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“Do you recognize this place?” The detective stares at my hand, the one curled around the hand rest as if it were keeping me from falling down a steep slope.
“Kind of.” I glance at her with downturned eyes. “I’m not quite sure why this place feels like a graveyard.”
She exhales slowly. “For generations, the Moranos lived near The Crawl. They put roots into this town and invested in the properties. Some people even say there are crawlspaces all over thanks to them.”
That’s true.
I stare out the window at the rearview mirror. “The lime green building used to be yellow?” I offer a small tidbit, which earns me a smile. If she believes my ruse, I’m not quite sure, but I also don’t think she’s ruled out the possibility.
“I’m glad to see this is helping.”
“Not sure by how much. Maybe seeing my mother will help refresh some childhood memories.”
“Maybe.” She takes the final street down toward my mom’s shop. The pink makes an appearance again. As a kid, the paint was fresher—brighter. The streets a little safer. Eventually, the color faded with the scuff marks of shoes, turned gray around the edges as it wore off from the constant traffic—not just the foot traffic.
After the Moranos forcefully vacated due to death, this little version of the Yellow Brick Road no longer led to a better place. There’s no denying the financial success of this tourist attraction, the sheer numbers make this place a magnet, but the locals know the truth. The paint is nothing more than a layer of day-old blush on a sixty-year-old hooker. There’s no hiding the wrinkles, the dark circles, the exhaustion of belonging to a place that never sleeps.
Only shuts its eyes.
“It’s not safe for you to be here, so don’t go where you can be seen.”
It’s not safe for anyone to be here.I glance at the turquoise letters on the dashboard and crack the window a smidge. One whiff is all it takes to confirm my safety: BBQ chicken and sardines.
Even the evil folk eat dinner.
“Are you worried about me, Detective?”
She unlocks the passenger door. “I’m worried about the hundreds of people who are going to be buried if we don’t get those drugs off the street.” She reaches over and pulls the latch. “Your mom’s shop should be open.”
I get out. “Is she expecting me?”
“No.”
Officer Beyer cocks her head to the side and sighs. “My number is in your pocket, when you’re ready to talk.”
Little Thief
STYX
“Amá?” The door had been left ajar.
The place looks nothing like I remembered. The color-coordinated cocks on the wall mimic the green, red, and yellow flag—not exactly what people have in mind when they talk about Portuguese pride, I’m sure. The rest of the items are organized, strategically by where they belong in a home. From the Christmas penis topper down to the breast-shaped light bulbs, everything had its place. At least there’s no longer a Virgin Mary at the entrance, just the little black roosters.
Clever.I think to myself as I walk to the computer on the cherry wood standing desk. Mom used to have a vintage register, along with a retro rotary phone that she hand-painted. Now she has a laptop, a portable cell phone, and a Wi-Fi router. She hated computers, probably still does, which is why I know for a fact this isn’t her doing.
Neither is this level of OCD.
Wait, is that hand sanitizer on the wall?I reach for a pump and take a whiff, half expecting it to be free lube. Nope, definitely alcohol.
What is going on here?
Mom would never take the time to divide goods by color; she barely even did inventory, so I highly doubt she had anything to do with the clothing rack along the opposite wall. The one organized by shades of gray, like a colorless rainbow, the pink baseball caps in a large golden pot off to the side with a discounted sign.
It has her artsy flare, but my mother was more the ‘spill the paint on the ground, use toes as brushes and call it art’ type and less color-wheel monitor. Not one single thing is out of place, and there’s not a speck of dust on any item.
“Mom?” I shout out, a little bit more unnerved.
Behind the register, the narrow hallway leads to theSuspiroroom. To the left of me, a glass case and short path that ends at the client bathroom and the upstairs apartment. The cross is still in the same place as always, on the apartment door, which offers a little comfort. Above the top of the frame is a small sprig of sage to bless the happy home and ward off evil.
