Austin Camacho - Damaged goods

“That’s wonderful baby,” Hannibal said, wondering in silence how his proposal would compare to this success.

“And that’s not all!” Cindy grabbed both of Hannibal’s hands, shaking him and actually bouncing up and down like a kid at Christmas time. Her eyes flew wide and her hair bounced on her shoulders. “My stock options just went crazy! Hannibal, as of today at noon I was actually worth something like seven million dollars! Oh my God it’s like a drug. I swear, money is like a drug and I am as high as they get. Do you get it? I can have anything I want, baby. Whatever I think of, I can get it with a snap of my fingers.”

Hannibal kept the smile frozen on his face, but thanked the Lord for the dark glasses shielding his eyes. She was right. She could get anything she could think of, all by herself. That being true, what could she possibly need him for?

Cindy must have noticed his reserve, because her breathing slowed a bit, her smile backing down just a notch.

“I’m sorry. That was kind of selfish, or at least self-oriented, wasn’t it?”

“But well deserved,” Hannibal said. “I’m so proud of you, baby. You really are the best. So far above…” he left that sentence unfinished.

“So, what was your news? What did you want to tell me?”

Hannibal looked into Cindy’s eyes, but he thought about Anita and how her butler boyfriend did not react to a briefcase full of money. Of course, it contained just a sliver of Cindy’s new fortune, and they had started almost even. Anita needed Henry to help her understand how her life would change now. She needed his guidance, his knowledge of how to handle her windfall. They would chart their new course together.

He thought of Sarge, now forming a relationship with a woman of independent means. But Marquita had a long way to go to find her former self. She needed him emotionally and, well, didn’t everyone need to be needed?

He tried to imagine life with a wealthy, star attorney. He tried to picture himself taking her to a restaurant, or to a show, or driving her to an important social event. He tried to visualize their lives, in the evening, in her new home that she would pick out and have professionally decorated. The heiress and the detective. Nick and Nora Charles, he supposed, but it looked different from the inside.

He pulled his hand out of his pocket. Empty.

“Nothing, baby. It was nothing.”