Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RACHEL
I couldn’t spend the whole day with Frankie and Mojave, I had other cases to look into and at least one interview to do with Frankie’s teacher in the afternoon, but I took a minute after finishing my conversation with Mojave to check in with Frankie, leaning next to her as she drew something with her tongue sticking out of her mouth, her eyes glued to the paper and her expression serious.
“What’re you drawing?”
“Breakfast,” Frankie said promptly, then pointed to the picture. “That’s me. See? I did the short hair because short hair is better. That’s Mojave. He lets his hair grow because the military told him it had to be short and now they can’t make him.” She looked up at Mojave for confirmation. “Right?”
“Right,” he agreed. He hadn’t moved from his spot against the wall, but I didn’t draw attention to that. That he didn’t feel the need to hover was a good thing. Frankie would be less likely to be open with him if he hovered.
With that in mind, I moved to the small seat beside her, studying the picture without looming over her. I tapped the table with the breakfast. “Is this the tacos I’ve heard so much about? Were they normal tacos or did they have things like eggs or bacon?”
“They had eggs and cheese and avocado and some kind of spicy sauce. I liked it. Do you like spicy food?”
“I do,” I agreed with a smile when she looked up at me. “What’s your favorite snack? Something spicy, salty or sweet?”
She looked up, her expression thoughtful as she considered her answer, tapping the crayon against her chin. “I like chips best. There’s a lot of different kinds of chips. But breakfast tacos are really good too.” She pointed at another piece of paper next to her. “Do you want to color too?”
“Oh, definitely. I love to draw,” I agreed, pulling the paper closer to me.
Frankie moved the crayons between us so I could reach them better and I smiled at the thoughtful gesture.
With the notes I'd gotten from Arthur about her frequent fighting and arguing with teachers, I'd worried Frankie was a lot more troubled than she appeared to be. Yet sitting beside me, carefully sharing her crayons and chatting about her morning, she seemed like any other seven-year-old. It made me wonder where the discrepancy was coming from. There was more to the story than I’d heard so far.
This may have had something to do with Frankie’s life at home.
Frankie had been expected to solve most of her problems on her own.
After seeing how her parents reacted to caring for her, it wasn’t entirely surprising that she didn’t have the tools to handle conflict in a more appropriate way.
At least from what I’d seen, her parents barely gave her the basics before moving on to their own problems.
We colored for a bit until Ted came back from his morning tasks and I remembered I had a meeting soon. I helped Frankie clean up, offering her the picture I drew as she stood and looked around for Mojave.
“Here. This is for you.”
She looked down at the picture, her eyes wide and confused. “Who is that?”
“That’s you,” I told her, grinning at the incredulous look on her face. “I’m not great at drawing but–”
The little girl started to cackle, wrapping her arms around her middle as she laughed. I didn’t take offense, I knew I wasn’t a good artist. It just so happened that my poor artistry warmed a lot of kids to me because it was bad enough that it always made them laugh.
Mojave moved closer, looking over my shoulder at the picture. For the first time since we met, his expression lightened and he let out a huff of laughter, shaking his head. “That’s Frankie?”
The almost smile changed his face for the better, making him look less like a gruff biker and more easy going. If he actually smiled, I got the feeling he’d be a handsome man. He noticed me watching him and the smile fell, his brows beetling as he studied me. “What?”
Shaking my head, I forced my attention off him and back onto the picture.
“Nothing. I’ve always known I’m not a great artist. Drawing isn’t my strong suit.
But give me a prompt and I can write pretty well.
I aced any essay put in front of me in school.
” I smiled down at Frankie, who was still snickering.
“We’ve all got our special talents. What’s yours? ”
“Uh…” She looked thoughtful before shrugging. “I’m good at sports. I always get an A in gym.”
Mojave wrinkled his nose. “You can fail gym?”
I elbowed him gently, nodding in encouragement to Frankie. “Sports are a lot of fun. Maybe we can find a team for you?”
She made a face at the idea, so maybe now wasn’t the best time, especially with everything happening in school, but I’d keep the option open to her. If we could get a handle on things and ensure she felt safe and secure, she might come around on the idea.
MOJAVE
After seeing how amused Frankie was by Rachel’s art, I brought her to the one artist in the crew I knew about.
I’d already planned on bringing her there anyway since Killian’s tattoo shop was the quietest place I could think of where Frankie could get some of her work done, but he was a good artist. I figured after she spent so much time drawing, she might like to meet someone who did that kind of thing professionally.
