The Prodigal Girl

by Evan Ronan

  “You sound like a pre-recorded message, man,” Miles says, but at least he’s smiling. “You know, I’m getting tired of asking.”

  “Sorry, pal, but you know how it is.”

  “I do.” He looks over his shoulder, even though the door is shut. “You mind if I slip out the back?”

  There’s been a lot of that going around of late. “Sure.”

  Miles bangs out a text. “Watch your back, Greg. This shit might be the real deal.”

  “Alright, brother.”

  Hand-slap.

  Hug.

  And he’s out.

  ***

  I sit back in my office for a long, long time. Of course, this would explain Shannon’s seemingly impetuous decision to return home and bizarre, cryptic behavior ever since.

  But any crime would do that. She needn’t be trafficking unwitting American girls into Mexico. Maybe Marcus pissed off a local down there, maybe he was stupid enough to get on the wrong side of a low-ranking member of a cartel, maybe they saw or heard something they shouldn’t have seen or heard.

  Maybe a lot of things.

  But this?

  Tarika calls but I let it go to voicemail. I have no idea whether I’m going to share this bit of information with her. Seems incredibly premature.

  It would be nice to speak to somebody who knew them while they were down there.

  Tarika leaves me a voicemail.

  It makes me think about the American surfer the private eye told me about. But how the hell could I find him? I’ve got a first name—Jonas—and a generic description with few vitals. He’s middle-aged, maybe sixty years old by now. Lives down in Chiapas, or somewhere near there.

  Could I find him?

  Hell yeah I could. What’s with the defeatist attitude, Gregory Owen?

  On a complete lark, I log onto Facebook and do a search. American. Surfer. Jonas. Mexico.

  And wouldn’t you know it?

  ***

  I head on out to the Tanners’ place.

  I’ve got my gear again, clipboard and all, in keeping with the guise. Around four-thirty, Marcus Tanner emerges from the home with a basketball in hand. He dribbles up the sidewalk in the opposite direction. I give him a bit of a lead, then follow.

  The basketball courts are a few blocks away. Marcus meets up with some guys who appear to be expecting him. They make small talk for a couple minutes then it’s game on. On the court, Marcus is a minority.

  I park a ways off and sit and steam. It’s too hot out to sit in a car without air conditioning, so eventually I give in and roll up the windows and start the engine. The cold air blasts and I feel better.

  Marcus balls for an hour, then the game breaks up and he heads on. His shirt is drenched with sweat, but he jogs and dribbles his way home. That was me, once.

  Once.

  He ducks back into the house and this time I park on the other end of the street. After a while, I begin to notice curtains shifting in the houses all around me. My presence has not gone unnoticed, so I get back into character and review my clipboard like I’m trying to figure something out. But I know I’m on borrowed time. At least if the Tanners see me, I’ve got a plausible cover story that will pass a few probing questions.

  But still, I can’t just sit out here all day.

  Marcus emerges from the house once more. He’s wearing a different pair of basketball shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt that shows off his long, ropy arms.

  It’s dinner time now, so I figure he’s grabbing something to eat. He jumps into a run-down Chevy that’s as big as an aircraft carrier and backs out of the short driveway. One of his tail lights is out. Thank God for small favors. If I have to follow him after it gets dark, that will help.

  Now I’m following Marcus.

  As soon as he gets off the street, he speeds like a raging asshole. Fifty-five in a thirty in a residential setting.

  Sometimes people live down to your expectations of them.

  My phone buzzes with a text. Tarika letting me know that Shannon is heading out again.

  Of course.

  Because I can’t be in two places at the same time.

  I call Tarika and talk to her through the speakerphone.

  “Greg, I called you earlier.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, reminded of my bizarre conversation with Miles. “I was running down a lead.”

  “Oh?” Immediately interested. “What did you find out?”

  Hmm. “I talked to a friend who, let’s say, does not always adhere to the law.”

  Her voice dips an octave. “What did he say?”

