PART THREE l - Therapy

  "Before we start. How much trouble am I getting in with Vaquera, for saying stuff like I just said back there. I mean, obviously you come first, you're banana is bigger, but… I don't know exactly how good dads operate, other than I had one. I'm sure my mom came first, and I was second banana, but… my dad said he loved us all equally."

  "Well. Since you brought it up. What's your thoughts on that."

  "Well. We have our… arrangement. But, that in there? That's real life. That's a fragile little girl to me. That's your best friend. And she's killing herself, trying to get you your ring, and pay you back for saving her life. If you wanna know, that you’re the wife, and she’s the toy? Fine. But… I never say it to her."

  "And. If Vaquera does come in one day, and you get punished for it?"

  "Then I accept it. As long as it doesn't… you know what I don't wanna do to her."

  "Well. You sound sincere. You didn't want to py this game. I demanded you py it. And… the game is not as much of a game as it started. You… would probably risk. Um, a greater punishment from Vaquera? If you were to be mean to her, and tell her she's the toy. Vaquera might even… demand you treat her as nice as you treat me. Its become some kind of… therapy to show her what a decent retionship is. So, I'm on board with you on that."

  "Okay. That, totally normal boyfriend girlfriend talk out of the way…"

  I ughed, and he chuckled nervously at first. Until he saw my ugh was genuine, then he joined in.

  "Yeah. Now. Cop therapist talk. Do I have to draw you a picture what just went on in there, and I'm pretty sure she don't get it, and I get it clear as a bell ringing in town square?"

  I sighed now.

  "You're… ruining me. This, whole cop world shit? The stuff we saw, before we found Moody. The way your cop friend in the city talked, the way you talk about things that are out there. Christ. Yeah… I think I have an idea what's about to come out of your mouth, and I wish I didn't know."

  His turn to sigh now. This was the sighing game, it seemed.

  "Look. With the MP's. We… we have personal lives, and it was even fun. This one time, we had a birthday party. One guy, name was Shooter. He was called that, because he could fight like the devil himself, and he couldn't shoot for shit. And… hey, his birthday. So, Shooter? Is doing shooters of his favorite shot."

  "Sounds nice."

  "Oh. It was. Now, he gets drunk, hell we got him that way. We got him blindfolded at our bar, and we got him pying pin the tail on the donkey. People are yelling out colder, warmer… some are telling the truth, some are lying… he don't know where the board is. He's all… shooter-ed up. He… well, he pins the tail on the donkey? On this cute waitress. I mean, the cloth donkey tail? Is fucking nailed to her ass. And she's running around, trying to grab the nailed on donkey tail off her. We're all losing our shit ughing. He's blindfolded, all drunk. Trying to get away from this cute waitress flipping the fuck out. He goes down in some chairs, she's trying to stab him with the donkey nail… we're all trying to break this up, but you can't buy entertainment this good."

  "Yeah. Been to parties like that. The fun stories, you had to be there."

  "And… she's screaming, we got her now, but she's fighting like a woman possessed, she's determined to stab him with this nail. She's got her own game of pin the tail on the donkey, and it ain't going on the jackass's ass, its going in his head. And this is funny shit. She says something like… just cause I'm Catholic, don't mean I want goddamn spikes pounded into me, you drunk assholes. So we're all taking turns giving her 20 dolr tips, for putting a band aid on her ass, and not calling the MP's on… well, on the MP's raising hell."

  "You guys get in trouble?"

  "No. Hell, she got a couple hundred bucks, said she didn't even have to get naked, and she made as much money as a stripper. She's off shift. We get her drunk on our tab, said it was her pain medication, sorry that's all her HMO would cover. She's now drunk. She starts giving Shooter a p dance. She's lifting up her skirt, letting everyone see her band aid on her ass, we're fucking dying ughing."

  "So… the MP's have fun, off duty. I always figured as much."

  "That's just the point. No one called the cops, cause shit was fine. The MP's only get called? When the scary music starts pying. When the flying monkeys start buzzing around. Car accident. Pedestrian mowed over. Little girl disappears, parents are frantic. Girl's face beat so bad, her own mother don't recognize her own daughter in the emergency room. You're actually in fear for your safety, and your wife and kid have to move out. So you can wait up all night with a loaded gun, cause it happens on the weekends more. So, you have a couple drinks to steady your nerves… and you sit in the dark with a loaded pistol, waiting. Then you hear it… someone out there, again. That's when you call the MP's. When the flying monkeys are flying to the scary music. Never once do they call us, when the pin the tail on the donkey shit's going down."

