Mexican accent This time Jessie asked for Mr. York right away.
"He's expecting me." The two clerks looked up as though they had never heard the words before.
He appeared two minutes later in dirty white shorts and a navy blue T-shirt, carrying a copy of Playboy and a tennis racket.
"You play?" Oh, Jesus.
"Sometimes. Did you talk to the bank?"
He smiled, looking pleased. "Come into my office. Coffee?"
"No, thanks." She was beginning to feel as though the nightmare would never end. She would simply spend the rest of her life ricocheting among the Inspector Houghtons and the Barry Yorks, the courtrooms and jails, the banks and ... it was endless. Just when it seemed about to end, there would be another false door. There was no way out She was almost sure of it now. And Ian was only a myth anyway. Someone she had made up and never known. The keeper of the Holy Grail.
"You know, you look tired. Do you eat right?"
"I eat splendidly. But my husband is in jail, Mr. York, and I would very much like to get him out. What are the chances of that, in the immediate future?"
"Excellent" He beamed "I talked to the bank and everything's in order. You put up the house and agree to a lien on your earnings at the boutique if he defaults. And we keep the emerald ring and sapphire brooch for you."
"What?" He had made it sound as if he were ordering lunch for her, but he had caught her attention with the mention of her mother's jewelry. "I don't think you understood, Mr. York. The house and the business are all I'm putting up. I told you last night that I was only offering my mother's jewelry if I could get him out then, without your calling the bank and all. Sort of a guarantee."
"Yeah. Well, I'd feel better with that same guarantee now."
"Well, I wouldn't."
"How would your husband feel staying in jail?"
"Mr. York, isn't there a law against bailbondsmen taking too much as collateral?" Martin had told her about it.
"Are you accusing me of being dishonest?" Oh, God, she was going to blow it ... oh no ...
"No. Look, please ..."
"Look, baby, I'm not gonna do business with some broad who calls me dishonest I do you a favor and stick my ass out on a limb for your old man on a fifteen-thousand-dollar bond, and you call me a thief. I mean, look, I don't gotta take that shit from no one."
"I'm sorry." The tears were burning her eyes again. She was beginning to wonder if she'd live through this. And then he looked over at her and shrugged.
"All right. I'll tell you what. We'll just keep the ring. You can take the brooch. Does that sound any better?"
"Fine." It sounded stinking, but she didn't care anymore. It didn't matter. It didn't even matter if Ian ran away and they took the house and the business and the car and the emerald ring. Nothing mattered.
York managed to make the forms take twice as long as necessary, and to slide a hand across her breast as he reached for another pen. She looked up into his face and he smiled and told her she'd be beautiful if she ate right, and how he'd had a tall girlfriend in high school. A girl named Mona. Jessica just nodded and went on signing her name. Finally all the paperwork was done. He bit the end off a long thin cigar and picked up the phone to notify the jail.
"I'll have Bernice take you across the street, Jessica." He had decided to call her by her first name. "And listen, if you ever need any help, just call. FU keep in touch." She prayed that he wouldn't, and shook his hand before leaving his office. She felt as though she would stumble on the way out She had reached her limit. Days ago.
By the time Barry York had delegated the gum-chewing clerk to take Jessie across the street to bail Ian, it was almost noon. To Jessie it felt like the middle of the night She was confused and exhausted and everything was beginning to blur. She was living in an unreal world filled with evil, leering people.
The woman he'd called Bernice took charge of the papers, shuffled them for a moment, and then
"He's expecting me." The two clerks looked up as though they had never heard the words before.
He appeared two minutes later in dirty white shorts and a navy blue T-shirt, carrying a copy of Playboy and a tennis racket.
"You play?" Oh, Jesus.
"Sometimes. Did you talk to the bank?"
He smiled, looking pleased. "Come into my office. Coffee?"
"No, thanks." She was beginning to feel as though the nightmare would never end. She would simply spend the rest of her life ricocheting among the Inspector Houghtons and the Barry Yorks, the courtrooms and jails, the banks and ... it was endless. Just when it seemed about to end, there would be another false door. There was no way out She was almost sure of it now. And Ian was only a myth anyway. Someone she had made up and never known. The keeper of the Holy Grail.
"You know, you look tired. Do you eat right?"
"I eat splendidly. But my husband is in jail, Mr. York, and I would very much like to get him out. What are the chances of that, in the immediate future?"
"Excellent" He beamed "I talked to the bank and everything's in order. You put up the house and agree to a lien on your earnings at the boutique if he defaults. And we keep the emerald ring and sapphire brooch for you."
"What?" He had made it sound as if he were ordering lunch for her, but he had caught her attention with the mention of her mother's jewelry. "I don't think you understood, Mr. York. The house and the business are all I'm putting up. I told you last night that I was only offering my mother's jewelry if I could get him out then, without your calling the bank and all. Sort of a guarantee."
"Yeah. Well, I'd feel better with that same guarantee now."
"Well, I wouldn't."
"How would your husband feel staying in jail?"
"Mr. York, isn't there a law against bailbondsmen taking too much as collateral?" Martin had told her about it.
"Are you accusing me of being dishonest?" Oh, God, she was going to blow it ... oh no ...
"No. Look, please ..."
"Look, baby, I'm not gonna do business with some broad who calls me dishonest I do you a favor and stick my ass out on a limb for your old man on a fifteen-thousand-dollar bond, and you call me a thief. I mean, look, I don't gotta take that shit from no one."
"I'm sorry." The tears were burning her eyes again. She was beginning to wonder if she'd live through this. And then he looked over at her and shrugged.
"All right. I'll tell you what. We'll just keep the ring. You can take the brooch. Does that sound any better?"
"Fine." It sounded stinking, but she didn't care anymore. It didn't matter. It didn't even matter if Ian ran away and they took the house and the business and the car and the emerald ring. Nothing mattered.
York managed to make the forms take twice as long as necessary, and to slide a hand across her breast as he reached for another pen. She looked up into his face and he smiled and told her she'd be beautiful if she ate right, and how he'd had a tall girlfriend in high school. A girl named Mona. Jessica just nodded and went on signing her name. Finally all the paperwork was done. He bit the end off a long thin cigar and picked up the phone to notify the jail.
"I'll have Bernice take you across the street, Jessica." He had decided to call her by her first name. "And listen, if you ever need any help, just call. FU keep in touch." She prayed that he wouldn't, and shook his hand before leaving his office. She felt as though she would stumble on the way out She had reached her limit. Days ago.
By the time Barry York had delegated the gum-chewing clerk to take Jessie across the street to bail Ian, it was almost noon. To Jessie it felt like the middle of the night She was confused and exhausted and everything was beginning to blur. She was living in an unreal world filled with evil, leering people.
The woman he'd called Bernice took charge of the papers, shuffled them for a moment, and then
Similar Books
