Chapter 2: Holidays

Joe

'Oh shit!' I thought. Loud, I said, "What did she do?"

"It's kinda complicated. Can you help us sort this out? We're at the Breakfast Club where she works."

"Okay, I'll be there. Twenty minutes?"

"No problem. They have donuts," Fran chuckled.

I ended the call and looked at my visitors. I did not want to scare them. "I'm sorry. Something came up and I must leave the office. Where can I reach you?"

They gave me the name of a cheap motel in Chevy Chase and I escorted them out. I made it in twenty-two minutes and my heart sank when I saw the owner of the diner, Sammy, sitting in a chair with a swollen nose and a huge shiner. Fran was there too, sitting between Sammy and a Dolores Jorgensen whose face showed resignation to a cruel fate.

"Hi, Joe! Come sit, so we can sort this out."

I sat and Fran pulled a pad from her pocket. "Okay, this is what we think happened. Around 10:30, Miss Jorgensen was filling a coffee jug when Mr. Daniels bumped into her, splattering her with coffee. She claims it was the second time in two days. He then procured a new uniform for her and she went into the employee's locker room to change. According to Miss Jorgensen, she had undressed to her underwear when she discovered a hole in the wall behind her, and she saw an eye behind the hole. She admits to hitting the wall with full force.

"A piece of the dry wall was dislocated and hit Mr. Daniels in the face. He then called us to report Miss Jorgensen for assault."

"He did, didn't he?" This was a joke, right? "Daniels, what the fuck were you doing with your face behind a hole in the wall?"

"I hafta watch 'em. They'd steal me blind if I didn't," Sammy protested in a whine. "That bitch is crazy!"

"You were peeping, Daniels," I answered trying to remain serious. "It's called invasion of privacy and it's a misdemeanor. There's an even chance that the case will land in front of a female judge. Do you still want to press charges?"

"Damn right I will! She's one crazy bitch! She'd already slap' me yesterday."

"Why?"

"How would I know? I only shoved her a bit so she'd move faster."

I turned to Dolores Jorgensen. "How did he shove you?"

"With his hands on my behind. Where else? He didn't shove me either. He smacked my butt."

"I see," I temporized. Then, an idea hit me. "Say, Fran, you see any camera in his office?"

Her eyebrows shot up at the implication. It's one thing to peep through a hole, it's another thing to take a photograph of a person who is not aware of this. If that person has an expectation of privacy, like in a locker room, that is a sex offense.

Fran got up and walked over to the office while Sammy became silent and pale. There was nothing he could do. He had made the complaint against Dolores Jorgensen and his office was the "crime scene", subject to investigation by the troopers. Fran returned a minute later with a digital compact camera in an evidence bag and a triumphant grin on her face.

"Mr. Daniels, you have the right to remain silent. If you give up this right, anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, the state will provide you with a public defender. Please stand up."

The cuffs clicked and I saw Dolores Jorgensen flinch at the sound. I sighed once more. She would have to find another job to meet her parole conditions. Two other, rather pissed-off employees began to usher the patrons out in preparation to close the place. I tipped Dolores Jorgensen's arm with my finger.

"Hey! Guess you better change. I'll get you your pay later when that guy is out on bail. Don't worry about me peeking. I'm kinda fond of my face."

Fran was just leading Sammy out, but she turned. "You're just about the only one who is!"

I flipped her off. Dolores just sat there staring at me and shaking her head, looking dazed.

"I thought I'd done it," she said. "I was sure you'd deliver me back to the pen. Why'd you do that? Why'd you back me up?"

"Because you have rights, Ms. Jorgensen, and those rights were violated by Mr. Daniels. While the state wants you to show that you are ready to rejoin society, the state is also committed to protect your rights. I told you. I'm not your enemy."

"I begin to see that. Thank you."

"That's quite all right. Go change now. We have to fill out some paperwork in my office to close this."

She went, and while I sat there waiting, a sudden idea struck me. It was crazy. It was irregular. The more I thought about it, though, the better it looked. I pulled my cell phone and pressed speed dial three.

"Yesteryear's Fancy, Ruth Dresdner speaking."

"Hey, big sister! You got a minute?"

"Oh, it's you. What's up?"

"You still looking for help?"

"Yes, sure. Why? Don't tell me you want me to hire one of your ex-cons."

"Well, I do and it's parolees. It's a she, and she knows cabinetmaking."

"What'd she do?"