  "So… that's why that cop in the city, is… hey, its the city. We got some girls missing. Murder? About steady. Rape's down this quarter. OD deaths? We're trying to get a hold of that one. Not a bad year, all things taken into consideration."

  "Yeah. And… this situation in there? I just… the st thing I wanna do? I wanted to leave that world behind me, I wanted to py with my computers. If I don't get my dick wet, fine, but I get my degree. Living in a dirt hole plunging toilets with a coat hanger, that the kids get drunk and do it on purpose, to ugh? Is in some ways… better than seeing all that. And the st thing I wanna do, is ruin your… little Hurryville view of the world. So, if you're starting to guess what comes out my mouth next? I didn't pn for that to happen. I liked you living in bck and white. Never wanted to see you in color."

  "First off. I think its therapeutically significant. That her favorite movie is… what it is. Did you notice? Good things are old movies. Everything is in bck and white. People dance the tango. They kiss, and just fall onto the bed and the screen goes bck. You know, but you guess. Everything's swell. But her world? Its in color. There's scary music, and flying monkeys crop dust the house sometimes. Its in full color, and she knows her mom and every guy in town? Is wrestling under the bnkets and naked in the shower, and what the TV and the music is for."

  "And… did you catch what I think mom is?"

  I sighed.

  "No, no. Mom? Is a fucking honest to god hooker. I got that. I'm not sure we even have to tell her. And if we do? We wait a little while. We got a lot of therapy accomplished, we're ahead of schedule. Let's burn a week, you know."

  "You… drew the picture. Mind if I color it in a little more?"

  "Go ahead. Prove it, like you do."

  "Well. Every so many small towns across America? There's a Swellsville. We call it… a boys-town. You know, its the pce to go, where boys can have that special kind of boys fun. Can I continue?"

  "Sure."

  "Every boys-town? Always has a Mister Big. That's the rich guy, he owns this town, and everyone knows it or can sense it. The police chief? His retive or close friend. He owns the big business, he's the big kahuna. Some Mister Big's are actually real mafia? Most are just… some asshole could of had the shit kicked out of him one more time, and then he might have turned out okay. But… he owns the town. Now. Most Mister Big's? Just wanna make more money. They… use that influence to… you know, in a sort of legitimate way. But some Mister Big's? I mean why not."

  "He's the Big Boss. Cops are on the payroll."

  "Yeah. Lots of small towns have fairly open prostitution. You'd be surprised how common it is. Usually the cover is a hair salon, nail salon. Strip bar, cocktail bar. Usually a motel or apartments. As long as its a victimless crime? No one usually goes nuts over it. Cops are usually on the payroll. If outsider cops get called? Local cops cover, warn you of any raids coming."

  "That's nice. Do you think, what we have in there… is victimless?"

  "No. Now, when my assumptions and guesses are correct? Every st little thing falls into pce. For instance. I always wondered. Where mom learned exactly how you’re supposed to correctly kick a prostitute, so you don't fuck the merchandise up. Weird skill, very specific knowledge to have. Which always bugged me. I assumed Mister Big, taught her to do it. Still. Hard to imagine any mom, going from… bck and white to color… then a year or two ter, kicking her daughter to force her to turn gang bang tricks. I mean, that's a goddamn stretch."

  "It is."

  "Aha. What if mom always was a hooker, from day one. Now? This all starts to make a whole lot more goddamn sense. Mom knows exactly how to kick an underage hooker around. Because its happened to her, she knows how its done. I mean, it fits. Expins everything. A hooker got pregnant. Dad, the nice guy? Tried to do the right thing. He tried, to turn a hooker into a housewife? And it ain't never worked once I ever heard of. Expins why he's gone."

  "It does."

  "Expins how a girl on welfare, can afford a decent rental house. Working part time at a nail salon, part time at some seedy bar? No room mates? With a kid? Get real. Buying dance lessons. Able to afford clothes. No… it expins that bit of… weirdness."

  "You're on a roll."

  "Did you notice, the mom freaks. If you so much as look at her kid, let alone speak to her?"

  "Those are the johns, not regur boyfriends. Yeah, that's my daughter, you never look at her again."

  "The regur boyfriends? Some guy she snow jobs into boohoo, help poor me. He tries, but… he's just the baby sitter, and he sees her out all night, every night."

  "Oh, go on with the family portrait. Its endearing."

  "Even the johns feel sorry for the kid. Hey kid. Here's 20 bucks. Go roller skating like a regur kid, buy some stuff. The real boyfriends? Would really feel sorry for the kid, and be extra nice."

