by Fiona Wilde
"What's going on?" I felt a sense of dread as I laid my purse and jacket on a nearby chair. I moved towards my desk but was intercepted by a police officer. I recognized him immediately as Frank Mabon, the same officer who'd responded to my apartment the day Kevin had spanked me over the back of the couch.
Even though his voice was gentle, his words struck me like a hammer. "Lauren Parker. You're under arrest for fraud and embezzlement." I literally could not move from the shock of it, not even when he turned me around and placed the handcuffs on my wrists. "You have the right to remain silent....."
"There's a mistake," I said, my voice flat and numb. "I don't know what you're talking about?" I looked at Derrick Smith, standing there with what now looked suspiciously like a suppressed grin on his face. "Mr. Smith, what is this about?"
He was no longer able to contain himself. He smiled, showing his ugly yellow teeth. "Princess, I think you know what this is about," he said.
I was too numb with shock to cry, even when the charges were explained to me, even after I was forced to call my mother and ask her to post bail, even after I got home and found Kevin pacing the floor because he'd been unable to reach me at work. He'd been looking into getting either a kayak or canoe "for us" and had been magnanimously going to ask which I preferred before spending my money on it.
My response was to sit on the couch and tearfully tell him that I'd been set up, that Mr. Smith had somehow made it look like I'd stolen thousands of dollars.
"I've got an expensive legal fight ahead of me to clear my name. That bonus money that went into my account? I think that was part of the setup. The police are going to freeze my assets, if they haven't already."
"This is bullshit," said Kevin, rising and beginning to pace the floor.
"I know," I replied. "I never --"
"Every time I get settled in somewhere something happens that I have to get uprooted." He wasn't even looking at me as he paced, rubbing his hand across his shaved head. "Maybe Larry will let me crash with him for a while."
I looked at him, hurt and incredulous. "You're leaving?" In all the turmoil I'd forgotten that I'd planned to kick him out and now was going to be denied the satisfaction of dumping him, because he was dumping me.
"Look, Lauren. It's been good in a lot of ways, but this just isn't going to work. It's way too heavy for me. I told you when we got involved that I wanted a submissive, a submissive and a simple life. I don't want someone with legal troubles.
I decided to salvage what dignity I had left. "I stood up. Then get out now, Kevin. You don't want a submissive, you want a free ride. You've eaten my food, spent the money you claimed you gave me for groceries and have proceeded to spend mine. I'm not going to wait for you to find another place to live. You're getting out now. And you're taking only what you brought here. The drafting table, art supplies, CD's, stereo...it all stays."
He took a step towards me and rolled up his sleeves. "If you think you are going to keep me from taking what I earned after picking up behind you, obviously you need that pretty ass tanned one more time before I leave."
But I wasn't about to give him the upper hand again. I picked up the phone. "Come a step closer and I'll call 911. It's on speed dial." I said. "Now get your things, and if you even think of throwing a fit and trashing my place I'll still call."
"Who the fuck would believe an embezzler?" he asked.
"I haven't been convicted yet," I said.
Kevin threw up his hands. "Fine, bitch," he said, and went into the spare room, where he noisily threw his art supplies and clothes into a few boxes before stomping through the apartment and to the door.
"I hope they throw your ass in jail," was his parting shot.
Of course, as you know I didn't get thrown in jail. I did get convicted, as my judgment in lawyers turned out to be about as good as my judgment in boyfriends.
Clayton Broadhurst, attorney-at-law, while having an impressive academic record, also had a bad case of ADD. He started every meeting with, "Now you've been charged with what?" and I'd proceed to refresh his memory.
He took copious notes and promised to subpoena all the people I asked him to - Penny at Morgenstern's, the bank representative to find out who had transferred the $5,000 "bonus" to my account and last but not least my ex-boyfriend Kevin. His appearance was particularly important, because the prosecution had subpoenaed my bank records and were planning to hinge part of their argument on how I'd been spending my "stolen" money. I needed Kevin - on the stand and under oath - to testify to what had really happened, from the day I came home upset after Derrick Smith's sexual advances, how he'd "negotiated" my return and a bonus behind my back, how I'd reluctantly agreed, and how the whole thing had finally fallen apart.
