Shoot from the Lip

23

I was watching from my office window when the Purity Maids minivan pulled into my driveway Tuesday morning. The van was turquoise, like their uniforms, and the logo on the vehicle was white with darker turquoise letters. I realized I’d seen vans like this in the neighborhood before, but they blended into the background, like so many other things that weren’t important at the time.

Last night, after I’d told Kravitz all those telling details he so desperately wanted, I’d spent the evening with Jeff and Doris. Jeff had made plenty of calls Monday and scheduled interviews with two home health care agencies today. When I left them to drive home, I felt a sudden sense of loss. Jeff and I had a comfortable routine that would have to change. Though I didn’t resent Doris, I realized we’d have to come up with new ways to spend time together. She was a part of our lives now. A new challenge-but maybe a reward, too.

The two women who’d gotten out of the van, one black, one white, dragged to my doorstep a vacuum, mops, and two plastic pails filled with cleaning supplies. I opened the door before they could ring the bell and welcomed them inside.

“I am thrilled you could do this on such short notice. I’m Abby, by the way.”

The older woman set down her vacuum and pail in the foyer and pulled a folded paper from her uniform pocket. “Ms. Rose, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Dolly, and this is Angela. You understand that ’cause this is a rush job your credit card’s already been charged in advance?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you.”

“One dirty house is the same as any other,” Dolly said. “Don’t make no difference to me. How many bathrooms you got?”

“A powder room down here and two upstairs.” I smiled at Angela, hoping she might be someone I could chat with, because Dolly was already wheeling her vacuum into my living room. From what I could tell, she was all business.

“Angela’s gonna do the upstairs, and I’ll-” Dolly stopped talking when Webster loped into the living room to greet my visitors. The woman’s stiff posture indicated that she wasn’t happy to see him. He sat patiently in front of her, waiting to be petted. I knew he wouldn’t get his wish. “I didn’t get no alert about animals. You got any more?”

“A cat. But they’re both really sweet and-”

“I don’t care if they got angel wings; you gotta put them up. And if they’ve made messes anywhere, we don’t touch animal waste.”

“I understand. I’ll put Webster in the utility room.” I turned to see if Angela felt the same way about pets, but she’d disappeared up the stairs. I didn’t blame her.

After I bribed Webster with a rawhide bone and closed him in, I decided to try to endear myself to Dolly one more time, hoping she’d open up, but she was muttering about cat hair as she unloaded her supplies onto my kitchen counter.

“The cat’s probably upstairs. I’ll have to find her,” I said as I passed her.

Once upstairs, I saw the guest bathroom rugs neatly folded in the hall and heard water running. I walked to the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe. “Hi.”

Angela was on her knees cleaning around the base of the commode. She returned my “Hi” and held up the canned bathroom cleaner. “You want me to use something different? We bring our own, but the customer can always-”

“No problem. I didn’t get to say hello to you down there. You been doing this long?”

She went back to spraying and wiping. “Couple years.”

“How many houses do you clean in a day?”

“Maybe five. Sometimes six if we have a few small places.”

“Sounds like a tough job,” I said.

Angela looked at me. “She’s gonna come up here and get on my case if you keep talking to me. You saw what she’s like.”

“Sorry, I always chatted with my former cleaning lady. But she wasn’t with a big agency like Purity. How many people work there?”

“About thirty.” She pulled a wand from her pail and attached a disposable toilet brush, then flushed the commode and began to scrub the bowl.

“You always work in pairs? Because I think that’s a good idea. You could-”

“Ma’am.” Angela sat back on her heels. “What do you want from me?”

“I’m a talker; that’s all.” She was wearing rubber gloves, so I couldn’t tell if she was married, but asking about kids might make her more talkative. “You have children?”

“Two.” She was back to scrubbing. “I don’t mind if you like to talk, but Dolly gets all over me if I don’t finish on time. You’re making that kinda hard.”

“Okay. I’ll leave you alone.” But I wasn’t about to quit without getting any useful information. I took a few steps toward my bedroom but came back and stuck my head in the door. “You look young to have two children. They must be little.”

This time Angela laughed and shook her head. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“You got me pegged. How old are they?”

