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“Thanks for the sage advice,” I say. From the way she nods, I’m pretty sure the sarcasm flew over her head. Poe’s watching me, though, and he obviously caught it.
“You should listen to her about Thanksgiving dinner,” he says. “That part’s true.”
“So the rest isn’t?” I ask, surprised by his honesty, more because he was almost a lawyer than because he’s the right-hand man and paramour of a psychic.
“I don’t know,” he says, the corners of his mouth tipping up. “Sometimes Josie uses some creative license. It’s one of the things I love about her.”
She makes a sound like a cooing bird as she walks over and then slides in behind the desk with him. He shoves his snack aside and grabs her, and just like that, they’re back where they started when they arrived—sucking face.
“Do you know how to roast a turkey?” I ask, turning to Shauna.
ChapterTwelve
Danny
When I knock on Big Mike’s door, he opens it within two seconds—the timing suggesting he was either getting ready to leave or sprinted for the door.
“You decided to come for dinner?” he says with a wide grin. There’s a funky smell in his place, and from what I can see through the doorway, there’s no sign of any kid living there. It’s clean and tidy, with a large leather sectional, a big plate glass coffee table, and nothing else that I can see from the doorway. The scene strikes me as strange for a guy with a young daughter. Ruthie’s place is so full of kid shit, you can’t walk from the door to the TV without tripping over a My Little Pony or a Lego. But his place looks spotless, like it’s a model apartment.
If I hadn’t seen the kid with my own two eyes, I’d question her existence. I guess he could have her just a couple of days a week, or even a couple of days a month, but that feeling of something’s wrong doesn’t lift. This guy’s off. He’s up to something, and I don’t like it.
I also don’t like it that he’s leaning forward and checking out the empty stretch of hallway behind me—almost as if he’s looking for Mira. A protective feeling bristles inside of me, same as it did when she told me about those texts from Byron.
“I’m making tomato sauce,” Big Mike announces. “I was hoping you’d change your mind.”
For a second, I consider just turning around and leaving. I don’t like this guy, or his weird, overly friendly schtick. But the rodent is still rustling around in Mira’s bag, and despite what she said earlier, she might want it back someday.
Clearing my throat, I say, “No, sorry, man. I found your…Pumpkin down in the stairwell.” I lift up the bag, then open it, and no shit—the hamster takes a flying leap at his face.
“Pumpkin!” he shouts as he reaches up and catches him, not that he’d need to, because the little animal’s claws seem to be hooked into his large nose. The hamster doesn’t seem overly fond of him, not that I blame him—it would be hard to forgive someone for a name like Pumpkin, but it’s not my hamster, not my problem. My problem is figuring out how to launder the bag without ruining it, and also whether my left wrist is sprained. I didn’t want to say so to Mira, but itfeelssprained—or at least bruised in a way I’ll be feeling for days. Then again, sometimes I feel things like pain more strongly than I should.
“Okay, then. Enjoy the reunion,” I say, lifting my right hand to wave. I’m already turning.
“Wait!” the guy says. I pause, reluctantly.
“Maybe we could hang out sometime. Go to the Treasure Club. I’m new around here, and I—”
“That’s not my thing, man. No judgment, but no thanks.”
“Oh, because you got that pretty little piece at home,” he says, nodding.
I have the sudden urge to punch him, but I grit my teeth and stay silent, hoping he’ll do the smart thing and shut up.
“I got you,” he says, even though he definitely doesn’t. “My little lady doesn’t mind much. She knows I go there for the spicy wings.”
“Your daughter?” I ask, anger giving way to shock, because that’s fucked up, isn’t it? Not even my father would have the poor judgment to talk to my sister about hanging out with strippers.
“No,” he says, looking at me like I’m the strange one. “My woman. My girl.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, ready to exit this conversation and never enter into another one with him. “Well. Cool. See you around.”
Hopefully not. If I could rewind my life and make it so this conversation had never happened, I would be grateful.
I turn again, and this time he lets me leave, so hopefully I’ve gotten the message across. I need to get to a doctor’s office so they can take a look at my wrist. It feels like it did that time I spent twenty-four hours trying to hack into a system.
But first I’ve got a stop to make. I consider calling in Leonard, who is the most physically intimidating of my friends, but something tells me Byron requires a different touch. Like the threat of legal recrimination. So I call Shane as I head down the stairs.
When he picks up on the fourth ring, I ask, “You busy?”
