Page 112 of Dark Ugly Places

I pull up a car’s length behind the stop sign and turn off the engine. Emmy rolls down her window so that the night air whips in and, with it, the smell of exhaust and fast food from across the street.

Emmy exhales and puts her seat back, her hoodie up. I can just see the side of her face.

In the backseat, the bottle of Macallan sits upright in a paper bag, buckled into the seat like a child. I reach back and unhook it.

“I don’t understand why it has to be now,” Emmy whispers.

I stare straight ahead, watching the cars swipe back and forth across the intersection, each one a blur of light and color.

“Ever hear the expression ‘It’s now or never’?”

She gives me a look. “Yeah? So?”

“Well, it’s now or never.”

Emmy smirks. “You know you’re technically endangering a minor right now, right?”

“Very funny. The only person who should be scared of me is Jason Redfern.”

Emmy kicks her feet onto the dashboard, her striped socks faded gray where they should be white. “I didn’t think it mattered to me so much,” she mumbles. “But when I think about it, I feel better.”

“Think about what?”

“You know. Making him pay.”

A smile creeps across my mouth. Several minutes pass, and we sit in silence, waiting. Soon, from across the street, a white Porsche turns toward us. “Showtime.”

Bottle in hand, I get out and head across the dark street to where Bambi is parked, Emmy following me. Bambi rolls her window down halfway, her eyes flick to Emmy, to me, and back again.

“This is Emmy, my sister’s kid,” I tell her preemptively. “She wanted to come along.”

Bambi gives a tired half smile. “Hi. Listen, I don’t have a lot of time.”

“Did anyone follow you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Here.” I thrust the bottle in the paper bag to her through the window. She takes it, surprised.

“This is it?”

I nod. “I marked the side with a tiny blue dot so that you’d know, in case he has another bottle at home.”

“He does,” Bambi says, her voice distant and unsure.

“Empty it. Throw it out. Whatever you have to do. Just make his drink with this. And only this.”

Bambi nods obediently. Her eyes drift toward her abdomen and the invisible life inside her. “What if it doesn’t work?”

I turn to Emmy, who’s listening to every word.

“It will. After the interview, you make him the drink. Your bags will be in the car.”

“Your car.”

I nod assuredly. “Yes, my car. I’m changing the plates, remember?”

“Yes.”