Reality Check (2010) (25 page)

Cody looked around the parking lot, saw the big black pickup with the Smith & Wesson sticker, plus six or seven cars, including a dark sedan at the back with the interior light on and a man behind the wheel. The light went off, and the man became invisible.

Cody walked back to the Rev, where he'd left his car. He got in, drove toward the campus. The night was cold, the streets deserted. As Cody went by the village green, unlit and shadowy, headlights shone in the rearview mirror. He glanced up, thought he saw the outlines of a sedan. Cody sped up. Within seconds, the other car--yes, a sedan--was right behind him; right behind him and with a blue light flashing on the dashboard. Cody pulled over.

watched a man get out of the sedan and come forward. He didn't appear to be in uniform, wore a long winter coat with lapels--underneath Cody could make out a white shirt, a knotted tie. Not a particularly big man, but his head was big. And his face was round: Had Cody seen him before? Maybe at the Rev? He wasn't sure.

The man tapped on the window with his gloved hand. Cody hesitated; a blue light on the dash didn't make you a cop. The man reached into his coat. A single thought--just a number, but it made sense, leaped into Cody's mind: .38. His car was still running; he put his hand on the shift, ready to bang it in gear and hit the pedal. But no gun appeared. Instead the roundheaded man flashed a badge--didn't flash it, really, more held it to the glass, giving Cody plenty of time to read.

Above the badge was a state seal, showing lots of trees and a cow. Below that, a name: Ronald C. Brand, and an unsmiling photo of the round-headed man. And at the bottom: Special Agent, Office of the Vermont Attorney General, Public Corruption Unit. The man--Special Agent Ronald C. Brand--tapped on the window again, not hard. Cody slid it down.

"License and registration," said Agent Brand. He had a soft voice, not at all authoritative. Cody handed over his license and registration. "Sit tight," Agent Brand said.

Cody sat tight. Things were happening fast. He needed time to sort out all his confusion. Sitting in the car, waiting for Agent Brand to return, Cody didn't know where to start. He remembered Clea talking about some amazing poem that began with a man losing his way in a dark forest. Beyond the village green, over the rooftops of North Dover, he could see a real, nonpoetic forest looming in the night.

Tap tap
on the window. Cody hadn't seen Agent Brand coming. He slid it down again. "Cody Laredo?" said Brand. "Resident of Little Bend, Colorado?"

Cody nodded.
"This your car, Cody?"
He nodded again.
"What I've got here is a Colorado registration. That correct?"

Uh-oh. Problem on the way. All these systems, designed by adults, generations and generations of them, to trip you up: Cody was realizing how well they worked.

