The Payback Man

When they were settled in Texas Pete’s and busily scooping up salsa on tortilla chips, she said, “I think I need to know the criminal records of my team.”

“Not a good idea.”

“I already know about Slow Rise. I can’t believe it, but I know it. And what could a sweety like Big possibly do to wind up in prison? Somebody must have led him astray.”

“I warned you.”

“And this morning one of them said he’s innocent.”

Raoul laughed so loud he choked on a tortilla chip and had to wave her away while he gulped down half a glass of iced tea. When he finally got his breathing back to normal, his eyes were tearing and his nose was red. “Didn’t think it would happen so quick, that’s all. I warned you in that first interview that most of the people in prison say they’re innocent.”

“But—”

“Certainly there are miscarriages of justice. DNA testing has freed a lot of convicted rapists and murderers who turned out to have been innocent. But the odds are still very high in favor of the justice system. Confessions, plea bargains and smoking-gun evidence are the order of the day. Take it from me, if he’s in for it, he did it.”

“That’s the thing—I think I need to know what ‘it’ is.”

“Okay. Your choice. I can copy your team’s records. I still think it’s a mistake, but I’ll do it for you. I can drop them by your place on my way home tonight.”

“Thanks. Actually, Raoul, I may decide not to look at them after I have them. I just want the chance to make that choice.”

“Good. Ever hear of Pandora’s box? Or Bluebeard’s chamber? Open the box or the door, and you can’t ever shut it again.”

“What if I find that there has been a miscarriage of justice?”

He leaned back as the waiter set a steaming platter in front of him. “Ah, I hate to think of what these fajitas will do for my arteries, but I can’t resist.”

She looked down at the taco salad in front of her and wished she had ordered the fajitas, as well.

Raoul began wrapping fajitas in tortillas. “Don’t even go down that road. These guys have lawyers and families to handle their appeals or fight for new trials. You do not have a vested interest. You have no standing with the courts. Remember the rules. Keep your distance. Do not get involved. If you do, you’ll get hurt.”

“St—one of the team members intimated that if I rock the boat about Newman, I could get hurt—physically hurt.”

Raoul stopped with his fork in midair and set the unfinished tortilla down in front of him. “He could be right.”

Eleanor banged her fist on the table. “I hate this.”

“Do your job, follow the rules, stay out of the way of prison politics, and you’ll do fine.”

“And if not, I wind up in cement shoes?”

The only thing that kept Raoul from choking a second time was the fact that he had his tortilla only halfway to his mouth. “I doubt it. And he won’t rake your car with submachine gun fire, either.” His tone turned more serious. “But you could be mugged coming out of a department store, or carjacked at a fast-food drive-through. Totally random, no connection with Mike. Do you carry a gun?”

“Of course not!”

“Do you have a permit?”

“I had to go through the course and get a permit before they’d hire me at the farm, but I certainly don’t carry one. For one thing, it’s illegal inside the gates.”

“It’s not illegal in your house, and there are lockers outside the gates for you to store stuff in while you’re inside.”

“That’s such a bother.”

“Think about it, that’s all I’m saying. And I would definitely keep one beside your bed at night.”

“I’m beginning to wish I’d never taken this job.”

“Actually, you’re safer inside than outside.”

“That’s what Ernest Portree says. I’m starting to disagree.”

By common consent, they spent the remainder of their lunch talking about Raoul’s two children, on whom he obviously doted, and his wife, a speech pathologist, whom he adored. They were silent on the way back to the farm.

As he parked in front of the barn to let her out, he said, “There’s an old New Jersey saying—don’t mix in. So don’t.”

She nodded. “I’ll try.”

She had beaten the men back to the barn by ten minutes or so. The place was completely deserted. She walked into the now completely open barn, half-painted in white enamel.

She found her laptop still sitting plugged in on her desk. The screen saver flashed scenes of green fields and mountains.

She heard conversation outside, and a moment later Selma stuck her head in the door, saw the computer and said, “Damn. Didn’t think. You need to requisition a safe to lock that computer up when you’re not here.”

“The credenza locks.”

“I could open it with a paper clip. Besides, you’ll need to store paper and things, won’t you?”

“Why would they steal the computer? They couldn’t use it.”

Selma came in and leaned against the doorjamb, easing her back against the angle of the door like a bear. “God, that feels good. Listen, they snatch the computer, they stash it somewhere outside, call a buddy, and shazaam, that night it’s picked up and sold before morning. The men aren’t moving around much on their own yet, but they will be when they start working the cows, won’t they?”

“Yes.”

“So requisition a safe.”

Eleanor nodded. “Right. Okay. And the warden finally agreed to issue an extra set of clothing to each man to keep here for emergencies. I thought we could put each set into a grocery sack with each man’s name on it. Think that would do?”

“You’ll have to lock the clothes up, too,” Selma said. “Won’t be room in the safe or the credenza.”

Eleanor thought for a minute. “Okay. I’ve got an old footlocker at my place I used to pack books. It’s a little musty, but it’s got a good padlock. How about I bring that down tomorrow?”

“Sure.” Selma grinned. “The least I can do is contribute the grocery sacks. My family hoards them.”

Eleanor looked at her watch. “I’m leaving for my regular shift at the clinic in about fifteen minutes,” she said. “Will you take the laptop home with you for tonight?”

“Sure.”

“You will be back tomorrow, won’t you?”