After tossing and turning for maybe a half hour, I headed downstairs and tried again to reach Paige on her cell phone.
This time, she answered almost instantly. "Where the hell are you?" she said.
I felt myself pale. "Why? Is something wrong?"
Her voice was shrill. "What do you think?"
My stomach lurched as visions of Russell's Camaro, smashed to smithereens, flashed across my brain. Was he hurt? Had he hurt someone else?
Shit, I should've done something, anything beyond just a few phone calls. But instead, I'd flirted with a stranger and took a damn shower.
This was all my fault.
"Is it Russell?" My voice quavered. "Is he, uh, okay?"
"No, he's not okay," she snapped.
I was gripping the phone so hard my fingers ached. "What happened?"
"After you ditched him," she said, "he got carjacked."
"Oh my God." It wasn't what I'd expected, but it was bad enough. Maybe worse. "Where?" I asked.
"Right there on River Street."
"Holy crap," I said. "That's just a few blocks from here." Riverside was a relatively small town, and sure, it wasn't completely crime-free. But carjacking? Here? I struggled to catch my breath. "Was he hurt?"
Her tone grew snotty. "Yeah, he was hurt. He got the shit kicked out of him."
"Oh jeez," I breathed. "How bad?"
"Bad enough," she said. "His car's gone. He's covered in blood. So he shows up here, scares the piss out of mom."
"So he walked to your parent's house? From River Street?"
"Yeah," she said. "Ten whole blocks, after that maniac attacked him."
"But if he could walk," I said, "that's a good sign, right? I mean, he's gonna be okay. Isn't he?'
"Well he's not okay now, that's for sure. And mom's going nuts. Dad's refusing to call the cops. Russell's puking in the bathroom. It's a total nightmare."
"I don't get it," I said. "Why wouldn't they call the police?"
"Because," she said, "Dad's running for mayor next term. Remember?"
"So?"
"So think of the publicity," she said. "You let him drink too much. And then, you let him drive. How's Russell supposed to report a carjacking when he's totally shitfaced?" Her voice rose. "They'd probably arrest him on the spot for drunk-driving."
On second thought, this wasn't my fault. Russell was a total dipshit.
"Hey, I tried to stop him," I said.
"Sure you did."
"I did," I insisted. "But what was I supposed to do? He's a linebacker."
"So?"
"So, he outweighs me by like a hundred pounds. And did he tell you this? He left me stranded out in the middle of nowhere."
"The way I heard it," she said, "you got out on your own."
"Yeah, because he unzipped his pants."
"Well–" She gave a little sniff. "–maybe he just wanted to get more comfortable."
"No," I said, "he wanted to show me the Meat Monster."
"Oh c'mon!"
"Hey, that's what he called it, not me."
"Well," she stammered, "maybe it just needed some air or something."
"No," I said in a tone of forced patience. "What it needed was a licky-lick."
"Oh get real," she said. "How would you know?"
"I know," I said, "because that's what Russell told me. Like a hundred times. What the hell was I supposed to do?"
"Well, you shouldn't have abandoned him."
"Hey, he was the one who abandoned me."
"Whatever," she said. "Anyway, that purse you borrowed? My favorite one, by the way?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, it's gone, along with everything in it."
My heart sank. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," she said, "the guy practically ripped it out of Russell's hands, right before he kicked his ass."
"What guy?"
"Aren't you listening?" she said.
"The carjacker?"
"Yeah," she said. "Some scary-ass guy on a motorcycle."
Chapter 14
The phone slipped from my grip and clattered to the floor. When I stooped to pick it up, Paige was still chewing me out. She was wasting her time. I was barely listening.
Russell's carjacker? It couldn't be my guy on a motorcycle? Could it? Bishop wasn't scary. Actually, he'd been pretty nice.
I interrupted Paige's tirade. "Scary-ass?" I said. "Like some big bearded guy with tattoos?"
"No," she said. "Like some young guy with an attitude."
Oh shit.
