The Second Girl(42)

“Then they lose the damn car. You lie to the wife about some ‘special service’ I offer and you manipulate Lenny into taking a plea deal. That’s sure as hell what it sounds like. In some warped way you think you’re helping me out because I didn’t want to go to trial and lose? The f*ck, Frankie!”

“I was helping him, and I guess you, too.”

“That was foolish and incredibly inappropriate. And where the hell would you come up with eight thousand dollars? In cash, no less.”

“You think I don’t have savings? ’Sides, he’s going to pay me back.”

“So you made some sort of contract with my client?”

“No, he’s good for it. Leslie. It was just a favor. Granted I didn’t think it through. But I thought I was doing a good thing. You’re the one that put it in my head with all this ‘second chance’ shit.”

“Please don’t put this back on me. You really f*cked up.”

“Okay, I f*cked up. I’m sorry.”

“That’s just not good enough. You’ve done some funky shit in the past, but nothing that compares to this. Oh, wait, I forgot about the little girl. Silly f*cking me. I don’t know, Frankie. I just don’t know. I need some time to digest this. Don’t call me and don’t come to the office.”

“What are you talking about? You’re seriously overreacting here.”

“I’m not overreacting. I told Lenny if he wants to go to trial then that’s what we should do and not to worry about whatever deal the two of you made, but he said no, to take the plea.”

“So what does that tell you?” I ask, before she can continue.

“You just don’t get it, Frankie. Back the f*ck off. I’m done with this.” She disconnects.

I slip my cell back into the left inner pocket of my jacket.

It takes me a couple of seconds, but then: “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”





Thirty-seven



I find the narrow bike path that winds its way through a wooded area, just about where Amanda’s hand-drawn map said it would be. The drawing shows where there’s a split in the path near a large boulder. Follow the path straight and it leads to Burke Lake. Take it to the left and it leads to another community development.

She has a little x that marks the spot when you go left. It should be on the right side of the path near a creek. Find two large fallen trees, one on top of the other, at the bank of the creek and that’s where they’d hang, sitting on one of the fallen tree trunks like it’s a bench and smoking up their weed.

I follow the directions, and sure enough, there it is. A small dirt path, probably made by thousands of footsteps, leads to the creek and the two fallen trees.

No one’s around.

I walk the short distance to check out the area. The ground surrounding the crisscrossed fallen trees is littered with empty beer cans, a couple of forties, a pint bottle of whiskey, and cigarette butts. The walking path I took to get here is nicely kept, but it seems this little area is a neglected spot. Probably because the park authority wouldn’t normally walk off the beaten path to find all this litter at my feet. This mess made by thoughtless teenagers is not so obvious unless you’re standing over it. Too many shrubs and trees to conceal it. That’s more than likely what attracted them here in the first place.

I head back to the car.

When I get there, I open the door. I sit for a second or two, and then I smash my head against the top of the steering wheel two times, very hard.

“Damn,” I mumble, and then feel the blood trickle down my forehead.





Thirty-eight



I smoke a couple of cigarettes laced with cocaine for the ride home. It amps me up, but not for long, ’cause it’s just a quick fix. I don’t even know why I do it. It’s a waste of good coke.

I call Leslie on her cell, but she doesn’t answer. I leave a message for her to give me a call back so we can talk. I try the private line at her office, but again no answer. Last, I call the main number, and Leah picks up.

“Hi, Leah. Can you put me through to Leslie?”

“I’m sorry, Frankie. She’s not available,” she says in a way that I know Leslie told her she doesn’t want to take my calls.

“Just tell her I called, all right? That it’s important I talk to her.”

“I will.”

I disconnect the cell and drop it in the center console.

“Idiot. Such a f*cking idiot,” I tell myself.

The guilt sets in when I decide I can’t do any more work today.

I wouldn’t have the guilt if it were any other case.

When I get home I grab a beer from the fridge, settle myself on the sofa, and get ready for what I know will be the beginning of a serious binge.





Thirty-nine



I’ve been up all night.

I’ll need some help to make it through the rest of the day, so I replenish the supply I carry around, and then I put two grapefruit and some toast in my stomach.

I’m no rookie. I’ve gone off on binges before. My record’s three days, and I haven’t even hit twenty-four hours with this one. I’ve got some time before I start to shut down. My head feels muddled in a cloudy haze, though. This thing with Leslie’s driving me nuts. I want to call her again, but I know she won’t pick up. I need to fix it, but I also know I can’t. I convince myself that she’ll come around with time. Time has a way of doing that.