Charlie Huston - Already Dead

She wipes her finger through the dribble of bourbon on the bare patch of skin between the hem of her skirt and the top of her boots. She licks the finger.

– Not bad, Joseph. What is it?

– Old Grand-Dad.

– Excellent. And I should know.

– Whatever you say.

I sit in the chair across from the couch. She leans to the side and lifts the edge of a curtain to look out at the street. Her limo is gone. I asked her to send it away. Limos aren't all that rare around here, but I don't need one sitting out front collecting eyeballs. She gestures at the window.

– Aren't these a bit of a hazard?

– How so?

– You know.

She makes a little burning noise at the back of her throat and dances her fingers like flames.

I shrug.

She exhales loudly through her nostrils.

– Joseph, you are being positively… reticent. I'm trying to make conversation and you're being reticent.

– Sorry.

She laughs.

– Oh, you are droll.

– That's what my friends tell me.

She leans forward, elbows on knees. Her skirt creeps up a couple inches and I see the lace edge of a black silk half-slip.

– You have friends?

I shrug. She scoots farther forward. The skirt edges up another inch.

– A girlfriend?

I shrug. She shakes her head, reclines back into the seat.

– Positively reticent. So much for my morbid curiosity. I imagine you would prefer to talk professionally.

– I assume that's why you're here.

She rolls her eyes.

– Yes, I suppose it is. Well?

– Well?

– Have you found anything?

– This.

I take the ATM card out of my pocket and offer it to her. She leans forward and reaches, deep cleavage is exposed by several undone buttons on her blouse. She looks at the card. Her face shows nothing.

– So you found her?

– Just the card.

– Where was it?

– Chester Dobbs had it.

– And how did he get it.

I take a drink.

– I'm guessing she gave it to him.

She furrows her brow. I point at the card.

– You said you called him when she first went missing. He said he'd look for her, then called the next day and bailed. Figure he found her on that one day, but she didn't want to be found. She offered him a bribe. The card and her code. Two hundred a day for as long as she wasn't found. Damn sight better than the one-day fee he was gonna get if he turned her right over. Least that's what he thought.

I take out the sheaf of ATM receipts, about a week's worth. All of them telling him the maximum had already been drawn for that day.

She looks at them, starts to giggle and covers her mouth.

– Oh no. Amanda.

– Yeah. She must have been going into the bank right when it opened and getting the max from a teller.

She's looking at the last one.

– But why didn't he just go to an ATM right after midnight?

– The real question is why he didn't stay on the job and collect from both you and your daughter. Looks like Dobbs had a couple holes in his game.

She drops the slips and the card on the couch, holds her glass between her thighs and claps.

– Well done, Joseph.

She takes the glass in her hand again, drains it.

– How much does he want to tell us where she is?

– Couldn't say. He's dead.

Not a flicker.

– Oh, my.

She holds out her empty glass.

– Would you mind?

I take the glass to the kitchen counter, toss in a couple ice cubes and fill it. When I pass it back our fingers graze.

– Thank you.

She drinks.

– How did he?

– Strangled.

She lifts her glass and presses it against her neck.

– Why?

I point at the card.

– For that.

– Did you…?

– No.

– Is there reason to be concerned for Amanda's well-being?

I finish my drink.

– Yeah, there's plenty of that.

I'm fixing our fifth round. I tell myself the drunker she gets the more she'll talk. And that's true. But it's also true that the drunker I get the more I peek up her skirt.

I walk over to the couch, hand Marilee her drink. She has to try twice before she can get her fingers around it. Reclined on the couch, she props her head up with her hand and takes a sip.

– They're getting better. Why is that?

– I'm pouring more in the glass.

She laughs and a little bourbon sprays from her lips.

– A joke! Excellent, you're loosening up, getting into the spirit of things.

– Yeah, life of the party, that's me.

She gives a seal bark of a laugh.

– Another one!

She squirms around on the cushions so she can look at me.

The skirt has climbed all the way to her hips and her blouse has twisted around so that I can see most of her right breast through the translucent material of her bra.

– Are you getting tipsy, Joseph?

The truth is I am. Normally, this many drinks? It might as well be lemonade. But my resistance to poisons is eroding right along with the rest of my body.

I shrug.

– Back to that, are we?

She shrugs several times, making little grunting noises. Her breast peeks further from her blouse. The edge of a nipple appears.

– Like my daughter. Where are you going, Amanda?

She does the shrugging grunting thing again.

– When will you be back, Amanda?

Shrug. Grunt.

– Who's your new friend, Amanda?

More of the same.

– You know many of her friends?

– Hmmn? Why? Oh right, work. Trying to find my daughter. I know some. She brings them around to raid the kitchen from time to time.

– Ever meet a girl named Whitney Vale?

She barks again.

– Oh, God. Her! Whitney.

She takes a drink, spills some down her cheek and wipes it away.

– Amanda's little idol. God save us.

– Watch the news lately, Ms. Horde?

She looks at a movie poster thumbtacked to the wall above my head, They Drive by Night.

– Yes.

– So you heard about what happened to Whitney?

– Of course.

– You know it happened in the same school where your daughter was squatting last summer?

Her eyes move from the poster to my face.

– Yes, I believe I made that connection.

– And it never occurred to you to mention to me that your daughter knew her?

– Joseph.

She drains her drink.

– Trust me when I tell you that what happened to Whitney Vale was only a matter of time. As for the rest. You were recommended to me as a detective of sorts. I suppose I assumed that if any of this were important, you'd detect it.

I look at the ice melting in my glass.

– Uh-huh. Your husband know Whitney Vale?

– My husband? Oh, God, yes. Dr. Dale Edward Horde makes a special point of meeting all his daughter's friends whenever possible.

– Why's that?

She looks at me, levers her upper body up from the couch. I can see the entire breast now. It's perfect.

– Josephs. I was sixteen when I first met Dale, and he was thirty-four. Why do you think he wants to meet the friends of his teenage daughter? God, didn't you know that's why Amanda ran away?

She drops flat again.

– And if you're going to fuck me you better do it now before I pass out.

She's staring at me, perfect tit hanging out, skirt so high I can see the lower lip of a black thong that probably cost a hundred dollars. My dick is hard. I shift in my seat. I rub a hand over my unshaven face. The patch of sunburned skin is still tender. I swallow the last of my drink and stand up. I walk to the bottle on the counter.

– I'll pass.

Behind me, she sighs.

– Well, you're not the first.

I pour a quick shot, down it and pour another before I return to my chair.