“So long as we can get back before 5:00 p.m. That’s when Jayden and Lacy need to be picked up from school.”
Tsk. I forgot it was Monday. And how did I get the restrictions of a soccer mom’s schedule?
“Fine. Let’s go.”
I exit the office and stop when I see someone waiting outside the glass front door. It’s some asshole in a suit—an attorney, no doubt—and the man’s frown deepens the moment he sees me.
“Let me in,” the attorney demands, his voice half-muffled by the door.
Miles looks to me and I nod. He goes to open the door, and the attorney flounces in with flared nostrils.
“Where is Shelby?” he asks, glancing around. “I need that witness statement.”
The prissy whine of his voice irritates me. “Which case?” I ask.
“The People vs. McMillian. Are you a PI at this firm? Do you know where my last witness statement is? I need it before Wednesday!”
The case name rings a bell, and I remember Shelby was going to get to it the morning after the rail yard incident. He must have forgotten.
“I’ll handle it,” I say. “Which witness do you need?”
He half stomps his foot and huffs. The man has a suit and posture that says Yeah, you can kick my ass, but my father will sue. I don’t think he’s told no often enough. And judging by his flashy cuff links, his pompous attitude works for him.
The attorney opens his briefcase and hands over a sheet of paper. I look at the address and read it three times before I believe what I’m seeing. It’s our neighbor. The grouchy woman who pestered me about my garden.
I look at the charges in the case. Voluntary manslaughter. Interesting.
“I’ll take care of this before Wednesday.”
“You better,” the attorney snaps.
“Now get out. I’m closing up shop.”
I KEEP my jacket close and the collar propped up. I recognize the sights like I recognize my reflection in the mirror. Everything about Noimore is second nature to me. I almost want to tell Miles where to turn and what to avoid, but I keep quiet. Instead I check that my shoulder holster and firearm are secure. You can never be too safe.
Lake Michigan glistens in the distance, far beyond the multistory buildings, slums, and suburbs of Noimore. During the day, there’s a bustle of workers and businessmen going about their business. But after dusk—when it gets dark—the place shows its true colors. The law-abiding denizens keep to themselves.
I spot a ramshackle hotel and tap Miles on the leg. His thigh is practically solid muscle—a thought I know I shouldn’t have in the middle of a time-sensitive matter, but last night got me excited and I’ve yet to do anything about it. Miles doesn’t seem to notice my hesitation. He turns to me, keeping one eye on the road.
“What is it?”
“Stop there. On the side of the road.”
“In front of the hotel?”
“Yeah.”
Trash fills the gutters, and the tires of our vehicle squish through it as Miles pulls up to the curb. Even with the light of a full afternoon, I swear the sordid atmosphere mutes all color until everything is either drab brown or dull gray. I avoid stepping on anything brown as I get out of the car.
“Do you have a pair of sunglasses?” I ask.
Miles nods. He pulls a pair out of the pocket of his cargo pants and tosses them over. They scream police. Do the police buy a special brand? I don’t know, but it looks like something a cop would wear. Too sleek and too tinted. Not what I want to sport in this neighborhood. I tuck them into my jacket and lean against the car. Miles stands by my side, confused but patient.
A girl exits out the front door of the hotel, in heels so thin and tall you’d think she stood on toothbrushes. She struts with a hip sway all the way up to our car, her improbable footwear not a hindrance but an ally in exaggerated movement.
“Are you two looking for some afternoon delight?” she asks, a sweetness to her tone unbefitting her profession.
“Hello, ma’am,” Miles says, no doubt feeling the need to be polite. The girl cocks an eyebrow and giggles.
“Normally there are girls outside,” I drawl, glancing around and finding the sidewalk suspiciously empty. Even the dark alleys and shady bus stops are free of homeless.
She straightens her little crop top. “Business has changed. Do you want somethin’ or not?”
“It’s my buddy’s birthday soon. He’s been complaining about needing new experiences.”
“Oh?” She gives Miles the once-over, his honeyed skin a slight shade of red, and then she smiles. “Well, we need to go inside to discuss specifics.”
Inside? That’s never how it was before. But I nod regardless.
We walk inside, and the pieces of this mystery start coming together. The lobby has a nightclub’s worth of activity, including a small bar and a cigarette stand. Ladies hang around in groups, watching the street through the smudged windows, while a handful of enforcers keep an eye on their girls.
But why inside? Only people who knew this place was a hot spot would stop for a frolic between the sheets—it drastically cuts down on business. Half the game is playing someone desperate or drunk, which would be impossible standing around inside and not on the streets in front of bars.
Our girl waves to one of the enforcers and heads up the stairs to the second story. Miles glues himself to my side.
“What’re we doing?” he asks under his breath, panic in his voice.
“They aren’t going to mess with us. Calm your tits.”
“I don’t want to be with, er—well, anyone but you. That’s not what I meant by new experiences.” When I don’t respond, he grabs me by the arm. “And I’m in a police academy now. You know what’ll get me kicked out and prevent you from getting a PI license? Solicitation charges.”
“Relax,” I snap.
