Joe Victim: A Thriller

“Because she needs the money,” I tell him. “Because I want to look after her. And because she visits me every week and she can bring some of it with her each time.”


“Do you have her account details?”

“She’ll have them. You can contact her.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll contact her tomorrow.”

“What time am I showing them?”

“Ten a.m.”

I shake my head. “Err . . . no. That doesn’t work for me.”

Another pause. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I am. Ten o’clock is too early.”

“Come on, Joe, are you deliberately trying to make this difficult? This is a good deal for you. A great deal that a lot of us had to work hard to—”

“I’m telling you, it’s too early,” I say.

“Why?”

“I’ve got interviews with the psychiatrist all day tomorrow. That stuff is important. I’m not going to risk ruining it. You warned me about that.”

“Well I’m sure she can work around it.”

I start shaking my head as if he can see me. “Listen to me. David—”

“It’s Kevin.”

“Kevin. Morning isn’t good for me.”

“Because you have other appointments.”

“Yes. This is my defense we’re talking about here. My future. It’s my life. I’m not going to mess around with that.”

I can imagine him sitting at his desk. He’s got one hand on his forehead and he’s holding the phone away from himself and staring into it. Perhaps he’s even thinking about hanging up. Or tying it around his neck and hanging himself.

“Joe, we’ve got the ball rolling here, and you’re in danger of messing everything up. What’s really going on here?”

“Nothing is going on, other than what I just told you. You’re my lawyer. You convince them that if they want this deal to go ahead, it can’t be in the morning.”

“When then?”

“When I’m done with the interviews,” I say. “Make it four o’clock,” I say.

“Four o’clock,” Kevin says. “Why four o’clock?”

“Why not four o’clock?”

“Jesus, Joe, you’re really making this difficult,” he tells me.

“Just make it happen,” I tell him. “And by the way, it’s falling, not rolling.”

“What?”

“We’ve got the ball falling here. Not rolling.”

He doesn’t answer. I listen to his silence for a few seconds, then I hang up like they do in movies all the time without saying good-bye, when both parties seem to know the conversation has come to an end.

I turn toward Adam. “I need to make a phone call.”

“You just made a phone call.”

“No. I received a phone call. Now I need to make one.”

He smiles at me. There is no warmth in that smile. “I don’t give a fuck about what you need, Joe.”

“Please. It’s important.”

“Seriously, Joe, which part of what I just said didn’t compute? Take a look at me. Do I look like I care about what you need?”

I look at him. He actually looks like the kind of guy who cares about what I need and is willing to make sure I don’t get it. If I tugged hard on the phone receiver and broke it free, I could use it as a club. I could entail the fuck out of him with it. Then the phone would be useless. Which makes it a paradox, since I need it. Or an irony. Or both.

“Please,” I tell him. “Please.”

“Tell you what, Joe,” he says, pressing himself away from the wall while scratching at one of his bulging biceps. “Have you eaten the sandwich yet?”

“What sandwich?”

“The one I brought you earlier.”

“No.”

“Tell you what, Joe. Here’s how it’s going to play out. I’ll let you make your call, and in return for me letting you do that, you eat that sandwich.”

I say nothing.

He says nothing.

I think about the sandwich and what it would take to eat it. I think about tomorrow and getting out of here and never coming back.

“Well?” he says.

“Okay,” I say, the word barely coming out.

“What was that, Joe?”

“I said okay.”

“Good. And since I’m feeling in a good mood, I’m going to trust you. You go ahead and make that phone call first. I’ll let you do that. But when we get back to your cell if you don’t eat that sandwich then there will be no more phone calls for you in the future. In fact, your future will become all about misplacement. Your misplacement. We’re not going to be keeping as good an eye on you as we should. Next thing you know, you’re in general population by accident. You’re showering with the big guys. And the thing about accidents is they happen all the time. We on the same page here, Joe?”

“I’ll eat the sandwich,” I tell him. Then after Melissa sets me free I’m going to find Adam and stuff him so full of pubic-hair sandwiches he’s going to look like a mohair jersey.

I pick the receiver back up and dial my mom’s number. It rings a few times and she doesn’t answer.

“Deal still counts even if nobody is home,” Adam says. “You’re still making your call.”

“It’s not a call if nobody answers,” I tell him.