In Search Of Dreams

Episode 22

Rob has been on pins and needles, waiting for
it to be late enough in the day to call Loretta.

She said she was done at school at 2:45 and was
able to be here by 3:15. It’s 3:02.

He picks up the phone and dials. The phone
rings interminably, and just when he is about to
hang up, she answers, breathless. “Hello?”

“Loretta,” he blurts, not even a hello.

“Robert! I just walked in the door! What’s goin’
on?”

“Our fix-it guy had a very enlightening visit to
Alined Paper today.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” she says and
hangs up the phone.

Rob hears the click and stares at the handset
in his hand for a moment before hanging it up.

Nine and a half minutes later, his phone rings.

“Robert Carter.”

“Mr. Carter, Miss Thompson to see you,”
Vivian tells him.

“Very good. Send her back, please.”

“Of course, sir.”

Rob hangs up and he thinks about what Lori
told him the day before. Your receptionist is
sweet on you. He could hear it in Vivian’s voice
just then. The… expectation, the hope.

Too bad I don’t find her the least bit attractive.

She’s probably only interested because I would
probably be “acceptable” to Olaf. Yes, I’m sure
that’s it.

There is a light knock on his door. “Come in,” he
calls.

“Hello,” she says, poking her head inside. He
stands and smiles, directing her to the chair
opposite his desk.

“Hello, Loretta,” he sits once she’s seated.

She notices he doesn’t seem to be able to stop
smiling.

“So the inspection went well?”

He nods, handing her a stack of papers. “For us,
it was fantastic. For Alined, not so well.”

Lori takes the stack. “Goodness, there’s a lot,”
she exclaims, flipping through them. “Did he find
everything that Percy already had?”

“Yes, he found those 10 things, plus another 5.

He also remarked on cracks in the concrete,
peeling paint, and an excessive rodent problem.”

“Rodents?”

“They spread disease,” he says. “You know that
the bubonic plague in the Middle Ages was
carried by fleas on rats, don’t you?”

“Suddenly I’m not as hungry for supper, but yes,
I did know that.”

“So the good news is we have third-party
confirmation that problems are being ignored in
the warehouse,” he says, his smile faltering for
the first time now.

“And the bad news?”

“We need proof that the reports that Percy
submitted were ignored. And that proof is either
in Alined’s or Trickler’s office.”

“The original reports,” Lori realizes, frowning.

“How can we get those?”

“Well, I might be able to get a warrant,” Rob
muses, tapping his index finger against his
pursed lips.

“Worth a try,” she says with a shrug.

Rob makes a note to follow up with that.

“They may tell us no, but you’re right, we should
try. Now, there’s one other thing I want to ask
you about.”

“All right,” she says, setting the reports back on
Robert’s desk.

“I have no intention of calling you to the witness
stand,” he starts. “Don’t see there’s much of a
point, honestly. But I can’t guarantee that
Boudreaux will show you the same courtesy.”

“I understand. From what I’ve heard about this
man, he’s nothin’ but a snake.”

“Yes. I’ve looked into your records as much as I
can, but I’m gonna ask you: is there anything in
your past, anything at all that he could drag out
and try to use against you to try and make you
look bad?”

Lori thinks. “What records have you looked
into, exactly?”

He picks up a folder. “Well, I’ve got the
information from the Motor Vehicle Department,
which you know. I talked to my friends at the
police station, and they had nothing on you.”

“Can’t say the same about my brother,” she
mutters.

“One disorderly conduct charge ain’t gonna hurt
us at all, ‘specially since he’s not directly
involved with this case,” Rob waves his hand
dismissively. “I also have school transcripts
ranging from college all the way back to
elementary school.” He holds one up. “Memphis
State on scholarship, Miss Thompson, very
impressive.”

“Thank you,” she says. “That’s when I moved
into the apartment upstairs. Old Mr. Richards
had just moved out and it was gettin’ impossible
for me to study with Daddy and Elliot botherin’
me every ten minutes. O’ course, Mama had just
passed on, too, so that just made it harder on
them, ’cause she wasn’t there to look after
them.”

“That must have been very hard, tryin’ to
concentrate on your studies with all that goin’
on,” Rob says. I don’t think I would have had
that kind of strength at that age. I don’t think I
have that kind of strength now.

“You do what needs to be done because it
needs to be done,” she says. “My mama used to
say that.”

Rob nods, growing ever more impressed with
Lori as the minutes tick by.
Careful.

After a moment, Rob speaks again. “So, then,
I assume that your past is clean?”

“As far as I can recollect,” she nods.

“Not even a parking ticket? Jaywalking? Um…
littering? No crazy pranks in college?” He looks
at the college papers again.

