Look but Don't Choke

Chapter 8

                It's amazing how life lines up just when you need it to. If I was going to get into Abbey's apartment, I was going to need help. I'm thinking this is a job for our friendly neighborhood cat burglar.

            Or locksmith as he tells it. I'm still not convinced.

            I had left only a thousand messages at the boarding house because Crabby McBumbottom refuses to come into the twenty first century and get a cell phone. So the only way to reach him was to leave messages and wait for him to call back when he feels like it.

            And since he's not exactly fond of me, that could take a while.

            It was a stroke of pure luck that as I was driving down Harris Street, minding my own business, I spotted his eternally surly behind at the bus stop.

            I pulled up to the curb and rolled down the passenger window. "Hey bum! Get in."

            "I'll pass." Johnny looked dirtier than usual as he sat on the graffiti covered bench, smoking. The only other patron was sitting on the opposite side of the bench as far away from him as he could possibly get without standing up.

            "I got a job for you," I said. "And it's a good one too."

            "I'm already on my way to a job."

            "It'll only take ten, fifteen minutes tops." When he didn't make to move I said, "And I'll throw in a free ride to your next location."

            He mulled it over, inhaling deeply then rolling the last bit of his cigarette between his fingers likely wondering if the money was worth the pain of spending time with me. At last he sighed then stood, flicking the butt on the ground before coming toward the car.

            Bingo. Now all I had to do was not mention what it was I needed him to do until we got there.

            When he opened the door and slid in I recoiled. "Oh God, please don't tell me you've been working in the sewer today."

            "Paper Mill."

            "Is that gonna stay in the seats? Am I going to have to clean the seats? Oh Jesus I better play it safe. I'm going to have to burn the car."

            "Don't be so dramatic," he rolled his eyes as he buckled in. "It's not that bad."

            I rolled down all the windows. "It's like rotten eggs—or, I don't know, maybe sulfur."

            "Let's just get this over with."

            I obliged and pulled off the curb and back into traffic.

            "It's been a pretty miserable week," I said in a hurry. "Got wasted at a wedding, my friend is facing a murder charge, and my date was totally ruined! Speaking of dates, the guy I'm sorta dating is the detective over my friend's murder investigation."

            "I don't believe I asked you about your day."

            "The key to a healthy relationship is open communication. Duh." When I turned down Ortega, he didn't notice.

            "Whatever."

            "So anyway I agreed to investigate the murder—"

            "Again? Last time you almost got me killed."

            "I'm not asking you to participate this round."