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“Rad,” Harlow said.
“Did this ‘We’ entity give you anything on that Jumper character?” Jessie asked Luna.
“Nada, which is a little surprising,” Luna answered. “Clarice told us we’d have something to go on within twenty-four hours, but they’ve been all kinds of thorough so far in what we’ve asked for. On him, nothing. Maybe this guyisa ghost.”
“You mean, like, arealone?” That came from Harlow, and she sounded not happy about this. Then again, she’d shared that as a child on a visit to Disneyland with her family, taking the Haunted Mansion ride had messed her up for life, so she wouldn’t be.
Another reason why it was a shocker that (so far) she was down to do all of this.
“No, I mean, like, he’s doing some sick shit, and he knows how to cover his ass,” Luna replied.
No one had anything to say to that, and not long after, I swung into Sun Valley Motor Lodge.
By the time we were out and headed to reception, Mr. Shithead was leaned all way back in his desk chair, eyes to the ceiling, clearly asking for deliverance.
Well, he wasn’t going to get it.
I pushed in with my posse and rethought black leather pants.
We’d look kickass in black leather pants.
“Can Ipayyou not to show up here?” he asked when he stopped looking at the ceiling.
I slapped the pictures I brought down on the counter in front of him, spread them out and asked, “Have you seen these women?”
When he looked down at them, he lost some color in his face.
Holy shit!
It was just a hunch.
But not anymore.
“You have,” I snapped. “Which ones?”
His gaze came to me, and I saw he’d gotten himself together really quickly.
This was why his reply was, “Fuck off and die.”
“Do you know what happened to them?” I pressed.
He shoved at the photos so a couple fell off the counter.
Harlow moved to pick them up.
“You can talk to me or you can talk to the cops,” I warned.
“Cops already came by, and if it’ll get your asses out of my reception, I’ll tell you what I told them. Yeah, I seen ’em. We rent rooms by the hour. I see ’em all. No, I don’t know ’em, don’t know who took ’em, don’t know where they are, and I also don’t care.”
“Is it that they’re dead that you don’t care?” Jess asked. “Or you don’t care because they’re prostitutes who sold their bodies, and they’re now forced into sexual slavery, and that’s no big thing in your estimation?”
“Fuck off, I don’t know dick,” he returned.
But after Jessie’s question, there was something different about him.
He was always such a jerk, and he seemed pretty down with being only that.
Now he seemed uncomfortable.
