James Conway - In Cold Blonde

“Oh, my God,” Alice mumbled. “Where did you get these?”

“They were emailed to a few guys last night who turned around and emailed them to all their friends who emailed them to their friends. It’s gone totally viral, Alice. Everyone has seen them, and there are even rumors of a video. What were you thinking?”

“I was drugged, Lizzy. Raped. I don’t remember any of this.”

“Did you go to the police?”

“No.”

Lizzy was shocked. “Why not?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she said, fighting back tears. Then Alice ran out of the classroom.

Lizzy chased her, calling out, “Who did this to you?”

Alice ignored her, racing past startled students out of the school, all the way home.

But a tsunami built in her wake. Lizzy told her friends that Alice was drugged and raped and they told their friends and by lunch Blake, Colin and Adam heard. Colin was afraid Alice might go the police so he called his dad who called his lawyer, Zachary Stone.

Meanwhile, Alice told her mother what happened when she got home from school. Her mother had called her father at work at Knotts Berry Farm, who listened, furious, to the story and promised they’d talk about it and decide what to do when he got home.

And that’s what they were preparing to do that night when the doorbell rang. Zachary Stone was at the door and needed to speak to them urgently. Once he determined that they hadn’t yet contacted the police, he launched into his pitch. The parents of the boys involved are so sorry for what happened to Alice. They would like the ability to punish the boys themselves without calling in the authorities and were offering a five-hundred-thousand-dollar settlement fee in return for the Waterman family’s cooperation.

“A half a million dollars could make a lot of dreams come true,” Stone said. “You’d be able to pay for Alice’s college education and still have plenty of money left to buy a new car, put an addition onto the house or take a family vacation to anywhere in the world.”

Alice’s Mom exploded. “My daughter is not a whore who can be bought for half a million dollars!”

“All right then,” Stone said calmly. “Go to the police and let’s take the case to court. But I should warn you, there is a very good chance that because of your daughter’s sexual history, the boys will be acquitted while your daughter’s reputation will suffer irreparable harm.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Cliff, Alice’s father, demanded.

Alice had told her parents about the rape at Colin Wood’s house, but her parents had no idea that she was sexually active. In fact, she’d given them every reason to believe she was still a virgin. Her heart sank as Stone turned to her and asked, “Do you want to tell them or should I?”

“Tell us what?” her mother asked.

So Alice told them. Told them she’d been having sex since sophomore year with a number of boys. And that even before then, she’d been with boys in others ways.

Her father turned beet red listening to her. He finally held out a hand, saying, “Stop.” He turned to his wife. “Did you know all this?”

Alice’s horrified mother said, “No.”

“But a lot of kids at school know it, Mr. Waterman,” Stone said. “And if we go to court, the whole world will know. Your daughter may claim she was raped and drugged but the boys say she came willingly, drank too much on her own volition and wanted to have sex with them.”

“That’s a lie,” a mortified Alice said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“And with her sexual history,” Stone went on, “What jury is going to disagree?”

Alice’s Mom and Dad exchanged a defeated look.

“But we can avoid the legal circus. The families are very sorry for what happened, and like I said, are willing to pay five hundred thousand dollars to make the matter disappear.”

Alice was about to say no, I’m going to the police when her father said, “Make it a million. Make it a million dollars and we won’t file charges.”

A shocked Alice looked on as Stone took out his cell phone, made a brief phone call. She tried to catch her father’s eye, but he was pointedly looking away from her.

“Deal,” Stone said.

But no one was happy in the Waterman household. Alice’s father took her promiscuity as a betrayal and shunned her. Alice’s mother was ashamed of her and worse, knew that all the other mothers would badger her about her slutty daughter. She started sniping at Alice, relentlessly criticizing her.

At school, it was worse. Everyone knew her parents got a huge cash settlement. Some kids thought Alice’s parents sold her out. Others thought the boys should never have paid a cent. She was mocked, the butt of jokes, ostracized.

Her first suicide attempt was three days later.

Alice turned off the water, grabbed a towel and dried herself off. She had her TV tuned to NBC. It was 11:00 p.m. and the newscaster led with the day’s top local stories: a fire in Culver City, a metro bus collision in Van Nuys, and a robbery in a Denny’s restaurant on Wilshire Boulevard. Nothing about a body found at the Bel Air Regent. So far, so good.

She slipped into a worn Angels tee shirt and walked into the living room/dining room/kitchen/bedroom. She picked up the red magic marker and stared at the picture of Adam Devlin. “Sorry, baby.” She drew a circle and a slash through his face.

She turned to the final picture, Blake Hunter. The rape had been his idea. He’d been the one to shoot the video. He was the one who sent the disgusting pictures of her to all his friends.

She had saved the best, or worst, for last.

Ryan was in a great mood. He walked down the hallway of the Hollywood Division anxious to get the day started. The place was bustling and everyone seemed to be happy.

He strolled into the bullpen, then stopped dead in his tracks. A man was sitting in the guest chair at the edge of his desk. The man’s back was to him but Ryan recognized what he was wearing, a mechanic’s coveralls. Then the man turned to face him — it was the tow truck driver.

The driver leapt to his feet, rushed up to Ryan. “I saw you on TV, thought I recognized you.”

Ryan was literally speechless.

The driver continued. “Saw how you won this huge lottery. About six months ago I bought this Lotto ticket at a 7-Eleven, and there was this real impatient dude behind me. I glanced back and got a good look at him and, I swear to Christ, it was you. See, the thing is, I dropped that ticket as I came out of the store, didn’t realize it until I got home, then sort of forgot about it until I saw the news last night. So I’m thinking maybe this giant jackpot isn’t yours at all. That it actually belongs to me. You didn’t happen to find that ticket, did you? Maybe pick it up as you came out of the store?”

Ryan looked at him for a long time before finally answering. “No,” he said. “I bought that ticket myself. And I’m sorry but I don’t recognize you.”

The tow truck driver flushed with anger. “Liar.” Then he pulled out a knife and plunged it into Ryan’s chest.

“No!” Ryan screamed, sitting up in bed.

Syd sat up next to him. “Ryan? You okay?”

He looked around, disoriented. He was at home. The lights were out. The clock on the bedside table said 3:17.

It had been a dream.

“What happened, sweetie, you have a nightmare?”

“Yeah, weird. I haven’t had a nightmare since I was a kid.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He looked at her. “The tow truck driver showed up, wanted to know if I found his Lotto ticket. I lied to him, told him I bought the ticket and he pulled a knife.”

“Wow, gotta love the subconscious.”