Karin Slaughter: Skin Privilege

'Packing up,' Nick told him, collapsing the tripod. 'You don't know doodly squat, Tonto, and I have a feeling any second now the Lone Ranger there's gonna be heading back up to the corral to get along with his little doggies.'

The lawyer chuckled. 'Well put.'

Nick told him, 'No offense, buddy, but we're really hoping none of this goes any farther than it has to.'

'I think we've had enough collateral damage to last us for a while.' The lawyer pushed Valentine's photos of Fred Bart across the table. 'It seems to me you have an overwhelming amount of evidence here. Surely enough to charge the guilty party.' He stood, telling Jeffrey. 'I'm very sorry that your wife was in harm's way.' As an afterthought, he added, 'And your detective, too, of course.'

Jeffrey took the man's meaning, but he wanted to be clear. 'Just so long as they're safe now.'

'They are.'

The lawyer turned to leave, but Bart clawed his arm, screaming, 'You said they'd work a deal! You said they would-'

'Get your hands off me,' he barked, jerking his arm away.

Bart finally seemed to understand that the lawyer wasn't on his side, that the only reason the man was here was so he could make sure Bart wasn't a threat to the people who were really paying his fees.

For his part, the lawyer seemed relieved that the masquerade was over. He gave Nick a nod, then Jeffrey. 'Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me.'

'What are you doing?' Bart demanded. 'You're my lawyer! Where are you going?'

The man left the room without looking back.

Bart stood by the table, wringing his hands like a woman.

Nick told him, 'Sit down, Fred.'

Bart sagged into his chair. 'I want to cut a deal,' he muttered. 'I need to cut a deal.'

'Welcome to the State of Getting Your Head Out of Your Ass.' Nick clapped his hands in mock congratulations. 'What kind of deal you think you can make, Freddy boy?'

'Any kind,' Bart pleaded. 'Just tell me what you want me to say.'

Nick shook his head. 'We want you to say some names, Fred. Only problem is, you don't know 'em.'

'I know them!' Bart screeched. 'I know all of them!'

'Like?'

'Like…' His mouth worked as he tried to come up with something. 'Just tell me. Tell me who you want and I'll say it!'

'Rhymes with Spitzpatrick.'

He paled. 'No,' he said. 'I can't do that.'

Nick shrugged. 'Lookit, hoss, we're giving you enough rope here to hang a snake. Not my fault you can't tie the knot.'

'They'll kill me,' Bart said. 'They'll… worse than that. They don't just kill people… they…' His words stopped as he gulped for air. 'Please…' he cried.

Jeffrey stood up and Nick opened the door.

'No!' Bart begged. 'You can't just leave me here.'

Nick couldn't help himself. 'Don't worry, hoss. We'll go by the Stop 'n' Save and call nine-one-one on our way out of town.'

Jeffrey had a bad taste in his mouth as he drove past the Elawah County High School. He should feel good about leaving Fred Bart to the wolves, but instead he felt dirty. Fred Bart had left Sara to burn, and Jeffrey was a firm believer in an eye for an eye. He was also a cop, and he knew the state had a process for taking care of its most deserving criminals. What was the difference between waiting ten years for appeals to fall through and letting the Brotherhood take care of him?

The difference was that the Brotherhood got stronger with every life they took. They wouldn't roll Bart into a sterile room and slip a needle in his arm. They would make him beg for his life. They would beat him, torture him – make it so that death was the only thing he had to look forward to. Fred Bart would be a lesson for every other thug and moron out there: you did not cross the Brotherhood without paying the ultimate price.

Still, Ethan Green's words kept coming back into his head, and Jeffrey couldn't help but wonder if the young man had seen the real Jeffrey, the one who hid behind his badge while he looked the other way. Jeffrey had taken an oath to protect and defend everybody, not just the people he thought deserved it. He was supposed to work within the system, not make up the rules as he went along.

He was supposed to take care of the weak and protect them from the strong. Fred Bart sure hadn't looked strong when Jeffrey and Nick had left him crying in the interrogation room. He had fallen to the floor on his knees, begging for help.

Jeffrey realized he'd passed the motel and made a U-turn. He pulled up in front of the office as the maid was coming out of one of the rooms. She stood there, watching him get out of the car.

Jeffrey told her, 'I need to get the things out of room fourteen.'

'They're packed up,' the woman said, walking away.

Jeffrey guessed he was expected to follow her. He caught the office door before she let it slam in his face.

'Thanks,' he said.

She went behind the front counter, scratching her arms through her long-sleeved shirt. She told him, 'There's a balance on the room.'

Jeffrey glanced at the keys hanging on the board behind her and figured maybe three rooms were checked out. 'Been busy lately?'

'Listen, asshole. I don't make the rules.'

He laughed, taking out his wallet. 'How much is it?'

She scratched her neck, calculating how much she could get off him. 'A hundred bucks.'

'How about twenty?'

'How about fifty?'

Jeffrey paid her the money, though he seriously doubted the cash would ever make its way into the register. Judging by the woman's appearance, he guessed he was looking at one of those rare things: a meth addict who had made it past her thirties.

The woman asked, 'How's the girl doing?'

' Lena?'

'Yeah, her.'

'She's okay.'

'Right,' the woman said. She took out a bag from under the counter and pushed it toward Jeffrey. 'Here's her shit. Go on and get the fuck out of here.'

He studied her face for a moment, the arrogant tilt of her chin. Slowly, he said, 'She's at St. Ignatius for a few more days.'

'Great. My tax dollars at work.'

'You pay taxes?' She gave him an eat-shit look that he should have been used to by now. 'You know, your daughter looks at me the same way sometimes.'

'I ain't got a daughter.'

' Lena looks just like you.'

Angela Adams grunted, giving up. She had fifty bucks in her pocket and a need in her veins. 'Got her head up her ass just like me. Didn't recognize her own mother standing right in front of her.'

Jeffrey had barely made the connection himself between the oil painting that he'd seen hanging over Hank Norton's living room couch and the woman standing in front of him. Something about the tilt of her chin had given it away – even after all these years, she had that arrogant challenge in her eyes. Angela had been beautiful once, but meth had taken that from her, just like it had taken her away from her young daughters.

Still, Jeffrey tried to be kind. 'Sometimes you don't see what you're not looking for.'

'You think I don't know what I look like?' She picked at the edge of the laminate. 'Hank doing okay?'

Jeffrey felt another piece of the puzzle click into place. 'Hank was with you the whole time he was missing. Wasn't he?'

'Stupid fucker should've known better. Didn't last no more than a coupl'er three days before we were ready to kill each other.' She picked at the sore on her neck. 'Bastard just walked off one morning. I guess he turned up at his house.'

'He's cleaning up,' Jeffrey told the woman. 'All the meth is out of his system.'

'He's always looked after them.' She caught herself. 'Her.'

'We found the birth certificate you filled out with Hank's name on it.'

'Did she see it?'

'No,' Jeffrey said. 'It got lost in the shuffle.'

She gave a rueful laugh. 'Dumb fuck that I was -I figured it'd make it easier for him to take the girls, keep them safe. I nearly got him arrested.' She started picking at the sore again. Blood trickled out. 'I was the one who got Hank hooked. Did he tell you that?'