Chapter 7
It had taken nearly an hour to convince Kenny she needed the suspect's file. However, it had taken ten minutes to make him believe that she couldn't go down to the station to get it herself. She had her mother's well-known strict attitude to thank for that. All she had to do now was to go home and wait for Kenny's delivery. But instead of going straight home, she took a detour to make time for another call.
"Hello?" answered a male voice.
"Hey, Craig. It's Ana."
"Hey Ana. What's going on?"
"Listen I need your help with a case I'm working on."
"Which one?"
"Take a guess."
There was a short silence and then, "Still on that guy?"
"A year and a half and still going."
"When will she give up?"
"She won't."
"No. She's a rock," he sighed. "So, what can I do for you?"
"We got a lead. But the girl won't fess up to it. I was wondering if you'd go undercover. Get her to spill."
"Why me?"
She grinned. "Come on, man. You're like Brad Pitt. Any girl would take you to bed, easily."
He laughed. "Except you."
She rolled her eyes. "That's not the point."
"I don't think one night will do it."
"So do whatever you gotta do, then. Make her fall in love with you for all I care."
"Don't think my girlfriend will appreciate that."
"Yeah, well, your girlfriend doesn't factor into this, now does she?"
"Right. So what do you have for me?"
"I don't have the file handy right now. But I'll call you back and give you the details."
"All right. But Addie doesn't get to know about this."
"You're a pal, Craig. Thanks."
She hung up the phone and pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building. This case was going to be a piece of cake.
Ana spent a majority of her day on the couch, watching television and thumbing through the file she had Kenny bring over. She'd examined every document in the file and every piece of evidence, but had accomplished nothing. There wasn't much she was able to do yet. Most of it relied on Craig now.
After a few hours - around nine o'clock - she put the file away and went into the kitchen to make herself some dinner. She hadn't heard from Sawyer since the afternoon, and half-expected him not to come. For that reason she hadn't bothered to wear more than her pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt, or to do more with her hair than a messy ponytail. She was opening a can of sauce when a knock at the door startled her. She finished opening the can and opened the door, sauce still on her fingers. Not surprisingly, there stood a grinning Sawyer.
"Am I late?"
She smirked, and leaned against the door. "Just in time. I'm making dinner."
"Yeah? What're you makin'?"
"Enchiladas," she said, slowly sucking the sauce off her two fingers, one by one.
His grin widened and she let him inside. She went back to her counter and started to cut some lettuce and tomatoes, while Sawyer took his coat off and put a bag down on the table. She glanced over.
"Whatcha got there?" she asked.
He lifted a bottle of liquor from the bag, and she grinned, knowingly.
"He comes prepared," she teased.
"Little booze never hurt anyone."
She nodded, with a small smile. "So how'd that meeting of yours turn out?"
He walked over and stood next to her, looking down at everything pretending to have not heard her.
"Lemme help ya there…" he said reaching out a hand.
She looked down at it, then up at him. "Did I ask for help?"
He narrowed his eyes. "Fine," he said, and walked back to the table.
"You got somethin' to hide or do you just have trust problems?"
"I got trust problems," he said distractedly, opening the liquor bottle.
"With everyone or just me?" she asked, chopping harder into the lettuce. "'Cause if you got a problem with me, I get it." When he didn't say anything she added, "It's the cop thing, isn't it?"
He sighed. "You gotta question everything I say?"
"Yeah, I do."
"Why?"
"We barely know each other. And yet, somehow, here you are in my kitchen - " she said with another swift chop. "- about to have dinner with me. Maybe if I knew a single - " Chop. " - thing - " Chop, chop. "About you – "
"You already know somethin' about me."
"You think you could give me something a little more to work with than your job?"
"What do you wanna know?"
She put the knife down and turned around. "Are you offering?"
"No, I'm just asking to satisfy my own curiosity."
"Why conning?" she asked, folding her arms.
He sighed. "That's gotta be the first question?"
She glanced at him, cynically. He pulled out a chair and sat, taking a long drink from the bottle. He placed it back on the table and stared at the chair across from him for a short time. Finally, he sighed.
"Seemed like an easy way to get money."
"Money for what? Just to spend it or - "
"I got myself in some trouble a few years back. Owed a couple of guys a hell of a lot of cash. And this woman I knew, she had more than enough. I didn't wanna ask her for it, 'cause I knew she would give it to me. So I conned her. And it worked."
She looked at him, sardonically.
"You're telling me you could have asked her for the money but you decided to con her instead? How the hell does that make sense?"
"If I had asked her, she woulda given it to me. But she woulda needed to know why, and what I was doin' with it."
Ana nodded in understanding. There was a brief silence then.
"She ever figure out what you did?" she asked quietly.
"Yup."
"And she didn't report it?"
"Gee, I dunno. Am I locked up, or not?"
She stared at him, cynically. "So what happened?"
"She was one of those spoiled women that can't go a day without their money. When she heard that 'the bank had made a miscalculation' – about two hundred grand of a miscalculation – she grabbed her daddy's gun and…"
He raised his index and middle fingers, and stuck out his thumb, creating the illusion of a gun, and put them to his head. Then, he lowered his thumb and made a low sound, signifying the squeezing of the trigger. Ana leaned back against the counter and looked down.
"Huh."
"If you don't believe me I can take you to ask her yourself. 'Course, she probably ain't gonna be answerin' you from six feet below the ground."
"No thanks."
"So there you have it, sweet cheeks. That's what started it all."
"So why was it so hard to tell me that before?"
"Because I don't go around tellin' people my life story. It ain't like we can sit down to lunch and I can say, 'Oh yeah. By the way, this woman killed herself 'cause I conned her and I took all her cash. So what're you orderin'?'"
She grinned. "All right."
She turned back around and finished making the enchiladas, while Sawyer found two glasses and poured the wine into them. He got up and handed her a glass, then sat back down. After putting the enchiladas in the oven, she turned around and leaned against the counter.
"Now it's my turn. When'd you decide to become a cop?" he asked.
"My mother's the chief. It was kind of forced on me."
"That what you wanted to do?"
"It's not something I hate," she said, then paused to take a drink. "When it's all you're taught while growing up, you don't have much of a choice. You kinda just grow into it."
"Doesn't have to be the only thing you ever do. You got plenty of time to change careers."
She looked down smiling. "It's not that simple."
He stared into his glass for a moment, observing the crimson liquid splashing against the sides. He looked up at her again, wearing a wry smile.
"What do you wanna be when you grow up?"
She half-grinned. "Happy."
