Lassiter

7 The Do-Over

I got into my car, pulled out Amy Larkin’s business card, and punched her cell number into my keypad.

I paused without hitting the CALL button. Elmore stood in the window of his store, watching me. If I dived into the search for Krista Larkin, where would it lead? If Charlie Ziegler was guilty of some terrible crime, just what would my culpability be? Maybe Ziegler pushed her off a cliff, but I’m the guy who drove her up the mountain.

Damn, a mirror can be a lethal weapon, and self-knowledge a poisoned pill. I had been a self-centered and egotistical jock with all the trappings of stunted male adolescence. Back then, I had yet to develop the empathy for others that marks the passage into manhood.

The defense lawyer inside of me said I wasn’t the proximate cause of Krista’s descent. But why the hell hadn’t I sized up the situation, grabbed Ziegler by the lapels of his suede jacket, and tossed him halfway across the street? I could have taken Krista to Social Services or a girlfriend’s place or put her on a plane back home. Instead, I gift-wrapped her and delivered her to Charlie Ziegler.

There’s a difference between criminal guilt and moral culpability. Sure, I was off the hook in any court of law for whatever happened to Krista Larkin. But while I could not be criminally prosecuted, I could suffer self-imposed shame.

I should have helped her.

Could have. Would have. Should have.

But we don’t get do-overs.

Or do we?

I hit the CALL button. “You were wrong,” I told Amy, when she answered.

“About what?”

“You said I wouldn’t call.”

“What do you want, Lassiter?” Her no-nonsense, no-bullshit tone.

“I have a lead on a guy Krista was involved with.”

“Other than you?”

“I told you about that night. Nothing happened.” Trying hard to sound truthful.

“And I told you I didn’t believe you.”

“I’m hoping, in time, you’ll start to trust me.”

“In time? What do you think, we’re going to be friends?”

“Just hear me out.”

“Give me the name you supposedly came up with.”

“I can do more than that. I can help you find out what happened to Krista.”

“Jake Lassiter, help? When I look at you, all I see is that grinning ape in the strip club. A man without a serious thought beyond his next beer and his next lay.”

“I made a mistake. I want to make it right.”

“Get over it. This isn’t about you and your redemption.”

“You’re playing an away game, Amy. This is my town.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I have street savvy. Experience. Contacts.”

“You?”

The concept seemed ludicrous to her.

“The State Attorney is a friend of mine.”

“So what?”

“I can get you official help.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Let’s have dinner and talk about it,” I suggested.

“I’m not hungry.”

“One drink, then.”

“Not thirsty, either.”

“C’mon. Let me lay out a plan. If you don’t like it, I’ll back off. Deal?”

“Give me the name of the man Krista was mixed up with, and I’ll think about it.”

“Nope.”

“You’re a real bastard, Lassiter.”

“Yeah, but I’m your bastard. You might not like me, Amy Larkin. Hell, you might even hate me. But the truth is, you need me.”

She let out a long, whistling sigh and said, “Where do we meet?”