Wicked Prey

and Carey put her face close to Johnson’s, and he flinched away, a line of sweat on his upper lip, and she said, “We’re friends of Juliet. And we’re really from Channel Three. If you go back to see Juliet’s mother, if you ever talk to Juliet again, we’ll put this tape on the evening news, I swear to God.”
    Cramer said, in a working-class British accent, “You heard the phrase, tossing the salad?”
    Johnson drew back from Carey. “Maybe.”
    “You’re gonna be the designated salad-tosser at Stillwater state correctional institution if you go back on Juliet,” Cramer said. “When you get out, if you get out, you’re gonna have to walk up and down every neighborhood you’ll ever live in, and knock on the doors and tell the people you’re a registered pervert. Keep that in mind.” He reached out with his free hand and pinched one of Johnson’s nipples, hard.
    Johnson squealed, “Ah,” and jerked back.
    “And I’ll pinch your other nipple,” Cramer said. “If you get out.”
    They retreated to the van. Cramer put the camera inside and they slid the doors shut, and left Johnson standing in the driveway, in a puddle of dropped political advertisements.
    Letty said, “Harsh.” But she was smiling.
    “If the station ever finds out what we did, we might get fired,” Carey said.
    “You forgot to mention that,” Cramer said, but he didn’t seem worried.
    “You would have come anyway,” Carey said. To Letty: “So Juliet’s good—she’s got a place to stay.”
    Letty asked Cramer, “What was that thing about a salad?”
    * * *
    BUT WHEN Letty called Briar, the other girl began sobbing. “I’m at the hospital. I’ve been at the hospital all night. Randy got hurt.”
    “How?”
    “Some asshole threw him in front of a car,” Briar said. “He got run over.”
    The image in Letty’s mind almost made her laugh, but she pushed the impulse away and asked, “How bad? Are you okay?”
    “I’m okay . . .” and Briar unraveled the whole story, starting with their failure to track down a methamphetamine salesman, on to the purchase of a pint of rum, Randy and Ranch getting loaded, the decision to stop at the café in St. Paul, still hoping to find George, the crank salesman, the argument, and the fight.
    “So . . . this guy was sort of protecting you, right?” Letty asked. “Randy was threatening to beat you up, and this guy threw Randy in front of a car?”
    “Well, I didn’t need that, I didn’t ask him for that, Randy wasn’t . . . Randy’s really hurt, Letty. He’s all bruised, you should see it, and his foot’s broken. I can’t go home now. Who’d take care of him? He can’t even cook.”
    “Juliet—I’ve got to talk to you,” Letty said. “Is there someplace to eat there, at the hospital?”
    “The cafeteria . . .”
    “Which hospital?”
    “Regions. I can see the Capitol out the window.”
    “We’re going to come there. I’ll meet you in the cafeteria in half an hour,” Letty said.
    * * *
    LETTY PERSUADED Carey to drop her at the hospital; she’d catch the bus home. “She wants to talk to me alone. I’ll tell her about Don.”
    Carey was skeptical: “This whole other thing that you were planning—that won’t work if she just goes home.”
    “I’ve got another plan,” Letty said. “Once she’s home, and she’s safe, and Don’s not there, I’ll get her to talk to the police about Randy,” Letty said. “I asked Lorenzo at the station, he said that if she told the police about Randy, they wouldn’t even have to have a trial. He’s on parole, and they’d put him back inside, for drug use and prostitution and maybe assault. They might have a trial on some of those, but they’d put him away first.”
    Lorenzo the Lawyer covered legal affairs for the news department.
    “That’s enough for you?” Carey asked. “That he goes back to jail?”
    “If that’s what I can get, that’s what I can get,” Letty said. “It’ll take care of the problem for a couple of more years.”
    “I’ll drop you,” Carey said. “Don’t forget to tell her about Don.”
    “I’ll tell her,” Letty said.
    “Letty?”
    “ I’ll tell her. ”
    * * *
     
    LETTY TOLD HER, but Briar, scared and sad and also, Letty thought, somewhat interested in Whitcomb’s new disability, said she couldn’t go home right away.
    “I mean, I love it about that fucker Don,” Briar said. “But Randy does love me somehow . . . I know, I know what you’re going to say,