Misery’s tires had been slashed. All four of them, and probably the spare on the back as well. Brutally. Heartlessly. And quite annoyingly.
“How much you want to bet,” Garrett said, kneeling to analyze the vandalism, “these slashes were made by a big-ass hunting knife.”
“I’m fairly certain they were. Farley Scanlon is a big fat liar!” I yelled into the dark atmosphere. I opened my phone to call the police.
On the bright side, two hours later, Misery had some brand-spanking-new radials. She looked good. I filed a report with the police, explaining who I was and my encounter with Farley Scanlon. The big fat liar. Maybe he didn’t like being called fat, but since he wasn’t, I really didn’t see the harm.
“Are you good to drive?”
I frowned at Garrett. “Why do people keep asking me that?”
“Because you haven’t slept in two weeks?”
“I guess. I’m fine. Just, I don’t know, stay close.”
“Roger that.” He walked to his truck and started it up, waiting while I paid for Misery’s new rubber. She was so worth it.
Chapter 16
There comes a moment when you know you just aren’t going to do anything else productive for the rest of the day.
When I finally got home to my slightly-bigger-than-a-bread-box apartment, I realized how untidy I’d been keeping it. Garrett’s replacement had been outside the apartment building, waiting for us when we pulled up, and Garrett took off to catch some Z’s. Wuss.
But I was thankful he’d left when I stepped inside my humble abode. Either Mardi Gras had been celebrated really early and in my apartment, or my apartment had been ransacked. Big time. Apparently, the slashing of the tires was more than just a gut reaction to the big fat liar comment. It was meant to keep me busy while someone hightailed it to Albuquerque to check out my digs. And tear them apart. So uncalled for, in my opinion.
“Mr. Wong, what did I say about letting strangers in?” I glared at his bony shoulders, then glanced at the girl with the knife behind me and shook my head. “That man never listens.”
I scanned my living room. Papers and books cluttered the floor. Drawers sat open in different states of undress. Cabinet doors stood ajar, as though they’d been trying to fly.
Armed and ready with coffee carafe in hand, I crept to each closet — I only had two in the whole place — and peeked in. I would’ve had my gun, but it was in one of the closets, making the point moot. They’d been hit as well, their belongings strewn across the floor to mingle with underwear and shoes and hair scrunchies. People magazine mixed with The New Yorker. A crystal chess set mixed with my SpongeBob SquarePants edition of Monopoly. Utter chaos.
Still, it wasn’t vandalism for the sake of vandalism. It was more deliberate than it looked at first glance. Cabinets and drawers had been scoured for information, while anything inconsequential had been tossed aside, including my emergency stash of chocolate. Clearly my intruder had no taste.
My computer had been turned on as well, so unless Mr. Wong had discovered Internet porn, someone was trying to figure out what I’d been researching. And that someone seemed a tad nervous.
In a moment of horror, I realized my mouse was gone. Just … gone. Who would take a poor, defenseless mouse? I looked back at his wireless USB connector — he loved that connector — and let myself grieve the loss of the mouse I’d taken for granted far too often. Then I picked up my phone and called a semi-friend, a cop named Taft, to file a quick report. The cops can do nothing without reports, so I wanted them to have one on file.
“I can stop by if you need me to,” he said.
“No, whoever did this — and I have a good idea who it was — is long gone.” I gave Taft my statement over the phone.
“So, have you seen my sister?” Taft’s sister had died when they were kids and had been following him around his whole life.
“I think she’s playing with Rocket’s little sister at the asylum.”
I’d recently introduced the two girls, in a roundabout way, and they’d been inseparable ever since. A good thing, ’cause it got her out of my hair. But I suspected Taft missed her, even though he couldn’t see her and didn’t even know she’d existed until I told him a few weeks ago.
“Good,” he said, putting up a brave front. “I’m glad she has a friend.”
“Me, too. I’m going over to the office real quick to check on things there, just in case. I’ll call you back if anything’s askew.”
“Alone?”
“I can dial a phone all by myself, Taft.”
“No, are you going over alone? Maybe you should just call your dad and have him check it out.”
I glanced toward the girl at my side. “I won’t be alone. Not exactly. There’s a tiny dead girl with a knife following me at the moment.”
“TMI.”
“And the bar’s open. I doubt an intruder would go there with a dozen off-duty cops right below him.”
“Okay. Can I call your uncle to let him know?”
“No, he already knows it’s a cop hangout. And he’s probably already snoring like a buzz saw. I’ll call him tomorrow.”
Avoiding another lecture from Dad, I trudged over to the office and took the outside stairs to the front entrance instead of cutting through the bar. After a quick scan of the area to make sure Big Fat Liar was nowhere about, I unlocked the door and peeked inside. Everything looked fine and dandy. Which meant I had nothing left to do but clean my apartment. The only thing I hated worse than cleaning my apartment was torture, though the two were a hairsbreadth away from neck-and-neck.
I walked along the sidewalk back to the Causeway, regret eating at me at not having bought the golf cart, when I realized I had company. I could feel someone to my left in the shadows, but before I could get a good look, a car slowed in the street behind me. It kept pace without passing. I slowed my stride as the car followed. Garrett’s guy was parked across the street, but I couldn’t tell if he was awake or not. Awake would have been nice. As I rounded the building and cut across the parking lot, the car eased to a stop next to me.
The streetlight cast a soft reflection on the tinted glass as I took in the blue Nissan hatchback. The window slid down, so I figured I’d give the driver a moment of my time. It was probably too much to hope he just wanted directions.
“Charley?” a woman said from the inside. “Charley Davidson?” A head with curly brown hair leaned into the light, a supermodel smile on her face.
“Yolanda?” I asked. I hadn’t seen her since high school, and we’d never really been friends. I took a microstep closer as she nodded. She hadn’t changed a bit. In high school, she was more the cheerleader type, hung out with my sister’s crowd. I was more the annoying type that made fun of my sister’s crowd from a safe distance and hung out with losers, being a loser myself. Proud to say.
“I got the message your assistant left and tried your office, but you were already gone. And then I saw you walk up the stairs and figured I’d just catch you here.”
Two things struck me instantly: First, it was late to be visiting my office. Or any office, for that matter. Second, why not just call? Why drive all the way over at this hour? Her smile faltered for the barest instant, and a nuance of concern filtered its way toward me.
I plastered a smile on my face. “Thank you for coming. How have you been?” When her arms reached out the window toward me, I leaned in for a hug, awkward considering the limited space we had. “I’d invite you up to my place, but it’s kind of a mess right now.” I gestured over my shoulder with a nod.