Leave Her Hanging: A Noir Thriller

Chapter Thirty

I stepped into the warm interior of the cafe. Or “coffee boutique” as the hand-carved wooden sign outside called it. There was a gas fireplace in one wall, surrounded by the sort of couches that eat you whole if you’re not careful. The place was full of hipsters and other assorted subcultures, so Stephanie didn’t look too out of place sitting at a small corner table with a pencil in her hand and a sketchbook in front of her. She didn’t see me right away, so I slowly came up behind her and watched her for a few seconds. The picture she was sketching was a landscape, but not like anything from this world. A floating city hung against a sky dotted with what looked like mechanical winged animals. She was putting the finishing touches on the bridges that extended out from the platforms of rock holding the spike-like city buildings, connecting them to each other and to the desert floor below. As I got closer, I saw how she’d detailed the city, right down to the figures walking the streets. It was beautiful and weird and lonely all at once.

As I craned my neck over the top of her head, she slammed the sketchbook shut. “Are you going to buy me a coffee or what?” she said without turning around.

I smiled and came around the other side of her. “What do you take?”

“Caffè macchiato. Get me a muffin too while you’re at it.”

I didn’t know what a caffè macchiato was, but the shaggy-haired guy at the counter seemed to. I ordered a hot chocolate for myself and picked out a chocolate muffin from the cabinet while the barista set about banging things and pulling levers on the coffee machine and trying to make it look like he was earning the $15.50 he’d taken out of my bank account.

While I waited for the drinks I wandered back to Stephanie’s table, put my bag down, and sat opposite her. She’d opened the sketchbook again while I was gone, though she was carefully angling the cover of it so I couldn’t see her drawing. She didn’t say anything, so neither did I. I noticed she had a habit of tapping her nose ring when she was concentrating. Out in an abandoned building at night, it was easy to imagine that she was a fully grown young woman. But here, in the light of the coffee shop, I could see how young she really was. The soft curve of her neck caught the light from the gas fire. I couldn’t picture her in front of a camera, slowly taking her clothes off beneath the glare of spotlights and the gaze of perverts. Or maybe I just didn’t want to. The girl could swing a mean piece of two by four, but seeing her here like this, I decided there was a softness to her as well. The thought of all she’d been through made my heart ache.

Easy, Spade, I told myself. You still don’t know how she fits into all this. Don’t go getting stupid.

The barista brought our drinks and Stephanie’s muffin over. My hot chocolate was in a tall glass with enough whipped cream on top to give me heart failure, while Stephanie’s macchiato came in a dainty little mug, no bigger than a tea cup. She put her free hand protectively around the cup, clearly enjoying the warmth, while she continued to sketch for another few seconds.

“I bought you coffee,” I said.

“So I see,” she said without looking up.

“Can I ask you some questions now?”

“No one’s stopping you.”

I scooped some cream off the top of my drink with a teaspoon and stuck it in my mouth. “I need to know who the other people involved in this thing are.”

“Why?”

“I just do.”

“If you’re planning on going to the cops, I wouldn’t. Not if you’re particularly attached to your kneecaps.”

“I’m not going to the cops,” I said. “I just want to know who I’m dealing with.”

“You want a suspect list.”