What You Don't Know(88)
“How long’s he been calling?”
“Oh, for a while now. The last few months, I guess.”
“Do you have his shipping address on file?”
“Nope. It’s never the same one, so I don’t bother taking it down.”
“You know his name?”
“I don’t remember, and I’m not even going to wager a guess. If my computer was up and running I’d tell you, but it crashed a few days ago and I haven’t had the cash to get it fixed.”
“Did you tell the cop all this?” she asks. “About this guy who calls?”
“No,” Simon says, pursing his lips. “He never asked about that, and I didn’t think it was important. Besides, I didn’t like him very much. He was rude, right from the moment he walked in, demanding information. I didn’t get into this business to be a slave to the police. Have some manners, or it’s good day to you, sir.”
She laughs at that, and Simon’s eyes light up.
“You’ve got a great laugh,” he says.
“Thank you,” she says, reaching over and touching the top of Simon’s hand. She feels so stupid, trying to flirt with this guy, but she’ll do whatever it takes. “You’re sure you don’t know how to reach the guy who always calls about Seever?”
Simon sighs. “No, but I’m sure I’ll get a call from him any day now, and if you want I’ll take down his number and make sure it gets into your hands.”
“You’d do that?” she says.
“Oh, yeah,” Simon says. He smiles sweetly. “For a fair exchange.”
Here it comes, Sammie thinks. She’d been waiting for this.
“What do you want from me?” she asks. “Dinner, or something?”
He snorts, laughs so hard his beard trembles.
“I’m not so sure my boyfriend would like that idea,” he says. “How about you write something about me for the paper?”
“Like, an advertisement?” she asks.
“No. More like an article about a struggling local business. I need to get some customers through these doors.” He gives another laugh. “And this article, I want it on the front page.”
“I don’t decide those kinds of things,” Sammie says, tapping her knuckles impatiently on the counter. “I can’t promise anything like that.”
“You seem like a persuasive woman. I mean, it seems like you could be, if you want me to put you in touch with this guy.”
Sammie chews on the inside of her cheek. If she gets a good story out of this, she might be able to swing it. Besides, there’s always the chance that Simon won’t hear from the guy again, and this trip will be a complete loss. Better to blow on the dice and give them a roll.
“I can try.”
“Good enough for me,” he says, and pulls a business card out of his pocket. “Here. Write down your info. I’ll text you as soon as I hear from him.”
“You’re the cherry Lifesaver,” she says, scribbling down her number. That nervous pit that’s been eating at the inside of her stomach for the last few days is gone, and she’s starting to think that everything might be okay. If this guy actually gets a call and remembers to text her the info, she’ll have a story and her ass will be saved. Better late than never.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re the best,” she says, and winks. “And I always save the best for last.”
HOSKINS
The idiots he had following Loren have already lost track of him. He’s not sure how it happened—maybe it’s because Loren’s squirrelly and Denver’s a big city with plenty of places to hide, or because they’re not putting all that much effort into it, because Hoskins isn’t anyone important these days; he’s been down in the basement long enough that the other detectives don’t want to follow his command anymore, he can see it on their faces, tell by how they react to his orders. He’s a joke these days, and not even a funny one.
“He drives fast,” one of the detectives tells Hoskins in a slow, drawling voice. An I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-this voice. “It looked like he was heading toward the station, but he’s not there now.”
“Check his house,” Hoskins says. “There’s a bar down on Wynkoop where he likes to go. Why do I have to tell you how to do your fucking job?”
He hangs up without waiting for a response, because if he has to spend one more minute listening to the useless prattling of these morons he’s going to lose his shit. It’s all running away from him, being lost in chaos, and he didn’t want to work this case to begin with, he was ordered to do it. He’s called Ted, had the kid confirm Loren’s whereabouts when each of the victims went missing, and Loren’s clear. He’s not the Secondhand Killer but he’s definitely not right in the head. He’s called Chief Black, told him his concerns about Loren, how he’s dressing up like Seever and following Sammie and now vanishing, but the boss man isn’t concerned, says that’s how Loren is, it’s to be expected, that the Secondhand Killer is still out there, so shouldn’t Hoskins be focusing on that instead of babysitting his partner? And that shit makes Hoskins so mad he’s ready to tell Black to go fuck himself, to turn over his badge and his gun and call it done, he hasn’t been this mad in a long time. This was never supposed to be his problem, yet here he is, Loren’s gone and there’s a dead kid being zipped up in a bag and Sammie is upset because there’s another reporter here and Hoskins wants to go home, to catch up on the sleep he missed when he took Joe to the hospital. It’s been a long day, long enough that when he thinks back to that morning, to Joe screaming, terrified and sobbing, it feels like it happened weeks ago, not in the last twelve hours.