The Second Girl(22)
“She’s still got her job, right?”
“Yeah, but she’s gonna definitely have to sell my truck now. She had the good credit for the financing.”
“I seem to remember you bought that used.”
“Yeah, but it’s still more money than she can handle every month. She already blown through all the money I made on that construction job I had before I got locked up.”
“What do you owe on it?”
He has to think hard about it, probably because he’s never been the one to take care of the bills.
“Somewhere around eight grand.”
Something comes to me just like that, but I mull it over in my head for a second. Then I say, “What if I tell you I’ll take care of that bill personally, pay it all off on a no-interest loan?”
“What the f*ck you wanna do somethin’ like that for?”
“You save us all a lot of time and effort and take the plea offer.”
“That’s crazy, man. You’re talkin’ through your ass.”
“I’m f*cking real.”
“Why the hell you want to do something like that for me?”
“I wouldn’t be doing it for you. I'm doing it for Ms. Costello, who doesn’t want a reputation for losing, and I also know she doesn’t want to have to see her client get slammed by the court. Believe it or not, she actually loses sleep over shit like this.”
“I don’t know, man. This is crazy shit. You’re basically offering me a few thousand bucks to take an offer that puts me in prison for a few years.”
“Damn, Claypole, either way you’re not gonna get outta having to do prison time. I’m sitting here trying to save your ass from having to do more, is all.”
“You don’t know that for sure. It goes to trial, I can maybe win this.”
“You can. You can try. But it’s a bad gamble. You know that.”
“I feel like this is blackmail or somethin’.”
“You really are nothin’ but a bullheaded son of a bitch.”
I shove the chair back and stand. “We’re done, then,” I say.
“Fucking sit down, Marr! Give me a second, here.”
I don’t sit, but I let him have his time. He looks down at the table, slowly moving his head from side to side.
“And it’s not like I’d just be giving you eight grand. You’ll have to start paying me back when you get out, after you find work again.”
It takes him a minute. He looks up at me.
“I wanna start fresh. I don’t want this bullshit in my life anymore. You really don’t think I got a case on self-defense?”
I sit back down.
“I wasn’t there. I only know things based on the facts given to me. Based on what’s been given to me and what I’ve been able to find myself, it doesn’t look good for you.”
“For real, right?” he asks. “I mean the eight grand. I don’t want my girl getting stuck with anything.”
“I said I would. I will. But it’s between us, because if Costello ever finds out, I’ll lose my job with her and more. Then you’d be messing up my life. And you don’t want to do that.”
“I trust you when you say that, Marr. I can see you got that way about you. Fuck, three years’ll pass by like nothin’ anyway.”
“You said it already, but you gotta make it a fresh start when you get out. Lose that hot head of yours, especially inside. You don’t wanna f*ck up inside.”
“I hear ya. Tell me one thing, though. Where the hell does an ex-cop turned PI get eight grand to offer up like this?”
“I know how to make good investments, and you shouldn’t be asking questions like that anyway.”
I pull out my notepad from my rear pants pocket and a pen from the inner sleeve pocket of my suit jacket. I slide them across the table over to him.
“Give me the dealership info on the car. I’ll get in touch with your lady and take care of it first thing tomorrow.”
He writes everything down and hands it back to me.
“And you tell my old lady I’m really sorry for all this shit, all right? And make sure she gets the sentencing date when it comes. I need her to be there.”
“I will.”
He folds his upper lip over his bottom lip so I’m not sure if it’s a smile or a frown. He nods, so I take it as an awkward smile.
“All right, then,” I say, and stand up.
I offer him my hand and we shake.
“Do one more thing for me, Marr?”
“Go on.”
“Make sure my truck gets parked in the garage. It’s gonna have to sit for a bit.”
“I’ll make sure,” I say.
Eighteen
I’ve never had this amount of blow staring back at me before. Well, I did when I was a narcotics detective. There’s so much here that I need to find a little self-control, or I might be picking imaginary bugs outta my hair, or worse. It’s sitting there on the shelf of my fake wall, sealed up nice and tight, but not so tight that I can’t get into it when I need to, like now.
Despite what I see in front of me, I still find myself thinking about planning the next hit.
Hell, you can never have too much of a good thing.