  "School is real important. Grades? Fuck that shit. You go every day, unless you're too sick to walk. Then you can stay in bed. Cops or CYS? Or stray johns coming around? No. You don't answer the door for anybody. She's been watching herself, as far back as she can remember. As a little kid? She thinks she was living the good life. No rules, all the cartoons and comic books and crayons a kid could want. Friends come over, have all the ice cream in the world. Watch whatever they want on cable. Oh… peanut butter and jelly, dunked in strawberry milk? Little kid paradise."

  "Yeah. She'd have voted her mom of the year. Young."

  "And? Mom was pretty. Don't you think a short, skinny blonde Little Lightning would be a pretty girl. I bet she was. I bet she made more money than the trashy ones. Remember? Mom used to dress all country club. Mom? Was hot enough to be the call girl. Top dolr. Until she gets her first few wrinkles… when the kid’s around, oh… 12 or 14. I'm gonna say… around 30. Ish."

  "Yeah…"

  "Now. Pop quiz. What happens to a long time dependable top shelf call girl. That doesn't do hard drugs. Doesn't rip off johns. Doesn't attract attention, works a part time job to make it look good. Doesn't steal money, doesn't hook on the side… what does she turn into, when she hits a certain age."

  "Oh god. That's… the dy, pimp helper…"

  "That's called the madam. Something happened to the Mister Big's st madam… wife, girlfriend. She took off, she had an unfortunate accident? Got hooked on drugs, who knows. Something… suddenly? She repced the madam. Suddenly? She's… dating… the richest guy in town. The madam? Is still gorgeous enough for clients. Just young and fun enough, to recruit young, fresh talent. Show the new girls the ropes, show them how it goes."

  "Do you think…"

  "She was pnning from day one to pimp her daughter out? No. I think she was pnning on turning her into a stripper. Very popur for a hooker's daughter to have a good career. She tried to double her welfare, but the stupid girl wouldn't get pregnant. Now, we move onto Mister big? And his son, Little Asshole."

  "Oh, great."

  "You can have Vaquera work me over for knowing this, but… do you know what the most desirable, hard to find commodity is… in the world of prostitution?"

  "I'm afraid to ask."

  "Innocence. Not that pretend, dress up in a Catholic schoolgirl outfit kind. No. Real innocence. The big eyes. The fact they don't always know why you're doing it. No. An actually innocent and innocent looking 14 year old? Very valuable. Before the scars, before the needle tracks. Before the foul mouth and the swinging at you attitude. Before the… everything sets in. That? They pay extra for. Now. Gotta be bad enough an innocent girl? That they'll spread em. Has to be cool enough that they won't run away. And a tall one? That moved like a professional dancer? And was still innocent enough but would give up all three holes, and knew it was okay if a guy spped her to get her turning over, well, boys do that sometimes. Perfect."

  "Its disgusting, that you know that."

  "Hey. Rape csses. You think this is my first rodeo? You think this is the first time I heard all this? No. Every rge base, has prostitution around it. Like ants show up at a picnic. Young boys, steady paycheck. There it is."

  "Christ."

  "Hey. If he has the cash? He can get some too. Back to Mister Big and Little Asshole. Mom was already picking boyfriends for her. She becomes madam. Hey, there's this prime commodity here. Pro dancer. Tall, passes for 16 or more. Only 14. Still innocent. Takes a sp and puts out. The older girls in town? Knew not to be his girlfriend. She's young. She wouldn't know. She likes to dance for free, at the college boys keg parties. Little asshole? Was a pimp in training."

  "Daddy's little darling."

  "Oh. He's a charmer. I'd just love to spend some quality time alone with him. Oh. The attitude? You can't touch me, you know who I am? Yeah. I do. Now. This Little Asshole, charm school graduate… is running a speakeasy. You own the cops. You might as well have a pce, where you can put moonshine into empty liquor bottles, from your regur bar you throw out… and charge extra, because you can get in underage, and after hours, and hey… why not sell pot, coke, and whatever other party favors are in demand. Why not?"

  "Then… why not have a 14 year old professional dancer, who's tall and looks older. Really doesn't know what's going on… being the stripper. Serving drinks."

  "Oh. Guarantee it. And? She was very, very popur at these special after parties that were held. You see, the right date rape drug? Girl's not so fucked up looking, you'd think she was out of it. She'll do anything she's told, with no question. Looks awake. You'd think she had a few too many drinks. Line up boys… quality here."

  "Then? She read that cranberry juice… does a magic cleansing. Oh, that sounded good to a 14 year old girl who knows things are getting weird, quick."

