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My throat tightens, but I type Larissa Hale and the theater address.
Nothing comes up, and I sit back, exhaling with relief.
I’m going crazy sitting around here waiting for her to come back. Grabbing my phone again, I study the little dot. It’s still somewhere deep in Capitol Hill, but it’s moving now.
Pushing off my knees, I go to the room phone and order a pizza and two beers from room service. I text Roland, letting him know to come back for food then I stop at the room safe to secure my gun.
If I plan to dig deeper into the Guy Hudson case, I’ll have to wait until we return to New Orleans. In the meantime, I need to shower.
* * *
Lara
The Redwood is a dive bar clearly popular with the locals. Inside, it looks like an old hunting lodge with dark wood walls, floors, and exposed-beam ceilings. Matching wooden tables and chairs are scattered throughout, and red lights cast an amber glow throughout the interior.
The place is brightened a bit by white Christmas lights twined around the skinny columns lining the floor, and antlers from all sorts of animals—deer, moose, something I don’t even recognize—are hung between the neon beer signs. The faintest scent of ancient cigarette smoke still lingers from before the ban, and at the far end of the room, an enormous television flickers to life with the start of the black and white movie The Mummy. This place is truly a relic.
Joshua sits across the small table from me beside a girl with shoulder-length neon-rainbow hair. It’s too dark for me to tell if she’s wearing a wig or if it’s all hers.
“This is some place,” I say to no one in particular.
Josh is busy shelling peanuts and eating them. He’s wearing a tailored, vintage blazer over dark jeans, and a Guinness is in front of him. The rest of us are having soft drinks.
“It’s classic Cap Hill,” he says, grinning at me. His neon orange hair is covered with a gray beanie. “It closed for a little while, and protests were organized until it reopened.”
“Really?” I look around wondering why.
“So what do you want anyway?” The girl I assume is Candi shifts in her chair.
“Is Candi your real name?” Molly leans forward, studying her intently, almost like she’s looking for signs of herself in this person.
“No, I changed my name to Candi. That’s Candi with an I and a star on top.”
Molly immediately sits back roughly in her chair, seeming disgusted with that additional information. “Let me guess… No, you tell me, why Candi?” Her tone is sarcastic.
The girl flutters her eyes and spins a lock of hair. “Because I’m sweet like candy, but I don’t rot your teeth.”
“Real original,” Molly mutters under her breath.
Candi’s eyes flash and her tone turns harsh. “You’re real original. Silver hair went out three years ago. What’s your name, anyway?”
Molly’s eyes flicker to mine, and she grins. With that outburst, Candi might have redeemed herself.
“I’m Maggie and this is my sister Lucy.” She turns to Joshua. “She’ll do.”
“Do what?” Candi asks, and I look to the both of them wondering the same thing.
Joshua only continues eating peanuts, tilting his head toward my partner for the answer.
“Tell me about working for Brisbee,” Molly says. “You’ve been with him since you ran away from home?”
The girl pulls what looks like a plastic cigarette from her pocket and puts it in her mouth.
“Uh, you can’t vape in here,” Joshua leans fo
rward, looking over his shoulder. He almost seems uncomfortable with his role as narc.
“I’m just sucking on it,” she says then cuts her eyes to Molly. “I lived on the street for a few weeks, then I heard about this guy who could get me work. So yeah, I started working for him around the time I got here.”
