got down on her hands and knees to check under the couch and coffee table. After peeking in the bathroom, she proceeded to the bedroom, where she lifted the dust ruffle and peered under the bed.
She finally went to bed with the lights on, fully clothed. As she lay under the blankets and quilt, she thought, Someone is fucking with me.
It was all about the Taney case. Of that she was certain.
Putting a pillow her over face to blot out the overhead light. If they think they can scare me away from Taney with a possum, they’re crazy.
She turned over on her side, so the pillow wouldn’t suffocate her. Another thought occurred to her, one that kept her awake for a long time.
Fuck. Me. Running. Now I’ve got to get that teacher to back up Charlene’s story about the boys in the bathroom. If I don’t, my case is shot.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ON FRIDAY MORNING, as Elsie walked up to the courthouse, she saw a crowd loitering in front of the main entrance. They were organizing a protest of some kind, with signs and placards. When she drew near enough to get a better look, a wave of uneasiness struck her. The crowd bore a frightening resemblance to the Our Earthly Fathers group. Watching them as they milled around, distributing their poster boards, her intuition clicked. With sudden clarity she knew who sent the possums and the chicken heads: it was the Earthly Fathers of the Westside Apostolic Church. They were targeting her. She was filled with apprehension. What was their next play?
Stopping in her tracks on the sidewalk, Elsie wanted to turn and run, to enter the courthouse through another route. Though she knew it was unlikely she’d be attacked in public view, she wanted to avoid the protesters; she was not eager to see what they were capable of doing. Poised to make a getaway, she saw it was too late. They had spied her.
One of the men pointed, saying something she couldn’t make out. A dozen people clustered on the sidewalk; all of them turned to look at her, their countenances stony.
Buck up, girl, she thought. She resolved that she would not run away, as if she had done something to be ashamed of. In the case of State v. Taney, she was in the right. Looking into the throng of men and women, she slowly advanced toward them.
Though her heart pounded, she held herself very erect as she entered the fray. At her approach, they waved the signs, and a couple of them began to chant. The signs were a blur to Elsie, something about Christians and fatherhood. The protesters surrounded her, brushing against her, their voices a babble of noise. She set her jaw and strode up the stone courthouse steps. A couple of the protesters followed her, shouting in her ear.
One of the men at her heels had a head of snow-white hair. His shirt was secured with a horsehair bolo tie. “Jezebel! Whore of Babylon!” he cried.
Wearing a scowl, Elsie played deaf, fervently hoping she looked formidable enough to discourage them. A hand on her arm restrained her. She turned, looking into a young man’s face that was twisted with anger. He sneered, said, “Dirty leg.” Leaning in close to her, he taunted, “You ain’t nothing but a dirty leg. Big old slut with your legs open wide.”
Pulling her arm away with a jerk, Elsie blindly made her way to the door. Beneath her brave façade, she was deeply shaken. The man’s ugly words injured her. An insult so personal and degrading could not be brushed off. The words were corrosive, and made something shrivel deep inside of her.
Once she reached the courthouse door, the protesters dropped back. The security personnel waved her through. Elsie ran for the elevator and rode up two floors on shaking knees.
Fumbling for the key to her office, she was struggling to regain her composure when she saw Madeleine storm down the corridor toward her.
In desperation, Elsie reached out to her boss. “You would not believe what someone just said to me.”
Madeleine acted as though she hadn’t heard. “I demand an explanation.”
Elsie turned the key in the lock and opened her office door. She tossed her purse and briefcase in a corner and dropped into her chair. Madeleine followed.
When she saw Madeleine’s expression, she knew she could not look to her for comfort. She must have been crazy to think otherwise. Steeling herself, she said, “Have a seat.”
Madeleine ignored the invitation. “Did you see that display?” she demanded. She had a smear of bright lipstick on her front teeth.
“Yeah.” Elsie tried to keep her eyes off of Madeleine’s teeth, but it required too much energy. She was exhausted, and her day had only begun.
“Can you offer any explanation for this?” When Elsie didn’t reply immediately, Madeleine repeated the question, her voice shrill.
“They’re protesting the Taney case,” she finally said. “We have a hearing this morning.”
“But why?”
She longed to tell Madeleine to shut up and get out, but she didn’t dare. “Exercising their First Amendment rights, looks like. They are engaging in a protest.”