"Yes, yes, our case hinges on this Kevin guy," my attorney said. "Where did you say he lives?"
"I didn't," I replied. "He left. We need to find him, but here's all the information I have on him." I handed him a folder containing photos of Kevin, last known address, the address of the storage unit he had the key to (I figured the owner of the storage place would have seen him recently) and his license plate number.
"Ah yea, we'll definitely have to get him as a witness," Broadhurst repeated absently before shoving the information into my folder. I looked at him curiously, wondering why I was paying a $100 an hour to a lawyer when I seemed to be doing all the work. But he assured me over and over that the prosecution had a flimsy case and that we'd prevail. That and his law degrees filled me with plenty of confidence, along with his reputation for scheduling cases before sympathetic or lenient judges.
But when the big day rolled around, my expensive attorney was late to court, angering the judge who -while usually lenient - had a thing about punctuality and held tardiness against both defense attorneys and their clients. To top it off, Broadhurst sheepishly told me that he'd been unable to locate Kevin but assured me that we didn't need him to reach a good plea deal.
"I don't want a plea deal!" I cried. "I'm innocent."
He opened my folder. "I thought we'd talked about a plea..."
"No! We talked about your getting me cleared of these charges." I was close to tears. "Mr. Broadhurst, that's what I've been paying you for!"
And things went downhill from there. The DA's case was so well put-together that for a brief moment I wonder if I wasn't insane and had actually done all the things I'd been accused of. There were invoices, typed out, with my name at the bottom, for construction jobs billed over the standard amount as outlined in the book I generally quoted estimates from (Exhibit B). There was phone records showing the transfer of funds to my account had been made from the phone at my desk. And then there were my bank records, noting not just the influx of cash but a spending spree afterwards for a few things that took me by surprise: A brunch for two at a bistro - a brunch I'd not attended. A dozen eBay purchases sent to a new P.O. box rented in my name and about $400 worth of art books from the local chain bookstore.
Broadhurst looked broadsided as he began my defense. The judge was snappy and impatient, and my lawyer was obviously intimidated. And it became clear to me that he'd walked into the courtroom not only unprepared, but fully expecting me to cave and take a plea deal, sparing him the humiliation of a defeat which ultimately was what we both got.
So that's how I ended up where I am, a convicted criminal.
I'd received my community service assignment a few days after my first appointment with Landry. I was scrubbing the floors - again - when he called to tell me I'd need to report to the local homeless shelter the next morning.
In a way I was relieved. I'd volunteered at Open Hearts before and was hoping my forced volunteerism would be something I could feel good about. I slept a little better that night, hoping seeing other people worse off than I was would snap me out of my sorry state of self-pity.
The next morning I arrived an hour before I was scheduled to, and was surprised when I saw Landry in the parking lot. He walked over to me, and offered a
small smile.
"Ms. Parker, what are you doing here?" he asked.
"I just wanted to get an early start," I said. "I've volunteered here before and was actually looking forward to coming today. And now, until I find another job I don't have much else to do. What about you?"
"Trying to track down a guy who's not as conscientious as you. He was supposed to be here serving breakfast, but didn't show." Landry looked at me. "So how are you?"
"I've been better," I said. "This has all been such a huge disappointment and I've got to figure how to wriggle myself out of this space between a rock and a hard place. I've got to get a job but no one wants to hire me. I need an income to pay back restitution but I also need to pay my bills and fund an appeal. I'm so depressed even the cats are hiding from me."
"It's tough, being convicted," he said.
"Especially when you're innocent," I mumbled and then felt myself flush. "Oh, I'm sorry. You told me not to say that."
"No, I told you that I couldn't judge," he said.
