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“Hope isn’t a strategy.”
“No, it isn’t, but there’s nothing wrong with keeping some.”
“Only if it doesn’t get in the way of the mission, Gentian.”
“Dr – I mean, Pete!” Tiffany appears, her voice dropping from a high-pitched affect to a whisper. She is done to the nines, with eyelashes that look like dead spiders attached to her eyelids.
She is wearing short shorts that make Daisy Duke look like a nun. A tight flannel shirt with breasts spilling out everywhere.
And a pink tool belt.
“Oh, my God, Drew – er, Pete! What happened to you?” Genuine concern floods her expression, making her look younger and older at the same time. Her hands fly to her mouth, perfectly manicured, with nail polish the color of sand. “You look awful! Did you get into an accident?”
One simple rule I’ve learned in my line of work: people will give you your excuse. Just pause and don’t say a word. Ninety percent of the time, they hand it to you.
“Yeah,” I say, grimacing. “Bad bike accident.”
“You ride a motorcycle?”
“No. Bicycle.”
Her face falls, as if that’s disappointing. “Oh. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. Just a flesh wound, right?” I need to speed this up.
She frowns, but drops the topic. “I’m so glad you’re here, Pete. Who’s your friend?” She goes from friendly to seductive.
“Ah, this is Joey.” Joey is the name of Silas’ cat.
“Joey. Love it.” Tiffany shakes his hand. “You here for the filming?” She cranes her neck around him. “Where’s the camera crew?”
“They’re coming separately.”
“Pete is here to block the scene,” Silas adds.
“And you’re here to...”
“Leave. Joey was just leaving. He’ll be back with the crew later. I need access to the wall between our apartments, Tiffany, to do some drilling.”
“Drilling?” Her eyes fly wide with fright. “I don’t own this place. You never said anything about drilling!”
“All expenses will be covered by the production company,” I say. It’s a lie. I will definitely pay for any damage, though.
If I live.
Her body relaxes with relief. “Oh. Sure. Right. Like Extreme Home Makeover, huh?”
“Exactly,” Silas says, nodding as he gives me a sardonic look.
“Okay. As long as you have insurance or something in the contract so I don’t get sued.” Her lips pout and her eyebrows go down. “You do have a contract, right?”
“I have to go drop by legal and get them to give me the newest version,” Silas says casually, like it’s no big deal. Like he’s not lying.
“Perfect.” She looks around nervously. Her hair, long and flowing over her shoulders, moves as one piece, like a LEGO toy hair helmet. “We’re not filming now, are we?” she whispers.
“No. Camera’s not on yet,” I say smoothly, walking past her.
Limping past her. Falling down those concrete stairs at the jail didn’t do me any favors.