Pretty soon I knew all about Angela. How her husband worked on an oil rig and was gone for months at a time, how some days she had to work as late as eight at night, even though she started at seven in the morning, but I mostly learned how much she loved her husband and kids and how every penny she made went into a savings account for the children-so they could go to college and not be cleaning houses when they were twenty-five.

By then, we’d moved through my bedroom and into the master bath. “Lots of women in the same boat at Purity?”

“Most are worse off. At least my husband’s got a steady job.”

“There was another cleaning woman recommended to me before you two were assigned. Her name was Loreen, I think. Is she worse off?”

“The only thing I know about Loreen is that she’s got some monster houses on her schedule. She’s been around a long time and makes more money.”

“You wouldn’t know her last name? My sister had a team of cleaning women about eight years ago. One was Christine or Catherine or something like that, and the other was Loreen. I was thinking maybe Loreen’s the same person.”

“Why you asking about Loreen?” came Dolly’s unexpected voice from my bedroom doorway. She’d climbed those stairs as quiet as a coon stalking a crawfish.

I turned. “No reason. Just making conversation.”

She stared past me at Angela, who looked like she wanted to jump into the shower and hide. “Angela, you haven’t even changed the sheets. What the heck have you been doing all this time?”

“She’s been doing a very thorough job on my bathrooms,” I said. “They really needed attention.”

“Right.” Dolly looked at her watch. “Not much time, and you got three bedrooms and a hall to clean. I know you don’t want to miss lunch, Angela.”

Dolly gave me a look like I had a houseful of manure that had to be cleaned up-but no. She wouldn’t touch “animal waste.” Had to be me.

The plan to get anything out of the maids seemed to have hit a roadblock, but I wasn’t defeated-not yet. I had another idea. They drove company vans, and that meant they had to drop them off at the end of the day. Fiona Mancuso must do the same, and since I had her mug shot, a stakeout at the Purity agency might work. A stakeout. I’d never done one of those before. I’d like being the follower rather than the followee for once.

After the maids finished and went on their way, I got busy. Since I didn’t know Mancuso’s schedule, I couldn’t risk waiting until later in the day to show up at Purity. Though it was unlikely, she could be working a short shift. Besides, I was too antsy to wait around. We were having a real fall day after yesterday’s rain, so I changed into cotton drawstrings and a long-sleeved T-shirt, packed up a few Diet Cokes in a small cooler and took along a package of potato chips. I remembered how Jeff said stakeouts were boring as hell ninety-nine percent of the time while you waited for something to happen. I almost forgot the binoculars and had to go back for them. What was a stakeout without binoculars?

The agency office was north, off Shepherd Drive, and I soon realized there was more to a stakeout than I planned. You had to find a place to park. Duh. Stakeout equals parking. I finally chose a busy Mexican restaurant, but my first spot did not offer a view of Purity’s fenced-in lot, where several minivans sat. This made me anxious. I might miss Loreen coming and going. But I shouldn’t have worried. I found a parking place facing the street fifteen minutes later-a good five hours before I needed to.

By the time Purity vans started arriving to end their day, I’d used the restaurant bathroom twice, and both times felt obligated to buy takeout, waiting and watching outside while it was prepared.

Tex-Mex is not user friendly, and I figured this stakeout had cost me about two thousand calories by the time I picked up my binoculars to watch as each van drove into the lot. I was tired after doing nothing for hours. Even the excitement of finally seeing action seemed dulled by the day’s inactivity and the fatty food I’d eaten.

If I’d had to rely on the mug shot alone at this distance for an ID, I would have been out of luck, but Emma’s description of the bad dye job paid off. I spotted the raven-haired Mancuso leaving the passenger side of a van about five thirty. Emma mentioned she was small, but I’d say gaunt was a better adjective.

She went into the office with her partner and soon came out alone, purse slung over her shoulder. She lit a cigarette and started walking, probably toward the bus stop I’d noticed when I arrived, just beyond the Shepherd intersection. Damn. I knew she rode buses. Why hadn’t I anticipated that she would today? Now I had a problem: I couldn’t see the bus stop from where I was parked. The best solution was to follow her on foot and get on the bus with her before she disappeared.

But then I’d have to leave my car, and it might be towed by the time I got back. I pulled out of the lot and idled on the side of the road, watching up ahead for a bus to pass through the intersection. I waited ten minutes for this to happen, and when it did, I quickly put the Camry in drive and pulled out in front of a driver who made sure I knew I’d pissed him off.

