that he needed to take this boy to DeVante. He couldn’t handle this alone... Oh Mavis, what have I done?
Chapter 7
How to lie to your best friend
Maggie was waiting for him at Java’s when Reed arrived five minutes before ten.
“You’re late,” she said, in an affected, snotty tone. Reed knew from past complaints that she was impersonating Sophia’s mother.
“I’m early, you bitch,” he replied, grinning. “I trust you had a lovely dinner with head-up-her-ass and spike-up-his-butt?”
“Always,” she said, and growled. “The Perfect Pair are still thrilled to have a lesbian daughter. They only mentioned therapy once tonight. Oh, and her dad made some comment that I’m not butch enough to be a dyke.”
“He said that?”
“Well, not in so many words, but you know, there’s always an extra place setting at the table for innuendo.”
Maggie was not in the least butch. She was a model, and had the thick chestnut hair you only see on models, hanging in perfect controlled curls almost to her waist. She had wide hazel eyes, high cheekbones, and a mouth that smiled easily.
She’d started modeling after college and raked in the big bucks, and now she only worked for photographers she really had an affinity for, or if her agent managed to entice her with a spectacularly edgy layout.
“Are you working this week?”
“I don’t know. Ralph called. I’m thinking I should say ‘yes’ to get some new black and whites into my portfolio. I’m getting a bit older now, like you, and black and white can be more kind.”
“Older, like me? Thanks a lot.” Reed said with a laugh. He was thirty-two.
“Well, I’m only a couple years behind you. And even twenty-five is past prime for a model. You know that. My career’s practically all washed up.”
“Maggie, they will always want you because you will always be exquisite.” He was going to say more, but just then the kid walked in.
Shit.
Chapter 8
How to investigate a murder
If they screw with the body...” Detective David Lark’s words faded as he jabbed angrily at the scan button on the radio. The tuner started jumping stations, twenty seconds of Beethoven, twenty seconds of Christian sermon, twenty seconds of ‘Louie Louie.’ “I hate when the damn patrol guys get busy playing mortician before we get there.”
Lark’s partner, a very large man named Craig Nelson, didn’t comment. It didn’t matter. Lark was talking only to talk. Being called to scenes that involved actual dead people made Lark very nervous. He worried he might throw up.
Nelson was preoccupied with his own shit, as always.
“I got court tomorrow, remember? I’m off. So don’t get me involved in anything today that’ll be a goddamn mess tomorrow.” Nelson shook his head and slowly blinked sad, basset-hound eyes. “I hope her attorney doesn’t make me look like a big, moronic ox.”
“Ah, I wouldn’t worry overmuch if I were you,” Lark said. “You are a big, moronic ox.”
Nelson was slow to move, slow to smile, but he had a kind heart and always meant to do the right thing. Nelson and his wife had been to court over everything but the kitchen sink since they separated two years ago. Nelson was always in court. Tomorrow it was probably over who gets the kitchen sink. Poor Nelson had bought more suits this past year than Lark had owned in his lifetime.
Lark wasn’t in to suits. He was a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy. Poor Nelson worked security jobs every Saturday night on the side just to keep cash flowing into his legal fund. When he had occasion to think about it, Lark wondered how Nelson’s kid could seem so normal while living with such fucked-up adults. Nelson was a nice guy. His wife was probably a nice gal. But the way the two of them hated each other took an energy Lark could not fathom.
Anyway, Nelson wasn’t listening, as usual. Lark tried to imagine what the body of a fifteen year old street kid was gonna look
Chapter 7
How to lie to your best friend
Maggie was waiting for him at Java’s when Reed arrived five minutes before ten.
“You’re late,” she said, in an affected, snotty tone. Reed knew from past complaints that she was impersonating Sophia’s mother.
“I’m early, you bitch,” he replied, grinning. “I trust you had a lovely dinner with head-up-her-ass and spike-up-his-butt?”
“Always,” she said, and growled. “The Perfect Pair are still thrilled to have a lesbian daughter. They only mentioned therapy once tonight. Oh, and her dad made some comment that I’m not butch enough to be a dyke.”
“He said that?”
“Well, not in so many words, but you know, there’s always an extra place setting at the table for innuendo.”
Maggie was not in the least butch. She was a model, and had the thick chestnut hair you only see on models, hanging in perfect controlled curls almost to her waist. She had wide hazel eyes, high cheekbones, and a mouth that smiled easily.
She’d started modeling after college and raked in the big bucks, and now she only worked for photographers she really had an affinity for, or if her agent managed to entice her with a spectacularly edgy layout.
“Are you working this week?”
“I don’t know. Ralph called. I’m thinking I should say ‘yes’ to get some new black and whites into my portfolio. I’m getting a bit older now, like you, and black and white can be more kind.”
“Older, like me? Thanks a lot.” Reed said with a laugh. He was thirty-two.
“Well, I’m only a couple years behind you. And even twenty-five is past prime for a model. You know that. My career’s practically all washed up.”
“Maggie, they will always want you because you will always be exquisite.” He was going to say more, but just then the kid walked in.
Shit.
Chapter 8
How to investigate a murder
If they screw with the body...” Detective David Lark’s words faded as he jabbed angrily at the scan button on the radio. The tuner started jumping stations, twenty seconds of Beethoven, twenty seconds of Christian sermon, twenty seconds of ‘Louie Louie.’ “I hate when the damn patrol guys get busy playing mortician before we get there.”
Lark’s partner, a very large man named Craig Nelson, didn’t comment. It didn’t matter. Lark was talking only to talk. Being called to scenes that involved actual dead people made Lark very nervous. He worried he might throw up.
Nelson was preoccupied with his own shit, as always.
“I got court tomorrow, remember? I’m off. So don’t get me involved in anything today that’ll be a goddamn mess tomorrow.” Nelson shook his head and slowly blinked sad, basset-hound eyes. “I hope her attorney doesn’t make me look like a big, moronic ox.”
“Ah, I wouldn’t worry overmuch if I were you,” Lark said. “You are a big, moronic ox.”
Nelson was slow to move, slow to smile, but he had a kind heart and always meant to do the right thing. Nelson and his wife had been to court over everything but the kitchen sink since they separated two years ago. Nelson was always in court. Tomorrow it was probably over who gets the kitchen sink. Poor Nelson had bought more suits this past year than Lark had owned in his lifetime.
Lark wasn’t in to suits. He was a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy. Poor Nelson worked security jobs every Saturday night on the side just to keep cash flowing into his legal fund. When he had occasion to think about it, Lark wondered how Nelson’s kid could seem so normal while living with such fucked-up adults. Nelson was a nice guy. His wife was probably a nice gal. But the way the two of them hated each other took an energy Lark could not fathom.
Anyway, Nelson wasn’t listening, as usual. Lark tried to imagine what the body of a fifteen year old street kid was gonna look
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