I knew him. I was sure of it. I even knew his name – unless – had he given me a fake one? Oh crap. He probably had.
To think, I'd fallen for his whole nice guy act. Worse, I'd given him almost everything he needed to steal Russell's car, not to mention all my money. The only thing I hadn't given him was the actual car-keys.
A little voice whispered that maybe this wasn't about jacking some drunk guy's Camaro. Maybe, just maybe, this had something to do with me.
But the idea seemed too ridiculous for words. I barely knew the guy. I'd been a dirty, ragged mess. But him? He was every girl's dream. No. Scratch that. He was every parent's worst nightmare.
A small laugh escaped my lips. He was every normal parent's worst nightmare. Crystal would probably love him.
"Is something funny?" Paige said.
"No. Not at all."
"You know what?" She lowered her voice. "I hope Russell does report your brothers. The little shits deserve it."
"Oh c'mon," I said. "We had a deal."
"Yeah?" she said. "Well maybe they'll think twice next time before stealing someone's car."
"They didn't steal it," I reminded her. "They borrowed it."
"Uh-huh."
My brothers were only twelve and fourteen. Technically, they were too young to drive. In reality, they didn't see it that way.
"Hey, they brought the car back, didn't they?"
"Yeah. Minus a whole tank of gas."
"I already paid for the gas. Remember?"
"Whatever."
"But c'mon," I said. "We're still okay, right?"
"Hardly."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I mean," she said, "you were supposed to make Russell look good tonight. Instead, he looked like a douche."
"Because he was a douche."
"And you were a psycho."
"I was not."
"Oh yeah?" Paige said. "He said you attacked him with that purse."
"Only because he attacked me with his Meat Monster." Visually, anyway.
Paige had been my best friend for just under a year. But lately, I was having a hard time remembering why. Times like this weren't helping.
"Stop calling it that!" she said.
"That's what I said. But guess what? He didn't listen." I took a deep breath. "But you tell him this. If he reports my brothers, he's not going to be happy."
"Oh yeah? What are you gonna do?"
"Easy. I'll report him."
"For what?"
"Oh, lemme see," I said. "Drunk driving, indecent exposure, being an asshole."
"Hey," she sputtered. "He is not an asshole."
"Sorry, I can't hear you, because–" My voice rose. "–I've still got Russell's slobber in my fucking ear!"
Whatever Paige said afterwards, it was completely lost on me. Because that's when I noticed it – something in the shop that didn't belong.
The thing was just sitting there on the front counter, a few steps away from store's main entrance. Slowly, my gaze drifted toward the front door. I had locked the store before going upstairs.
Hadn't I?
I shook my head. Obviously, I was losing my mind. Because I swear, the thing on the counter looked exactly – I felt myself swallow – like the purse I'd left in Russell's car.
But that couldn't be right. Clutching the cordless phone, I slowly made my way toward it.
"Are you listening to me?" Paige was saying.
&n
bsp; "No," I said. "I've gotta go."
If Paige said anything after that, I didn't hear a single word. I disconnected the call and set the phone on a nearby table. When it rang again, I paid no attention.
Reaching the front counter, I eyed the little beaded purse like it was pure dynamite. I glanced around, trying to make sense of it all. Inside the store, I saw nothing. I heard nothing.
With a trembling hand, I reached out. I opened the purse and peered inside. Sure enough, I spotted my cellphone along with the slim black wallet where I kept my driver's license and cash. I opened up the wallet and felt myself frown.
My license was there.
The cash was gone. Every single dollar.
Russell wouldn't have taken it. He was a lot of things, but not a thief.
But I couldn't say the same for the other guy.
That fucker.
Chapter 15
When I woke in my freezing apartment, that long-ago June night was a distant memory. I shook off the confusion as I glanced around the apartment's only bedroom.
What I really needed to do, I told myself, was focus on the present – starting with our store's legal problems. I dressed in jeans and a sweater, ready to usher in our first fortune-free day.
