Rough Trade

me. I could see the pores in his skin and smell the onions on his breath from lunch.
    “My name is Kate Millholland,” I said. “I’m the attorney for the Milwaukee Monarchs. Normally my opinion is very expensive, but I have some advice for you that I’m offering for free.”
    “What’s that?” sneered Grubb.
    “Go and take a look at your prisoner. We tied him up and took away his gun, but if he croaks at the scene while you’re standing here treating us to the tough-guy routine, it’s going to be your ass, not mine.”
    “I’ll take you to him,” said Chrissy. She was still shaken and had no stomach for games.
    Grubb spent a couple more seconds exuding testosterone before he decided he’d made his point. I suppressed a yawn. Then we all trooped into the kitchen.
    The two officers took one look at the Jester and immediately radioed for the paramedics. I had to admit that he didn’t look very good, though I guessed I didn’t either. A quick peek at myself in the door of the microwave revealed the portrait of a lawyer who looked like she’d just crawled out of a Dumpster. Chrissy, on the other hand, looked infuriatingly perfect. Not only did her new role of damsel in distress suit her perfectly, but she must have found time to put on fresh lipstick while I was busy icing down my bruises.
    Of course, the paramedics were there in two minutes flat. While they ministered to the Jester, Detective Schumacher made a desultory attempt at taking down our statements. They say that a lack of outrage is an outrage in itself. For Chrissy, his lack of interest, much less sympathy at what she’d been through in her own home, must have felt like a second violation. It certainly didn’t help that we could hear the EMTs tenderly ministering to our assailant, lifting him onto a stretcher, and assuring him that they would take good care of him.
    When they were finished, Detective Grubb came looking for me. He found me in the living room pacing back and forth while Chrissy sucked up the pieces of Herend into the Dustbuster.
    “I thought you might like to know that I’ve advised Mr. Koharski that he may want to press charges for assault.”
    “Who is Mr. Koharski?” I demanded.
    “The gentleman you assaulted with your vehicle, savagely beat, and then tied up.”
    “You and I both know that’s ridiculous,” I countered, seething inside. “We’re talking about a man who broke into a private residence and committed felony trespass and assault.”
    “That may be your version,” he replied. “But right now it’s your word against his.”
     
    It took under a half an hour for Chrissy and me to pack up everything she and the baby needed and load it all into the back of her Suburban, less if you didn’t count the time I spent stuffing the blown air bags back into their compartments and taping them into place with duct tape. The decision had been reached with almost no discussion. The police had sent their message. Chrissy was not going to spend another hour, much less another night, in that house.
    Chrissy called and left a brief message at the Regent Beverly Wilshire for Jeff, strapped the baby into her car seat, and climbed into the seat that had most recently been occupied by the Jester. She confessed that she was still much too shaken to drive, and my car was not just undrivable, but I suspected a total loss.
    As I pulled Chrissy’s car out of her own driveway, I saw her turn in her seat to catch one last glimpse of her house and realized that she had no idea when, if ever, she’d be coming back. What Beau had most feared had now come to pass. The Rendells were being run out of town. I wondered if he was in a position to appreciate the irony of it; in the end he was the only one who was going to get to stay.
    There was also the issue of where to go. As we passed the cheese shops and the outlet malls on our way to Chicago, I called and made reservations for her at the Four Seasons. It wasn’t until I saw the exit for Lake Forest that I got a better idea. As I hit the off-ramp and turned onto Sheridan Road, I called my mother.
    Mother adores being magnanimous, especially when the appearance of generosity can be accomplished with a minimum of effort on her part. She and my father were about to leave for the airport to spend two weeks with friends in St. Bart, so I wasn’t surprised that she expressed herself as delighted to open up the guest wing for Chrissy and the baby. In fact, I knew that she was