Chapter 2CassieLink
Chapter 2
Cassie
I know better than to open the door, but I do anyway.
“Yep,” I say as I stare at the empty fridge. It’s a sharp contrast to the fully furnished and decorated apartment it’s located in and a testament to how far I’ve fallen.
I didn’t live beyond my means. My dad taught me better than that. Just the thought of him sends a jolt of pain to my heart.
I should have been there.
She should have been there.
I close the refrigerator door and shake away thoughts of the woman who abandoned us. She doesn’t get to live in my head anymore.
Plenty of city lights are coming in my high-rise apartment window, and I turn off the lamp by my favorite chair before sinking into it. Gary got this for me after the pilot for The Force got picked up. I’d already splurged on the apartment itself, and he’d been appalled when he came to celebrate and found it completely empty.
My, how things change.
Now, the apartment is full of things but no food. And Gary’s probably out at Ambrosia’s with his new protege. And I’m sitting here with an empty stomach in the dark to save electricity.
And to not see that stack of bills over there.
Instinctively, I look over at the growing stack and find a letter that looks suspiciously like the one Rosie tried to hand me at the office.
I’m not ready for this, but I open it anyway.
Dear Ms. Love,
We hope this letter finds you well. We have been attempting to contact you regarding your late father's estate, Robert Love, specifically regarding the private investigative firm hereby known as L I had such high hopes. I was sure he’d come to the house to declare his undying love for me, and I would do the same. My crush on Lincoln Suco hit me hard as soon as my braces came off. I woke up that next morning feeling like a woman, and when he showed up that day to go over a case with Dad, he had somehow transformed into some valiant knight of my fairytales.
Of course, I’d been the only one to have such grand revelations that day. He’d come in, ruffled my hair, and walked right past me.
Now, looking at all three of us together for the last time, I can’t help but wonder how my life would have been different if I’d stayed home. Would he have ever noticed me? Would I have eventually lost my crush on him?
I swipe the picture away.
Dad’s funeral was enough to cure my ridiculous obsession with Lincoln Suco.
My cheeks burn for an entirely different reason now.
I shake my head again, this time determined. Nothing could make me go back there. Not even the company. He can shove L&S Investigations up his?—
My phone pings, cutting off my very indecent thoughts of Lincoln and his anatomy.
‘Cassandra?
I read the name above the inquiring Facebook message.
Stephanie Braswell.
‘Steph?’
‘Hey! I wasn’t sure if you were still active on Facebook. I saw you online and thought I’d give it a shot.’
‘Hi! Yep, still me. What have you been up to?’
‘Nothing as cool as you! Out there in Hollywood, I saw the cop thing you did. I was sorry they killed you off.’
‘Not as sorry as I am.’
‘It happens.’ I’m actually in New York, but I don’t bother explaining. I can’t count how many times people assume I’m in L.A. because I’m on TV. I prefer it out here, the hustle and bustle. It makes me feel like I’m in the thick of it.
Or it did before the thick got really thin, and the show I’d been on for three years cast me aside without warning. After everything I did for them, I gave up everything.
‘Sorry about your dad,’ came another text.
Not as sorry as I am , I think again. I don’t respond. What am I gonna say? It happens ? Besides, maybe she’ll get the hint and go away. It’s not like we were BFFs in high school. If she insists on dragging up painful memories, I’ve got a few of my own to contribute.
Like the time Vinnie Martinez dumped her right before prom because he wanted to ask me. And what she and Carla Holcomb did to me afterward.
Of course, she doesn’t get the hint because my phone buzzes again. This time, her text, ‘Pretty cool, huh?’ is followed by a link.
Stupidly, I click it, and a giant image of Lincoln Suco pops up. His hair is somewhat contained, and I search for a wrinkle or two to put my former crush in its place. But all I find is that crooked grin and those piercing eyes staring back at me. I’ve never seen anyone with eyes like his, a brown so light it looks yellow and illuminated by a fire that can only be described as mischievous.
Then I read the headline below the picture and want to throw my phone.
‘Local PI Pens Book About Catching Crooks and Breaking Hearts’
I can’t believe his nerve. Of all the underhanded things he could have done, using the business my dad practically handed him in order to become famous and, judging by the name of the article, popular with the ladies.
I can’t keep ignoring him. It’s clear someone has to tell him to stop and remind him where he came from and who that PI firm belonged to.
Staying there is not an option. I’m not going back, not really, just long enough to give Lincoln Suco a piece of my mind and make sure he stops using my father’s legacy for his own gain.
Link
“I’m telling you, it was a good bust,” I say into the phone as I reach into the fridge to grab a cold pop, but only find warm ones. “Dang it! What was that guy’s name who fixed the fridge?”
“Eddie?” Quinn says on the other end of the line.
She’s been my assistant for almost a year now, ever since… I shake my head so as not to think about Robby tonight. It’s been a good day.
“Yeah, Eddie. Call him and tell him it ain’t working.”
Quinn sighs. “It’s eleven-thirty, Link. And besides, you told me to remind you never to use him again because, and I quote, “It smelled like he was up to no good.”
“Well, I was right, wasn’t I? He was no good at fixing the fridge that we paid him for. Did we pay him?” I take the warm pop and chug it down before I can taste the heat on it. Luckily for me, there’s nothing else in the fridge that can go bad.
“Pay him with what?”
“Good. Now that we’ve got this Wilco money coming in, hold it over his head until he comes back out here and does it right this time.”
I plop onto my couch and settle in for a nice evening of Kojak reruns. The bed’s right next to the sofa—one of the perks of a mother-in-law apartment, but I usually end up on the couch most nights anyway. Once my butt’s touching the cushion, it can’t see any reason to move. And, not for the first time, I run my hand through my hair, wondering if I could pull off the shaved head look.
