Chapter 15

Crazy bitch.

What the hell is she doing here? This is my place—my work. She's got no right being here!

Good thing I just happened to be standing behind the shelves, in the shadow—otherwise she would have found me out for sure. And she's got that useless latin boy toy with her—a sorry ass, in my opinion. Couldn't even get her off the case when I told him to. Worthless. Maybe I should put him out of his misery too.

It was about 10:30 when I heard the unfamiliar footsteps. Slow, guarded, searching—not the typical clumping of mechanic's boots.

"Anything I can do for you, folks?" good ol' Freddy Kemp, my boss, goes.

"Yeah."

That voice. It's that voice that makes me jump out of my skin, jars me out of my hub-cap wiping duties. It's her. I can still see the light glinting off her yellow hair, too close—much too close, snooty nose in the air.

"Detectives Valens and Rush, homicide."

Yeah, like I didn't know that already. My legs feel like jelly—they're actually shaking. It's like my worst nightmare come true. All these weeks, the bitch has been getting closer and closer. And now she's finally here. On to me.

"Oh?" Kemp, my boss asks, sounding anything but interested. Good ol' Kemp. Not a hair out of place. If only there were a way out, he might be able to keep them distracted long enough for me to flee.

"We're looking into the disappearance of an Erica Bailey," the blonde cunt interposes, stepping up right between me and the back way out. So much for that idea. "You familiar with the name?"

"No."

"You sure?" her prick partner pipes up, putting on his he-man act. "Take a good look at this picture. Lady look familiar to you? Huh?"

Kemp stares at the picture and as recognition dawns I feel my stomach getting queasy. Of course he'd recognized her—the whore had come in here so many times. Idiot bitch! I told her to stay away. But, like all horny tramps carrying on, she just wouldn't.

"Yeah… maybe. From a long time ago."

"Disappeared in 1995," Miss Blondie goes on, relishing it. And people think I have power issues. "She was last seen headed in this direction. Rumor has it she was seeing one of your guys. Any idea who it might have been?"

My breath gets so shallow my ribs begin to hurt and my hands go cold and clammy.

"Hey, my boys are a lively bunch. How am I supposed to remember who was with who back then?" Kemp sneers, much to my relief. "Listen, lady—you got it all wrong if you think one of mine had anything to do with this. They're good guys. Rough, but law-abiding, okay? Anyway there's hardly any of them around from that time. And we got some girls too."

"You got a list?" The guy presses on.

Looks to me like Kemp is growling but he still goes off into the office, taking Latino prep with him. Just when I think I might be able to make a clean break for it, I realize White Trash is still around—prowling, the way pig bitches do. Walking around the rubble, running her hand over things. Meddling bitch! Why's she gotta be here?

I hold my breath as she wanders over to my area, gazing over the shelves. Good thing it's too dark and dusty and cluttered for her to see me. I can see her though. Her scrawny neck sticking out of her coat, pale as milk, holding her washed-out head up like a banner. My hands tense, itching with the urge to wrap themselves around it—that pale skinny snippy-looking thing—wondering what she'd do if she were forced to the ground, kicking and screaming, as my hands choke the life out of her. The thought is so unexpectedly pleasurable I feel goosebumps rise all over my body.

Here comes her muscle. I dunno what he's got in his hands, but he and his broad get into their dingy government car and drive away.

Yeah, you keep coming back, bitch. Doesn't matter you got a 24-hour bodyguard service in your house now, that poor weepy kid. Someday you won't have Macho Man around to protect you. And then you're gonna get what you deserve.