“And what was that, Theresa?”

“I hired a lawyer.”

I involuntarily winced. “And how did that work out for you?”

“Not so good. We sued for child support. Bradley countersued for custody, which made me furious, because he never showed any interest in Belle before that. And then things took a bad turn.”

“How?” I said.

“The fix was in. Yes, I had been having problems, drinking too much, a holdover from my time with Bradley, and I was using some recreational drugs with a fast crowd that Bradley had introduced me to. And yes, there were a few times when I left her alone for short periods where maybe I shouldn’t have, but those weren’t serious enough for them to take my baby.”

“But they did,” I said.

“They were going to. Before the hearing, my lawyer told me that things were looking bad, that criminal charges were being contemplated, that powerful forces were working against me. He urged me to work out a settlement.”

“Powerful forces?”

“Bradley has influential friends.”

“So you agreed to give up custody?”

“Outside the courtroom I went right up to Bradley and begged him to stop. In front of everyone, all of Bradley’s crowd, I pleaded with him. But Bradley just stood there, stone-faced with anger. The possibility that my daughter, my Belle, would end up with such an angry, violent man seemed impossible. But the lawyer told me had I had no choice. The fix was in.”

“With a family-court judge? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes. I’m certain. It was his college friend who applied the pressure.”

“So without a hearing you gave away your daughter.”

“I was weak. I was ill.”

“Did you get any money?”

“There was a financial settlement.”

“And now, after selling your baby, you want to get her back.”

“That’s not what it was. And I’ve been in treatment, Mr. Carl. I’ve got a new job. I’ve worked hard to turn my life around. She should be with me.”

“I filed a petition to alter the custody agreement,” said Beth. “The hearing is scheduled for late next week.”

“What exactly are you looking for, Theresa?”

“I just want to see my baby, have time with her.”

“We’re asking for some sort of joint custody,” said Beth.

“Bradley hasn’t been a bad father,” said Theresa, “but a girl needs her mother, don’t you think?”

“Who’s Bradley’s lawyer?”

“Remember Arthur Gullicksen from the Dubé case?” said Beth. “He’s representing the father, and he’s been adamant that Bradley won’t share custody and won’t let Theresa even see the child.”

“What evidence do we have to present?”

“Theresa will testify,” said Beth. “Theresa’s new employer. Her drug tests from the treatment center have all come up clean. We can prove that she’s changed.”

“Can we?”

“You can,” said Beth.

“Theresa, why did you come to Beth?” I asked.

“The woman’s group I was seeing recommended her. They said Beth would come through for me.”

“I bet they did.” Once a sucker always a sucker, I thought. “But I’m sure there are plenty of attorneys with more experience in family court than Beth who would take your case.”

“I tried. No one would accept it. They said I didn’t have enough money. They said I didn’t have a leg to stand on. But really, all the lawyers were simply afraid to go up against Bradley.”

“Why?”

“Because of his friends.”

“Especially his old college buddy.”

“Right.”

“The one who gets Bradley all those contracts, the one who had arranged to fix the custody case, the one who is intimidating half the bar. You mind telling me who it is, or am I just going to have to guess.”

“Are you going to be intimidated, too, Mr. Carl?”

“Theresa, in the face of intimidation, I am like a herd of elephants: I can be stampeded by a mouse. And Bradley’s old college buddy, I’m sure, is bigger than a mouse.”

“It’s the mayor,” said Beth.

“Of course it is,” I said. “Can I speak with you for a moment outside, Beth?”

In the hallway, with the door to the conference room closed, I gave Beth the look. You know the look, the one your mother gave you when you let the water in the tub run until it overflowed through the living room ceiling, warping the coffee table, staining the rug, that look.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“She needs someone.”

“Of course she needs someone, she’s in way over her head, but why does she need us?”

“Because no one else is foolish enough to take her case.”

“So you’re appealing to my innate stupidity, as opposed to my greed or low moral fiber.”

“That’s right.”

“This is going to be a hornet’s nest, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said, with a sly smile.

“And it has nothing to do with your identification with a young girl torn from her parent?”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m just a sucker for lost kids.”

“She’s with her father.”

“He sounds like a jerk.”

“He does, yes, if you can trust what our client says.”

“I believe Theresa deserves another chance,” said Beth. “We all deserve another chance, Victor. And she’s changed.”

“Has she?”

“I think so.”

“I guess we’ll find out. Okay, tell her we’ll do what we can” – I glanced at my watch – “but right now I have to run.”

“Hot date?”

“Sure,” I said, “with a seagull.”

Charlie the Greek found me.

I was leaning on the railing of the boardwalk in Ocean City, New Jersey, across from the Kohr Bros. frozen-custard stand at the Seventh Street ramp. The air was wet and salty, shot through with honky-tonk lights, the Ferris wheel spun, seagulls hovered. Little kids squealed as they pulled their parents to the amusement pier, boys bought skimmer boards at the surf shop. Taters Famous Fresh Cut Fries, Johnson’s popcorn, Tee Time Golf, free live crabs with kit. Ah, summer at the shore, it can’t help but stir sweet memories of an idyllic childhood, except not my memories and not my childhood.

“You Carl?” came a voice ragged and dry, with the flat accent of Northeast Philadelphia.

I turned to spot a short, old man with stubby arms who had sidled up beside me. His forehead came to my elbow. He looked to be in his sixties, and from the evidence they had been sixty hard years. His head was big and round and bald, his eyes were squinty, his plaid shorts were belted high on his waist. And then there were the white socks and sandals.

“I’m Carl,” I said.

“You couldn’t maybe have dressed to blend?”

“Would you have recognized me if I wasn’t in my suit?”

“Maybe not, but jeez.” The man’s head swiveled, his eyes shifted. “Every mug on the boardwalk has you marked.”

“Let me say this, Charlie. Even on the boardwalk, my suit is less conspicuous than those shorts.”

“Bermudas,” he said, hitching up his belt. “On sale at Kohl’s.”

“I bet they were.”

“Was you followed? Did you check to make sure you wasn’t followed?”

“Who would be following me?”

His head swiveled again. “Stop with the attitude and bark.”

“I checked before I left the city and again when I pulled in to the rest stop on the expressway and surveyed the ramps. All clear.”

“Good.” Pause. “How’s my mother?”

“She’s dying.”

“The old bat’s been dying for years.”

“She looked pretty bad.”

“Ever seen her look good? Trust me, she’ll end up spitting into my grave afore it’s over.”

He hiked up his shorts until they were just beneath his breasts, scanned the boards. “Want to know why I ran all them years ago? They wasn’t going to send me away hard, it wasn’t the time what had me worried. But she would have come in every visiting day to sit across from me and let me have it through the Plexiglas. I would have killed myself halfway through.”

“She wants you to come home.”

“I knows she does.”