Some Are Sicker Than Others (36 page)

“Well,” she said, as she tilted her chin upright and pushed her bangs back away from her eyes, “according to Dexter, I’m an addict…but here’s the thing.” She whipped her head around abruptly, wielding her cigarette like she was waving a gun. “I never had any problems until I started taking that Dexedrine crap.”

“Dexe-what?” Dave said, leaning away from her so the cigarette didn’t accidentally wind up in his eyeball.

“Oh, it’s this stupid stuff my doctor put me on. He said it was supposed to help with my ADHD, but all it did was screw with my head and make me bloated.”

“So, is that what you’re here for? Dexedrine?”

“No, not really. I guess I’m what you’d call a meth head.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s surprising.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, I never would’ve pegged you for a meth head.”

“No?”

“Hell no. A pretty lady like yourself? Shit. Alcoholic, maybe, but definitely not a meth head.”

Angie smiled and sniffled. Her face turned a shade of red that helped to camouflage her pimples. “Thanks, I think.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Well, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you an alcoholic?”

Dave laughed then shook his head. “Who me? Hell no.”

“Then what?”

Yes. Here it was. This was his opportunity to tell her what a bitch Cheryl was. “Well,” he said then took a quick puff of his cigarette and turned to Angie with a sly, sarcastic smile, “if you must know, Angie, I’m here because my lying, cheating, two-faced bitch of a wife turned me into the cops.”

Angie gasped, covering her mouth. “You’re kidding me?”

“Nope.”

“What happened?”

Dave paused for a moment to add dramatic tension then lowered his eyes and took a long, labored breath inward. “It’s a long story,” he said, as pathetically as possible, hoping that Angie would take pity on him. “All I can say is she’s trying to get rid of me, probably so she can get custody of the kids and run off with her little lawyer boyfriend.”

Angie gasped again, only this time louder. Everything seemed to be working. He was reeling her in. “Wait—she’s cheating on you too?”

“Yep. I mean, at least I think she’s cheating. I can’t really think of any other reason why she’d be doing this to me.” Dave clenched his fist and looked down at his knuckles, staring at the little wrinkled, red grooves imprinted in the skin. He tried to force some tears, but couldn’t get them going, so he just dropped his head and let out another
woe is me
kind of sigh. “She’s probably with the son of a bitch right now, filling out the divorce papers, just laughing it up, and humping away in my bed.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Angie scooted close to him and put her hand on his kneecap, stroking it like she was stroking a cat.

Yes, it was working. Everything was moving along nicely. He was gaining her confidence. He was establishing a relationship.

“I’m so sorry,” Angie said, moving her hand across his knuckles, the soft touch of her fingers sending goose bumps up and down his vertebrae. “That’s just awful. I can’t believe your wife would do that to you.”

“Well, she’s the devil. Satan dressed in a pants suit and stilettos.”

Angie nodded like she understood him, like this was a story she knew all too well. “It sounds like you and I have a lot in common. My husband—well, ex-husband. He was the same way. I swear all that man ever cared about was what other people thought of him. He didn’t give a shit about me. I was nothing to him, nobody, just a lousy trophy to wear around his arm.” As Angie turned away, her lips started to quiver and her hands started shaking so bad it looked like she had Parkinson’s. “That bastard. I can’t believe he did this to me. It’s all his fault, you know? None of this would’ve happened if he could’ve just kept his dick in his pants. We’d still be together. We’d still be happy and I’d still get to be a mother to my children.”

Dave scooted down the bench a little closer and placed his hand gently on her left shoulder. “Well, if it’s any consolation,” he said in a delicate whisper, “I think your husband’s crazy. I think you’re absolutely gorgeous.”

Angie smiled, revealing those cute braces, which sparkled like a row of quarters sitting on the tracks of a train trestle. “Thank you,” she said, rubbing his knuckles. “You’re sweet for saying that.”

They held each other’s stare for a little longer. Dave could feel the blood beginning to rush to his penis. He had to move his hand over his crotch to keep his dick from pressing up against the zipper. He crossed his left leg over his right then started counting back from twenty. By the time he got to three, the erection had deflated enough that he could uncross his legs and place his hand next to hers on the bench. Alright, this was it. This was his opportunity…time to tell her about Sarah…time to lay it all out there. “Well, you’re probably not gonna believe this,” he said, as he adjusted his posture, then cleared his throat and took a deep breath inward, “but I actually know your daughter.”