  “It’s all swirl,” I say. “Rumors that circulated about Shannon and Marcus.”

  “Oh yeah.” Her voice is heavy, almost offended. “They were running drugs for some cartel, they were running guns for another cartel, they were involved in a murder up here so they ran down there. I heard them all, Greg. They’re all bullshit.”

  Why didn’t she share any of this with me?

  “Yeah,” I say carefully, “my contact shared rumors with me.”

  “About the drugs and the guns?”

  “He hadn’t heard about any guns,” I say, leaving a lot out of my answer. I veer with, “Do you know where Shannon is going?”

  “She told me she was meeting a friend for dinner.”

  “Which friend?”

  “Remember I told you about Olivia?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I answer, “the girl she became friends with when she was a sophomore.” And then I remember an odd bit from Myron Strommel’s case file. “Myron went to question Olivia, but she wasn’t around.”

  “Right,” Tarika says, a skeptical note filling her voice. “Myron talked to her mother, who claimed she had no idea where her girl had gone.”

  Too much of a coincidence?

  “Did Shannon tell you anything else?”

  “I told her I’d hired Myron to find her,” Tarika says, her voice growing thick. “And that he’d gone to speak to Olivia’s mother. I asked Shannon if she knew where Olivia had gotten to.”

  “She said she hadn’t?”

  “No.”

  “Alright, I gotta keep up with Marcus here.” He looks about to barrel through a red light but finally shows some sense and brakes hard to stop ten feet inside the intersection ahead. “Do you have any idea where Shannon is going?”

  “She said they were going to meet at the mall and then decide where to go.” Tarika pauses. “Greg, I feel like I’m losing her again.”

  “I’ll head to the mall after I see where Marcus is going,” I say, unhelpfully. I have a feeling there’s a slim chance Shannon is going to the mall, and even if she does, they won’t stay to eat there.

  “What do you think’s going on, Greg?” she asks.

  I can be honest here. “I don’t know yet, Tarika. I really don’t.”

  We say our goodbyes. Normally when tailing somebody I’d let them get a few cars ahead. But I can’t do that with Marcus. He drives like a complete asshole, like he’s the only person on the road and whatever he’s doing is more important than what everybody else is doing.

  Love this guy. He’s so endearing.

  So I have to stay pretty close to him. I’m fairly sure he won’t notice me. He’s too focused on what’s ahead and how to get around the next sixteen vehicles who are making the mistake of driving relatively close to the speed limit. He’s horned no less than three drivers and he’s been on the receiving end of twice as many horns. It’s hard to stick with him, though, without being obvious, or violating dozens of traffic laws. Finally, he zips through a red light and I refuse to follow him through. As much as I want to know where he’s heade—

  We’re at the mall.

  Marcus makes a right into the Macy’s parking lot. I wait impatiently for the light to change. Marcus keeps going around the long drive that surrounds the mall.

  The light changes.

  I pull into the lot. Marcus is out of sight now, but I have a pretty good idea where
he’s going. I take the same drive and loop around the mall. The south entrance opens to the food court and restaurants.

  This is no coincidence.

  The lot near the south entrance is packed, with cars parked all the way to the end of it. I snake my way through several rows, finding a place in the third. I park, grab a different baseball cap, and jump out.

  I hustle through the parking lot without breaking into a run. It’s hard.

  Inside the mall, nearly every table in the food court is occupied. I do a slow scan of the space, try to appear like I’m meeting someone here. Make a big show of checking my watch for the time.

  I don’t see them anywhere, but then again, they could be sitting a few tables away. There are a ton of people in here, lots of noise and lots of things to distract.

  Slowly I make a big circle around the food court. Then I cut through the middle. I don’t see them.

  I head to a chain restaurant that’s attached to the food court. Go up to the hostess.

  “How many in your party?” she asks.

  “Listen,” I say, leaning in and resting an elbow on the hostess stand. “I think I just saw my ex come in here. I had planned on meeting my new girlfriend here and I don’t want to, well, you know.”

