Swonger wandered up from fixing the fence and leaned against the trailer just out of Gibson’s line of sight.
“You work on the farm with your dad?” Gibson asked, not turning his head.
“It look like there’s anything to work on around here?” Swonger said. “Nah, man. I help Pops out, but the Birks barely pay him anything anymore.”
“So what do you do?”
“What do I do? Fuck you is what I do.”
“Good talking to you as always, Swonger.”
Swonger spat in the dirt. Nephew and uncle reemerged. Birk led his uncle to the nearest chair. Gibson stood and held out his hand to the judge.
“Hello, sir.”
The judge glanced at his nephew.
“Gibson Vaughn,” Birk prompted.
“Ah, yes. Thank you for coming,” the judge said and shook Gibson’s hand. His skin was the texture of muslin.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
Judge Birk stared at him for a moment, then looked back to his nephew hopefully. “Is it bath day?”
CHAPTER FIVE
“Dementia,” Christopher Birk said. “Runs in the family, so I got that waiting on me.”
Gibson tried to catch the judge’s eye, but Judge Birk avoided his gaze.
“He’s a little anxious,” Birk explained. “He gets like this around new people.”
“I’m not new people.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Is he . . . is it always like this?”
“Comes and goes. Been not so bad lately, I suppose. Hit or miss on clothes. Has trouble with things that turn on or off. Just doesn’t understand the concept anymore. Flooded the trailer three times before Swonger’s dad shut the water off for good.”
“He doesn’t have running water?”
“Think that’s what the man said,” Swonger said.
Gibson swiveled in his chair and fixed a look on Swonger. “Why don’t you come sit at the grown-up table where I can see you?”
Swonger didn’t move.
“Bottled water’s safer,” Birk explained.
Gibson leaned in close to the judge. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
The judge still wouldn’t look him in the eye.
“Did he even write the letter?” Gibson asked Christopher Birk.
“Nah, man,” Swonger said. “He’s got the tremors something fierce. Can’t even hold a pen right. Looks like old Richter caught the big one, know what I’m saying?” Swonger made large jagged movements with his hand to demonstrate.
“You’re a hell of a forger.” Gibson thought he knew the judge’s handwriting better than his own, but nothing about the ex-con’s penmanship had raised a red flag. Swonger had talent.
“Sentiment was from the heart. For reals. Old boy’s been wanting to see you bad.”
“He doesn’t seem like he wants to see me.”
“Nah, he does. He’s just confused.”
“What Gavin wrote,” Birk said, “is pretty much what my uncle’s been saying. He really did ask to see you. Brought you up several times. Several.”
Gibson saw the angle. They’d trotted out the judge in all his pathetic glory so they could gauge how Gibson reacted, how affected he was by the spectacle. They wanted something from him, and the judge was the finger plucking at his heartstrings. Soften him up before they pitched whatever it was they were selling. Well, Gibson was plenty softened. In shock was more like it. And they’d exploit that weakness if he let them.
“Well, let’s hear it,” he said.
“Hear what?” Birk asked.
“You paraded him out here. Okay, I’ve seen him. I’m appropriately torn up. Now why don’t you tell me why so I don’t start feeling like I wasted a day for nothing.”
Birk and Swonger glanced at each other. That wasn’t how they’d expected it to go. They’d been following a script, but now that their mark was improvising his lines, they didn’t have the experience to adapt. Gibson found that encouraging. He didn’t like being played, but it was a kind of comfort to know the actors were amateurs.
Birk shrugged. “Get him the magazine.”
Swonger spat in the dirt again and went into the trailer. He came back with a copy of Finance magazine and tossed it on the table.
“UNREPENTANT,” trumpeted the cover in block letters over a photo of a man in a prison jumpsuit who looked more like a Hollywood star than a convict. Maybe it was the mane of golden-blond hair flecked with gray. Or the man’s smile, one part condescension mixed with two parts entitlement. But something made Gibson want to punch the guy out. He doubted he could be alone in that sentiment.
“Do you know the name Charles Merrick?” Birk asked.
“Not really. One of the Wall Street guys who went down during the crash.”
“That’s right. He’s in Niobe Federal Prison over in West Virginia.”
“Minimum security ain’t prison,” Swonger said.
“He’s getting out in a little over a month—”
“Twenty-nine days,” Swonger corrected.
Birk flashed an irritated glance at his partner, then asked Gibson if he knew how a Ponzi scheme worked.
“It’s a financial con,” Gibson said.
“It wasn’t a Ponzi scheme,” Swonger said, interrupting.
“Then why do they call him Madoff Junior?” Birk asked.
“’Cause they’re idiots just like you?”
“Swonger—” Birk began.
“Then what happened?” Gibson asked.
“After Merrick’s third fund flatlined, investors sued to get access to his books,” said Swonger. “That’s how they found out he’d been robbing them blind.”
“Like Madoff,” Birk said.
Gibson jumped in before the Ponzi-scheme debate could resume. “Let me guess. The judge invested?”
“Oh, yeah, he did,” said Swonger.
“Well, that’s sad for him, but what’s it got to do with you?”
“Because the old fool talked my dad into investing with Merrick,” Birk said. “Swonger’s too.”
A cloud passed across Swonger’s eyes at the mention of it. “Stood in my kitchen and told my dad he was missing the boat if he didn’t throw in. Talked down to him like he was a child.” Swonger chuckled bitterly. “Old boy sure could talk.”
“Thing is, my uncle convinced most of the family,” Birk said. “We aren’t rich, so the family pooled its assets to buy in. My uncles lost everything. My aunt had to sell her house. Dad was forced to sell half the farm; other half may not be far behind. Uncle Robert was going to retire from the Navy; that didn’t happen.”
“Old boy sure could talk,” Swonger said again.
“Is it bath time, Christopher?” the judge asked.
Swonger leapt forward. “No, it ain’t bath time. Shut the hell up already.”
“Hey.” Gibson stood.
“Don’t hey me. This old bitch don’t get consideration.”
“That why you have him living out here in a field like an animal?” Gibson turned to Birk. “To punish him? He’s your family.”
Birk’s face turned an angry sunset red. He was up and out of his chair, stabbing his finger in Gibson’s chest. “Cain was family too. You hear me? Yeah, he’s family. He’s family. And we didn’t turn him out like we could’ve. Should’ve. But nobody’s got time to be taking care of him either.” Birk was yelling now. “He’s got a roof. Food. No, it isn’t pretty, but pretty isn’t on the menu, thanks to him. This is all there is. His quality of life isn’t anyone’s priority anymore. You hear me, you self-righteous son of a bitch?”