Agent Brand nodded. "See the problem with that?" he said.
"Vermont plates," said Cody.
Brand laughed; just a short, soft sound, maybe surprised. "Care to explain?"
Cody took a good look at Agent Brand. He had a round face, didn't seem threatening at all, looked honest, whatever that meant. Was there such a thing? For example, Ike didn't look at all honest, but Cody had almost no doubt that he was.
Hard to know who to trust.
"Can I see that badge again?" he said.
Without a word or the slightest sign of annoyance or anger, Brand took out his badge and handed it to Cody. Cody examined it again: a five-pointed gold star, probably gold-plated or even brass; but official looking, at least to his eyes.
"If you think it's a fake," said Brand, passing a card through the window, "that's the AG's office line--he works late."
"The attorney general?" Cody wasn't one-hundred percent sure what the job was, but he knew it was important.
"This is Vermont," said Brand. "We don't stand on ceremony."
Cody gave back the card and the badge, tried to make up his mind. Sergeant Orton had said to keep the mole arrangement just between the two of them, but how was that possible now? And what could be the harm in another law enforcement guy knowing? "Why don't you call Sergeant Orton?" Cody said. "He can explain."
"Sergeant Orton?" said Brand.
"Yeah. Ted, I think his name is. From the police. The North Dover police." He gestured at the night. "Here."
"Heard of Orton," Brand said. "Can't say I really know him."
"Well, he, um . . ." Where to begin?
"Happy to talk to him," Brand said. "But why not hear your side of it first. Mind if I get in?"
"Um."
"Or we could sit in my car," Brand said. "It's cold out here, son, being the point."
"Okay," Cody said. Brand walked around the car, got in, removing a fast-food wrapper from the seat and dropping it on the floor.
"Nice wheels," he said. "First car?"
"Yeah."
"Moment I got my first car," Brand said, "I went for a spin, ended up driving all the way to Canada. Know that feeling, the open road?"
"Yeah."
"Those were the days," Brand said. He reached in his pocket, took out--what was this? Some kind of digital recorder? "Any objection to me taping this?"
"Taping what?"
"Our little chat."
"But why?" Cody said. "Why tape it?"
"In the interest of justice," Brand said. "Helps build a proper case."
"A case against who?" Cody said.
Brand laughed again, that soft sound of surprise. "Excellent question. The answer is--too soon to say. But no reason it would be you." He paused for a moment or two, then added: "Is there?"
"I haven't done anything wrong," Cody said.
"Sounds good to me," Brand said. "Walk me through it."
"Through what?"
"This plate discrepancy," said Brand. "Why we're here."
Cody glanced at the digital recorder, and Brand's round face, the face of . . . what? A teacher, maybe, the kind of teacher kids liked. "If I was the, um, target, then you'd have to read me my rights."
"Ever thought about law school?" Brand said.
Of course not. Cody shook his head.
"Yes, I'd have to read you your rights, if I was playing by the book. And, for many reasons, that's the way I play."
"Give me one," Cody said.
"One what?"
"Of the reasons why you play by the book."
"Because I like to win," Brand said. "An honest case tends to hold together in front of a jury."
Cody nodded. "The plate thing was Sergeant Orton's idea," he said.
"What was the purpose behind it?" Brand said.
"You know about Clea Weston?" said Cody.
"The missing girl."
"Yeah. The thing is, she's from Little Bend, too." Cody glanced at Brand. "Did you know that?"
"No."
Was he lying? Not that Cody could see. And why would he? Cody couldn't think of a reason, but that didn't mean there wasn't one. "You're not working on the disappearance?"
"I wasn't," Brand said.
But now he was? A special agent from the state attorney general--how could that hurt? "We used to go out, me and Clea," Cody said. "So when I heard the news, I came."
"Simple as that."
"Yeah. And when Sergeant Orton found out, he thought I'd make a good mole."
"Mole?"
"Like a spy. But Colorado plates would have blown my cover, so he gave me the Vermont ones."
"Got it," Brand said. "And what did the mole dig up?"
Did Cody hear a little sarcasm in his tone? "Her cell phone, for one thing."
"Yeah?" said Brand; no sarcasm now. "Go on."
Cody told his story: the cell phone, what was on it, Bud getting shot, Sergeant Orton's theories. It grew more and more disorganized, all these details mixing in--like his job at the barn, the "Bending" poem, Clea's trust fund, the ownership of Midnight getting transferred and how he'd figured out that LB Corp. had to be the Westons--but Brand just listened, not once opening his mouth.
Cody came to the end; maybe not the end, but he stopped talking. They sat in silence. After a while Brand said, "LB Corp.--Little Bend. Very clever on your part." He took out his wallet, peeled off some bills. "Here."
"What's this?" said Cody, not taking the money.
"Five hundred bucks," Brand said. "We have a fund for situations like this. Call it traveling money."
"Traveling money?"
"Time to go home," Brand said. "Back to Little Bend."
"Huh?" said Cody. That made no sense.
"The mole thing is over--and I'm talking tonight," Brand said. He switched off the recorder. "Right now, this minute, we're going to the barn, pack up your stuff, change those plates back, and then I'll escort you out of town."
"No way."
Brand gazed at him for a moment, his face suddenly not quite so round and friendly, the hard bone structure somehow showing through. "I know it's tough," he said. "You're a brave kid, and a competent one. But I can't risk you getting caught in the switches."
"What does that mean?"
"Means you're in danger, Cody. I can't protect you, so you can't stay."
"Protect me from who?"
"I'm not at liberty to get into that."
Cody shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Don't turn this into a power struggle."
"I'm not turning it into anything. I'm staying, that's all."
Brand sighed. "The last thing I want to do is arrest you, lock you up, start getting complicated with the Colorado State Police."
"Arrest me for what?"
"Attaching illegal plates, underage drinking, a few others I'll think up if I have to."
So much for honesty and playing by the book. Anger awoke in Cody, turned hot very fast. "But I told you about the plates."
"That you did. You can stay in a cell while I check out the story."
Cody's voice rose. "And you can't prove I had anything to drink--you were outside."
"First," said Brand, "I can smell it on your breath. Second, Phil is on my payroll."
"Phil?"
"The substitute bartender."
Cody went silent. Very slowly, things began to realign in his mind, possibilities rising and falling, but nothing locking into place. He tamped down his anger.
"Be reasonable," Brand said, holding out the money.
Could Brand really make all that trouble, locking him up, bringing in the Colorado State Police? Cody had no reason to doubt it. "Okay," said Cody. "But I don't want the money."
"Take it, please," said Brand. "Otherwise you'll just be handing me a nasty accounting problem."
Cody took the money--ten times what Sergeant Orton had given him, if that meant anything. Phil--fat old drunk at the end of the bar and part-time bartender--was on the payroll of the attorney general's office. If nothing was what it seemed, then he, Cody, had to be like that too.

Brand followed Cody to the parking lot by the barn, waited while he got his things. Cody went up to his little room, threw everything into his duffel, walked down the narrow stairs and back outside. Ike was standing by the door, his face yellow under the overhead light.

"Goin' somewheres?" he said.
"Yeah."
"Like where?"
"I'm leaving town."
"How come? You just started."
"It didn't work out. Not because of you."
"Because of the academy people? Don't pay no attention to

them--off in the clouds."
"That's not it either," Cody said. A snowflake wafted down
between them.
"Suit yourself," Ike said. "Don't think Ike can't manage on
his own."
"I know you can," Cody said. He started moving away,
paused. "Do you know Len Boudreau?"
"Know to stay clear of him," Ike said.
"What is it he does, exactly?" Cody said. "Besides owning
that bar."
"What don't he do, more like it." Ike spat in the snow; then
his head jerked up abruptly, as though he'd been struck by a
thought. "Don't tell me you're in shit with Big Len." Cody shook his head.
"'Cause if you are," Ike said, "then best leave town for
sure."
"Does he lend money? Is that it?"
"Lend? He don't lend nothin'."
But something to do with money, because Deirdre's boyfriend was into him for over six grand. "Is he a gambler?" "Hell, no," said Ike. "He don't gamble. Bein' a bookie's a
sure thing."
All that talk about point spreads, overs and unders, eight
and a half, three and a half: The realignment that was going
on inside Cody's head sped up a little. "He's a bookie?" "Big-time," said Ike.
"Big-time? In a small town like this?"
Ike's eyes narrowed; he looked offended. "Plenty of money
in North Dover, goin' back to earliest days."
"Enough to support a big-time bookie, just from football
bets?"
"Football, basketball, whatever--lots of folks got a sickness,
case you ain't heard." From the barn came the faint whinnying of a horse. Ike went still for a moment or two, then said,
"Nothin' to worry about--just Dusty havin' a bad dream."