The light favored me, and I made a right onto Shepherd just as the bus lumbered away from the stop. Mancuso was not sitting on the bench, and I could only hope she was on that bus and hadn’t decided to do a little shopping at the gas station/convenience store on the corner. Following Metro would be a new challenge-especially for an impatient person like me. But if I had no luck today, I could always come back tomorrow-and I’d wait on Shepherd to make sure she climbed onto the bus.

The bus couldn’t have traveled more than two miles before Mancuso got off. This surprised me. I had it in my mind that she lived in Emma’s neighborhood because of the bus stop visits, but we were more than ten miles away. I followed the bus through the next intersection and merged into the left lane, but I kept her in sight in my rearview, thinking maybe she might wait for another bus.

But no. She’d lit another cigarette and was waiting for the light to cross the street. I made a U-turn as soon as possible. She had already disappeared when I made it back. I turned right and saw her walking down the sidewalk, cigarette smoke in her wake. I drove past her, thinking how Houston can switch from commercial to residential in the blink of an eye. We were in an older neighborhood, the houses small and close together. I parked near the next corner and fumbled in my purse for a mirror and lipstick. As she walked by me, I pretended to be engrossed in applying color to my lips. She didn’t seem to notice.

I watched her walk another two blocks and then turn left at a stop sign. I followed, and when I reached the sign, I looked in the direction she’d gone and saw her standing at the door of a gray house halfway down the block. She took one more drag on her cigarette before putting it out and unlocking the front door. Wow. She’d gone out of her way to make the bus stop visits to Emma if she lived here.

A few seconds later I pulled up to the house, noting the number painted on the curb by the driveway. I slid from behind the wheel, then felt a tiny surge of adrenaline as I walked up the short cement path.

I rapped on the door, reminding myself that this woman wanted anonymity. She would need reassurance, and I hoped I could deliver-if she agreed to talk to me at all.

She didn’t open the door, just called out, “What do you want?”

“I need your help, Loreen,” I said.

A short silence followed; then she said, “Do I know you?”

“We have a mutual friend who sent me here-Angela.” Mentioning Emma’s name first might be the wrong thing to do.

I heard the dead bolt turn and she opened the door a crack. “Angela sent you?”

“Yes.”

“I hardly know her. What’s this about?” Her door was open a little more now.

“My name is Abby. Can I come in and explain?”

“Not until you tell me how you know Angela.”

“She cleaned my house, said you were one of the best employees at Purity.”

“You need my help cleaning? ’Cause we’re not allowed to do private jobs. We had to sign a paper that we wouldn’t.”

Even though she hadn’t shut the door on me, I could tell this wasn’t working.

“Okay, here’s the straight scoop. I work for Emma Lopez, and I think you know her, even if she doesn’t know who you really are. She needs your help.”

Loreen slammed the door so hard I think the house shook. I heard the dead bolt turn.

But I had another idea on how to get her attention, even though I wouldn’t enjoy using this tactic. “Fiona,” I said loud enough for her to hear-and maybe loud enough for the neighbors, too. “I know you don’t want me talking out here about your past for everyone in the neighborhood to hear.”

A few seconds passed; then she opened the door. “Get inside,” she whispered harshly.

I stepped into a tiny foyer, shutting the door behind me. “Sorry I had to do that, but there are things you need to know and things I hope you can help us with.”

“What’d you say your name was?” She crossed thin arms over an ample chest that didn’t match her tiny physique. Were those implants a gift from James the pimp?

“Abby Rose. I’m a private detective, and I know you wrote a letter to a television show about Emma Lopez. I work for her.”

She cocked her head, staring at me. “Work for her how?”

“I’m trying to find out what happened to the baby under the house-you’ve heard about that, right?”

“Who hasn’t?”

“You wrote that letter to Reality Check to help your friend Christine’s children.”

She said, “That’s a lie.” But she was about as convincing as a FEMA official.

“Listen, can we sit down and talk? You’re justifiably concerned about publicity, but I’m helping Emma just like you wanted to help her.”

“Lotta good I did. Her baby sister’s dead.”

“But you did help. The show is building them a new house. I saw it myself.” I wasn’t ready to tell her that the baby in the news wasn’t Emma’s sister. She still seemed on her guard and might not believe me.

