Chapter 2, Part 1

I don’t think of myself as a desperate woman, although I spend most of my days keeping track of the activities and whereabouts of men. Lots of men. And a few women. Okay, don’t get the wrong idea; it’s not as freaky as it sounds. I get paid to do it. Whoa! That sounds even freakier. What I mean is, it’s part of my job. What I get paid to do is keep track of a case load of parolees through the state of Ohio’s "Offender Reentry Program". My name is Erin Kavanaugh and I am a Parole Officer in the Cincinnati Regional office located in the heart of downtown Dayton, Ohio. Although our per capita crime rate for violent crimes should give larger cities like Cleveland, L.A., and New York pause, Dayton does not rate its own region in the state of Ohio. I imagine in a lot of ways we are like a zit on the butt of the state, you know you got to do something about it, but you don’t want anyone else to know it’s there.

If you think of being a P.O. as an office job, you’re wrong. I get to spend lots of time out in our lovely community, although usually in some of the not so lovely areas, making sure that all my guys are doing what they’re supposed to be doing, where they’re supposed to be doing it. I don’t mean to sound sexist, but I really don’t need to leave the office for the gals. They’re pretty responsible about things like showing up for they’re appointments, keeping me up to date about their employment, and so on. I’d hate to think that the guys try to take advantage of me because I’m a woman, but many of my male co-workers don’t have to hunt down nearly as many of their cases as I do. So there it is. They think I won’t drag their behinds back to the pokey. That’s where they’re wrong.

Right now I’d like to drag a few of the worst offenders back and throw away the key. By worst offenders, I don’t mean the guys who were convicted of the most serious crimes. I mean the guys who miss the most appointments and quit the most jobs. Three of them in particular are messing up my social life by dragging my nine-to-five past five o’clock. I had promised Reba Delmonico, my ultra-professional, super persistent supervisor, that I would locate these buffoons before the end of the week. And it is now 5:37 Thursday evening. And although I don’t have plans for dinner tonight, I have serious plans for the weekend that I hoped to start by 4:00 tomorrow afternoon.

I stab the buttons on my phone hard enough to make the "5" stick for a second before it popped back up. I needed to know if Sam had arrived home yet, or if I needed to add him to my list of males to track down. Sam is usually responsible about getting home from school or at least making contact with me, although responsible teen is often an oxymoron. He picked up the phone on the fourth ring, out of breath and yelling above the bass in background.

"Hi Mom!"

"Hi yourself. I stopped in earlier, but you weren’t home yet."

"Had to meet with my science teacher, Mr. Griffith. Can I go to the gym for an hour?"

This was a strange request. Sam regularly used the few pieces of Nautilus equipment the loft provided in the basement for his workout. This did not require parental permission. "You know I don’t care if you go downstairs. Be sure to lock the door."

"I mean the real gym, mom. Oscar’s, around the corner. Have you seen it?" Sam asked.

"I’ve seen a flyer. How can you afford to go to a real gym? Isn’t there a membership fee? Are you old enough?" I really wanted to ask if he shouldn’t wait for his mommy to come walk him over there, in case some nasty sweaty man tried something funny on my baby.

"Easy. Yes. Yes." He said quickly. "The monthly student fee is only $10.00 for the first month and $20.00 a month after. Kids over fourteen came come without an adult. It’ll be fine Mom. Josh is coming with me."

Now that’s a relief. Sam and Josh put together dripping wet equal almost as much as one sweaty, nasty, muscle-head. "Okay, but don’t stay long. I’m going to be home by seven. I’ll bring dinner. Love you," I made smooching noises over the phone.

"Love you too," Sam dropped the phone on the receiver.

Bennie was my number one client concern right now, but not my only one. Jessie Jamison and Robert Thompson rounded out the top three. I stopped by Reba’s office to let her know that I had run in to Bennie, but she was gone for the day. I left her a quick not in her box, and headed down into the parking garage. As I walked, I pulled out my "little black book" with all the current data on my caseload. I tried a number for Jessie first.

"Hullo," he mumbled with a sleepy Tennessee twang.

I hung up, just as I jumped into the Wrangler, and pulled out with a squeal. Fifteen minutes later I was outside Jessie’s half of a double located off Smithville deep in the east side. The trash can on the porch was full to overflowing with empty beer cans and take out boxes. His side of the double was dark except for the flicker of television light showing through the corner of the front window where the "blanket as window treatment" had slipped. I stepped carefully on the front stairs, as boards creaked as if to break underfoot. As I leaned to push the bell, a load growl and bark caused me to jump, and my hand swung back, tipping the trash can, which spilled leftover beer and half-gnawed chicken wings down my leg.

"Who is it?" Jessie yelled through the door.

"Erin Kavanaugh. You missed another appointment. Open up."

Jessie open the door just enough to let out the overwhelming smell of beer mixed with pot, and his vicious mutt who must have been named Jaws. The beast made a bee-line for my leg, and I jumped up on the porch rail and swung my purse. The beast did not attempt to jump up after my leg, but attacked the chicken wings with snarl. I jumped down just as the rail started to give way, and landed with my side hitting the front hard enough to jerk it open out of Jessie’s hands.

"Can I reschedule?" he asked, barely about to stand and talk at the same time.

"From downtown," I said, pulling out my cuffs.

Twenty minutes later, Jessie was loaded into a squad car and on his way to the pokey. It was 6:42 and I was tired. One out of three was going be as good as it got today. Time to pick up some Chinese and head home. I had a fifteen-year old to feed and a Scrabble tournament to win.