Above us, there is the call for lights out. But it never gets dark in jail. It is eternally dusk, a time when creatures crawl from swamps and crickets take over the earth. In the shadows, I can see Adrienne's smooth skin, a lighter shade of night between the bars of her cell. "What did you do?" Adrienne asks, and there is no mistaking her question.
"What did you do?"
"It's the drugs, it's always the drugs, honey. But I'm trying to get off them, I truly am."
"A drug conviction? Then why did they put you in solitary?"
Adrienne shrugs. "Well, the boys, I don't belong with them; they just want to beat me up, you know?
I'd like to be in with the girls, but they won't let me, because I haven't had the operation yet. I been taking my medicine regular, but they say it don't matter, so long as I've got the wrong kind of plumbing." She sighs. "Quite frankly, honey, they don't know what to do with me in here."
I stare at the cinderblock walls, at the dim safety light on the ceiling, at my own lethal hands. "They don't know what to do with me either," I say.
The AG's office puts Quentin up at a Residence Inn that has a small efficiency kitchen, cable TV, and a carpet that smells like cats. "Thank you," he says dryly, handing the teenager who doubles as bellman a dollar. "It's a palace."
"Whatever," the kid responds.
It amazes Quentin, the way adolescents are the only group that doesn't blink twice upon seeing him.
Then again, he sometimes believes they wouldn't blink twice if a herd of mustangs tore past inches from their Skechered feet.
He doesn't understand them, either as a breed or individually.
Quentin opens the refrigerator, which gives off a dubious odor, and then sinks onto the spongy mattress. Well, it could be the Ritz-Carlton and he'd hate it. Biddeford, in general, makes him edgy.
Sighing, he picks up his car keys and leaves the hotel. Might as well get this over with. He drives without really thinking about where he's going. He knows she's there, of course. The address for the checks has stayed the same all this time.
There is a basketball hoop in the driveway; this surprises him. Somehow, he hasn't thought past last year's debacle to consider that Gideon might have a hobby less embarrassing to a prosecutor. A beat-up Isuzu Trooper with too many rust holes in the running board is parked in the garage. Quentin takes a deep breath, draws himself up to his full height, and knocks on the door.
When Tanya answers, it still hits him like a blow to the chest-her cognac skin; her chocolate eyes, as if this woman is a treat to be savored. But, Quentin reminds himself, even the most exquisite truffles can be bitter on the inside. He takes small comfort in the fact that she steps back when she sees him, too.
"Quentin Brown," Tanya murmurs, shaking her head. "To what do I owe this honor?"
"I'm here on a case," he says. "Indefinitely." He's trying to peer behind her, to see what her home looks like inside. Without him in it. "Thought I'd stop by, since you'd probably be hearing my name around town."
"Along with other, four letter words," Tanya mutters.
"Didn't catch that."
She smiles at him, and he forgets what they were discussing. "Gideon around?"
"No," she says, too quickly.
"I don't believe you."
"And I don't like you, so why don't you take your sorry self back to your little car and-"
"Ma?" The loping voice precedes Gideon, who suddenly appears behind his mother. He is nearly Quentin's height, although he's just turned sixteen. His dark face draws even more closed as he sees who's standing at the doorway. "Gideon," Quentin says. "Hello again."
"You come to haul my ass back to rehab?" He snorts. "Don't do me any favors."
Quentin feels his hands balling into fists. "I did do you a favor. I pulled enough strings with a judge to keep you out of a juvenile detention facility, even though I took heat for it in my own department."
"Am I supposed to thank you for that?" Gideon laughs. "Just like I get down on my knees every night and thank you for being my daddy?"
"Gideon," Tanya warns, but he shoves past her.
"Later." He pushes Quentin hard, a threat, as he passes down the steps and gets into the Isuzu.