“A new house can’t bring back a dead baby,” Loreen said. “I’m done helping.”

“Even if I promise to keep your name out of this?”

“How can you do that when there’s a stupid TV show in town? If they find out who I am, I’ll lose everything. My job, my house… everything.”

I took a risk and approached her, resting my hand on her shoulder. “I won’t let that happen.”

I felt her tremble under my touch. She said nothing.

“You were very brave to do what you did for Christine’s children, but there are things you need to know.”

“Like what?”

“Like what happened to your friend.”

“She split. That’s what happened. Left those kids to fend for themselves. I was so pissed at that stupid woman I promised one day I’d make things right.” She paused. “And now I’ve screwed that up, too.”

“You’ve got it wrong, Loreen. Let me tell you what I’ve learned, okay?”

“So I can feel more guilty? Okay. Bring it on, ’cause I’m an expert at guilt.”

She turned and walked down the hall. I followed, thinking how she’d escaped a miserable existence and now had this little house and a steady job where no knew about her former profession. Heck, she might even have a husband or a boyfriend. My showing up probably felt no different to her than if I’d broken in like a kick burglar holding a gun.

She led me into a living room with old-fashioned dark paneling. Between the paneling and the double window covered by heavy drapes, I felt claustrophobic. But the carpet seemed new and freshly vacuumed, and if there was a speck of dust anywhere, I couldn’t have found it. The house didn’t smell of tobacco, so she probably smoked only outside.

I chose an armchair with a clean towel tucked carefully over the floral cushion, and she sat on the edge of a mismatched plaid sofa, her hands clenched in her lap.

“There’s no easy way to tell you, so I’ll start with what you thought you knew. Christine didn’t leave town. She was murdered.”

Loreen gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “She… she’s dead?”

“They found her body in 1997, but she remained unidentified until the TV show came to Houston and Emma asked me to investigate what happened to her baby sister and her mother. I discovered a cold-case death, and the victim turned out to be Christine.”

“I didn’t hear nothing about that on the news,” Loreen said.

“You will soon enough. Anyway, I’m hoping you can help me learn why she was murdered. I’m not sure if it’s connected to the baby’s death, but I suspect so. And here’s another important piece of information that hasn’t been reported in the press. That baby they found last week wasn’t Christine’s.”

Loreen shook her head vigorously. “You’re talking crazy now. I went through all nine months with her. Even knew the guy she was sleeping with when she got pregnant.”

“Who was the father?”

“A teenager who lived across the street from her-kid who had to be ten years younger. He liked to drink, and she was happy to supply the booze and drink with him. One night he drove drunk smack into a hill full of bluebonnets off Highway 6. Christy and me went there and left flowers by this white cross his parents put where he died. I was the one who cried. She didn’t.”

I swallowed. I already knew Christine O’Meara had led a life filled with mistakes and tragedy, and here was more of the same. “Emma was present when her mother gave birth, but the infant found under the house belonged to someone else. That’s what I need help with.”

“Maybe it was there when Christy moved in. Maybe it’s just chance that-”

“There are no coincidences when it comes to murder, Loreen. Somehow Christine’s baby was switched for the one found under the house. I truly believe that’s why Christine was killed-because she made a deal with someone. Could she have been in contact with a trafficker in black-market babies?”

“I don’t know. She told me she gave the baby to CPS, and that’s why I mentioned the kid in the letter. I thought Emma should know she had a sister out there somewhere.”

“She never mentioned a baby broker, and she didn’t give you the story about the husband who beat her and ran off with the child?”

“That?” Loreen laughed scornfully. “The beating story was only for the people we hung with at the bar we used to go to. She wanted everyone to feel sorry for her ’cause then they’d buy her drinks. But us two were close, and I thought she was telling me this big secret about CPS because we were friends. That’s what friends do, right? Tell each other important shit?”

I nodded, thinking, But friends do not share that they have buried a baby under their house.

Loreen went on, saying, “Christy talked all the time about not wanting the kid, how she couldn’t handle the ones she already had, how they got in the way and how Emma always needed money for some crap at school. Those were her words, ‘some crap at school.’ But she never said she’d sell the baby. That’s what you’re saying, right? She sold her?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure. But you stayed friends with Christine for years afterward?”

