Her eyes hardened and an edge came to her voice. “All I had when I left Los Angeles was my son and a lot of bad memories. I wanted a job with a future. I wanted an education. I wanted to work and see the work pay dividends and be a worthwhile person. I am. I have a good home. I do a good job with my boy. He’s not on drugs and he does all right in school. Witness protection means we change our name and our life and start over. I won’t do that. I’ve already started over and I’ve built the thing I wanted to build and I don’t want to lose it. I’ve come a long way from stupidville.”

“Far enough to make it worth being owned by the mob?”

The eyes went back to the boy and turned red again. “I don’t know what I can do, but I’ll find a way out. It’s been eight years, but I will find a way out. I promise you.” She wasn’t saying it to me. She was saying it to the boy.

I looked around the house. I looked at the cat. I looked at the boy bouncing the ball. It was a good house, well put together and warm and filled with the things that a family home should be filled with. It couldn’t have been easy. Peter, do I havta? I said, “I know what you can do.”

She made a tired little laugh and looked back at me. “What shit. You’re here, and Peter’s here, and any chance I might’ve had to get away from these people is gone. There isn’t anything else I can do.”

“Sure there is. You can hire me to get you out of this mess.”

Chapter Fourteen

Fourteen

We were sitting on the Early American furniture across from the fireplace, me on the couch, Karen on one of the wingback chairs, drinking white wine from glasses that were simple and without adornment. The cat had left the room. She said, “They give me money, and I transfer it out of the country without reporting it to the Treasury Department. Any deposit over $10,000 we’re supposed to file a form with the Treasury Department, but I don’t. That’s what it’s all about, taking in the money and not reporting it. I put the money into an account, then transfer it to a bank in Barbados. In, then out. It doesn’t seem like much, does it?”

I said, “Who gives you the money?” I was looking for a way out for her. I didn’t know what that would be, but maybe if I heard enough, something would present itself. It’s the scattershot approach to the detective business.

“Either Charlie or a man named Harry. It’s usually Harry, but sometimes it’s Charlie.”

“Who’s Harry?”