'I don't. My client does.'
'Who's your client?'
'That's also confidential.'
'And why does your client want to find these women?'
'Sorry. Confidential.'
'Andy, I don't like all this mystery.'
Andy reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a cashier's check drawn on his trust account for $25,000 made payable to Hollis McCloskey. He pushed it across the desk. The G-man glanced at the check then back at Andy.
'Call me Hollis.'
'Hollis, there's more where that came from. But this assignment must have your full attention. I need a complete dossier on each woman-personal, employment, and criminal history, financial condition, family problems… everything.'
'Andy, so we're clear, I go by the book. I do not wander off the reservation, understood?'
The reservation?
Andy shrugged. 'Sure, whatever. When you complete a dossier, bring it to me. Fifteen-fourteen and a half B South Congress. If I'm not there, leave it at the tattoo parlor downstairs.'
'You office in SoCo?'
'Yeah.'
'I'll send a courier.'
'There's a nude yoga class on Thursday,' Dave said. 'You guys want to go?'
'You in the lotus position, naked?' Andy said. 'That's not an image I want in my head.'
'Listen to this girl's statement,' Curtis said. He was reading personal ads again. 'She says, 'I'm working on a Ph. D. in cosmology and consciousness, looking specifically at the continuum between time and timelessness from the perspective of physics and subjective experience. I'm trying to live a less abstract version of reality these days.' '
Dave stared blank-faced at Curtis.
'So does she want sex or not?'
'Guys,' Andy said, 'you're not going to find true love in the personals.'
They both now stared at him. Dave shook his head.
'How quickly you forget those of us still stranded in the sexual desert.'
Tres laughed. 'The sexual desert? I like that, Dave.'
'Thanks. But I've got a plan to escape that desert.'
'What's that?' Andy said.
Dave pulled out his comb and swept his hair back.
'I'm gonna get a tattoo. A big one.'
'Why?'
'Girls love tattoos.'
'But they hurt.'
'Girls?'
'Well, yeah, them too. And you hate pain.'
'I'm gonna get a general anesthetic first.'
'It's called alcohol. Dave, you think a tattooed real-estate broker is going to get a lot of clients?'
'Doesn't matter. I've got to find another job anyway-the market's tanked. I've got one listing-a subprime foreclosure over by the greenbelt-one-point-five-million-dollar mortgage. The borrowers just walked away.'
'You sell it for a million, a six percent commission is sixty grand.'
'Split with the buyer's broker.'
'Thirty grand.'
'Split with my office.'
'Fifteen grand. That'd keep you in beer for a while.'
'True, but chances of selling that place are nil. No one's even looked at it.'
Ronda delivered their Coronas. Andy told her to put it on his tab. It was that night, and they were at their regular table on the front porch of Guero's. Erin Jaimes and Her Bad Habits were playing in the Oak Garden. The beer was cold, the music good, and the early October weather perfect.
And so was she.
Conversations stopped. Heads turned. Men stared. Girls frowned. A TV truck had pulled up, and Natalie Riggs, local TV personality, had stepped out. She walked up the sidewalk, stunning in a yellow sundress. The setting sun outlined her body beneath the dress. No underwear was evident. They stared at her like prison inmates.
Her teeth were movie-star white. Her figure was incredible. Her diamond engagement ring could choke a horse. She came to Tres, leaned over, and gave him a kiss. She whispered in his ear then stood tall and addressed them.
'Hello, boys.'
Not Hidi, y'all. Born and raised in Odessa, Natalie Riggs had worked diligently to erase 'hidi' and 'y'all' and every other trace of Texas talk from her speech. 'The networks don't find twang-talking Texans cute anymore,' she had said. 'Not after Bush.'
Tres walked her back to the truck. He waved at the driver, then dug in his pocket and handed a few bills to Natalie. She kissed him again then jumped into the truck and drove off. Tres returned to the table through a gauntlet of envious eyes. He sat down.
'See-no underwear.'
They drank their beers. The crowd noise picked up again and things soon returned to normal on the front porch of Guero's. Andy hoped that Dave had the good sense not to comment. He didn't.
'Tres,' Dave said. 'You think Natalie would cheat with me? I mean, I love you like a brother, but… damn. She is hot.'
Andy was giving even odds whether Tres would smile or reach across the table and smack Dave. After a moment, he smiled.
'She is, isn't she?'
Tres Thorndike was good about having a gorgeous girlfriend who didn't wear undergarments.
A loud aah went up from the front porch. They looked out to the street; a jaywalker had narrowly dodged death by bus.
'I answered this ad,' Curtis said.
'What ad?'
Curtis held out an ad. Andy took it and looked at the girl's photo. Poor thing.
'Well, Curtis, she's, uh… well, she's… cute.'
'Read her interests.'
'Let's see. Her interests range from DNA research to quantum physics. Okay, I see why you answered her ad.'
'Read on.'
'She likes Amy's and Whole Foods… she's pagan and liberal… she recycles… she… Curtis, she's forty.'
'I went older, like Dave said.'
'I was joking,' Dave said.
'I was alone.'
'So what's she like?'
'I don't know. She turned me down.'
'How long has her ad been active?'
'Two years.'
'That's way low, bro.'
'Girls do hurt,' Curtis said.
'Tell me something I don't know,' Dave said.