Loreen hung her head, twisting a silver ring on her pinkie finger. “I was only seventeen when we met, and she let me work with her cleaning houses. I was trying to save enough money to get by without Jimmy selling me every night to whatever slobbering jerk walked down the street. Course, I never got away from him until he went to jail.”

“Bet that was a relief.” She’d been abused, treated like a slave, probably most of her life.

“Yeah, but this isn’t about me. I still don’t understand why you think Christy was killed because of the baby thing,” Loreen said. “She disappeared five years after the baby came and went.”

“That bothers me, too. Did she have extra cash after the baby was born? Or a new TV? New clothes? Anything?”

Loreen sat in thought for probably a full minute. “A few times Christy had money to throw around-nothing big, a couple hundred bucks, maybe. Once when I asked where she got it, she said Emma’s family. But the father was supposed to be dead, so I didn’t get it, you know? Did she lie about him, too? Is he still around?”

“No, he died before Emma was born.” But I knew Xavier Lopez’s widow sent money for Emma. Maybe she also sent Christine money in exchange for her silence. “Were there any other times you remember she had cash to burn?”

“Only that time she went to Vegas to make her million-that’s what she said, make her million. She wanted me to go with her, said she’d pay my way, but I couldn’t. Jimmy would have killed me.”

“Jimmy is James Caldwell?” It wouldn’t hurt to remind her I pretty much knew her whole life story.

“That’s right.” She crossed her legs and one foot began to bob.

“When was this trip?”

“You know, I think it was the same year she had the baby-yeah, it had to be, because I remember her saying she wanted to get rid of the leftover baby weight before she took the trip.”

“Did she leave town often?”

Loreen sat back. “That’s the only time I remember.”

“How did she get to Las Vegas? Did someone take her?”

“Who would do that? It’s not like there was all these rich dudes hanging around the bar.” Loreen squinted, seemed to be thinking. “She was only gone for a couple days, if I remember right, and when she came back she went on this giant binge, told me she lost almost every penny playing the slots.”

“But she’d had enough cash for a plane ticket and a vacation before she gambled away most of her money. Think hard. Are there any other times you recall her having extra cash?”

“She always had money for booze, even if it was just beer, but I thought that was because she was working more, spending less time at Rhoda’s-that was the place we drank together. Christy could clean a house like nobody’s business when she wasn’t on a binge.”

“And you’d been helping her with the cleaning? Maybe took up the slack when she was too drunk?”

“Yeah, but she wasn’t as much of a drunk that year before she disappeared, and you probably think this is weird, but Christy and I? We worked good together. Drunks and whores can do some things right. We were a team.”

“Such a good team you decided to go into business together?”

Loreen tilted her head. “How did you find out all this stuff?”

“I’ll explain later. What about your business plans?”

“I thought she was serious, but then she split… sorry. That’s not right, is it? She got herself killed.”

“How did you plan on getting the money to start up? You’d need more than the flyers Emma made that you stuck on telephone poles.”

For the first time since I’d arrived, Loreen smiled. “Emma made those? Christy always said Emma was the real mom in the family. That’s why I called CPS when Christy didn’t come back.”

“You called CPS? I thought they showed up because Emma was missing school.”

“She was. I went to Christy’s house to see if she was sick or something, ’cause she hadn’t been around. This kid answers the door and she’s covered in chicken pox. I asked where her mother was, and she said she’d been gone a long time. She said her big sister, Emma, went to get milk but she’d be right back. So I left and called CPS. It’s anonymous, you know. You can call and no one checks on you or anything.”

I nodded. “How did you find Emma again after CPS took custody?”

“I was still living around there when the kids moved back into the old house. People talk. I heard. I watched them, sorta looked out for them, you know? I’d found out I could never have kids. Too many infections. Anyway, Emma took this one bus all the time, so I went to the stop. Talked to her. Got to know her. Christy was such an idiot to miss out on Emma and the other kids.” She smiled again, but it quickly disappeared when Loreen’s attention switched to the window. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That sound. Someone’s out there.” She hurried to the window and peeked through a crack in the drapes. “Did anyone come with you?” she whispered.

“No.” But I got this sick feeling inside and thought, No one that I know about, anyway. “Do you see anyone?”

She carefully pushed open the drapes a tiny bit wider. “Maybe it was a bird or a squirrel in the bushes.” She returned to the sofa but didn’t take her eyes off the window.

