Pariah

PERSPIRING THROUGH HIS rented tuxedo, Sheriff Kurt Muller stood on the dais in the hotel ballroom and smiled gamely at the audience murmuring under dimmed chandeliers. From the soft-glowing dinner tables Aspen society women were raising their jeweled hands, bidding on a date with him, and the banter between parties was lively and contentious. "Ladies, please. We're at two thousand dollars. Two thousand," said the auctioneer, a former Playboy centerfold presiding over the benefit. "Three K!" waved a waxen grande dame whose young husband had perished the previous spring in a hang-gliding accident. She wiggled her fingers at Kurt and flashed a naughty smile, and in that moment he understood why the gigolo had chosen to sail into a rock wall. Corky Marcus was sitting with his wife at a table near the dais. He gave Kurt a sympathetic shrug that said Hey, whatever. Corky was the department's legal counsel and this appearance was his brilliant idea. To beat the recall vote you'll need more visibility, Kurt. A boy-next-door image. You'll have to throw Frisbees in the park and kiss the rich gals on the cheek and show up at all their charity fundraisers. The numbers are too close to call. Over the summer a popular county commissioner named Ben Smerlas had circulated a petition to recall Kurt as sheriff, and the movement had received the four hundred names needed to place the issue on the November ballot. In two weeks the people of Pitkin County would decide by a simple majority vote if they wanted Kurt Muller to remain in office. "I hear three thousand dollars!" acknowledged the Playmate. Notorious for her gaudy '70s apparel, she nevertheless appeared modestly contained tonight: silk turban, slinky white gown hugging her celebrated body, pearls dipping into deep cleavage. "Come on, ladies! Is that the final offer for a night of bliss with this studly gentleman of the law?" She hooked the auction gavel behind Kurt's neck and pulled him closer, shoulder to shoulder. "You know what they say, girls. Cops know how to drive their unit." There was a bawdy howl from the audience. Kurt glanced again at his attorney. Corky Marcus was history. Two aging matrons with more tucks and lifts between them than the Gabor sisters began bartering in hundred-dollar increments. Kurt felt like a sofa at a yard sale. He raised his eyes and prayed for a hotel fire to end this misery. "We're at three thousand eight hundred," the Playmate said after a lull in the bidding. "Is that all I hear? Three thousand eight hundred." The silence lingered. She looked from one bidder to the other and lifted the gavel. "Okay, ladies. Three thousand eight hundred going once--" "Ten thousand dollars." The husky female voice had come from a dark table in the rear. Heads turned. The entire ballroom grew quiet. Kurt thought he might have been hallucinating. The Playmate stepped to the edge of the dais and gazed out over the stirring patrons. "Hel-looo," she said, shielding her eyes from the chandelier glare. "Was that aZigal, Thomas is the author of 'Pariah' with ISBN 9780440224433 and ISBN 0440224438.