“I know what they’re doing. What I want to know is why they’re doing it. What have you done to upset these people?”
A surge of righteous indignation swept over Elsie. She longed to snarl and say, Madeleine, you just buzz on out there and ask them what their fucking problem is.
But she controlled the urge. Instead, she said, with a shade of petulance, “I can’t explain those people, Madeleine. Can’t even begin to do it. I don’t understand their reasoning.”
She hoped Madeleine would offer some word of agreement, but she was disappointed. With a warning look over her reading glasses, Madeleine said, “I don’t like the way you’re handling this case. You’re drawing terrible attention. You’re making the whole office look bad. This reflects on me. I’m the elected official.” Then she disappeared.
After she departed, Elsie whispered, “You were never elected.” Then she dropped her head onto her desk. “Dear God, just get me through this day,” she moaned.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
ELSIE SPENT THE next hour licking her wounds in Bree’s office. After fortifying herself with three cups of coffee and a long pep talk with Bree, she regained her composure. Shortly before ten she walked into court, carrying her file.
Josh Nixon was already there, sorting through documents. He handed Elsie some printed pages. “These are my suggestions in support of the motion.”
“Geez, you briefed it and everything,” she said, flipping through the pages and noting the thread of the argument. “Missouri citations, Supreme Court cases, the whole nine yards.”
“You bet.”
Scornfully, Elsie tossed the papers on the counsel table. “Why are you spinning your wheels with this? You’re going to lose this motion. Rountree is not letting that perv out on bond.”
“Just doing my job,” Nixon said, flashing a smile, but he dropped the friendly demeanor when Taney’s supporters entered through the courtroom door. Elsie shot a challenging look at the group, then abruptly turned her back to them.
When Merle entered with Taney, the Our Earthly Fathers and their few female companions broke into applause. A couple of them rose to their feet and repeated their chant, an uneven declaration of support for parents’ rights. Nixon glanced at Elsie and she rolled her eyes. She saw him suppress a smile as the bailiff unshackled his client and settled him into the chair next to Nixon.
In the midst of the noisy display, the door to the judge’s chambers flew open and Judge Rountree stormed out, still in his shirtsleeves. “I’ll clear this courtroom,” he cried. “There will be order in here or you’ll all by God land in jail.”
The chanting stopped. Elsie could hear a pin drop. The judge then announced in a milder tone, “Bond hearing in this cause will be held in five minutes, and I expect everyone to comport themselves appropriately, or there’ll be the dickens to pay.” He glowered under a furrowed brow, turned around and limped back into his office on his crippled knees.
When the door shut behind him, Elsie, emboldened by the judge’s admonition, turned to gaze on the assembly with a superior air. Troublemakers, she thought. You can’t pull your bullshit on Judge Rountree.
The judge reappeared in exactly five minutes, garbed in his black robe and exhibiting his usual calm demeanor.
Taking up defendant’s motions, he said, “Counsel for defendant has filed a Motion to Reduce Bond and a Motion to Shorten Time. What is the position of the state on these motions?”
Elsie stood and said, “The state opposes both motions, your honor.”
“You object to the Motion to Shorten Time?”
“Yes, your honor, I do. I’d like to speak to it if I may.”
“You may not. Your objection is overruled. The Motion to Shorten Time is granted.”
As if on cue, Taney’s supporters burst into another round of applause and cheers. The judge’s eyes popped like a pair of novelty store glasses.
“This is not a sporting event,” he bellowed. “You do not cheer because you think your side scored. If I hear another whisper out of any of you, I’ll clear the courtroom.”
The dark-haired leader of the group leaned forward and quietly mouthed something in the ear of the man sitting in front of him.
“That’s it. Out.” The judge slammed his gavel. When no one moved, Judge Rountree turned to his bailiff. “Merle, everybody out. We won’t proceed until the courtroom is empty.”
Delighted, Elsie turned and stretched in her chair, folding her hands behind her head, as she watched the support group depart. “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” she said, but she spoke so softly that it was only the barest whisper. As the last spectator exited, she caught a glimpse of Taney out of her peripheral vision. He twisted in his seat, appeared agitated at the group’s departure. He exchanged a look with the dark-haired leader of the Earthly Fathers and then turned his angry countenance to the judge.