Their undercover skills are improving. Somewhat.
Chapter 12
Rowdy's ex-girlfriend was Sheila Marshall. According to Rowdy, the two have been estranged for 5 years. If it were up to Sheila, they would never be in contact again. However, they had one connection that would keep them together for the next 13 years. A little girl named Brooke.
"Sheila, here, now, she's crazy," Rowdy was trying to explain to the two lawyers, "When I went to prison, she would have nothin' to do with me and swore I would never see my daughter again."
Rowdy dug into his pocket and brought out a worn, folded photograph of a tiny newborn.
"That's the last I've seen of my little girl," Rowdy said, pointing to the old photograph, which was faded and had been almost ruined by a large white fold mark down the middle, "…This here is when she was first born. Sheila and I was good then, not no more. I want to see my baby girl, but I ain't got no rights, being in prison and all."
"But what can we do?" asked Mike, "We cannot possibly bring a five- year- old here."
"I ain't asking that," Rowdy looked so beaten down, that Connie almost felt sorry for him, "I'm just askin' for a new photo of her, that's all. I want to see what she looks like now. I want a new picture I can hang in my cell to look at."
Mike and Connie traded looks. The request didn't seem that difficult to accomplish.
"Mr. Smith," Connie said, "If that is all you ask, I think it may be doable."
"Well, it ain't that easy. Like I said, we ain't on good terms. I'm tellin' you, Sheila's a …" he glanced over at Connie, "…a selfish lady. Just cares about herself and not my Brookie. She just watches her damn TV shows all day. Claims that one day, she's gonna be famous like them, too. That's why she dumped me. I was holdin' her back, she says. I'm dead to her. She won't give me a picture. That's all I'm askin' for, one picture. Then I 'll give you that address."
Mike nodded, "We'll see what we can do."
It didn't take long for Mike and Connie to arrive at Sheila Marshall's residence. She resided in the Ridgewood area, a neighborhood located in the borough of Queens.
A densely settled neighborhood, Ridgewood was known for its large amount of brick- constructed tenements. Many low-income families of diverse backgrounds resided in the area.
It took awhile for Sheila to answer Mike's knock.
She opened the door slightly, due to the latch still on top part of the door.
"Yeah?" she said, "I ain't in the mood to buy nothin'."
"Good day, Miss Marshall," Mike said in a cheery voice, "My name is Mike Cunningham and this is my associate, Connie Ramirez. We are reporters for the Ridgewood Times." He quickly flashed his district attorney ID card.
"Newspaper folks? Hold on." Sheila shut the door slightly. They could hear her sliding the latch free and the door opening widely. "Come in!"
With her spandex leggings, spiked heels and bouffant long hair, Sheila looked like the lost cousin on the show Jersey Shores. She adjusted her hair as she led the two into the living room.
Sheila took a good look at the covert reporters.
"Ooh…the two of you look like movie stars! You two kinda have that high class look!" Sheila exclaimed as she assessed Mike and Connie, "why, both of you are good lookin' enough to be on the cover of a magazine!"
She led them to the living room
"I read all the magazines. Now you…" she looked at Mike, " can easily be on the cover of GQ magazine—I read intellectual magazines like that, you know. Yeah, on the cover! Of course, it would have to have been 15 years ago."
"Thank you, I think." said Mike.
"And you," said Sheila, as she focused on Connie, "You have real potential! You could be on the cover of Glamour magazine, right now. Trust me." She then looked down at Connie's hand, " But I see you ain't married, yet, eh? Me neither. I think us pretty girls have a problem 'cuz we don't know how to pick the right kind of guy. We always pick ones that ain't good for us. Am I right?"
Here it comes, thought Mike, as he prepared himself for a snide remark by Connie.
Connie looked evenly at Mike.
"I'd like to think I have excellent taste in men," she simply stated.
She had never seen Mike blush before.
He cleared his throat. "Uh, can we get on with the interview, please?"