“Link,” Quinn says, reminding me she’s still there.
“Quinn.”
“The reason I called…”
I draw a blank. I’d been so caught up in bragging about tackling that giant perp I forgot what she wanted.
She sighs again. “Frannie says there’s an issue with the paperwork on Johnny Wilco’s bounty.”
“What kind of issue? Davis and Arnold gave me the green light.”
A noise outside startles me, and I reach over to slap the button on the wall, bringing down the garage door. I’m sure it’s just a raccoon or possum, but it's better not to take any chances, even out here in the middle of nowhere. I’ve popped too many bad guys to be taking chances.
“…Wilco Senior ,” I hear Quinn saying as the garage door motor finally quiets.
“I was supposed to catch Johnny Senior? I thought he was up in state already.”
“He is. We were supposed to catch Junior—that part’s right. But the paperwork has Senior’s name on it. Not valid.”
“So, neither is my cut.” I crush the nearly empty pop can and toss it near the trash can. I’m too mad to care how close I get.
“’Fraid not.” Quinn’s voice is carried along with a sigh.
“Get Arnold on the phone.”
“It’s eleven-thirty. Linc”
“Tomorrow then.” My phone buzzes, but I don’t look. Who else would be worth talking to this late besides Quinn?
“Will do, boss. Also, um…”
“Don’t bother coming in ‘til ten.”
“Awesome!”
I go to drop the phone on the couch beside me but stop when I remember the notification. It’s from a news alert Quinn showed me how to set up a few months ago. She thought it was just for vanity and said as much, but it has practical purposes, too. Like knowing what information is out there about me and who might know what.
When you upset as many people in town as I do, it’s good to keep up with these things.
I click the link and am greeted by a full-page picture of my handsome mug. It’s a good one. I look rugged and tall. I won't argue so much next time Charley wants to do a piece on me.
‘Local PI Pens Book About Catching Crooks and Breaking Hearts’
“That’s not good.”
I read further, and it gets worse. He talks about the bounty I thought we discussed in confidence and Darla. I scan the article for mention of her name and heave a sigh of relief when he at least does me a solid about that.
But still, this could be bad.
Now everybody I owe money to is gonna think I have a lucrative book deal and a huge bounty that I won’t actually get. Plus, every lovely lady I’m entertaining will think they’re not the only one.
It is a good picture, though. I’ll give him that.
What kind of adventure would the Wilco bust be?
It was definitely procedural. There were mountains of red tape and a judge with a chip on his shoulder. It was not my fault that he found himself in a compromising situation where I happened to be standing with a 125x optical zoom camera.
I shake my head and drop the phone.
Then, I pull out my notebook and start taking notes.
- 3 day stakeout
- chased him 4 blocks
- big burly dude
- broke my ankle jumping the fence and still caught him
- Judge Bartlett (change name) BBEG?
“Good bones,” I say to no one, then rip the sheet of paper off and add it to the stack on the end table.
The typewriter, an old Black Royal my grandpa used to consider ‘portable,’ sits in the center of the coffee table. There’s a limp sheet of nearly clean paper hanging out of it. I don’t have to look at it to know I’ve only written two lines. Two great lines, but two, nonetheless.
“Better start living up to the reputation I just gave myself!”
I think about cracking open another cold pop before I remember the fridge is out and get angry all over again. So, I fill a glass of water from the sink we had installed right before…
Nope. Not gonna think about that.
It feels good to scoot the typewriter closer and pop my knuckles before staring at the nearly blank paper.
Phineas Abrams didn’t know what hit him, but I did.
My fist!
“That’s good stuff,” I tell myself, then remember why I stopped there in the first place.
Phin’s got it out for me already. The last thing I need is to use his real name in a book, especially one destined to become a bestseller.
I scratch out his name, write ‘Ferb’ over it, laugh harder, and then scratch that out. Then the theme song gets stuck in my head, and I know my evening of emulating Hemingway is shot.
A loud knock on the metal garage door startles me. The pen drops out of my hand and leaves a long blue line down the perfectly good sheet of paper.
I’m about to curse at whatever made the noise when it happens again.
This time, it registers. That’s a real knock.
Not good.
I hit the power button on the remote. I wasn’t paying attention to Kojak anyway. Then I reach over and pull the string to turn off the desk lamp, plunging my tiny apartment into darkness.
“We know you’re in there!”
“Yeah, I can smell your cheap cologne from here!”
I pull out my collar and sniff.
“Open up!”
They bang on the door until it nearly rattles off the track.
“All right, all right!”
I hit the button to open the door and get up to greet my visitors.
“Old Spice is a classic, I’ll have you?—”
A meaty fist shoves the words back into my mouth.
I stumble back and wipe the blood away. “Come on, man. I have a date tomorrow.”
The meat fist’s partner connects with my stomach. “That better?”
No. “Yeah.”
“Phin sends his congratulations on the article. Said to tell you that you don’t look half as weaselly as you really are,” Goon One says. I knew his name at one point, but something about constant blows to the head makes it hard to remember.
“Tell him that means a lot coming from him.”
Goons One and Two look at each other, befuddled. I use the opportunity to hit the garage door button again. As it slowly lowers, I smile and wave.
Goon Two grabs the door and holds it open. The motor screams, but it’s no match for brute dumb strength.
Goon One pushes his jacket away from the waistband of his pants. “Seein’ as how you just came into a considerable windfall, Phin would like to move you to the accelerated payment schedule. ASAP.”
“That’s the thing. There’s no windfall. Red tape got me.”
“Sucks for you, but we were told not to come back without payment, one way or another.”
I stand and put my arms out to the side. “Fine. But tell him he’s off my Christmas list,” I mumble.