She didn’t recognize him. She thought she knew the local pickpockets in the area. But that was not classy, that was not smooth, and that would not get him the money that he wanted.
She sat, shaking on the bench for a long moment. Then she saw Frankie racing toward her. He sat down beside her, grabbed her hand, and asked, “Are you okay?”
“I will be,” she said, and the damned tears welled at that.
“Come on. Let’s get you home.”
“Did you see that?”
“Yes,” he said. “I just caught it out of the corner of my eye and saw you go down.” He checked her purse. “Did he get anything?”
“No,” she said, “but I think he said something as he raced away, about payback from a friend.”
Frankie stared at her, a tick in his cheek flicking. “That bitch Naomi.”
*
When Richard looked down at his phone to see Cayce was calling, he answered it immediately. “Hey, you okay?”
She hesitated.
He repeated his question with a sharper tone of voice.
“I just wondered,” she said, “if you already knew about it.”
“Knew what?”
“I was just attacked on the street,” she said, taking a slow breath.
He could hear her shaky nerves in her words. “How?” he asked, bolting from his chair, his mind racing to the homeless guy he’d seen at the installation.
“I think just a pickpocket,” she said. “He grabbed my purse. I pulled it back, and he ran, tossed me a grin, and said ‘payback from a friend’ for some reason.”
“Payback?”
“Yes, but I don’t know what that means. Frankie thinks it’s a message from Naomi.”
“I’ll ask her. But it could be nothing, could mean that you deserved a tumble to the cement because you wouldn’t let him have your purse. Providing you kept your purse?”
“Yes,” she said, in a stronger, almost relieved voice, “that I did. And that makes a lot of sense. He was such a punk-looking kid.”
“Good.” Or not so good as that meant it was someone other than the homeless character. “How are you? Are you okay?”
“Just a little shaky,” she said. “But that’s to be expected. Frankie is here now, and he’s taking me home.”
Richard swore softly under his breath. “Good. That’s where you need to be.”
“Yeah,” she said. “At the same time, I don’t know if it’s related or not, but Frankie thought I should tell you.”
“Definitely should tell me,” he said forcibly. “I’ll come over when I’m done at work.”
“No,” she said hurriedly. “You don’t have to.”
“No, I don’t have to,” he said, “but I will be there nonetheless.”
“Does that mean I’m to wait with the rest of the spaghetti?” she asked in a teasing tone.
Just hearing that tone made his heart lighten. What a fool he was, but he said, “Unless you want me to pick up Chinese.”
“You can’t just sit here and feed me all the time,” she exclaimed.
“Sure I can. Listen. I’ll be there in a couple hours, and I’ll bring dinner. So, if you’re hungry in the meantime, have at the spaghetti.”
“I thought I’d have a shower and maybe a nap,” she said.
“That works for me.”
As soon as Richard hung up from that phone call, he looked over to see Andy walking toward him, his face grim. Richard’s heart sank. “What?”
“We’ve got another one. Not sure what plans you just made with the artist right now,” Andy said, his tone matching the look on his face, “but you won’t make it.”
He sagged in his chair. “When you say, another one—”
“Another one.”
“Do we know who it is?”
“No,” he said. “At least I don’t. I haven’t gotten an ID on the victim yet.”
Richard reached down, grabbed his jacket, and said, “Let’s go.”
*
Failure was not an option. But it’s all he seemed to churn out. How did that work? He stared in frustration at his canvas in front of him. He used to do the same kind of artwork that she did. He just needed to get it back again. Then he could be on top of the world too. If it hadn’t been for that time of his life, he would have been there.
And he knew everybody else would say it was just an excuse to get out of it, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He was completely frozen every time he tried. It sucked. He looked up as a woman walked into the room. “Hey, Bellamy, how you doing?”
“I’m thrilled,” she said, walking closer, throwing her arms around him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For looking after me,” she said, as she squeezed him tight.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
“I hope you’re feeling okay now.”
“I feel much better,” he said.
“Do you think so?” She walked around, took a look at his painting, and smiled. “It’s getting better,” she said.
He knew what she was trying to do, and he appreciated it, but she was lying. “Sweetie, I know it’s not.”
“No,” she said, in a firm voice. “It is getting better.”
“And that’s a long way from what I was.”
“It takes time,” she said. “Remember that.”
“Yes, I know,” he said, “but it’s still frustrating.”
She kissed him gently on the cheek and said, “Of course it is. Come on. Let’s get to it.”
“I don’t know about dinner tonight,” he said.
“You need to eat,” she said. “Come on. You can’t just keep this up.”
If only he could get back the talent he had lost.
“Come on. Forget about it for now,” she said, tugging him toward the kitchen.
He glanced to the other room that she never went into, wishing he had time to go in there and to work a little bit more. But he didn’t dare. He turned, smiled at her, and said, “You’re right. Let’s get
