“I don’t want to do that.” He made a face. “He’s a young guy trying to get by.”
“You’re a giant softie.”
He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Have I mentioned that your family gives me constant migraines?”
“And yet you want to join yourself to them forever.”
“I want to join myself to you forever.”
“We don’t need to be married to do that. We can just keep living in sin.”
He studied me. “I’m not having this fight right now. I know you’re trying to get me to explode, and maybe somehow agree with you, which would result in me letting you off the hook. That’s not going to happen. I’m getting my way this time.”
“I’m pretty sure you got your way this morning.”
He smiled at the memory. “Yes, you’re a wonderful little homemaker.”
His tone made me cringe. “I’m actually here for a reason.”
“I figured.” He leaned back in his chair. “What do you want me to do?”
“You have connections.”
“Maybe. It depends what you want me to do.”
“I want to see how many names you can connect to that halfway house.” There was no point holding back now.
“Why?”
“Because if I can get a list of names, people who have lived in that house the last two years say, then maybe I can track the deceased backward.”
He perked up at the suggestion. “I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s a good idea. But two years could yield a lot of names.”
“I know, but I figure it’s better to be safe. I don’t want to miss a possibility.”
“I can set up a search for that. It’s easy enough to run an address and see who has received mail there. Anything else?”
“That’s all for now. I appreciate your time.”
He moved fast, his arm shooting out and grabbing the front of my shirt so he could pull me down for a kiss. “I appreciate your time.” He was smiling when he released me. “Where are you going? And where is your little sidekick?”
The second question filled me with annoyance. “She’s not my sidekick. By the way, do you know what she did?”
His eyes widened. “No, but I’m guessing you’re going to tell me.”
I barreled forward. “She had the entire newsroom hanging on her every word this morning as she told the thrilling tale of how she swooped in and rescued me last night.”
Eliot merely blinked.
“That’s not what happened,” I hissed. “I had it under control.”
“I don’t know who you’re trying to fool when you say that, but you can stop wasting those words on me. She did save you, and I’m grateful. I’m not sure I could’ve fought that guy off.”
“I was going to fight him off myself.”
“You and what army?”
I pointed to my foot. “I’ve kicked so many crotches I’m now a master. I was never in any danger.”
“Tell that to my indigestion.” He shook his head. “Is that how you got out of including her? Did you tell Fish you were going to kick her in the crotch?”
“I told him I was likely to make her cry.”
“So what? You make people cry all the time. It’s one of the things I love best about you.”
“Yes, but I also told him that Duncan and Marvin would likely be willing to dry those tears with their penises, which was a whole new mess of trouble. He suddenly agreed it was best that she hang with Marvin for the day.”
That earned a barking laugh. “You never cease to amaze me, Trouble. Never.”
“I’m good at what I do,” I agreed, sliding toward the door. “If you could come up with that list of names, I’d greatly appreciate it.”
“I’ll set the search to run,” he promised, his eyebrows drawing together “You still haven’t told me where you’re going.”
Crap. I was hoping to sneak out without having to own up to my plans. Now there was no choice but to tell him. “I’m going to the yoga studio.”
His frown deepened. My cousin Lexie was the proud owner of a yoga studio in Roseville, one she opened with money I gave her after receiving a reward I didn’t feel I was owed. Eliot wasn’t a fan of Lexie, though they’d been getting along better in recent months. Still, he never thought it was a good idea for us to hang out. “Why are you going to the studio? Do you need to work out some stress or something? If so, I can think of better ways.”
“It’s not about working out stress. It’s about insight into a world I’m not all that familiar with.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, but I recognized the second he realized what I had planned. “You’re going to ask her about the drug trade in that area.”
Lexie had a penchant for dating dealers and considered herself a resident of Detroit – at least in spirit – so I couldn’t give him points for his deduction.
“I’m going to see if she knows anything about that house,” I admitted. “I’m not going back or anything ... at least right now.”
“I hate to admit it, but that’s probably a good idea. If there’s some sort of serious drug trade happening at that house, she’ll likely know about it.”
“If not, she might’ve heard rumors or know somebody else who could provide answers.”
“Just ... don’t let her talk you into doing anything weird.”
“What have I ever done with Lexie that could be construed as weird?”
“I believe the time I was hit by the car counts. You were with her ... and that was all sorts of weird.”
“I thought that was a fairly normal evening for us.”
“Which is why I hate it when you two go on adventures.”
“No adventures today,” I promised. “Today it’s just a fact-finding mission.”
“If that changes, let me know.”
I stilled with my hand on the doorknob. “You’re not going to try and talk me out of digging deeper into this drug stuff?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re you and I don’t want to dictate to you. I simply want to be included.”
I nodded. “I’ll let you know when I have a plan of attack.”
“That would be greatly appreciated.”
LEXIE’S STUDIO WAS BETWEEN CLASSES. She stood behind the counter at the front of the store mixing a smoothie.