"Because I've already been judged," I replied. "I hate that, though, seeing someone respectable who can't take my word that I'm respectable as well. I think one of the worst moments in this, oddly enough, was when that nice police officer - Frank Mabon - arrested me. He'd been to my house once before, when I was having problems with my boyfriend. He'd been so understanding and told me to call if I ever needed his help. And the next thing you know he's putting me in handcuffs. Is this a strange world or what?"
Landry was looking at me again, very intensely now. It made me squirm a little. "We have an appointment tomorrow, don't we?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "At 11 o'clock."
"Could you be there at 10?" he asked.
His request took me by surprised. I wondered if it were some sort of test, but decided not to ask. As long as I was on probation I fully intended to do what Landry asked.
"Sure," I said.
"Good," he replied. "Don't be late."
Chapter Five
I didn't have to wait the next morning, depriving the evil receptionist of her chance to torture me. Her face was pinched and angry when Landry came to personally call me back to his office at 10 o'clock sharp. I couldn't resist giving her a wink as I walked by.
Landry shut the door behind us and pulled the chair out for me to sit down. Then he walked to his side of the desk, smoothed his tie and sat down in his chair. I noticed my folder wasn't on his desk as he leaned forward.
"Ms. Parker, I'll be perfectly straight with you and am going out on a limb by saying what I'm about to say. But I've checked up on your story and am beginning to believe you're telling the truth."
I looked at him, dumbstruck. "But I thought you were just this objective probation officer who wasn't supposed to make judgments," I said softly.
Landry sighed. "I'm not, Lauren, but some of the things you said yesterday just seem extraordinarily inconsistent with a dishonest person. I want to help you."
"But why?" I asked.
"Because I value truth and integrity. It's my training. You know what they say. You can take the Marine out of the Corps...."
I smiled. "I appreciate the gesture. I really do. But what could you do? I mean, the case has already been decided. I lost."
"Don't be so sure," Landry said. "You mentioned a cop yesterday, a Frank Mabon."
"Yeah, the one who came out to my house and was so helpful and then ended up arresting me."
"Frank's my cousin."
I wondered if I looked as surprised as I felt. Or as embarrassed. The first time I'd seen Officer Mabon I'd just been spanked, and he knew it. I blushed, wondering how much the police officer had told Landry.
"What did he tell you?" I asked haltingly.
"Frank told me that you and your boyfriend had an...unconventional relationship."
I put my head in my hands. "Oh god. Now you think I'm a freak," I moaned.
"I don't think you're a freak," said Landry. "I think you're like a lot of girls, looking for male guidance and leadership, but sometimes finding it in the wrong places." He paused. "Lauren, how well did you know Kevin Martel? Did he ever tell you anything about his past?"
"No," I said. "He had a problem with my questioning him. It sort of became one of the house rules. Don't Question or Second Guess Kevin."
"Well, while I admire your commitment to obedience, I have to recommend that you temper it with common sense in the future and check a guy out before you agree to let him become Lord of the Manor." Landry picked up a folder and slid it across the desk to me. I opened it and there before me were multiple mug shots of Kevin in different physical incarnations. Kevin, with a full head of hair. Kevin with a crew cut, a goatee and wire-rimmed glasses. Kevin with a bush beard and bandana."
"Who is this man?" I asked.
"Well, he's not Kevin Martel. That was just one of his latest aliases. His real name is Mark Plumber, and he's a conman. If it makes you feel any better, he's a good one. The only thing he told you the truth about was his age and his profession. He is a graphic artist, just not a successful one."
I leafed through the criminal record stapled to the other side of the folder. Forgery. Petty Larceny. Fraud. Possession of Marijuana. Bad checks. Extortion.
"There's more," Landry said. "He's got three outstanding warrants right now for misdemeanor drug charges and identity theft."
I shut the folder. "I deserved to be convicted," I said. "I'm felony stupid."