  "It actually worked. She remembered everything. Put a stop to it all. Now, this expins why mom kicked her around. How mom would kick her, why mom knew to do it that way. And when she wouldn't py ball, no matter how much mom kicked her? No further use for her. She was broken by then. And everyone in town? Knew she was a whore, the daughter of the madam. When she went to the police station? They knew to call the madam mother. Hey, come get your little whore."

  "Mister Big arranged a nice, fat payoff for his madam who tried. No one knows what went wrong the st time, they just know it did. Lawyer, police, mommy."

  "The rest? Is history."

  "What do you need from me? Just tell me."

  "I need details. Names. Mister Big. Little Asshole. Dear mom. Any of the other mom's friends names. I need maps drawn. Hand drawn. What kinds of businesses. What those businesses are. Names of every face that she even thinks she remembers. From that night. Py a game. We're making a list, and we have a little ceremony. Where we burn it, and release the bad things. Make the shit up and make it sound good. Do it slowly. Over time. You're preparing a… case for me. I want every detail you can weasel out of her, just take your time. See, the more detail you can slowly get her used to repeating? The more times I can cross check how accurate it all is. How accurate those maps are. I compare them to the satellite maps on the internet. I can locate things. Work slow, work diligent. Does this square with… therapy."

  "It does. Is… there any kind of a clock ticking on this?"

  "Yes and no."

  "Expin."

  "We have three years. Till she graduates. Are you abandoning her, the year you graduate?"

  "No."

  "Good. I don't want to scare you, but… there's something that bugs me."

  "What."

  "You do realize, that loose ends, like her? A lot of them end up in ditches. I mean, somewhere in the back of your head, you realize this."

  "I figured, if that was gonna happen? It would have happened a long time ago."

  "Right. Now… some Mister Big's? Graduate to… eliminating things quietly. Others? are content to… manage things with money and influence. The police enforce things sort of legitimately. And, if you're a serious problem? Well. The cops just pull you over, and turn in the ounce of cocaine they drop in your truck. You're out of their hair, and in the state pen. No way the cops aren't on the payroll. There was a cop in the gang bang, the night she remembered."

  "She… got managed by mom of the year. The cover story flew. She traumatized and went into a shell. She pyed soccer and ran away. After saying goodbye to mom of the year on her way to the bus station. Out of sight? Out of mind."

  "Yeah. One day, though. Mister big is going to actually have someone… eliminated the old fashioned way. Little Asshole? Is going to have to do away with a hooker that causes problems. And when that day comes? Mister big is going to sit, and think. You know what? If mom of the year, and the daughter that ran away… were to come to a convenient end, well, it would just make things so much easier."

  "Why do you have to scare me like that?"

  "Its a rule. Sun Tzu, the Art of War. My mentor's? Required reading list. Always credit your enemy with equal intelligence. If I was him, and I had no morality whatsoever? Its what I would do. Or, what I would eventually figure out, that I should have done. Once I discover the old fashioned way of doing things."

  "Thanks. I'll sleep so much better knowing that."

  "Therapy question. Did our Little Lightning cover her tracks in any way? She's not a dumb girl. She kicked her mom into the emergency room, and almost killed her. She might have taken rudimentary precautions to cover her tracks a little. They might wonder where she got to. Hell, they might think she just… ran away. Mom wasn't any too concerned with what she did. Mom might not even know a schorship was on the horizon. Wasn't exactly mom's field of expertise."

  "So, we pray she did something clever."

  "Problem."

  "Yes?"

  "Possible problem. Again, credit your enemy with equal intelligence, and cunning. If you can see a good move, you assume he sees it too."

  "All right…"

  "What happens, if the biggest university in… the Midwest conference. Suddenly goes from perennial bridesmaids, to full scale bride one year."

  "Oh. You mean… publicity. Well, we're not the boys football team, thank god."

  "No. But when someone figures out, who led the team. And, that's the same little girl that was once national news for her dramatic national high school championship game… the little girl that won the game, and got knocked out and doesn't even remember… the girl that had her 15 minutes…"

  "Oh. There could be publicity. That story, could link up to the new story… here she is again. The Pride of the Midwest. Still kicking balls and taking names. And this time? She remembers her victory. She's… not without a certain… photogenic quality. That helps a girl's picture and story get out, hate to say it. Bootsie would get less attention. Her? More. Especially with the former story, and you get to run the old clip and get mileage out of it."

  "Now. I'm sitting here. I'm Mister Big, and Little Asshole. Having a beer, watching TV. And… we see this. I mean, what if she told her story, to some reporter. Its the kind of story? That would set the heartstrings on fire. The victim, that made star. You hear it every day. The movie star, opens up about the abuse on the casting couch, as a kid. We court this shit in today's world."

  "Zero risk. She'd never say that."

