Broken Angels

56

It was her third cigarette of the day. Her third. Three wasn't bad. Three was like not smoking at all, right? Back when she was using she'd been up to two packs. Three was like she had already quit. Or whatever.

Who was she kidding? She knew she wasn't going to quit for real until her life was in order. Sometime around her seventieth birthday.

Sa'mantha Fanning opened the back door, peeked into the store. Empty. She listened. Baby Jamie was quiet. She closed the door, pulled her coat tightly around her. Man, it was cold. She hated having to come outside to smoke, but at least she wasn't one of those gargoyles you saw on Broad Street, standing in front of their buildings, hunched against the wall, sucking away on a butt. That was the reason she never smoked in front of the store, even though it was a lot easier to keep an eye on things from there. She refused to look like some criminal. Still, it was colder than a pocketful of penguin shit out here.

She thought about her plans for New Year's Eve, or rather her non- plans. It would just be her and Jamie, maybe a bottle of wine. Such was the life of a single mother. A single broke mother. A single barely employed broke mother whose ex-boyfriend and father of her child was a lazy-ass pipehead who had yet to give her one friggin' dime in child support. She was nineteen and her life story was already written.

She opened the door again, just to give a listen, and almost jumped out of her skin. A man stood right in the doorway. He had been alone in the store, all by himself. He could have stolen anything. She was definitely going to get fired, family or no.

"Man," she said. "You scared the crap outta me."

"I'm sorry," he said.

He was well dressed, had a nice face. He was not her typical customer.

"My name is Detective Byrne," he said. "I'm with the Philadelphia Police Department. The homicide division."

"Oh, okay," she said.

"I was wondering if you might have a few minutes to talk."

"Sure. No problem," she said. "But I did already speak with a…"

"Detective Balzano?"

"Right. Detective Balzano. She had on this great leather coat."

"That's her." He gestured to the inside of the store. "Would you like to go inside where it's a little warmer?"

She held up her cigarette. "I can't smoke in there. Ironic, huh?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"I mean half the stuff in there already smells pretty funky," she said. "Is it okay if we talk out here?"

"Sure," the man replied. He stepped through the doorway, closed the door. "I just have a few more questions. I promise not to keep you too long."

She almost laughed. Keep me from what? "I've got nowhere to be," she said. "Fire away."

"Actually, I have only one question."

"Okay."

"I was wondering about your son."

The word caught her off guard. What did Jamie have to do with anything? "My son?"

"Yes. I was wondering why you are going to put him out. Is it because he isn't pretty?"

At first she thought the man was making a joke-albeit a joke she didn't get. But he wasn't smiling. "I'm not sure what you're talking about," she said.

"The count's son is not nearly as fair as you think."

She looked into his eyes. He seemed to look right through her. Something was wrong here. Something was way wrong. And she was all by herself. "Do you think I might, like, see some identification or something?" she asked.

"No." The man stepped toward her. He unbuttoned his coat. "That won't be possible."

Sa'mantha Fanning took a few steps backward. A few steps were all she had. Her back was already against the bricks. "Have… have we met before?" she asked.

"Yes, we have, Anne Lisbeth," the man said. "Once upon a time."