Angie’s head snapped around so abruptly that it almost knocked Dave right off of the bench. “What? Sarah? You know Sarah?”

“Yep.”

“How? How do you know Sarah?”

“Well, it’s the darndest thing, Angie. It just so turns out that I’m her volleyball coach.”

Angie looked like she had just been zapped with a cow prod. Her eyes bugged out like a cartoon character and her mouth was dropped open so wide that a bird probably could’ve flown inside. “You’re kidding me?”

“No, I’m not. I work at Boulder Catholic high school. I coach track in the spring and girls’ volleyball in the winter. I’m her coach, coach Bell, coach Dave Bell.”

Angie just stared at him with her mouth wide open, her head wagging back and forth in complete astonishment. “I don’t believe this,” she said, throwing her hands upward. “You know Sarah? You know my Sarah?”

“Yeah, she’s one of my best middle blockers. Hell, she’s probably got the best serve of anyone on the whole damn team.”

“I don’t believe this. This is crazy. This is absolutely insane.”

“I know, I know. I tell you, I nearly fell outta my chair when you brought out that picture of her. I was like, wait a minute, I know that girl. She’s on my volleyball team. Her name’s Sarah. Small world, isn’t it?”

“It sure is. My goodness. I mean, what are the chances? And in a rehab of all places—it must be some kind of good omen.”

“I was thinking the exact same thing.”

Dave snickered to himself as he picked up his cup of coffee then took a long slurp and set it back down. Okay, phase one was complete—the introduction. Now, all he had to do was introduce the plan. But, he had to be careful. He didn’t want to just rush into it. Angie was liable to flip out once he told her about the bus incident.

He took a deep breath and turned slowly towards her. The woman was biting her nails and spitting them out into the snow. “So,” he said, as casually as possible, “when was the last time you talked with Sarah?”

“Hmm.” Angie rolled her eyes up towards the tree line then began mumbling to herself as she counted off on her fingers. “I’d say it’s been about…eight weeks.”

Eight weeks? Perfect. That meant she hadn’t yet heard about what happened, unless of course she saw it in the papers, but then wouldn’t she have said something already? Yeah, of course she would’ve.

“Really? That long?” Dave said then exhaled deeply feeling as the anxiety began to fall away from him.

“Yeah. Unfortunately, my ex-husband, Bill, won’t let her talk to me. That asshole’s probably got her phone locked away in his study.”

Dave took another deep breath and let it out slowly. This was awesome. It was working out better than he could’ve possibly imagined. If Angie hadn’t yet heard about what happened then he could tell her his side of the story. He could tell her what really happened on that bus, how the cops pulled him over without reasonable suspicion. But, he ought to wait a little bit first and let everything settle. He didn’t want to give Angie the impression that he was just using her for her daughter. Besides, he still needed some time to get in touch with his lawyer. He had to find out if this kind of thing was even possible. Could someone like Sarah be called as a witness? Would her testimony even help? And when was the court date? He didn’t even know yet. He was still in the early planning stages. He had to find out all of this shit first then he could get Angie to call up Sarah.

After he stamped out his cigarette, Dave tossed it in his coffee. The butt hissed like a snake as it drowned in the last little bit of sludge at the bottom.

“Where are you going?” Angie said, looking up at him.

“Oh I uh…I gotta go take care of some business. But I’ll see you later.”

“Oh, okay. Well, it was nice talking to you, Dave.”

“Yeah, you too. And don’t worry, we’ll talk again later.”

“Great. I’ll be looking forward to it. I wanna hear all about my daughter and how great she’s doing at her volleyball.” Angie smiled and winked at Dave somewhat seductively. What the hell? If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was flirting with him. Holy shit. This was great. If she was this fucking horny then she’d be putty in his fucking fingers.

Dave smiled back at her with his own version of seduction—a slight roll of the shoulders to get his pecks protruding outward. He let her soak it in for a few seconds then did an about face and headed off towards the porch patio, making sure to flex his butt cheeks as he walked so that the fat wouldn’t jiggle.

