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“Uh, yeah, why?”
“I’m going to use it, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay, um have I seen you before?”
“I doubt it?”
“You’re not that Viuda Negra chick from the CCCA show, are you?”
“If I was, would it be wise to mess with me?”
The clerk suddenly looked very afraid and it was clear he believed the bullshit Cassandra was selling. He pointed to a door in the back of the store and Margot walked away thinking being able to scare young minimum wage employees was the only thing good about Cassandra’s stupid YouTube show.
She came up behind the Ford and was glad to see it was indeed Cassandra sitting behind the wheel. Otherwise, she would have wasted her time and put a scare into the poor clerk for no reason. Margot walked up and tapped on Cassandra’s window. When Cassandra looked over at her she said, “Get out of the car.”
Cassandra lowered her window, “What if I don’t want to?”
Margot laughed and shook her head before she said, “You know that you're full of shit, don’t you?”
“Actually, I don’t think I’m full of shit at all.”
“Yes, you do. Either that or really fucking dumb,” Margot said as she leaned down so she was looking Cassandra in the eye. “If you really thought I was some hitwoman they called Viuda Negra and you had half a brain, you’d be pissing your pants right now. You actually seem like you have half a brain, so I’m thinking you don’t really think I’m anything more than what I really am, which is a private detective who got involved with some nasty people doing some nasty shit.”
Cassandra didn’t really have an answer for that.
“You’re going to quit following me, Cassie. I’m not your story anymore.”
“Censoring the press? Not a big believer in free speech, are you?”
“Not when that speech is slandering me and making people like Harry Lee mad at me. Though, right now, he might be a little bit more upset at you than me. When he asks you to leave him off your show, he’s not going to ask nearly as nicely as I am.”
“You’re not being very nice.”
“Yeah, I am. Trust me.”
“I’m just trying to get a story out there.”
“Well, just make it about somebody else.”
“Like Phoebe Masterson, perhaps?”
“Maybe, pick a different one.”
“So, you are working on that?”
“No comment.”
“You know, if you want me to report what’s really going on instead of speculation, you could give me something. That way, I wouldn’t have to follow you around.”
“Sorry, I don’t work that way.”
“It’d make it easier on both of us if you did.”
“No, it’d make it easier on you. Keeping things confidential is part of my job.”
“And telling people things is mine.”
“Then we’re going to have to agree to disagree. You know what else we’re going to agree on?”