  She smiles at me. “What does your ex look like?”

  I take a photo of Shannon out of my pocket.

  The hostess frowns. “That’s your ex?”

  I hope she doesn’t realize she’s looking at Shannon Lahill. “She’s a bit younger.”

  “Yeah.” She looks at me skeptically. “I’ll say.”

  I’m not that old, lady. Then again, I wouldn’t be caught dead dating a twenty-year-old at my age, either, so why am I so offended?

  “Yeah.” I smile as sheepishly as I can. “Have you seen her?”

  “No,” the hostess says. “I haven’t.”

  I think I believe her though it’s clear she’s having trouble believing me. I thank her and head back into the food court, making another big sweep of the place.

  There are a couple more restaurants in the long hallway leading into the main area of the mall. I'm about to repeat my routine at the next one, when I walk right in front of Shannon and Marcus.

  Seventeen

  They’re sitting in the window at a high table on high chairs in the Starbucks. Shannon is drinking a big, creamy drink. Marcus is sipping from a soda bottle.

  I don’t see Olivia anywhere.

  I keep walking, like I haven’t noticed them. There are benches in the middle of this hallway. I find an empty one and take out my phone. Pretending like I’m texting someone, I snap a few discreet pictures of Shannon and Marcus. From this vantage point, I’ve got Marcus’s back and Shannon’s front.

  Body language tells me everything. They’re comfortable around each other. This is not a chance encounter. This is not meeting up with an old friend you haven’t seen in a while. They’re sitting together like there has been no break in their relationship.

  “What are you talking about?” I mutter.

  I decide to go inside. Neither Shannon nor Marcus have seen me already, and I’m eager to hear what they’re talking about. I buy the smallest coffee I can because I have no plans to drink it. If I down coffee this late in the day, I won’t fall asleep till tomorrow night.

  The coffee shop is busy. It takes me almost ten minutes to get my small drink. The whole time I covertly watch Shannon and Marcus to ensure they don’t leave. Shannon leans forward and grows more animated. Marcus’s hands start going too. They’re arguing about something, though they’re wisely keeping their voices down.

  I take my coffee. There’s nowhere to sit near Shannon and Marcus, but they are close to the trash cans. I take my time walking over there, making sure not to walk right next to them, and stop at the cans. I start pulling out napkins from the dispenser very, very slowly.

  I can barely hear them.

  Shannon: “… not gonna work—”

  Marcus: “Go to somebody else …”

  Shannon: “Are you stupid?”

  Marcus: “This is your fucking fault.”

  Shannon: “You were the one …”

  Marcus: “… need the …”

  “Excuse me.”

  I realize I’ve created a logjam at the trash cans. Since I’ve plucked about twelve napkins out of the dispenser, I’ve got no good reason to stay.

  “Sorry.” I flash the woman a smile. “Let me get out of your way.”

  When I turn to face her, she recognizes me. “Greg Owen?”

  Everybody knows everybody.

  She’s said my name a little loudly, but Shannon and Marcus are off in their own world. I don’t recognize her, but there’s something about the voice.

  The woman is five-eight and looks like she does a ton of yoga. Dark brown hair and liquid blue eyes. Early thirties, if I had to guess.

  “In the flesh,” I say.

  “What a surprise.” She smiles and sticks out her free hand. “I’m Ashlynn Margetis from Lazarus Realty.”

  “Ashlynn?” Her handshake is firm. “Wow, it’s nice to meet you in person.”

  So far we’ve only ever spoken on the phone. Last year, Ashlynn was trying to broker a deal on behalf of her clients to purchase my pool hall. She came into the place once when I wasn’t around, and Bernie reported back that she was quite attractive.

  “Are you staying?” she asks, coffee in hand.

  I glance over at Shannon and Marcus. They’re still leaned in, real close together. Looks like things have not calmed down between them.

  “I am. Want to grab a table?”

