survived.
Monica grew silent. In the parking lot in front of us, an older white Cadillac drove slowly by. The windows were tinted. The Caddy seemed to slow as it went by. She played with the straw. I told her I was sorry about her father. She nodded and kept playing with the straw. I waited. There was more to the story. There was a reason, after all, why she had called me this evening.
She pushed her glass aside. Apparently, she had reached her lemonade limit.
She said, “He was caught trying to hire someone to kill me.”
“Who caught him?”
“The people at the prison.”
“Prison officials?”
“Yes, them. But he wasn’t, you know, successful.” Nervous giggles.
I said, “You’re scared.”
She nodded; tears welled up in her eyes. “Why does he want to hurt me so much? Hasn’t he done enough?”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“He’s horrible,” she said. “He’s so mean.”
As she spoke her voice grew tinier and her lower lip shook. Her hands were shaking, too, and my heart went out to this little girl in a woman’s body. Why anyone would want to hurt such a harmless person, I had no clue. Maybe there was more to the story, but I doubted it. I think her assessment was right. He was just mean. Damn mean.
She spoke again, “So I talked to Detective Sherbet. He is so nice to me. He always helps me. I love him.” She smiled at the thought of the good detective, a man I had grown quite fond of myself. “He told me to see you. That you were tougher than you looked, but I don’t understand what he means. He said you would protect me.”
I said, “In the state of California, a private investigator’s license also doubles as a bodyguard license.”
“So you are a bodyguard, too?” I heard awe in her voice. She smiled brightly. Tears still gleamed wetly in her eyes.
“I am,” I said, perhaps a little more boastful than I had intended.
She clapped. “Do you carry a gun?”
“When I need to.”
She continued smiling, but then grew somber. She looked at me closely with her good eye, not so closely with her bad eye. “I don’t have money to pay you. I haven’t been able to work at the bakery since he hurt me, but maybe my momma can help pay you. Detective Sherbet said that you know what the right thing to do is, but I don’t know what he’s talking about.”
I smiled and shook my head and reached out and took her hand, feeling its warmth despite its clamminess. She flinched slightly at my own icy touch. I held her gaze, and she held mine as best as she could.
I said, “Don’t worry about money, sweetie. I won’t let anything happen to you, ever. You’re safe now. I promise.”
And that’s when she started crying.
Chapter Fourteen
We were in my hotel suite.
Monica was walking around my spartan room as if it were more interesting than it really was. I sensed some of her anxiety departing. In the least, she was giggling less, which I considered a good thing.
Finally she sat on the corner of the bed, near where I was sitting in the surprisingly comfortable desk chair. My laptop was next to me, closed. Somewhere, in there, was Fang. I wondered what he was doing tonight. I wondered what he did every night. I found myself wondering a lot about him.
Monica grew silent. In the parking lot in front of us, an older white Cadillac drove slowly by. The windows were tinted. The Caddy seemed to slow as it went by. She played with the straw. I told her I was sorry about her father. She nodded and kept playing with the straw. I waited. There was more to the story. There was a reason, after all, why she had called me this evening.
She pushed her glass aside. Apparently, she had reached her lemonade limit.
She said, “He was caught trying to hire someone to kill me.”
“Who caught him?”
“The people at the prison.”
“Prison officials?”
“Yes, them. But he wasn’t, you know, successful.” Nervous giggles.
I said, “You’re scared.”
She nodded; tears welled up in her eyes. “Why does he want to hurt me so much? Hasn’t he done enough?”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“He’s horrible,” she said. “He’s so mean.”
As she spoke her voice grew tinier and her lower lip shook. Her hands were shaking, too, and my heart went out to this little girl in a woman’s body. Why anyone would want to hurt such a harmless person, I had no clue. Maybe there was more to the story, but I doubted it. I think her assessment was right. He was just mean. Damn mean.
She spoke again, “So I talked to Detective Sherbet. He is so nice to me. He always helps me. I love him.” She smiled at the thought of the good detective, a man I had grown quite fond of myself. “He told me to see you. That you were tougher than you looked, but I don’t understand what he means. He said you would protect me.”
I said, “In the state of California, a private investigator’s license also doubles as a bodyguard license.”
“So you are a bodyguard, too?” I heard awe in her voice. She smiled brightly. Tears still gleamed wetly in her eyes.
“I am,” I said, perhaps a little more boastful than I had intended.
She clapped. “Do you carry a gun?”
“When I need to.”
She continued smiling, but then grew somber. She looked at me closely with her good eye, not so closely with her bad eye. “I don’t have money to pay you. I haven’t been able to work at the bakery since he hurt me, but maybe my momma can help pay you. Detective Sherbet said that you know what the right thing to do is, but I don’t know what he’s talking about.”
I smiled and shook my head and reached out and took her hand, feeling its warmth despite its clamminess. She flinched slightly at my own icy touch. I held her gaze, and she held mine as best as she could.
I said, “Don’t worry about money, sweetie. I won’t let anything happen to you, ever. You’re safe now. I promise.”
And that’s when she started crying.
Chapter Fourteen
We were in my hotel suite.
Monica was walking around my spartan room as if it were more interesting than it really was. I sensed some of her anxiety departing. In the least, she was giggling less, which I considered a good thing.
Finally she sat on the corner of the bed, near where I was sitting in the surprisingly comfortable desk chair. My laptop was next to me, closed. Somewhere, in there, was Fang. I wondered what he was doing tonight. I wondered what he did every night. I found myself wondering a lot about him.
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