Mark Gilleo - Sweat

“Is everything all right?” the waiter asked. Jake nodded and gave him a hushing gesture with his hands. “Please,” the waiter added, glancing around at the customers to indicate that the crying was ruining business.

Marilyn excused herself to go to the bathroom and the waiter came back with the order of waffles. Jake slapped some butter on the two-tiered stack and poured a healthy dose of syrup into the dimples. Marilyn returned, wiped her cheeks again with a wad of Kleenex, and took a sip of her coffee.

“I had an affair with your father, Jake. Twenty-five years ago.”

Jake quickly did the math in his head and a stern look washed over his face. The smile, the kind eyes, the cheerful personality were no longer part of his character.

“I’m listening.”

“I was young, your father was charming. We spent a lot of time together. One thing led to another.”

“Did my mother know?”

“She eventually found out, and then promptly threw your father out of the house. You were one, and just beginning to walk.”

“I always thought he left us.”

“Well he did, in a way. And it was my fault…” The tears were back with a vengeance and Jake just stared at her while she bawled. He eschewed all sympathy from his heart and pushed his warm, uneaten pile of waffles to the edge of the table.

Marilyn, speaking through huffs, continued. “There is something else. I became pregnant after you were born. At your father’s request, I had an abortion. I’ve regretted that decision every day since. Every day.”

Jake didn’t know what to say. She was now talking about herself, and Jake finally understood the reason for her tears. Marilyn was a victim. A victim of his father and a victim in her own mind.

“We need to do something.”

“Jake, let your father handle it.”

“What’s he going to do?”

“Handle it.”

“I want to contact the girl.”

“Forget it, Jake.”

“I can’t.”

“Jake, your father is someone who likes things his way. He will handle this, whether you want him to or not.”

“I’m going to see if there is something I can do.”

“Like what Jake? Get on a plane to Saipan? Your father is a big boy, with a lot of friends.”

“Marilyn, did you read this fax? This girl is begging for help. She has gone through extreme measures to get this to us. We can’t sit here and do nothing. And after what you have been through? Doing nothing is not a choice.”

“Jake, I can’t help you. Winthrop Enterprises is my life. I have equity in the company. It is the only thing I know. I am a forty-five-year-old executive assistant who has only had one employer.”

“Fine. Forget the girl then. I won’t. My father doesn’t scare me.”

“That is because you don’t know him.” Marilyn took another drink of her coffee and Jake gestured for the check. Silence filled the void as Jake threw a twenty on the table. “I may know someone who can help you,” Marilyn conceded quietly, staring out the window.

“Who?”

“His name is Al.”

“What does he do?”

“All I can say is that he may be able to help.”

“Give me his number.”

“I can’t. I’ll arrange for a meeting. That’s the best I can do.”

“Fine. The sooner the better.” ***

Jake headed back to Winthrop Enterprises with Marilyn in tow, three paces behind. They exited the elevator and casually strolled through the whispers and stares before Jake locked himself in his office. He swiveled the monitor on his computer slightly and tapped into the single greatest source of information in the internet age: Google.com. He typed in the search words “Saipan” and “police department,” moved his cursor to the SEARCH button and hit ENTER. After a few clicks of the mouse, he was staring at the Department of Public Safety for the Island of Saipan. He jotted down the phone number and clicked through some other pages from the search results.

Jake read about Saipan, supplemental information to a history lesson from Mr. Jennings in eighth grade. A tropical island paradise where the U.S. dollar was the official currency and the U.S. Postal Service delivered the mail. Who knew?

The call to Saipan’s Department of Public Safety’s switchboard went through without a hitch.

“Saipan Department of Public Safety. Is this an emergency?” the female voice asked in a slow voice.

“No, this is an inquiry.”

“I’m sorry, but no one is available at the moment to handle inquiries. I can patch you through to voice-mail if it is not an emergency. Someone will get back to you as soon as they can.”

“Please. Put me in touch with the man in charge,” Jake said with fake authority, not knowing the minute size of the Saipan police force.

As Jake waited to be connected, he found himself looking around the office nervously.

“You have reached the voicemail of Captain Talua. I’m sorry that I’m unavailable to take your call. If you leave a detailed message, I will get back to you as soon as I am able.” A long beep followed and Jake prepared himself for his speech.

“Yes,” Jake stammered. “My name is Jake Patrick and I wanted to ask the police to check on the whereabouts and well-being of a Saipan resident. The resident’s name is Wei Ling… I have reason to believe she may be in trouble.” Jake left his name for the second time and then repeated his work number twice slowly. That should get the ball rolling , he thought to himself. Just an inquiry to see if the notes stashed into the pockets of the imported shorts were a scam. If Marilyn wouldn’t help, fine. He had no problem doing the right thing. ***

Captain Talua, a hefty man in his early fifties with a dark complexion and shallow wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, opened the blinds to his small office and looked out the window, taking in the depressing landscape across the police impound lot. A lone impounded truck, towed in a year before and never claimed, rested in the seashell-filled lot beside the skeletal remains of three police cruisers. Recent budget cuts on the island hit the police department hard. Fewer funds meant fewer officers and less equipment. The island was currently policing its seventy thousand residents with a fleet of five cars, most of them in need of repair. The cars in the growing graveyard behind the building were being cannibalized one part at a time to keep the current fleet on the road.

Captain Talua poured coffee into his favorite mug, brown stains stretching over the edge, dripping until they reached the emblem on the front, the University of Hawaii’s official crest. His son went to UH, and every time he looked at the mug, it reminded him that his son would make something of himself. Get off the islands. See the world. The mug also reminded the captain that a tuition check was due in another month.

Armed with a cup of java and a view of paradise, Captain Talua pressed the button next to the blinking red light on his phone. The first call was from the local loony, Karliya Momali, a main figure on the streets of Saipan’s main city, Garapan. Every morning Ms. Momali led an invisible tour group to all the island hotspots. It was the same routine rain or shine—the beach in the morning, the tourist trap souvenir shops in the afternoon, after-tour drinks down at Breakers for dinner. Captain Talua listened to the message from Ms. Momali informing the captain that a member of her make-believe tour entourage had gone missing. She would be waiting by the phone for the captain to call her back. Captain Talua knew Ms. Momali’s memory wouldn’t last as long as the message.

The second voicemail was from the captain’s brother-in-law, a pain in the ass of such proportions that the captain had more than once considered divorcing the love of his life just to get away from him. His brother-in-law was calling to see if he could press charges against his neighbor. A coconut had fallen from the neighbor’s tree, which straddled their property line, and hit one his free roaming chickens. The captain deleted the message as his brother-in-law explained in detail how the chicken was now walking in circles and may have to be put down. The captain shook his head. The things you should know before you say, “I do.”