Box. Part 12

It's a two-hour drive, so let's start with what I've learned from the dating site.

If her profile's accurate she's my age, forty-two, recently divorced, with a daughter in college. She lives on a ranch. If the photos she posted are actually her, she's attractive, or was at the time they were taken. She's a custom saddle-maker, which sounds interesting, doesn't it? I mean, she works with leather, right?

Riding crops?

Bondage collars?

That's s.e.xy, isn't it?

I'm not sure. But it's an angle to explore.

I try to picture her naked, on all fours. I'm riding her, whacking her f.a.n.n.y with a riding crop.

Wait.

Riding her?

I'm having trouble with the mental image.

I can't picture how to hump her and smack her a.s.s at the same time. I'm not sure it works anatomically. And anyway, I don't like the idea of hitting a woman.

I know what you're thinking.

I didn't have any problem hitting Trudy last night.

Good point.

I'll admit there was something amazing about beating Trudy up last night. I think it had to do with her insisting that I hit her, and knowing I had to hit her, and the certain knowledge that hitting her would benefit both of us. It's like the world's biggest taboo, hitting a woman, but we both knew it had to be done.

It was like getting a free pa.s.s.

I have no doubt that given the opportunity, Darrell would have beaten her half to death. Or all the way to death, since he was furious about the divorce, and the judge's ruling, and the thought of losing Trudy forever. At the very least he would have done serious, and possibly permanent, damage to her face, nose, eyes, or teeth.

But I ran him over before he had time to do that.

Then I punched Trudy's face and torso.

Hit her hard and often.

Big man, right?

I did it the safest way possible, but feel weird reporting it wasn't half as unpleasant as I would have expected. Maybe it's because beating her up solved all our problems. It kept me out of jail. Ensured her divorce would sail through the court system. Allows her to get a restraining order against Darrell. Puts him in line for a jail term, which could very well save his life.

You think I'm stretching things saying that beating Trudy could save Darrell's life?

Think about it.

What type of life expectancy does Darrell have in the meth business? This guy's a Grim Reaper trifecta: a meth cooker, meth dealer, and meth addict all rolled into one.

I try singing it out loud, in my car: I beat a girl and I li-iked it!

Katy Perry, eat your heart out.

All jokes aside, I didn't enjoy it, and I'd never do it again.

But it wasn't that bad.

For me, anyway.

I drive another twenty minutes and decide I really miss Trudy. And not just because she let me beat her up.

I miss her.

Why did I give her all that money after knowing her a single night?

Because I'm a nice guy?

No.

Because I feel guilty for beating her up?

Partly.

But if I'm being honest, the main reason I gave her all that money is because I can.

It's chump change to me.

Go ahead and hate me for saying that.

Elvis was known for giving women Cadillacs just for being pretty. Does that make him a great guy?

It does?

Well I'm not a great guy. I just think Trudy's a great girl who deserves a break.

What I'm saying, I was extremely wealthy before one of the world's richest men paid me a hundred million dollars to perform an unauthorized surgery on his girlfriend. How much is a hundred million bucks? The interest alone pays me a hundred grand a week!

I'd like to see you try to spend that much money without doing something nice for someone along the way.

Of course, by removing Trudy's money issues, I've removed the only reason why she could possibly be interested in me. So I go back to visualizing Faith Hemphill naked on all fours. This time she's wearing one of her custom-made saddles on her back. I expect (and hope) I'm too big to ride her and switch her a.s.s with a riding crop, so I visualize someone smaller doing it.

A few months ago I met a midget, a dwarf, and an elf at a government facility near Bedford, Virginia.

At least I think Charlie's an elf.

I picture Charlie riding Faith Hemphill, switching her a.s.s with a half-sized riding crop.

"Giddyup!" he shouts. He whacks her rear flank. "Trot!" Whack! "Canter!" Whack!

I shake away the image. It's doing nothing for me.

My mind drifts back to Trudy Lake. She was all bruised up, in the hospital bed, telling me what a wonderful girlfriend she'd be.

