After a long, exasperated stare, she asked, “You mean the offices we are no longer in?” #51 | | |
I offered her a sheepish shrug. “Yeah, I forgot to cancel, and he painted them after we moved out. He was really happy that they were so clutter free.” #52 | | |
“Well, that’s just fantastic.” #53 | | |
Her enthusiasm seemed disingenuous. It was weird. #54 | | |
“Surely, someone else owes us money,” she said. #55 | | |
Then it hit me. The answer to all our prayers. Or at least a couple of them. “You’re right,” I said. Reyes Farrow owed me and owed me big. I grinned at Cookie. “I solved a case. I am due my usual rate, plus medical expenses and mental anguish.” #56 | | |
She looked hopeful. “What case? Who?” #57 | | |
The determined set of my jaw told her exactly who I was talking about. She got that faraway, dreamy look in her eyes. “Can I help collect?” #58 | | |
“Nope, you have to get all this stuff sent back. How else are we going to eat for the next month?” #59 | | |
“I never get to have any fun.” #60 | | |
“It’s your own fault.” #61 | | |
She cleared her throat. “How is any of this—” She spread her arms wide. “—my fault?” #62 | | |
“That’s what you get for leaving me unsupervised. Don’t you have return receipts to fill out?” #63 | | |
She lifted a handful. “Yes.” #64 | | |
“From your apartment?” #65 | | |
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She took the receipts and started to leave me to my own devices. She would never learn. #67 | | |
“Oh,” she said before opening the door, “I took your remote, so don’t even think about it.” #68 | | |
That was so uncalled for. #69 | | |
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After she left, I sat down and tried to think up a plan of action. If only I could get ahold of Angel. If anyone could find that low-down, dirty— #71 | | |
“How did you do that?” #72 | | |
I jumped at the sound of a voice coming from behind me. It was high. The jump. Not the voice. I pressed my hands to my heart and turned to the thirteen-year-old departed gangbanger who went by the name of Angel Garza. #73 | | |
He stood in my apartment, wearing his usual jeans and dirty T-shirt with a bandanna wrapped around his head. “Angel, what the hell?” #74 | | |
“What do you mean, what the hell? What did you do?” #75 | | |
“What?” I asked, trying to calm my heart. I didn’t normally get that scared when Angel popped in. #76 | | |
His dark brown eyes narrowed in question. “How did you do that?” #77 | | |
“I don’t know. What did I do?” #78 | | |
“I was at my cousin’s quinceañera one minute, then here the next.” #79 | | |
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“I don’t think so. I just thought about you, and you were there.” #82 | | |
“Well, stop it. That was weird.” He hugged himself and rubbed his arms. #83 | | |
“This is cool. You never come when I need you.” #84 | | |
“I’m your investigator, pendeja, not your lapdog.” #85 | | |
“I can’t believe that worked.” #86 | | |
“What are all these boxes?” #87 | | |
“Did you just call me pendeja?” #88 | | |
Then he noticed me at last and got the familiar look in his eyes. “You’re looking good, boss.” #89 | | |
“And you’re looking thirteen.” Throwing his age in his face always worked. He bristled and turned to study my new cheese pot. He wouldn’t like what I was about to ask him, so I stood and faced him head-on, my stance set, my expression hard. #90 | | |
“I need to know where he is.” #91 | | |
Surprise straightened his shoulders a moment, but he caught himself and shrugged. “Who?” #92 | | |
He knew exactly who I was talking about. “He was just here a minute ago, standing outside my apartment building. Where is he staying?” #93 | | |
Frustration slid through his lips. “You’ve stayed away from him for weeks. Why now?” #94 | | |
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“It will be when I can’t pay your salary.” To pay for his investigative services, I sent an anonymous cashier’s check to his mother every month. #97 | | |
He couldn’t use the money in his rather sparse condition, but she could. It was a perfect arrangement. #98 | | |
“Shit.” He disappeared through a wall of boxes. “Every time you get near him, you get hurt.” #99 | | |
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