“There’s something else you need to know,” I said. “Christine had a friend named Jerry Joe Billings.”

“Him? A friend? Pure scum, drunk or sober. When I’d come into Rhoda’s and sit next to Christy he’d always say, ‘The whore is here. Let the party begin.’ ”

“Mr. Billings was murdered last Friday-killed after he promised to give me information about Christine. I think he knew something about her murder, and-”

“What?” Loreen closed her eyes for a second, then wrapped her arms around herself and began to rock. “If he got killed because he knew something, that means… you know what that means.”

“I can protect you, Loreen.”

“Did you promise to protect Jerry Joe, too?”

I took a deep breath. “I had no idea that if I talked to him, he’d…”

“End up dead? But you have an idea about me, right? You figured out I know a whole lot more about Christy than he ever did.”

“And there may be other things you know that are important and-”

“Important enough to get me killed. Why in hell did I ever let you in here?”

“We have to catch this killer, Loreen. That’s the only way you’ll ever be safe. And you may need protection for another reason. James Caldwell was just paroled. The police asked him questions about you.”

Her face paled. “Oh, God, no.” She stood and started pacing in front of the sofa. “That’s who was outside. He found me just like you did. I gotta get out of here.”

She started to leave the room, but I went after her, gripped her shoulders and turned her to face me. “Don’t you want to stop hiding?”

She struggled a little, but she couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds, and I had no trouble hanging on to her.

“I have to get away. I have to-”

“Listen to me, Loreen.” We were practically nose-to-nose, and I could smell the tobacco on her breath. “I’ll help you if you let me-but first I need more information.”

“I’ve told you everything I know.” But she didn’t shrug me off. She kept staring over my shoulder at the window, looking as frightened as a rabbit in a trap.

I shouldn’t have told her about Billings, at least not until I’d probed for more information about the possible baby switch. I released my hold on her. “You want me to see if anyone’s out there?”

“No. I don’t want anyone to know you’re here.”

I guessed she didn’t realize my car was sitting in front of her house. “I can take you to a safe place. I have police friends and-”

“No police.” She was shaking her head vigorously. “Jimmy will find out. He can find out what the cops are doing as easy as that.” She snapped her fingers.

“All right, what about my place?”

“Are you crazy? I’m not going anywhere with you. You said yourself you led a killer straight to Jerry Joe.”

I sighed. How the hell could I make sure she felt safe? My gut told me she knew more than she realized and I needed to keep picking her brain. But she wouldn’t be much help while she was this afraid.

“I have a suitcase to pack,” Loreen said, jerking me back to reality.

“Wait,” I said. “Let me think about… No, I’ve got it. I have a friend. He’s my boyfriend, as a matter of fact.” She didn’t have to know that he was a cop, too. “He’s big and strong and he’ll protect you.”

She took a pack of cigarettes from her uniform pocket and stared at them, licking her lips. “I don’t know. That’s a short-term thing. Besides, how would he get me out of here without Jimmy finding out?”

“See, that’s the problem, Loreen. You need help getting away, and I’m willing to do that.”

“How?”

“You have a fence in the backyard?”

“No.”

“You could cut through the yard and hit the next block. Jimmy can’t be watching the front and the back of the house at the same time, right?”

She was turning the cigarette pack over and over. “Then what? This guy picks me up over there?”

“That’s right.”

“But he won’t know me, and Jimmy could be-”

“I’ve got my gun in my car. I’ll walk with you. My friend’s name is Jeff, and he can take you to his place.”

She stared at me while she considered this. It seemed as if shadows had formed under eyes in the last few minutes. With her too-thin face, the uniform hanging off her like she was a kid wearing her mother’s dress and those dark circles, she looked like she belonged in a concentration camp. But then, maybe that was what her whole life had been like.

Her gaze returned to the window, and she started pacing again. “I’ve had hundreds of strange men use me, and you want me to go ride off with another one to God knows where?” She’d gotten a cigarette out of the pack and was rolling it between thumb and index finger. “I don’t like this.”

“It won’t be just you two. His sister lives with him. She’ll come with him to get you.”

She bit the side of her lip. “For real?”

“For real. Now let me make the call, okay?”

She carefully returned the cigarette to the pack and looked at me. “Guess I have no choice. But don’t bother getting your gun. I’m taking mine.”