Peter Leonard - Trust Me

They went upstairs and he got her a maize and blue University of Michigan tee shirt, and a pair of khaki shorts. The same outfit he was wearing, although his shirt had food stains all over it. "We'll be twins," Karen said.

"Whoopee," Schreiner said.

He showed her where the bathroom was and gave her a folded maize and blue University of Michigan towel. Karen took a hot shower behind a maize and blue University of Michigan shower curtain and felt better. Seeing Schreiner helped too, his laid-back hippie attitude and dry-as-kindling sense of humor made her feel more relaxed, less tense.

After what happened at the Townsend and the Red Roof Inn, there was no way Karen was going to risk staying at a hotel or motel in suburban Detroit. She assumed O'Clair and Ricky would have their people out, checking every place in town. She couldn't go to her mom's or her sister's or her friend Mika's, they were too obvious. So where? And just like that, Schreiner's face popped into her head.

Karen changed and went downstairs. She put her wet clothes in the dryer and joined him in the family room. They sat on the couch, watching a fifty-inch Sony flat screen, a program about praying mantises on the Discovery Channel. He looked gamey, like he hadn't shaved or taken a shower in a few days. His white-veined legs, the color of travertine marble, were stretched out on the coffee table, his bare feet with yellow toenails. The air was on and it was cold, like being in a meat locker.

"Know how they get their name?" Schreiner said.

"Something to do with how they fold their legs," Karen said. "Like they're praying."

Schreiner said, "You know the female runs the show, right?"

Karen met his gaze, but wasn't listening.

"What happens," Schreiner said, "she has sex with the male and then bites his head off."

Karen was mad at herself for going back to Lou's. She'd have to be a lot smarter if she was going to get out of town.

Schreiner looked at her and put the roach in an ashtray on the coffee table. "You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"

She met his gaze but didn't say anything. On TV a female mantis began to devour the head of her mate, whose body continued to move, gyrating as if he still had all his parts.

"You want to tell me what's going on?"

"Do you have anything to drink?" Karen said.

Schreiner got up and Karen followed him into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and said, "Corona or Bass?"

"Bass." She glanced in at the leftovers and takeout containers. Schreiner took a bottle of Bass Ale out and popped the top and handed it to her.

Schreiner looked at her and said, "Do you need legal representation?"

"We tried that," Karen said. "Remember? All I need is a place to stay." She drank the Bass. It had a bitter taste that she liked and it was ice cold.

"I can have a restraining order slapped on him," Schreiner said.

He seemed lucid now, the prospect of a job bringing him out of his marijuana fog.

"You want to tell me what's going on?"

She did, most of it, hiring him first and handing him a hundred dollars as a retainer. Then she got his assurance that anything she said was protected by attorney-client confidentiality; a signed document Schreiner drafted on his MacBook Pro attesting to their new relationship.

It felt good to let it out, get it off her chest. Karen told him how she did it, holding back a few details here and there, but giving him most of it in straightforward sequence. When she finished she felt relieved, like a weight had been lifted off her. She took a swig of ale. Schreiner leaned against the counter and fixed his stoned gaze on her.

"So you committed armed robbery and you're an accessory to murder and you've got Samir's army looking for you. Did I leave anything out?"

"No, that sounds about right," Karen said.

"You seem pretty cool," Schreiner said, "under the circumstances."

"You ought to see me from the inside," Karen said. "I'm scared out of my mind."

"I can get you a bodyguard. I know a former Secret Service agent. His name's Ray Pope, formerly on Presidential Protection Detail."

"I don't need a bodyguard," Karen said.

Schreiner said, "You're right, you need a platoon, a battalion."

"If you're trying to make me feel worse," Karen said, "you're doing a good job."

"Should I just shut up?" Schreiner said.

Karen said, "That's not a bad idea."

"I want to help you," Schreiner said.

"You are," Karen said, "more than you know."

Schreiner said, "Where's the money?"

"In a safe place," Karen said.

"I can hang on to it for you, if you want. Put it in the safe in my office, ease your mind while you're getting ready to leave town."

"That's okay," Karen said.

"You sure you don't want me to help you," Schreiner said, trying again.

"I'm all set," Karen said, trying to convince herself, but knew she wasn't even close.

Megan knew she shouldn't have taken him back so fast. He'd lied to her and cheated her out of her share of the money from the Greek, contrary to his bullshit story. He might even be lying now. But there was something about him. She couldn't help herself; she liked him.

Megan thought about Bobby showing up at her door, quarter to six in the morning, looking like he'd been put through the wringer.

"I'm in trouble," Bobby had said.

Megan had said, "You sure are." She opened the door and he walked past her into the living room.

He told her about stealing the safe, and about the guy coming to Lloyd's trailer. Then he said he was going to give Megan half his share.

"Sweetie, I figured we'd each clear better than a hundred grand, I was going to take you to Hawaii, start our new life together."

Megan had known some bullshitters in her life, but Bobby took it to a whole new level. Christ, he was Ninja. She said, "I don't want to ruin your day but the police are looking for you too. A Detective Conlin was here asking questions about you."

Bobby looked like he was going to cry and Megan felt bad for him. She wanted to take him in her arms and comfort him. But first she had to make him pay a little more. She had some of the bitch gene in her. What her dad used to say to her mom. "There's even a reward-now up to $7,500 for information leading to your arrest and conviction," Megan said, making it up.

"I've been such an asshole," Bobby said. "I wouldn't blame you if you turned me in."

Megan put her arms around him. "Honey, I'm not going to do that."

She hugged him and put her face against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat. "I might worry about your friends at the apartment complex, though, if I were you." Megan took Bobby's face in her hands. She could feel the bristly stubble of his whiskers. He let out a breath that smelled sour and kind of stinky, and seemed to lose what remaining energy he had at the same time, leaning against her now, so tired he'd have fallen to the floor if she wasn't there to support him. "Everything's going to work out, you'll see." She guided Bobby into the bedroom and undressed him and put him in bed. He was so out of it she just took charge. "Lay back and relax, let me do the heavy lifting." She winked at him and now he smiled.

Megan thought about the money while she was searing lamb shanks and peeling potatoes. Bobby was snoring so loud she could hear him all the way in the kitchen. Megan believed in intuition and believed she was one hundred percent intuitive. Her feelings about people and the inevitability of situations had been proven true over the course of many years. And her intuition told her-make no mistake about it-Karen Delaney was still in Detroit. Where exactly, Megan didn't know, but Bobby had said something that got her thinking, gave her a place to start.