The Old Starla or the New Starla way.
Mom’s way meant I smiled, remained polite, showed how thankful I was for the opportunity and did everything possible not to screw it up.
My way meant being real, using the smarts curated in prison and not kowtowing for anyone, not even my fairy god-father.
Especially not a man who calls himself that. What am I? Twelve?
“What if I don’t want a fairy god-father?”
The way he sized me up just then, like a guard choosing his next victim, I knew I’d made the right choice.
“Starla, I’ll be honest. You need one and I can promise you won’t find anything better.” He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “The offer is there. If you don’t want that second chance, if Bervie Springs isn't for you, go back home. But I bet you’ll end up back in prison in less than a year.”
I bristled at his words.
“You know me so well, don’t you?” I tried to add a semblance of a smile to my tone but it didn’t happen.
His gaze, the way it poked through the poorly constructed walls around my heart, had me looking away.
I couldn’t take it.
I didn’t want to read the truth in his eyes.
I didn’t know the man from Adam and yet, the way he looked at me, really looked at me, there was a sense of recognition.
Damn it. I knew this would be too good to be true. He was everything I was trying not to be. He knew it too.
One imposter always recognized another.
“Why me?” I said to break the silence. It became uncomfortable. I’d rather uncomfortable words than silence. Words, I can fake. It was truth in silence I couldn’t face.
“Why not you?” He turned his charm on me right then, a charm I figured he must own by being on the town council.
“Our program, is meant to give someone like you a second chance. I read your file, Starla. I looked you up. The life you’ve been given hasn’t been an easy one.”
I backed up, two steps of distance between us, but it was enough.
“I’m not a charity case,” I said, chin raised, fingers curled, ready for a fight. “Thanks for the opportunity, but no thanks.”
“Who said anything about a charity case? You think I’m doing all this out of the goodness of my heart?” He laughed, sinister, dark, a foreboding kind of laughter that had spiders crawl all over my skin.
“This won't be an easy gig. You’ll have to prove yourself. You’ll work hard and earn every cent too. And I have rules. Strict rules. Break them, you are out.” He turned his back on me, almost as if on purpose, pulled out his desk chair and sat. “If that sounds like a charity case, then by all means, there’s the door.” He motioned to it with his finger.
I didn’t respond. The choice was mine it seemed. Did I leave or stay?
Mom would be more than disappointed if I left. It might be the breaking point for her. I couldn’t handle if I broke her.
“I’d like it if you stayed, however,” Donald said. “There’s a fire inside of you I like. I can use that.”
I caught what he said, even if it was a slip of the tongue. There was more to this offer than he’d let on.
“What do you,” I looked at a framed certificate on the wall, “Mr. Councilman, get out of this?” Everyone always had motive behind their good deed. Always. Nothing ever came free.
“Dixon,” he said. “Donald, if you prefer. Close friends call me Donny. What do I get?” He had the decency to blush just then. “If this goes well, maybe one day I’ll end up Mayor. But, call me a Boy Scout, if you need to. I like to help others. I’m in a position of power where I can. To not, would be to abuse that power.”
I pulled out the chair closest to his desk, set my small crossbody purse on my lap and smiled for the first time since I walked into his office.
“Dixon, I think you have a different idea of what abuse of power means than most people.” My back remained rigid, I didn’t sit back in my chair, not like Dixon. I didn’t want to give off the appearance of ease, of being relaxed.
Even though I knew his was a position of power and mine gave off a show of weakness.
“Maybe,” he said, “but my idea is what counts right now, isn’t it?”
The smugness on his face had me itching to wipe it off, but that would for sure get me fired, reported to the cops and the first in a short line of steps leading back to prison.
“You mentioned rules?” Better to be clear and upfront. The more information I have the quicker I decide if I stay or not.
Let’s face it. While this might be the best gift an ex-con like me could receive, even the best gifts come with consequences.
Dixon pulled out a sheet of paper and slid it across his desk.
That sheet was full of numbers, of words, of rules I wasn’t sure I wanted to live by. I’d had enough of people running my life with their rules, beliefs and laws, thank-you-very-much.
The first two were no brainers: Weekly visits to Officer Burnard. Random drug tests. I might have sold drugs once upon a time, but I’ve never been one to imbibe, so random tests didn’t bother me. Officer Burnard, hopefully he was a lazy-ass, donut-eating, alcohol-drinking, waiting-for-retirement cop who wouldn’t be all up in my business.
The further I read though, the more bothered I became.
“Attend bible study? Volunteer at the food bank? Be a tour guide during the garden festival? Who the hell are you,” I lifted my gaze, “a freakin pastor in disguise?”
His hand went to his throat, as if fingering the collar that wasn’t there. “Just a good citizen trying to be a mentor. Anything I’m asking you to do, I’ll be doing myself.”
“I don’t need a mentor. Or fairy god-father.” If anyone needed a mentor, it was this dude. Who the hell called himself a freaking fairy god-father?
“I think you do, but we’ve already covered that. Are you in or out?” Dixon leaned forward, hands clasped on top of his spotless desk. From his tone, it didn’t seem to matter what I decided. But I learned early in life never to trust the words or the way they were spoken.
Read the body. Watch the muscles. Listen to what’s not being said.
His death-grip whitened knuckles, along with the pounding vein on the side of his neck told me my decision mattered.
I leaned back in my chair, relaxed the grip on my purse, and smiled.
I gave him that canary grin the guards never wanted to see. The one that said I knew. I knew I had the upper hand and now that he knew I knew; I was the one in control.
My favorite position when it came to social interactions.
I pulled the sheet with his rules onto my lap and looked it over again.
It was a wish-list. A how to guide to remodel a convicted criminal. A guide Donald Dixon was going to use to become mayor.
Did I want to help him?
The answer seemed obvious. I really didn't have any other options.
“I’m in.”
10
On The Hunt
TUESDAY 12:09AM
DETECTIVE KAARNS
We are fools. Every single one of us. Bishop should be locked up, behind bars already.
Officer Burnard, Bishop’s probation officer, sits across from me, leg bouncing a mile a minute, sweat pooling on his forehead. I'm tempted to offer the sucker a tissue but he’s a grown man and I’m not his mother.