I wandered downstairs earlier than scheduled. In the book room, an expensive-looking blonde had Gabriel backed against the counter. I'd seen the woman before. Her name was Carolyn, a regular client of Gabriel's.
She looked upset. "Screw the police," she said. "I'll pay you double."
He looked around. "I can't. Not here."
I wandered to the Tarot display and started sorting through the decks.
Carolyn’s voice became shrill. "But he's cheating on me."
Gabriel placed his hand over hers. "You have proof then?"
"I don't need proof," she said. "You saw it yourself."
I felt my temper rise. I stopped fiddling with the decks. If Gabriel had "seen" someone cheating on Carolyn, it wasn't like he'd caught the guy in the act. I glanced at Carolyn's ring finger, hoping to find it bare.
It wasn't.
"You wouldn’t do that to me," she said. "Would you?"
I gave Gabriel a hard stare. As if feeling my gaze, he looked up and quickly away. He took Carolyn's arm and hustled her toward a private reading room.
As they walked down the small hallway, I heard her say, "No one's taking my place. I'll see to that." Together, they disappeared into the small room and shut the door.
I waited in the book room, doing a slow burn.
A half-hour later, Gabriel emerged with Carolyn, looking slightly mollified. She handed him a few bills and hurried toward the exit.
I stalked over to Gabriel. "You gave her a Tarot reading, didn’t you?"
He shrugged.
"It's illegal," I told him. "Remember?"
"You saw her. She's troubled."
"Yeah, I can see why. You didn't really tell that woman her husband's cheating?"
"She's a client," he said. "That's privileged information."
"You're not a lawyer."
"Then stop with the inquisition," he said.
"I need to know."
"Why?" he said. "So you can tell me how to play my trade?"
"What trade is that?" I said. "In case you forgot, we're in the entertainment business."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning it's not entertaining to hear your husband's cheating."
He bristled. "I told her no such thing."
"Then what'd you tell her?"
"Only what I saw," he said, "a third party in their house of marriage."
I gave him a look. "Maybe that person's you."
"Me? Get real."
"You don't think you harmed their relationship?"
"Some people come here seeking the truth," he said, "not your sugar-coated version of it."
"What would you rather have?" I said. "Something coated in sugar? Or covered in crap?"
"I don't need this," he said, turning to stalk toward the coffee area.
Soon, I heard him and Crystal talking in hushed tones. I didn't bother trying to listen. No doubt, I'd heard it all before.
Instead, I wandered to the window and looked out over the city street. It was lined with day-old snow, brown and slushy at the edges. Another gloomy day. It matched my mood.
Carolyn was the only customer who had her fortune told that day, and no one was happy with the new arrangement. New customers, along with regulars, came in eager for fun and left disappointed. A few purchased coffee, and we sold a lot of books. But overall, our sales were down.
Tuesday was worse. Mid-morning, I went downstairs and found a stranger behind the coffee bar. The man wore a Detroit Red Wings baseball cap and a fleece-lined jean jacket a couple sizes too big.
I put him in his late twenties with a lot of hard living under his belt, or in his early forties with a little less hard living, but not much.
He was using the store’s phone. "C'mon Trudy," he was saying. "I'm sorry about the check, a bank screw-up, honest, just like I told the judge."
He fiddled with the creamers while listening to her response. "Hey Pumpkin, I can tell you're mad, but can't you come out and get me?" He lowered his voice. "I'm dyin' to see you, you hot thing."
He held the phone away from his ear. "No, I am not calling for money." He paused and scratched his chin. "But hey there, now that you mention it, if you'd spot me a couple a bucks, I swear I'd–"
His words trailed off. He hung up and muttered, "Damn!" He picked up the phone and dialed again. "Hey Bethany. It's me, Darren."
Crystal poked her head out of the stock room. Frantically, she waved me over. When I was within arm's reach, she yanked me into the small room, where we stood among stacks of coffee cups, napkins and bags of coffee beans.
"See that guy behind the counter?" she asked.
