Swanger answers with “Just keep driving. Hit the interstate and go north.”

“To where, Swanger?”

“To me. I want to look you in the eyes and ask you why you told the cops where I buried the girl.”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You will.”

“Why did you lie, Swanger?”

“It was just a test to see if you can be trusted. Obviously you cannot. I want to know why.”

“And I want to know why you can’t leave me alone.”

“Because I need a lawyer, Rudd, plain and simple. What am I supposed to do? Take the elevator up to the fortieth floor and confide in a guy in a black suit who charges a thousand bucks an hour? Or maybe call one of those bozos you see on the billboards begging for bankruptcies and car wrecks? I need a real guy from the streets, Rudd, a real slimeball who knows how to play dirty. Right now you’re the man.”

“No I’m not.”

“Take the White Bluff exit off the interstate and go east for two miles. There’s an all-night burger joint currently advertising a double-patty melt with real Velveeta cheese. Yum-yum. I’ll watch you go in and take a seat. I’ll make sure you’re alone and nobody’s following you. When I walk in you won’t recognize me at first.”

“I’ll be packing some heat, Swanger, permit and all, and I know how to use it. Nothing funny, okay?”

“No need for that, I swear.”

“Swear all you want to, but I don’t believe a word you say.”

“Makes two of us.”

20.

There is a lack of ventilation and the air is thick with the smell of greasy burgers and fries. I buy a coffee and sit at a table in the center for ten minutes as two drunk teenagers in a booth giggle and talk with their mouths full. In a far corner an obese, elderly couple gorge themselves as if they’ll never see food again. Part of this joint’s marketing brilliance is that the entire menu is half price from midnight to 6:00 a.m. That and the Velveeta.

A man in a brown UPS uniform enters and does not look around. He buys a soft drink and some fries and is suddenly seated across from me. Behind round frameless glasses I finally recognize Swanger’s eyes. “Glad you could make it,” he says, barely audible.

“A real pleasure,” I say. “Cute uniform.”

“It works. Here’s what’s happening, Rudd. Jiliana Kemp is very much alive but I’m sure she wishes she were dead. She had her baby a few months back. They sold it for fifty thousand bucks, on the high end. The range, I’m told, is twenty-five to fifty, for a little Caucasian thing from good stock. The darker ones go cheaper.”

“Who is they?”

“We’ll get to it in a minute. Right now she’s working long hours as a stripper and hooker in a sex club a thousand miles away. She’s basically a slave, owned by some nasty types who’ve got her hooked on heroin. That’s why she can’t leave and that’s why she’ll do whatever she’s told. Don’t suppose you’ve ever dealt with human trafficking?”

“No.”

“Don’t ask how I got involved. A long sad story.”

“I really don’t care, Swanger. I’d like to help the girl but I’m not sticking my nose into it. You said you needed a lawyer.”

He picks up a single fry and examines it as if looking for poison, then slowly puts it into his mouth. He glares at me from behind the fake lenses, and finally says, “She’ll work the clubs for a bit, then they’ll decide to breed her again. They pass her around, you know, and when she gets pregnant they’ll get her off the drugs and lock her away. The baby’s gotta be healthy, you know. She’s one of eight or ten girls on their payroll, mostly white but a few brown ones, all from this country.”

“All abducted?”

“Of course. You don’t think they volunteered?”

“I don’t know what to think.” I hope he’s lying but something tells me he’s not. Either way, the story is so repulsive I can only shake my head. I can’t help but see the images of Roy Kemp and his wife on the news pleading for a safe return of their daughter.

“Real tragic,” I say. “But I’m losing patience here, Swanger. First, I can’t believe anything you say. Second, you said you needed a lawyer.”

“Why did you tell the cops where she was buried?”

“Because they kidnapped my son and forced me to cough up what you’d told me.”

He likes this story and can’t hold back a smile. “Really? The cops kidnapped your son?”

“They did. I caved, told them, they raced out to the site, wasted an entire night digging, and when it became apparent you were lying, they released my kid.”

He crams three fries into his mouth and chomps like he’s working an entire pack of bubble gum. “I was in the woods, watching, laughing my ass off at those clowns. I was also cussing you for telling my secret.”

“You’re a sicko, Swanger. Why am I here?”

“Because I need money, Rudd. It ain’t easy living on the run like this. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit I have to do to generate cash and I’m sick of it. There’s about 150 grand in reward money sitting in a pot somewhere in the police department. I figure if I can get the girl back to her family, then I should get some of the money.”

I don’t know why I’m shocked by this. Nothing this idiot says should surprise me. I take a deep breath and say, “Allow me to make some sense of this. You kidnapped the girl a year ago. The good people of our city donated their cash for a reward fund. Now you, the kidnapper, would like to return the girl, and for this act of great humanity you think you should get some of the reward money, the same money now being held to solve the crime you committed. Right, Swanger?”

“I got no problem with that. It works on all fronts. They get the girl; I get the cash.”

“More of a ransom deal, I think.”

“Call it what you like. I don’t care. I just gotta have some cash, Rudd, and I figure a lawyer like you can make it happen.”

I jump to my feet and say, “What you need is a bullet, Swanger.”

“Where you going?”

“Home. And if you call me again I’ll call the cops.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Our volume has increased and the drunk teenagers are staring at us. I walk away and manage to get outside before he catches me and grabs my shoulder. “You think I’m lying about the girl, don’t you, Rudd?”

I quickly grab the Glock 19 from the holster under my left armpit and grip it with my right hand. I back away as he freezes, staring at the pistol. I say, “I don’t know if you’re lying and I don’t care. You’re a sick puppy, Swanger, and I’m sure you’ll die an awful death. Now leave me alone.”

He relaxes and smiles. “You ever hear of a town called Lamont, Missouri? No reason to, really. Podunk place of a thousand people, an hour north of Columbia. Three nights ago a twenty-year-old girl, first name of Heather, disappeared. The whole town’s in a panic, everybody’s in on the search, stomping through the woods and looking under bushes. No sign whatsoever. She’s all right, I mean at least she’s alive. She’s living in the same warehouse with Jiliana Kemp, west-central Chicago, getting the same abuse. Check it out online, Rudd, the Columbia paper ran a small story this morning. Just another girl, this one five hundred miles away, but these guys are hard-core traffickers.”

I grip the pistol even tighter and resist the urge to raise it shoulder high and put a couple into his skull.

PART SIX THE PLEA