When he got to the patio, he went right for the payphones, trying not to acknowledge the patients who were still gathered around their silly, little Monopoly game. He didn’t have time for small talk or pleasantries. He had to get a hold of Weinstein. He was on a fucking mission.

As he lifted the phone from its cradle, he fished out his lawyer’s information. With the receiver wedged between his ear and his right shoulder, he flattened the lawyer’s number out against the top of the payphone. He’d gotten the number from the yellow pages of the Boulder County phone book, underneath Attorneys at Law, subsection DUI Charges. The toll-free phone number was listed at the bottom in patriotic red, white, and blue ink right beneath his lawyer’s name, Barry Weinstein, who was dressed up in a Benjamin Franklin outfit. Supposedly, this Weinstein character was one of the best DUI case lawyers in all of Colorado. In fact, Dave even remembered seeing his commercials on the local television station in Boulder. They called him “The Patriot” on account of his “unrelenting allegiance to the common American.” There was no case he wouldn’t take—big, small, even un-defendable. All he required was a credit check and a down payment. The guy wasn’t cheap, but he seemed to be worth it. Hell, he’d better be. For five thousand big ones, the guy had better be a fucking miracle worker.

As Dave punched in the numbers, he switched the phone to his left ear. This call was way too important to trust with his weaker ear.

The phone began to ring…once, twice, three times, four…then the receptionist picked up: “Hello, Weinstein and Company, Attorneys at Law?”

“Yes, hello, my name is Dave Bell. I’m one of Mr. Weinstein’s clients.”

“Yes, hello, Mr. Bell. What can I assist you with today?”

“Yeah, well, I’d like to talk to Mr. Weinstein if I could. I have some new information for my case that I think would be very valuable.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but Mr. Weinstein is in court all morning. Can I have him call you back?”

Shit. Dave was afraid this might happen. The guy was hardly ever available. But that was a good sign, right? That meant he was good enough to be busy.

“Well, when will he be back?” Dave said, looking out across the lawn at Angie who was still sitting on the bench finishing her cigarette. “This is very important. Time is of the essence.”

“Hmm…let’s see.” Dave could hear the sound of shuffling papers and a keyboard tapping somewhere in the background. “It looks like his last case is at ten-thirty, which means he should be back at the office after lunch, around twelve-thirty.”

“Twelve-thirty?”

“Yes sir. Would you like to leave a number?”

“Yeah, but unfortunately I’m on a payphone.”

“That’s okay. What’s the number?”

“Hold on, let me see.” Dave leaned forward and found the number. It was written on a piece of tape just above the phone’s keypad. “Okay, here it is.” He moved his finger across the tape as he read off the number. When the receptionist finished taking it down she said, “okay, got it.”

“Alright, so twelve-thirty?” Dave said, one more time for confirmation.

“Yes sir. I’ll have him call you as soon as he gets in the office.”

“Okay, thank you.”

Dave hung up the phone and checked his Casio. It was nine-thirty now, which gave him another…one, two, three hours. Damn—why was this guy always in court? He needed to talk to him. This was a huge break. He finally found a way out of this shithole.

Chapter 24

The Patriot

THREE hours later, the payphone began ringing. Dave was sitting in the same metal folding chair with a pile of cigarette butts beneath him. “Yeah?” he said, as he yanked down the receiver and stomped his cigarette out onto the pavement.

The voice on the other end was old and scratchy and had that whiny, Woody Allen New Yorker accent. “Uh yes hello…I’m calling for uh…Mr. David Bell?”

“Is this Weinstein?” Dave said, as he straightened his posture and switched the receiver to his other ear, the good one.

“Yes it is. Is this David?”

“It most certainly is. Where the hell you been, Weinstein? I’ve been waiting out here in the cold for like…four frigging hours.”

“Oh you know how it is, David…busy, busy. Nothing but drafty court rooms and old, curmudgeonly judges.” Weinstein began laughing into the receiver. It was a shrill kind of cackle, like that of a drunken hyena.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dave said, waving his hand dismissively. “Listen, I got some great news for you. I think I may have just broken this case wide open.”

“Really?”