Once they were seated, Mike explained that he and "cameraperson" Connie were doing a report on raising a child alone in the borough in Queens. Sheila would be one of five single parents they were interested in interviewing.
For the next hour Mike asked Sheila a series of questions. Sheila loved to talk about herself and gladly answered all his questions. Throughout the interview, Connie would use her Blackberry to snap candid pictures of Sheila from different angles.
When Sheila wasn't looking, Connie would press the "delete" button.
Sheila was enjoying all the attention.
The interview was completed. They were anxious to leave but needed the picture of Brooke.
"Well, I think I have enough for a story," said Mike, "Now, I think the photographer would love some pictures of your daughter."
Sheila tilted her head suspiciously.
"Don't think there's no need for that," she said skeptically.
Mike and Connie exchanged looks. He took a deep breath.
Mike slammed shut his notepad and put his pen away.
"Sorry to waste your time, then," he coldly said as he started to leave. He turned to Connie, "We need to head out to the next single household."
"W-what?" Sheila said as he watched Mike and Connie head to the door, "Wait!".
Connie backed him up. "Didn't we tell you it is a story about the two of you?" she said to Sheila, "That means we need both of you, you and Brooke."
Mike reached for the doorknob. Slowly.
"Then take a picture of the two of us together!" Sheila said, trying not to sound desperate, "You don't need a picture of her alone, for a story about the two of us, right?"
Mike was going to take a chance and do a little reverse psychology.
"Oh, so you're the type of mother that needs to be the center of attention? Am I getting it right? We can only focus on you? You can't even share the limelight with your daughter? I get it. We can only take a picture if you are in it. I'm sorry. I just don't see a story here."
"I ain't like that—you'll see!" exclaimed Sheila as she yelled, "Hey, Brookie!"
A slightly chubby girl appeared from the kitchen. She was clutching a little doll. Connie could see the resemblance to Rowdy.
"She's adorable," Connie said.
"Yeah, it's just too bad she looks like her no-good father," Sheila said, "Wait til he reads my story. See, I told that no-good, lazy swine that one day I'd be famous! There, now, she's here. Go ahead…snap away!"
Connie quickly took two pictures. They had what they wanted.
"So when will I see this story about me?" questioned Sheila when Mike and Connie were heading for the door once more.
"We're leaving now to give it to our editor. These pictures are good; so good, in fact, I think he will soon be hanging up on a wall somewhere. In fact, I guarantee it," Mike promised as they headed out the door.
That answer suited Sheila just fine.
An hour later they presented the pictures to an overjoyed Rowdy Smith. He quickly scribbled the address to Thomas Volchek's latest residence. Tomorrow they would be able to go with the police to his place.
Mike and Connie were making progress.
As they drove back to the hotel, their conversation had become stilted again.
They were physically tired and mentally drained. Even though they had succeeded on their mission, they were not in a celebratory mood. They had no idea what to say to one another.
The evening was turning into night.
"You took a big chance, playing with her ego," Connie finally said as they walked back to their hotel room, "she could have just let us leave without the photos.
"I don't think that would have happened," reasoned Mike, "She's one of those women that is easy to manipulate."
"Unlike others that you know?" Connie sounded irritated.
Dead silence.
They were at their respective hotel doors.
She inserted her key into the lock. They hadn't discussed dinner plans.
"Uh, listen, Mike, it's been a long day. I think I will just order room service and have dinner alone, read some, and then just go to bed, if you don't mind."
"Oh….yeah…sure…that's fine. Don't worry about me. I'll make do." He forced a smile that showed his dimples.
His dimples. She had forgotten about his deep dimples. Connie almost regretted her decision.
Mike dejectedly entered his suite. The room was dark, due to the lateness of the hour. He was about the flip the light switch when he heard some noise coming from the bedroom.
Connie entered her suite and kicked off her shoes. She didn't even take the time to turn on the lights. As she entered her bedroom, however, she saw a shadow on her bed.
Mike knew he was not alone.
Connie knew she was not alone.
.
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