  "I know that. You know that. But… do you wanna guarantee, that Mister Big and Little Asshole would know that? And further guarantee, that they haven't moved on in five years. Gotten a little bigger of a Mister Big, and Little Asshole is now turning into a Big Asshole. I was taught, to always credit my enemy with equal intelligence, equal cunning."

  "So. If it looks like we have a chance to win a championship and take the final series, that's a possible danger time?"

  "Hmm. How would you go about contacting her. Getting her somewhere. Pretend you're Mister Big. I know what I would do."

  "The mom of the year? Wants to say she's sorry, make up? They want to send her a big check, they're sorry things went down like that."

  "Not after the way she said goodbye to mom, in her own special way. No. I'd send… something safe. Something innocent and sweet. Something, from the old days. Something from before the flying monkeys started."

  "Something like…"

  "Childhood friend. The good old days. Cartoons, and comic books. Pying in the fun house, eating ice cream. Someone like that. Because remember I told you. When you use just the right bait? They can't say no."

  "How do we…"

  "Therapy rule. You're not allowed, under any circumstances? To ever call, write back, email… nothing. Even people that were sweet from childhood. Why… that? Could trigger a repse. Make it up, make it sound pusible. Don't ever let her see you're afraid. Just concerned for her well being. This would set therapy back a whole year. We can't risk that, no matter how innocent it sounds."

  "Would you really not trust, the 8 year old she used to dance with, or py at her house?"

  "Would you trust that any of the mother's friends, weren't hookers with daughters too? And while you're at it, get me the name and location of that dance school. I wanna see who owns it."

  "You're slightly paranoid, aren't you?"

  "Do you trust a single goddamn thing, to be actually swell… in Swellsville? I don't. Every father? Potential rapist. Every cop? I assume is dirtier than the local criminals. I assume everyone, and everything? Is a potential… I don't even know, I don't put anything past this pce. So yeah, I'm goddamn paranoid."

  "More… Sun Tzu, Art of War?"

  "It is better to be prepared, for an enemy or his action, that does not appear. Than to suddenly be confronted with it, and to be unprepared. When there are 16 possibilities? I look into every single one of them. I don't cover 14, and say oh well, my odds are great."

  "Is this all… military, or… mentor stuff?"

  "Both. I do this thoroughness thing, with computer programming. If you leave cases unaccounted for? They can throw the computer for a loop, and crash the system. In mathematics and formal logic? We call this… creating a tautology. Every possible case covered. Same thing in logic and switching, same thing in electronics engineering. I mean, does your coach leave areas of the field uncovered? Leave enemy pyers run around free?"

  "No."

  "Then why should I. An enemy prepared for, is an enemy already defeated. An enemy unprepared for? Is victorious. Its repeated over and over, in the Art of War. I need to get some kind of eyes on these motherfuckers."

  "I hate to set you off, but… if I let something go, and ter on you look at me and say what were you thinking…"

  "What."

  "Her name. She's Little Lightning. She was Little Lightning, in high school. She was Little Lightning, the little girl that could. When she led her team to win the game, and crashed and didn't remember her big moment. No one knows her real name, but, there's girls all over in the soccer world? That can't wait to py with Little Lightning. She's a recruiting dream. The girl from the famous clip? Wow. If you're invited to come py here? Well, you get to py with her."

  "That's a security nightmare to me."

  "You wanted every possible scenario."

  "No. Good job."

  "And how do you beat a superior enemy?"

  "You lure or force an enemy, to fight on unfamiliar ground. You yourself, always seek to fight on well known terrain."

  "So, you don't fight them on their home turf."

  "Not when you can avoid it. It also works metaphorically, too. Example. You drag a bully, into court. He can't intimidate the court, he just buries himself. You take a businessman who knows everyone and blows everyone at the country club? And you grab him up in a parking lot."

  "Fighting them on their home turf, would not be a good idea here, would it."

  "Not really. You have the element of surprise, they would never expect it. But… you can't trust anyone in that town. Anyone could owe him a favor, want to be the guy that helped the important guy out. Or simply be on the payroll. And remember. Not everyone in town? Thinks of him as the bad guy. In a little town? Mister Big always does his PR work. You know, he kicks a few bucks for the… tee ball uniforms, or donates the concession stand they want. A monument. To a lot of people? He's a swell guy."

  "Swell guy. In Swellsville."

  "My punny-ness, is rubbing off on you."

  "Are we done?"

  "Sure. I wanna taste my chili."

  "How long, to give you… some details."

  "When therapy gets to names, maps, dates. Give me a weekly update."

  "Okay. Let's go get your chili."