"Yeah?"
"You need to shoo him off."
"Why?" I asked. "Where'd he come from?"
"He says he walked here." She gripped my arm. "From the city jail."
She nodded. "At first, he came in to use the phone. Said he needed to call for a ride." Her grip tightened. "But he's made a bunch of calls already, and nobody’ll come get him." Her voice rose an octave. "What if he never leaves?"
Chapter 16
The guy was setting the phone back in its cradle when I tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me," I told him. "But we need to keep the line open for business."
He gave me an awe-shucks smile. He removed his cap, revealing a thick mess of dark-brown hair. "No problemo," he said. "I was done anyway. Lenny's on his way over."
I gave him a pointed look, and he scooted from behind the counter. I followed him into the seating area. He turned to face me. "Hey there," he said. "I'm Darren." He thrust out his hand.
I did the same, an automatic response.
He pumped my hand with gusto and said, "I saw your sign. You tell fortunes here?"
"Yes," I said, seeing no reason to explain our legal troubles.
"You take checks?"
"Sorry."
"Too bad," he said. "I always wanted my fortune told." A rusty brown sedan pulled up to the side entrance and honked. "That's Lenny," Darren said, making his way to the door. He flung it open and yelled, "Hiya buddy! Be out in a minute!"
Darren turned back to me. "Tell ya what," he said. "I'll get me some money and come back. I got some questions about my love life that need answerin'."
"Don't we all," I said.
Darren wasn't Tuesday's only unwelcome visitor. The low point came when the owner of the neighboring business, Gary's Comic Den, stopped by to gloat.
Gary was a smalltime bully, with a slight beer-belly and a bad comb-over. He propped his elbows on the counter and give me a toothy smile. "I heard you're not telling fortunes no more."
From day-one, Gary had been a thorn in our side. He stopped by our store at least once a week. He never bought anything.
"You here to buy something?"
I asked. "Coffee? Tea? A kick in the pants?"
"I'll pass," he said.
"No charge," I said.
Gary perked up.
"For the kick in the pants," I clarified.
His fade reddened. "You're not gonna be so smart when you're out of business."
I smiled. "You're not smart any time."
He leaned over the coffee counter and looked around. A long strand of oily hair escaped the comb-over. It flopped over his forehead. "I'm smart enough to know you gotta set your fridge at forty-five degrees," he said. "What's yours at?"
He squinted at the refrigerator. "Heeey, what'd you do with the thermostat?"
I feigned surprise. "We're supposed to have a thermostat?"
"The Health Department has rules," he said. "Inspector's a good buddy of mine."
Crystal and I were familiar with the rules and the inspector, not only because we'd had extensive training in food safety, but also because Gary called the Health Department on us at least once a month. Finally, the inspector had stopped coming.
"We have rules too," I told Gary. "No loitering."
"I was leavin' anyway," he said. "But I'll see you tonight." He grinned. "At the city council meeting."
Bad news. "And my little dog too?"
"You're full of it," he said. "You don't have no dog."
From somewhere near the side entrance, I heard a male voice say, "No. But she has me."
In unison, Gary and I turned to see Bishop, leaning against a far wall, his arms crossed, his face impassive. It was vintage Bishop. As usual, I hadn't heard him come in.
Gary's face paled, and his eyes narrowed to slits. "It's you," he said.
Bishop shrugged. "Yup."
Gary's gaze darted from Bishop back to me. "You never said nothing about him being back."
I heard myself sigh. Not this again. "You know what?" I said. "Just leave, alright?"
Gary stuck out his chin. "Who? Me or him?"
Bishop pushed away from the wall and started walking toward us, his body relaxed, but his gaze on Gary. "I'm not leaving," Bishop said. "How about you?"
Gary visibly swallowed. "Screw this," he said. "I'm outta here." He bolted for the main door and didn't look back.
When the door swung shut behind him, I turned to Bishop, standing in the spot freshly vacated by Gary.
Illegal Fortunes Page 6