Landry managed a laugh. "You were naive, Lauren, but you're no criminal. Frank did some probing and found out that before the bank froze your assets someone tried unsuccessfully to use your ATM card at three different machines in town."
He pulled out a packet of photos from his drawer. There, in black and white were multiple images of Kevin - Mark - whoever he was, trying to take money out of my account. By the timestamp on the photos he'd gone straight from my apartment to the banks in an attempt to clean me out as one last "punishment."
"I'm curious," I said. "What tipped your cousin off?"
"Well, of course when he arrested you at Smith Brothers he recognized you from the incident at your apartment. And he recalled that your boyfriend seemed extremely nervous when he and his partner visited. Last week, on a hunch, he started going through old mug shot photos and found some of the guy you knew as Kevin. So he started digging."
"There's more to the story," I said, and proceeded to tell Landry all that had happened, from Kevin's wheedling his way into my apartment to Smith's sexual harassment and how Kevin had worked out a bonus
"I have a hunch there's more to it than that," Landry said. "After hearing this, I think he may have extorted the money out of Smith by threatening bodily harm or some sort of huge harassment lawsuit, and that Smith, thinking you were in on it, concocted this whole embezzlement rap as retaliation. Kevin - Mark - didn't mind the money going to your account since he had access and was using it like a personal piggy bank. He probably wasn't expecting Smith to pull a dirty legal trick, but as you can see by the ATM photos it didn't stop him from thinking of himself."
"Why couldn't you have been my lawyer?" I asked.
Landry smiled. "Because I'm your probation officer. And if you don't mind my saying, the only thing your ex ever did that I agree with was spanking your bottom. If anyone needs guidance, it's you."
I blushed deeply. "Please don't make fun of me," I said. "Being a submissive woman in today's world is hard enough without being the object of someone's joke."
"Who says I'm joking?" Landry's face was grim, his eyes serious in his beautiful, angular face. "Frank and I come from a very traditional family where women get spanked whether they are submissive or not. But those women are also cherished, loved and protected - all the things you were seeking." His voice grew soft. "Not all dominant men are jerks, Lauren."
I looked down at my hands, which were resting in lap. My heart did a little flip and I felt it tugging me in the direction of the handsome man sitting across from me.
"I'd love to find someone like that," I said. "But I'm afraid. I tried to be submissive and look what happened?"
"Yes, but you were submissive and stupid," he replied. "You need to learn to be submissive and smart. Yielding is not the same thing as being a doormat, you know."
"Thank you," I said. "Thank you so much."
"You're welcome," he said.
We sat there for a few minutes in silence, with Landry studying me and my letting him study me. Finally, I spoke again. "Now what?" I asked.
"Now we track down that boyfriend of yours," he said.
"I get to help?" I asked excitedly, encouraged by the notion of a payback.
"Absolutely not," he said emphatically. "You'll be home, going through the want ads like a good little convict until Frank and I can find this guy and clear your name."
I started to cry. "I don't know what to say. I'm just overwhelmed."
"Well, just hold it together," he said. "Even after we catch him it may not be the end of the road. We'll have to take this one step at a time, and for you that first step is to wait and keep your nose clean."
Yes, yes, a smart woman would have listened. But by the time I left the office I was so grateful to Landry for just believing me that I wanted to somehow prove I was worthy of his confidence.
So what did I do? The exact opposite of what he asked. Granted, I didn't intend to at first. As directed, I got back in my car, and headed towards home. But on the way I got to thinking about the storage unit Kevin had rented, and whether the lawyer had even bothered to track him down through the owner of the facility.
That was my justification for driving out to the U-STORE-IT on Hwy 9, pulling in and driving between the rows of ugly orange and white mini-garages until I came to Number 37, which stood there with its door at half-mast.
For a moment I considered driving away, but decided not to. I knew I wasn't supposed to be there, that I was supposed to leave the sleuthing up to Landry and his cousin. But part of me wanted to see Kevin one more time, to tell him I was on to him.