One look at my smile had her balking. “Oh, you’ve got your trouble face on. I hate your trouble face.”
“You’ve been arrested, like, six times,” I reminded her. “How is my trouble face worse than any of the trouble you’ve actually managed to find?”
“It just is.” She upended the concoction and dumped the contents into a glass before shoving it toward the other side of the counter.
I was already wrinkling my nose when I leaned over to study it. “That looks like green goo.”
“Kiwi and strawberries.”
“It looks like you stuck Yoda in a blender and hit purée.”
Her expression darkened. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what do you want?”
I had to laugh. “You’re the second person to ask me that in the last hour ... and he phrased it the same way.”
“How’s Eliot?”
That was a complicated question. “He’s good. He’s helping me with a little project. That’s why I’m here. I need your help. In fact ....” I broke off at the sound of an opening door and turned, my gaze falling on the bathroom. I almost fell over when I recognized the figure waddling out.
My best friend Carly, who was due to spew forth life at any moment, walked with her hand at the small of her back. She led with her prodigious stomach, which was so large I genuinely feared it might burst.
“You look like you’ve swallowed the world’s biggest pumpkin,” I blurted out without thinking.
Lexie cuffed the back of my head. Hard. “That’s not a nice thing to say to your best friend.”
I recognized that. Stil
l, I couldn’t look away. “Should you be out of bed? I mean ... that can’t be comfortable.”
“Oh, do you think?” Carly’s eyes were glittery slits of hate as she padded in my direction. She looked so unhappy I worried she was going to explode all over me ... and what a picture that painted in my head.
“I think she looks great,” Lexie lied, squaring her shoulders as she shoved the green concoction toward Carly. “They say pregnant women have a glow. She definitely has that.”
“Probably because she can’t stop herself from sweating between the bathroom and the counter,” I noted.
Luckily for me, Carly’s reflexes were dulled. She took a swipe, missing by a good foot. “Don’t make me hurt you,” she threatened.
“Trust me, the last thing I want is for you to hurt me.” All I could picture was her sitting on me. I would be stuck there until the baby was born, which at this rate might be never. I was starting to consider the possibility that Carly was suffering through the gestation period of an elephant. “Isn’t that kid supposed to be here already?”
“Two weeks ago.” Carly tried to get up on the stool three times before I finally had the sense to help her. She barely weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet before becoming pregnant. Now she weighed so much I thought I might throw my back out lifting her.
“Is that normal?”
“Does this look normal?”
She was so grouchy I decided to keep a stool between us as I sat down a second time. “So, who wants to hear about my day? Actually, more like my three days.”
Neither of them raised a hand.
“It’s a good story,” I teased.
“Nobody cares,” Carly shot back. “I have a two-week-old child inside of me. Nobody cares what’s going on with you.”
Wow, and I thought she was crabby on a PMS day. Rather than continue this particular conversation, I focused on Lexie. “I need information. I’m hoping you can provide it ... and quickly.” I risked a glance at Carly, who was glowering at me. “I clearly need to get out of here if I value my life.”
“What sort of information?” Lexie asked. “Aren’t you working on that dead Santa story? That’s the last thing I read with your byline on it.”
“I am.” I filled her in on my last few days, keeping the story concise. I wanted to get as much information as possible and then run. “I was hoping you knew something about that halfway house.”
“I’m pretty sure I know the place you’re talking about,” Lexie confirmed. “Near Dequindre and Canfield?”
I nodded. “Right in there.”
“It has quite the reputation. Do you remember that guy I was dating?”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Maurice, the guy who had a half moon tattooed on his cheek.”
Oh, right. How could I forget that guy? “I remember. He kept calling me Britney.”
“That’s what he calls all blondes. Anyway, he was big in the trade.”
In Lexie’s world, “the trade” meant drugs. She’d cleaned up her life the past two years, but she still had one weakness: the men she dated. They were all dealers. “Pot?”
“He dabbled in a bit of everything,” she replied evasively, and I knew that was all she would give me on Maurice. “That house supposedly has an underground pipeline to the big dealers across the border. I’m not sure it’s true, but that’s what I heard.”
“The Canadian border?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, the border of Ohio. Of course the Canadian border.”
I held up my hands in defeat. “I was just asking. I ....”
Next to me, Carly grunted. When I turned to check on her, I found her red-faced and sweaty.
“Do I even want to know what you’re doing?” I asked warily.
“I’m trying to get my water to break,” she grunted.
“Here?” I glanced at the floor to make sure she hadn’t managed to accomplish her task. “Why would you want your water to break?”
“So the baby comes.”
“Yeah, but ... then you have to go through labor.”
“Anything is better than this.”
I had news for her, television and movies the world over had taught me the opposite. “Okay, let’s try this again. Is there a reason you’re trying to get your water to break in Lexie’s studio?”
