a good sign. Hopefully one of them will be Delano Hayha.
Out front are a couple cars, a rusty Toyota and a nicely restored Mustang. The Toyota’s windows are down, which is the universal sign for “nothing of value in here” around these parts. The stairs leading to the front door shift from side to side when we walk up them.
Yes, stairs on a one-story house. It’s Nob Hill, what are you gonna do?
The doorbell doesn’t work, so I bang on the door and resist the urge to yell, “Police.” There’s some shuffling, a crash, some muttering and finally the door opens. The kid who opens the door takes one look at Jessica and says, “We said we wanted you later tonight.”
She looks at me. I look at her and shrug. We both look back at the little douchebag who opened the door, standing there in his too-tight TapOut shirt and designer jeans, hair gelled up into a fauxhawk.
“She’s not a hooker, dipshit,” I say. “We’re looking for her dad.”
This part of Nob Hill doesn’t usually host college students, it’s far too pricey. Between the Mustang out front and the kid’s designer clothes, though, it dawns on me that daddy is paying for this place and junior is living the dream.
“I could be your daddy, baby.” He reaches out to stroke her face, and she slaps his hand away. Stupidly, he gets excited.
“Ooh,” he says. “Feisty. I like that in a woman. You know what else I like in a woman? My dick.”
Charming lad. Sometimes I weep for the future. Then I remember my folks said the same thing about my generation.
I sigh. I was hoping the two of us together would be sufficient, but I should’ve brought Jacob along. His mere presence tends to ratchet down situations quickly. Jacob looks mean, but he’s actually pretty damned nice. On the other hand, I have seen him head-butt a horse when he was drunk.
“Listen ass-clown,” I tell the kid, “we just want to find her dad. Do you know anything about the guy that used to live here?”
He sneers. “No. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you until she bribed me on her knees.” He reaches for her again and she pushes his hand away. Without warning the kid slaps her hard across the cheek. She’s so shocked it doesn’t occur to her to beat his ass down. The way I see it Eve gave me orders to take care of this girl, so I punch the kid in the head and down he goes. I may not look like much, but I’ve got a wicked punch.
“Fucking hell!” Jessica yells, rubbing her cheek. “I can take care of myself. We needed him awake! How is going to help us now?” She’s pissed, but damned if it didn’t feel good to hit that guy.
“Fuck him. Come on, maybe there’s a roommate. There are two cars out there, after all,” I respond.
The place is furnished in “late-college modern”: milk-crate bookcases, beer signs and posters of half-naked women. A couch propped up by a textbook adorns the street wall. The neon colors in the beer signs really bring out the stains in the carpet and the poorly patched holes in the walls.
Someone screams, and a glass breaks. Standing there in front of us is a young woman in shorts and halter top.
Is this the roommate? Maybe, but I’ve never met a woman who will let you put up beer signs and posters of half-naked women in the living room. She’s standing there like a deer caught in headlights. Milk from the glass she dropped is dripping through the floorboards into the basement below. She has a huge shiner on her right eye. Looks like the guy cooling his heels on the floor had a thing for hitting women.
I admit it’s probably a bit alarming to walk into a room and find two strangers looking around and your man-boy flattened out on the ground. Still, that milk is going be a bitch to get out of the rug.
Jessica puts her hands up and slowly walks forward.
“Look,” she says quietly. “We’re not here to hurt you; we don’t want anything
Out front are a couple cars, a rusty Toyota and a nicely restored Mustang. The Toyota’s windows are down, which is the universal sign for “nothing of value in here” around these parts. The stairs leading to the front door shift from side to side when we walk up them.
Yes, stairs on a one-story house. It’s Nob Hill, what are you gonna do?
The doorbell doesn’t work, so I bang on the door and resist the urge to yell, “Police.” There’s some shuffling, a crash, some muttering and finally the door opens. The kid who opens the door takes one look at Jessica and says, “We said we wanted you later tonight.”
She looks at me. I look at her and shrug. We both look back at the little douchebag who opened the door, standing there in his too-tight TapOut shirt and designer jeans, hair gelled up into a fauxhawk.
“She’s not a hooker, dipshit,” I say. “We’re looking for her dad.”
This part of Nob Hill doesn’t usually host college students, it’s far too pricey. Between the Mustang out front and the kid’s designer clothes, though, it dawns on me that daddy is paying for this place and junior is living the dream.
“I could be your daddy, baby.” He reaches out to stroke her face, and she slaps his hand away. Stupidly, he gets excited.
“Ooh,” he says. “Feisty. I like that in a woman. You know what else I like in a woman? My dick.”
Charming lad. Sometimes I weep for the future. Then I remember my folks said the same thing about my generation.
I sigh. I was hoping the two of us together would be sufficient, but I should’ve brought Jacob along. His mere presence tends to ratchet down situations quickly. Jacob looks mean, but he’s actually pretty damned nice. On the other hand, I have seen him head-butt a horse when he was drunk.
“Listen ass-clown,” I tell the kid, “we just want to find her dad. Do you know anything about the guy that used to live here?”
He sneers. “No. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you until she bribed me on her knees.” He reaches for her again and she pushes his hand away. Without warning the kid slaps her hard across the cheek. She’s so shocked it doesn’t occur to her to beat his ass down. The way I see it Eve gave me orders to take care of this girl, so I punch the kid in the head and down he goes. I may not look like much, but I’ve got a wicked punch.
“Fucking hell!” Jessica yells, rubbing her cheek. “I can take care of myself. We needed him awake! How is going to help us now?” She’s pissed, but damned if it didn’t feel good to hit that guy.
“Fuck him. Come on, maybe there’s a roommate. There are two cars out there, after all,” I respond.
The place is furnished in “late-college modern”: milk-crate bookcases, beer signs and posters of half-naked women. A couch propped up by a textbook adorns the street wall. The neon colors in the beer signs really bring out the stains in the carpet and the poorly patched holes in the walls.
Someone screams, and a glass breaks. Standing there in front of us is a young woman in shorts and halter top.
Is this the roommate? Maybe, but I’ve never met a woman who will let you put up beer signs and posters of half-naked women in the living room. She’s standing there like a deer caught in headlights. Milk from the glass she dropped is dripping through the floorboards into the basement below. She has a huge shiner on her right eye. Looks like the guy cooling his heels on the floor had a thing for hitting women.
I admit it’s probably a bit alarming to walk into a room and find two strangers looking around and your man-boy flattened out on the ground. Still, that milk is going be a bitch to get out of the rug.
Jessica puts her hands up and slowly walks forward.
“Look,” she says quietly. “We’re not here to hurt you; we don’t want anything
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