I believe her.

I had an eighteen-year-old girlfriend a few months ago.

Well, that's a stretch.

She wasn't my girlfriend, I was paying her for s.e.x.

Wait. That is a girlfriend.

But anyway, it was a great relations.h.i.+p.

For me.

Maybe Trudy would be willing to live with me a while for a fee. She could bank the gift I give her each month, and I'd handle her expenses.

I have half a mind to turn the car around and see if Trudy might be interested in this type of relations.h.i.+p. You know, until she can find a nice guy. My guess is no, but it's worth asking.

Except that I'm about to turn off the highway onto Leeds Road, which puts me less than two miles from Faith Hemphill's ranch. I've come all this way, I should at least meet her.

As I start my turn I see a car broken down on the side of the road a hundred yards ahead. It's an isolated area, and this guy clearly needs help. His hood is up, his wife is sitting on the ground, holding a baby. He's waving at me.

My plan is to pretend I don't see him. I'm a New Yorker, so this is status quo for me.

But this guy won't be denied!

He sees me and suddenly starts jumping up and down and flailing his arms in a way that makes him impossible to ignore. He's actually stepping into my path on the road, putting himself in danger, determined to flag me down. A guy this determined has to be in serious trouble.

But I view this situation the same way I view religion.

If your religious beliefs bring you joy and comfort, I'm happy for you. Because the world needs good, positive people who believe they're here for a purpose. To me, the best of the bunch are those who get involved and willingly help others.

There are good, solid, decent country people all over this fine state. And I believe almost anyone who lives in this isolated area would be thrilled to stop and help this poor family. They wouldn't think twice about the ha.s.sle, the heat, the inconvenience, or the blood or vomit that might wind up getting on their car seats.

Since I'm not like these people, I don't want to deprive those who are. Doesn't it make sense this family should be helped by those whose joy in life is to help others?

I think so.

I flip him the finger and keep going.

As I drive toward Faith's house I decide I don't really want to see her. What I really want is to drive back to Starbucks County Hospital and spend the rest of the afternoon sitting with Trudy, keeping her company. We'll talk, laugh, and get to know each other better.

That's what I'd like to do.

But what if Trudy doesn't want me?

I'd be driving all that way only to be turned down.

She's probably already asked Robert Bothwell to wire the first ten grand to her personal account. If so, he's already explained she gets the money whether or not we're a couple. By now she's come to the conclusion the money's enough. She can finance her new life and find a good man closer to her age. That would be in her best interest.

But you know what I'm thinking right now?

Trudy's young and impressionable. And I might be able to talk her into a relations.h.i.+p that would be in my best interest.

To put it another way, Trudy's worth fighting for.

She's absolutely worth fighting for, and I'm willing to drive all the way back to Starbucks to see if I can find some common ground that would give us a chance to be together, even if it's only temporary. If necessary, I'll spend all evening trying to convince her. Then, if she still doesn't want me, I won't badger her. I'll accept her decision and move on.

I wonder if I'm starting to fall in love with her.

G.o.d, I'd hate to lose Trudy tonight.

Of course, I'd feel a lot better about losing her if I f.u.c.k Faith Hemphill first.

Darrell Lake.

"WHAT DO YOU mean he drove right past you?" Darrell yells into the phone. "You should've flagged him down!"

"I did flag him down," Cletus says. "I jumped up and down and waved my arms and got halfway in the lane."

"That's bulls.h.i.+t. If he'd a' seen you, he would a' stopped."

"He saw me, all right. Gave me the finger."

"What?"

"He looked at Maisie and the baby sittin' on the ground, then looked at me, swerved into me, to force me to jump off the road, then flipped me the finger as he went by."

"What the f.u.c.k kind of doctor does a thing like that?" Darrell says.

"A bad one, you ask me."

"Now what're we gonna do?" Darrell says.

They pause, thinking about it.

"It was such a simple plan," Darrell says. "He pulls over to help you, you bash his head in, and rob him."