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“Where are we going?”
“To find your girl.”
My girl?I scoff. as I rip the bag open to yank the tags off everything, including the cheap shoes. Officer Beyer named me Lloyd and wants me to look like a frat boy.
Women,I snort as I dip my hands into my pockets to find a dried rose petal.
Clever.
Very fucking clever, Officer.
I squish the petal in my hand and leave the remains in the bag. Contrary to what Beyer believes, that’s not going to get me. Neither is this girl who saved my life.
No attachments, no expectations, means no heartbreaks. The only woman I ever loved was my mom, and she, apparently, never wants to see me again.
Which is something I have to fix, but first I need to find the snow. For all of our sakes.
Including... the little thief who saved my life.
Never thought I’d be back here with a cop. Shit, I never thought I’d be back period, and in two weeks, I’ve been here twice.
“Do you remember where you are now?” The detective who is partnerless turns her unmarked vehicle down one of the side roads, down a hill, away from the hustle and bustle of the main street.
“Vaguely,” I lie. “It’s a bit of a blur, but the painted road...”
“Sticks out like a sore thumb?” She bobs her head and angles her small SMART car down the narrow roads, nothing like New York city blocks.
“Little bit,” I offer. This place hasn’t changed much. Not many children run around the neighborhood, because it isn’t a place for the innocent, but my family had built a legacy here. For a long time, we all lived around here to stay close to my grandad.
My cousins and I used to play in this corner right here, where the hookers met. My little cousin with the huge bologna curls scraped her knee during a game of Hide and Seek, and fell into the then trench along that house over there. The street workers were our babysitters back then.
“Your family is pretty well known around these parts.”
“Are they?” I’m not sure if she’s asking me a question or waiting for me to break character and contest. Family is always a sore spot for people like me. “Do they all still live here?”
“No, but your mom has a shop.”
I’ve missed her.“Oh.”
“Do you not know anything about your mother?” The serious tone in her question catches my attention. “About her whereabouts?”
The lump in my throat burns, but I keep a steady face. Being an amnesiac keeps me from testifying, allows me the opportunity to slip away and get on that jet. After I find the snow, of course. After I teach this woman a lesson.
Hopefully, after I see my mother.
“I don’t quite follow, Detective. What am I supposed to know?”
The detective turns down another street, along the crawlway. This place is a maze, only the people who belong here know what streets connect or lead to a dead end.
We pass behind a large lime green home, at least four stories high and one of tallest in the town. It’s near the foot bridge, the one the natives call The Crawl. It used to be my grandfather’s home before he was murdered near the underground garage.
His son was murdered there too.
Then his second son.
Then the third.
My little cousin too, or we assume. We still haven’t found her body.