  “I’ve got a few minutes,” she says. “I’d love to.”

  Ashlynn Margetis is really pretty. We had developed a bit of a rapport on the phone, though the cynical part of me figured she was just doing that to get me off my game leading up to the negotiations.

  Before I can lead the way and get us as close as possible to Shannon and Marcus, Ashlynn turns away and heads for the other side of the coffee shop. I won’t be able to hear a thing they’re saying.

  But I don’t want to come out and tell Ashlynn I’m in the middle of an investigation. I’ve still got client confidentiality to worry about. So, a bit rudely, I sit before Ashlynn does to make sure I can see Shannon and Marcus.

  If she’s put off by this, she doesn’t let on. Ashlynn sits to my right.

  I open, “Of all the gin joints in all the world.”

  She laughs. “I love love love that movie.”

  “One of the best,” I say. Shannon and Marcus are both sitting up again. Shannon has shifted away from him a little. A lull in their conversation, and it’s clear to me they haven’t agreed on whatever they were discussing. “How’d you recognize me?”

  “Gregory Owen, local man of mystery,” Ashlynn says. “When I was researching your property, naturally I Googled you.”

  “Naturally.”

  She sips her coffee. Ashlynn is wearing a black business suit which is quite fetching as they say.

  She says, “Little did I know I was dealing with such a Renaissance man.”

  “Jack of many trades, master of none.”

  She laughs again. “I did like your property more than Lee’s for my clients, but they wanted to make a move.”

  “Yeah, about that.” Shannon is checking her phone again. “What are they doing with Lee’s place?”

  She leans in conspiratorially. “Can you keep a secret?”

  “I’ve been known to.”

  “A new Crossfit studio.”

  “Why the secrecy?” I ask.

  She gives me a look. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  She pats my forearm. I like it. “I heard you were a real gentleman.”

  “You heard wrong.” I smile. “Seriously, don’t tell me.”

  “You know how franchises work, right?”

  “I wish I did. I’d copy what McDonald’s did and turn into a bil
lionaire.”

  Another snicker. “There’s another CrossFit within a six mile radius. They’re about to be shut down by the franchiser.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “Then my clients will open theirs.”

  “Why did they buy the property before that happened?”

  She smiles. “I’ve told you enough already. Seriously, you have to keep that between us.”

  “I will.” I lean in. “If you’ll let me buy you dinner.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

  Damn, I like this woman. A lot.

  I motion at her outfit. “You look like you’ve got a deal to close.”

  “Always. There is no bigger thrill than closing a deal.” Then she looks deep into my eyes. “Is there?”

  “I can think of a few things.”

  She laughs. “I guess I can too.”

  “Tomorrow night?” I ask.

  “My, my, Greg, you move awfully fast.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  She gets a message on her phone. Ashlynn stands up and puts the phone away. “I’m sorry, I have to meet a client. Can I call you later?”

  “I’d like that.”

  She smiles. “It really was nice to finally meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  Ashlynn puts her hand on my shoulder as she goes past. I watch her go the whole way. She walks with confidence. Out in the hallway, she meets up with two women and a man who are all dressed professionally.

  My eyes drift back over to Shannon and Marcus. They both get up from their table. Marcus tosses his soda bottle into the trash, ignoring the can clearly marked for recycling. Shannon leaves the coffee shop before him, and for a long moment, it appears they aren’t even going to say goodbye.

  But then Marcus hurries out of the coffee shop to catch up. I’m watching them through the window. Marcus comes up behind her and grabs her hips. Shannon is stiff for a moment, then her shoulders relax and she turns around. It’s moments like these where I wish I could read lips. They share a few more words, and then kiss.

  And kiss.

  And kiss.

  Despite the setting, despite standing in the middle of a hallway in an incredibly busy mall, Marcus’s hand drifts south of her equator and gives Shannon’s rump more than a cute squeeze. He grabs a fistful of bottom and holds on for dear life.