“No,” she laughs.

“What about…” he raises an eyebrow, “Hilda?”

Lori laughs even harder now. “Yes, my middle
name is Hilda. I don’t think they’ll be able to
use that against me in a court of law,
considerin’ I had no choice in the matter. Hilda
was my Grandmother, on my mama’s side.”

“My middle name is Basil,” he tells her
sheepishly.

“Basil? Like Basil Rathbone?” she says, trying
not to laugh.

“Like Basil Carter, my grandfather. My
family is originally from England.”

“I don’t know if that’s worse than Hilda or
better,” she says, smirking at him.

“It’s why I don’t use my middle initial, like a lot
of lawyers do. People would be askin’ me what
the ‘B’ stands for, and I wouldn’t want to tell
’em.”

“I don’t blame you. I always…”

Lori is interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Excuse me a moment,” Rob says. “Yes?”

The door opens, and Shawn strides in, an
envelope in his hand. “Sorry to interrupt, Robert,”
he says. “Hello, I don’t believe we’ve met,”
Shawn says to Lori, holding his hand out to her.

“Shawn Carter. You must be Loretta
Thompson.”

“I am indeed,” she says, standing to shake his
hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“You, too. Please, sit,” Shawn says. “I’ve heard a
lot about you from my son. Seems you have
yourself quite a case here. A case that will be
going to trial a week from tomorrow,” he says,
handing the envelope to Rob and sitting in the
other chair.

“What? I haven’t even heard from Boudreaux
yet!” Rob exclaims, opening it and inspecting
the contents.

“Oh, you will be. He just called me and read me
the riot act, thinking that I somehow had my
hands in this affair because you are my son.”

Rob scoffs, gnawing his lower lip absently as
his eyes scan the documents.

“I told him nothing, of course, other than that he
should address any and all questions to you.”

“Thanks, I think…”

Shawn chuckles now. “Is the judge assignment
on there?”

“That’s what I’m lookin’ for, Pop. Ah, here it is.

Judge John Rodor.” He looks up. “Could be
worse.”

Lori watches, suddenly nervous, looking back
and forth between father and son.

“True. He’s not the most open-minded judge on
the bench, but he’s definitely not a bigot like
Judge Odin. You would get nowhere with him,
I’m afraid,” Shawn says, this last bit directed at
Lori.

“That’s lucky, then, I guess…”

“Loretta,” Rob says, setting the papers
down.

Something in Robert’s tone gives Shawn pause,
and he decides to pay close attention.

“Don’t worry. Rodor is a decent man. Yes, he’s
an old white man, but he’s not one of those
judges that automatically finds in favor of
whoever is white. He’ll listen. Plus, he doesn’t
care much for Boudreaux. Right, Pop?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, that’s right. Alfred Boudreaux
has been found in contempt of court by Judge
Rodor so often that he practically has his name
written on the paperwork before the trial
begins.”

“Aren’t judges supposed to be fair and
impartial?” Lori asks.

“Aren’t people supposed to treat other people
with kindness and respect?”Rob asks in
response.

“Point taken,” she says, half-smiling. There he
goes, sounding like Superman again. She looks
down at her hands folded in her lap.

Something about the way he says her name, the
way he looks at her… this is troublesome, Shawn
thinks. He stands. “I’ll let you get back to your
meeting, then. Miss Thompson, it was a
pleasure. Best of luck to you,” he nods.

“Thank you, sir.”

Shawn leaves them. What to do?

“Where were we?” Rob asks.

“Middle names,” Lori says. “Very important to
my case.”

“Right,” he laughs.

Fifteen minutes later, Shawn watches them
emerge from Robert’s office, chatting
companionably, seeming to be arguing lightly
about fried chicken, of all things.

“…I don’t care how good you say Gareth’s
chicken is, I would wager that mine is better,”
she says stubbornly.

“Well, you’re just gonna have to let me be the
judge of that sometime, then, won’t you?” Rob
shoots back.

To her credit, Lori gives him a slightly puzzled
look before answering with a hesitant, “Sure…”

Shawn loses sight of them when they exit to the
lobby, Robert’s gentlemanly hand on her elbow
as she goes through the door.

“Um, if I find out anything earth-shattering from
Boudreaux tomorrow, I’ll call you,” Rob says.

“All right,” Lori says.

“Have a good night, Loretta. Tell your brother
hey for me.”

“Good night, Robert,” Lori says. Over Robert’s
shoulder she sees Vivian bristle slightly. What on
earth? Oh, I called him Robert. She only ever calls
him Mr. Carter. She smiles lightly and exits
into the late afternoon sunshine outside.