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“Could I talk to you for a minute?”
The question snaps me out of my contemplation, but no more so than the fact that she—Hollie—is sliding into the seat across from me, setting the hot coffee pot onto the end of the table.
I drag a napkin across my mouth. “Sure.” Do I have a choice?
“Um…” Her pretty throat wobbles with a swallow. A tiny silver pendant, a script letterJ,nestles right at the base of her throat, resting on creamy skin and—
Eyes up, buddy.
“What can I do for you?” I employ my boss tone.
She blinks. “Well…” Her hands knot on the table’s edge. “I’m Hollie, by the way.”
I fold my arms. “I know.”
Another blink. “Okay, well…you know what? I shouldn’t be bothering you.” She unfolds her hands and makes likes she’s going to stand.
“No bother.” Sure it is, but that’s the polite thing to say.
Since when doIdo polite?Politeis generally counterproductive in my business. With people in general, in my humble opinion.
She resettles, looking anything but comfortable. I have that effect on folks—and don’t think I’ve acquired the skill by accident.
Her lips purse. “Okay, then. I do hate to bother you, but I’ve noticed…you work for the DEA, right?”
I guess we both read nametags and badges. I jerk a stern nod.
“Right. So. I have a question. Well, a problem.”
Aaaand here we go.
Her mouth works like it’s dry, just before she blurts, “My son is in really big trouble. He was arrested, and I don’t know where to turn.”
With effort, I school the kneejerk reaction that springs up. Son? And one old enough to be arrested? “What kind of trouble?” Like I can’t guess.
Her long fingers tap and twist. “He was arrested a couple weeks ago…for drugs.”
Shocker. “Using?”
She shakes her head, her mahogany ponytail swaying with the motion. “Selling.”
I’m good, aren’t I? I mean, I was thinking more in terms of a loser boyfriend, but a wayward kid fits the bill too.
I shouldn’t be cocky. Drugs are ubiquitous these days, and the fact that some single-mom-diner-waitress has a son in the court system? Hardly an anomaly.
This is her show. I allow the silence to build before I cock my jaw. “Is there a question in there somewhere?” She put herself on the hotseat.
Blinking at me, she tightens her knitted hands.
Yes, I’m being rude. Again, it’s a talent. Most people waste time on pleasantries and idle talk. They don’t say what they mean and they delude themselves with false narratives, rarely owning up to their own culpability. They spin the truth and waste everybody’s time.
“Well, I…I think he’s innocent.”
Okay, I am tough, but I do try to stop short of cruelty. Still…a heartbroken single mom holding onto the last desperate hope that her reprobate child is still an innocent babe? Give me a break.
I feel a smile—okay, a smirk—play with the edges of my mouth. I settle my arm across the top of the seat. “Is that right?”
Her nod is small yet certain.
