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29
My phone rings as I’m washing my hands in the bathroom sink.
Knuckles are chewed up, but it comes with the gig. I look down at Candy and his shattered glasses are sitting crooked on his flat nose. At first I think it might be his cell phone since the damn thing wouldn’t shut up, but it’s mine. I step out of the shitter and answer it. Petticoat.
“Yeah? What’s up?” I say, sticking a smoke in my lips and walking out into the sun.
“Hey, Richard. I think we should back off of the whole thing.” He sounds tired. Flat. “How about I cut you a check and we call it good?”
“Why? What’s changed?”
“Nothing.” Nervous now. My gut starts to swim and with these few sentences I get a picture of what’s going on right now. Not good.
“Petticoat, am I on speaker phone?”
“No. Why would you even ask that?”
“Shut up then and stop acting like you’re setting me up. Got it?”
“Yes, but—”
“Only yes or no answers for now on. Did you email the rapist like I told you not to?”
Hemming and hawing. “Damn it, Petticoat, did you or did you not email the rapist?”
Like a wrecking ball of stupid: “Yes.”
“Is he there with you now?”
“Yes.”
“Does he have a weapon to your head?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Start answering the questions with yes or no but add in details about cutting me a check. He needs to think you’re working this out. Is he white?”
“Yes. I can write it now but I’ll need you to hold onto to it for a week. Is that, okay?”
“Blonde hair?”
“No.”
“Brown?”
“Yes. I can do that. No problem.”
“Brown eyes?”
“No.”
“Blue eyes?”
“Again, no. That will be a problem.”
“Green.”
“Yes. More like it. Yes.”
