The Broken Clock is Right Thrice: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #4

Chapter 15 - Dial S for Shower Curtain

"The beauty of a knife is that it can't be reduced into anything simpler."

~ The Hermit

The fast-food supper spread out on the dashboard of the white SUV doesn't last long, but the grease stains it leaves will. The flimsy wrappers and bags don't do much to sop up the wages of drive-through sin.

Hits the spot, though.

"You save the best for last?" Sunglasses says after washing down his burger and fries with a long sip from a straw plugged into lemon-lime pop.

Pop. Not soda. This is Wisconsin.

Zandra examines the bottom of her fry cup. A lone, curly strip of fried potato looks back at her. She says, "They curl the fries so that they take up a disproportionate amount of space in the cup. They can charge more for less, even when the cup looks full."

She tips the cup into her mouth and wishes she hadn't downed her pop so soon.

"I'll bet they do the same thing with all the Coke they sell, too, but margin policing fast food products isn't what I was referring to," Sunglasses says. "You're stalling."

"How about this? I tell you the address, you go there, knock on the door, hand the invite, and walk away," Zandra says. She uses her sleeve like a napkin and dabs at her mouth.

"Why so mysterious?"

"I'm not going to get you killed, if you're worried. I would've done that already," Zandra says. "It's a simple thing, that's all. Just don't stick around for chit-chat."

"Then tell me the address."

Zandra does. They gather the wrappers and bags into a ball that Zandra tosses out the window once the white SUV is on the road again. Sunglasses grumbles in disapproval.

"Oh, stop it," Zandra says.

A few minutes later, the white SUV pulls into the parking lot of an apartment building. People in Stevens Point refer to it as one of the "nice" apartment buildings, but only with a heaping dose of sarcasm. There's little nice about the shaggy lawn, cracked windows, curling shingles, or siding degraded by woodpeckers like grapeshot.

Zandra hands Sunglasses a business card after the SUV is parked. "Apartment 201."

"Name?" Sunglasses says and takes the business card.

"Don't bother. Buzz the apartment at the entrance. Say it's from me. That'll be enough," Zandra says. She looks out the window, steering her eyes from Sunglasses.

"Context would help."

"No, it wouldn't."

Sunglasses pauses to be sure Zandra's finished before exiting the SUV. Through the window, Zandra watches him walk to the entrance of the apartment, his flip-flops nipping at the balls of his feet the whole way. He steps inside the entrance and presses a button on a panel.

Too much glass separates Zandra from Sunglasses for her to make out the conversation that follows, but the brief back-and-forth ends with him leaving the business card on top of the panel.

Zandra wants to ask how the conversation went, but she decides against it when Sunglasses returns to his seat behind the steering wheel.

"So what else for tonight?" Sunglasses says and drives the white SUV back onto the road.