“The doctor says mild exercise and plenty of fruits and vegetables should work. We’ve been trying both the last three days. Nothing so far.”
I was growing more uncomfortable with the conversation. “Well, do you think you can hold off on ... that ... until I’m done grilling Lexie? I would greatly appreciate it.”
“You’re the worst best friend ever,” she complained. “You don’t even care about my pain.”
“I care a great deal. I just don’t want your pain to turn into my pain.”
“Oh, you’re so stupid sometimes,” Lexie sneered as Carly burst into tears.
“What did I do now?” I was genuinely at a loss.
“You’re just being you.” Lexie moved around the bar to console Carly. “I don’t know what to tell you about the house. If you’re heading out there, be aware that bad dudes live in that place. They won’t take kindly to a nosy reporter hanging around.”
“Yeah, I pretty much figured that out.”
“But you’re still going out there.”
“Maybe.”
“Then good luck with whatever it is you’ve got planned. You’re going to need it.”
16 Sixteen
I considered calling Eliot — it seemed the right thing to do — but when I measured his response in my mind against what I wanted to do, I opted to go with my gut. It took me an additional twenty minutes to find the halfway house. My sense of direction wasn’t great, especially when motoring around Detroit.
Once I found the halfway house, I sat in the car watching. Nobody walked in or out in almost thirty minutes. I couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.
On one hand, the inhabitants could’ve simply been at their jobs. Work was part of the release program.
I exited my car, checking twice that it was locked, before starting down the street. While the halfway house was dead, some women stood at the nearby corner. I was eager enough for information that I decided to risk it.
The Forest Park neighborhood was considered one of Detroit’s worst. I knew that only because I’d read a few articles. The median home value in the area was fourteen-thousand dollars. The neighborhood was lightly populated thanks to many of the homes being removed under a blight order issued twelve years ago.
I should’ve been nervous ... and I kind of was. I knew better than to show it, though. I was all forced bravado and ego as I approached two women standing on the street corner. One look at their outfits — tight leggings and low-cut tops visible despite thick coats that remained unzipped — and I knew what I was dealing with.
“You lost?” one of the women demanded, narrowing her eyes as she looked me up and down. I shouldn’t appear a threat given my simple jeans and Converse — which weren’t worth enough to steal — but I remained leery.
“I’m looking for information.” I flashed a smile that I didn’t really feel and dug into the inside pocket of my North Face coat. I’d stashed my purse under the seat of my car and shoved a few twenties in my pocket in case I needed cash. I held up one of the twenties. “I promise not to take much of your time.”
The woman stared at the money for a moment before glancing around. “You a narc?”
I shook my head. “I’m a reporter from Macomb County.”
She jerked her head back to study me. “Oh, man. You are, ain’t ya? You’re Avery Shaw.”
“I ... you ... how did you know that?”
“I seen you on TV.” She inclined her head toward her friend, a too-thin blonde with sallow skin and huge dark pockets under her eyes. “You hear that, Sally Anne? It’s Avery Shaw.”
The blonde looked less than impressed. “So what?”
“She that skinny girl I was telling you about a couple weeks ago,” the first woman continued. “She done shot that racist political dude.”
I pressed my lips together, debating if I should correct her. In this neighborhood, street cred could only help. Of course, I didn’t want anyone getting twitchy around me. “I only tortured him,” I said, opting for honesty. “I didn’t shoot him. That was another chick. I appreciate you calling me skinny, though. That’s a great boost to my ego.”
The woman snorted and shook her head. “I’m Chantelle.” She didn’t extend her hand for a shake. “This is our corner. Sally Anne and me have been working it a long time.”
“Yes, and we’re thrilled to call this place home,” Sally Anne drawled. “I can’t tell you how proud we are.”
I found her word selection interesting and was curious enough to consider the fact that she’d benefitted from decent educational choices at one time. I very much doubted Chantelle had the opportunity to continue past middle school — if that — but Sally Anne was another story. Of course, it was none of my business and I knew better than to dig too hard.
“Do you live around here?” I asked, keeping hold of the twenty. I had every intention of handing it over, but I wanted information first.
“If you can call it living,” Sally Anne replied with a derisive snort. “My house doesn’t even have running water. We have to go to Old Betty’s place to shower. We all pitch in to keep her water running because she’s old and gets the best rate. It’s not exactly living.”
I was well aware of the water problems in Detroit. They’d made national news. The population in this area barely made enough money to put food on the table, and yet the city continued shutting off water if they fell into arrears on their bills. The issue had fomented a debate on whether water was a right or a privilege. I never gave much thought to where I stood on the issue until now. I was firmly on the side of those who believed it to be a right.
“That sucks,” I offered. Really, what else could I say? “I’m sorry that happened.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t do it to us.” Sally Anne made a face as she read my shirt. It featured a multicolored unicorn and read “I’m feeling IDGAF-ish today.” She snorted. “You allowed to wear that to work?”
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