The Last Bachelor. Judy Christenberry

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      “One of my brothers is a lawyer. He’ll help us.” He took a bite of his hamburger, but he kept his gaze on her.

      She shook her head. “I don’t want other people to be punished. I don’t even know your brother. I cannot shift my troubles to him. Or to you.”

      “Ginger, I want to help.”

      “No. I must go.” Without waiting for his agreement, she slipped out of the booth and headed for the door, leaving her food uneaten for the most part.

      Joe stared after her. Then he wrapped up his hamburger and fries, grabbed his drink and hurried after her. By the time he got to the car, she was nowhere in sight. But he couldn’t stop trying to help her. Getting in his car, he drove the two blocks back to her apartment. He scanned the area and didn’t see the government car. Maybe they had given up and returned to wherever their office was located.

      He found a parking place. Leaving his food in the car, he locked the door and headed for Ginger’s apartment. He only knew which it was because he’d discovered Ginger walking home one Friday night and had insisted on driving her home. He’d even walked her to her door, telling her it wasn’t safe to just drop her off.

      He knocked on the door. “Ginger? It’s Joe. Let me in, please.”

      She opened the door slightly. “Go away, Joe. I’m packing.”

      “Don’t go, Ginger. I can help you.”

      “No, I can’t—”

      “Miss Waltek?”

      The two men in dark suits were standing behind Joe, staring at Ginger.

      Joe saw panic on Ginger’s face and regretted his attempt at intervention. Maybe she would have gotten away if he hadn’t held her up. But he knew better than that. Besides, a life on the run would be hard for her.

      Her head fell, and she stared at her feet. Then she looked up. “Yes, I am Virvela Waltek.” She stuck out her wrists, as if she expected to be cuffed.

      The men stared at her in surprise. “We just wanted to ask a few questions. May we come in?”

      Her expression blank, she moved back and nodded.

      After the two men had stepped around Joe and entered the apartment, they tried to close the door.

      “I’m coming in, too.”

      “Who are you?” one of the men asked.

      “Who are you?” Joe demanded in return. After all, the men hadn’t identified themselves.

      “I’m Carl Fisher and my partner is Craig Caldwell. We’re INS officers. And you?”

      “Joe Turner, a friend of Ginger’s.”

      “That is not her name,” Fisher pointed out.

      “It’s what I call her.” He wanted to plow his fist into the man’s face, but reminded himself they were only doing their jobs. Still, if they tried to shut him out, he would fight them.

      “Miss Waltek, do you mind if he comes in?” Fisher asked.

      “He hasn’t done anything wrong!” she exclaimed.

      “They know that, sweetheart. I just want to be with you, in case you need me. Okay?”

      She nodded.

      Joe shut the door behind him, looking around at the flimsy table and four chairs, one beat-up sofa and an old lamp. When Ginger said nothing else, still looking panic-stricken, he gestured to the table and chairs. “Shall we sit down?”

      The two agents turned to the table and Joe reached out for Ginger’s hand. “Come on, honey.” He led her to the table and took the seat beside her, keeping her hand in his.

      Fisher folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Miss Waltek, your mother has informed us she is withdrawing her sponsorship of you for citizenship. Can you tell us why?”

      Ginger said nothing, only shrugged her shoulders.

      The other man, Caldwell, added, “Your mother has told us you are working as a prostitute.”

      “No!” Ginger slammed the table and stood up.

      “Gentlemen,” Joe began, keeping his temper with deep breaths, “that is not true. I’ve known Ginger for the past six months. I can vouch for her.”

      Both men ignored him and stared at Ginger, who reluctantly sat down.

      “Why would your mother say such a thing?” Fisher asked.

      “She—she is trying to force me to come home,” Ginger said, her voice trembling.

      “Tell them everything, honey,” Joe urged. “Tell them the truth.”

      “Yes, tell us the truth,” Caldwell encouraged.

      Ginger stared at the table, visibly swallowing, before she spoke. Then, shaking, she explained why her mother was trying to force her to return to New York.

      “The mob? You mean the Mafia?” Fisher asked.

      Joe stepped in. “Yeah. Look, the man her mother wants her to marry is fifty-eight! And her mother is being beaten because Ginger ran away.”

      “Beaten? A woman can get a divorce and keep her citizenship if she’s being abused.”

      “He’ll kill her,” Ginger whispered.

      Joe’s feelings toward Ginger deepened. This poor kid didn’t have many choices. She was so alone.

      “Can’t something be worked out?” he asked.

      “Maybe,” Fisher replied. “But we’ll have to take her with us.”

      Ginger pressed her back against the dilapidated chair, as if trying to get far away from the agents.

      “No!” Joe shouted.

      Caldwell bristled. “Now, sir—”

      Joe stared at Ginger, trying to prepare her for what he was going to say. “She can’t leave. We’re planning to be married. But Ginger wanted to wait until she was a citizen.”

      “I’m sorry, sir, but—”

      “I’ll take her to Vegas tonight and we’ll get married. Then she can become a U.S. citizen, right?”

      “Unless we determine she married only for that reason.” Fisher stared at him. “And you’ll have to remain married for a year.”

      “I already told you we’re planning to marry. Give us twenty-four hours and we’ll answer any of your questions. Ginger will be my wife and nothing can be done to her, without an investigation. We’ll pass any test you give us, right, Ginger?”

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