"Killed a man who had her raped. She's an ex-porn actress and she was sodomized against her will on the set. She rammed a billiard cue up the guy's behind and it killed him."

"They convicted her for taking the trash out?" Ruth shot back.

"Traditionally, rapists receive that sort of treatment only after their trial and when they take their first shower in the pen. Seriously, they cut her some slack and she only did two years. Everybody says she will go clean. Will you at least see her?"

"It can't hurt I guess," she answered making a show of reluctance. I knew though that she would give it a try. My sister is big on women's rights, and a woman who struck back at a rapist had to have her unwavering sympathy.

"We'll be there in an hour," I said ending the call because Dolores Jorgensen emerged from the locker room.

"I think I have a job for you. Let's go!"

Giving me a dubious look she joined me. "Another waitress thing?" she asked as we settled into the seats.

"No. It's with a lady who owns a second hand store. Furniture, deco, china. She needs a store helper."

"Old stuff?" Dolores asked showing a definitive interest.

"Mostly from estate sales. No real antiques, just old stuff that people like to buy for small money."

"I'd like that. My old apartment was furnished with stuff I bought at yard sales."

I remembered something I had almost forgotten. "Damn! This completely slipped my mind with all the business with Daniels. Listen, we have to swing by Chevy Chase. Your parents are here, at a motel in Chevy Chase. They came by my office. They want to take you home over Christmas."

"I can't leave the state, can I?"

"Your father gave me his word that he'd keep you on a leash at all times," I answered with a weak attempt at humor. "I can give you ten days, but you have to check in at the Sheriff's office every other day."

"What about the job then?"

"Shouldn't be a problem. I know the lady. Just make up your mind. Also keep in mind that running won't be a good idea."

We made it to Chevy Chase in another twenty minutes. The crew cab truck with Montana plates parked in front of the motel unit was a dead giveaway.

"I'll give you fifteen minutes for now. Talk to your parents, then come back out."

To my shock, she pressed my arm before she opened the car door. Then she stood in front of the room, hesitated for a few seconds, stepped back, stepped up close again, and finally knocked. The door opened and somebody pulled her in with force before the door slammed shut.

I bided my time reading the Post. She emerged from the room with her parents exactly fifteen minutes later. Her eyes were puffy and red, and so were her mother's. When she opened the passenger side door, her father bent over to look into my face.

"Thank you, Mr. Dresdner. We really appreciate your help."

Dolores buckled up and her father closed the door from outside. I had backed out and was driving away before she talked.

"I'd like to go with them if that's all right."

"We'll get things organized tomorrow. Just don't make me rue this."

"I won't!" she almost shouted. "This is a chance for me. I'm not going to screw up."

Ten minutes later we stopped in front of Yesteryear's Fancy. We both went in and Dolores' eyes popped open when Ruth hugged me.

"Are you..." she started.

"He's my kid brother," Ruth smiled. "And you are?"

"Dolores, Mrs... ?"

"Ruth. Well, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself while Joe goes next door for a coffee?"

I took the cue and left the two women to themselves. There is a coffee place two houses down the street where I sat and ordered a cappucino. It was at my second cup before they joined me at my table.

"I believe we have come to an agreement," Ruth stated after she had seated herself. "She can start as soon as she returns from Montana."

"How much will she make?"

"None of your business," Ruth shot back, but then she smiled sheepishly. "Well, I guess with her it's your business. We start at $8 per hour, eight hours a day, Monday to Friday. Saturday and overtime will get her $9 an hour."

"Sounds good so far. You know the rules?"

"What rules?"

"Conditions for her parole. She is not to have contact with known felons. That means your friend Layla is a no-no. You know I like her, but she did time for distribution. No alcohol either, nor any drugs. Tell your friends to keep their grass to themselves. For them it's a minor thing, but Ms. Jorgensen will go to jail for another year minimum. She has to take random drug testing. It would be bad even if she only inhaled the stuff passively."

"Killjoy!" Ruth grumped. "Okay, I'll smoke my weed at home. Oh, I made a call to Beth. You remember Beth, don't you?"

Did I remember Beth? She had been Ruth's best friend in high school and she ruled supreme in my memory as the first girl I ever saw naked. After a sleepover with Ruth, she had sauntered by my room naked while coming from the bathroom. I didn't say anything, but Ruth grinned.

"I see that you do. Well, she lives in Brooklyn these days, but she's coming down here for Christmas. She'll swing by Dolores' friend and collect her possessions."

I nodded. One problem less. Then, I couldn't help myself.

"Will Beth drop by?"