The shop was near Axel’s bar, which led to some…
questionable decisions from some guys on the crew.
Killian warned people in advance that if they were coming to him drunk looking for a stupid tattoo, he’d do it just to punish them for bringing it to his shop.
They knew the consequences. But for the most part, his shop was quiet, especially during the day.
He didn’t even open until the afternoon, but his apartment was upstairs, and he unlocked the door to the shop for me when I texted him that we were here.
“Uh, hey man,” Killian greeted, looking from me to Frankie with a confused frown. “What’s going on?”
“Frankie needs a quiet spot to do her homework. And I wanted to show her your art.”
It looked like Killian wasn’t fully awake enough to process what I was saying. With his work hours, he was up late a lot, so it didn’t surprise me. He needed coffee to function normally. He blinked at me, obvious confusion on his face, but stepped back after a minute to let us both in.
“She can work at the table over there, I guess,” he said, still frowning. “Why is she with you right now? Shouldn’t she be in school?”
“Got suspended for fighting,” was my reply as I ducked past him, ushering Frankie over to a table pushed up against a wall that Killian had out for people to set their stuff on while they were in his chair.
There was a stool nearby and I rolled it over, setting Frankie up with the classwork Rachel had given me and a pencil from the cupholder on Killian’s work station.
“Do I have to?” Frankie whined, spinning the stool side to side and scowling at the papers.
“Do you wanna be stupid like the rest of them?” I answered.
Killian made a disgruntled sound. “Dude. You can’t say that to a kid.”
I just gave him a blank look. “Why not? It’s true.”
Letting out a long suffering sigh, he scrubbed his hands over his face before dropping them heavily.
“I’m not awake enough for this. I’m going to grab a cup of coffee before I have to deal with you.
Don’t tell the kid she’ll be stupid if she doesn’t do her homework.
Classwork doesn’t set the standard for stupidity. ”
Grunting in agreement, I leaned against the table, ushering Frankie closer as Killian walked away. I gestured at the work in front of her, telling her, “Get it done and we’ll go get ice cream.”
Killian froze, looking over his shoulder incredulously. “Bribes aren’t better, Mojave!”
I gave a pointed look at Frankie, who had immediately scooted closer to the table to start her work, scribbling away with her tongue poked out of her mouth like she always did when she was concentrating. “It worked, didn’t it?”
He groaned, spinning back around and stomping back upstairs.
“Why’s he mad?” Frankie asked, looking up at me.
“He’s not. He just needs coffee. Pay attention to what you’re doin’.”
“This stuff is hard, though,” she complained.
Looking around, I found another chair and moved it closer, looking over the papers in front of her. “What’s hard?”
“Pluses,” she grumbled. “There’s too many and it’s hard to keep track.”
“Show me.”
We were working together on her math work when Killian came back.
He had a coffee in hand and a disgruntled expression on his face.
When I raised an eyebrow at him, he made a face.
“Hook up from last night is still here. She tried asking for free ink. I’m tired of women using–” He cut himself off, looking at Frankie, who was counting on her fingers, then changed what he was going to say– “using alone time with me as a transaction for a tat.”
It unfortunately wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for him.
They all learned eventually that Killian wasn’t the kind of guy to let himself be manipulated.
He had enough experience with that in his life to see it for what it was.
If those women jumped into his bed hoping for a tattoo and didn’t end up getting what they wanted in the end, then that was their problem.
“What’s a tat?” Frankie asked, proving she was paying more attention than I’d thought. Luckily, it was an innocent enough question to answer.
“Tattoo.”
Killian came closer, showing Frankie his arm that was covered in ink. “Like drawing, but permanent on skin.”
She eyed his arm curiously. “Can I have one?”
“Sure. When you turn eighteen and graduate from high school. It’ll be your graduation present.”
Frankie looked disgruntled by his comment until I added, “It’s not legal until you’re eighteen. And it hurts.”
Her eyes widened. “It does?”
Killian nodded sagely. “It does. It’s not just a pen on skin. It’s a needle that puts ink under the skin. Depending on where you get the tattoo, it’s incredibly painful. Which is why you gotta be an adult to get one. What’re we working on anyway? Anything good?”
“Pluses,” Frankie grumbled. “I hate math.”
I couldn’t blame her. I hated math in school too.
Killian hummed, rolling back on his stool to grab a sketchbook he kept on hand.
He tore a piece out of it, rolling back and setting it down next to Frankie’s paper.
“I used to struggle with math too. But my dad showed me how to use art to help me wrap my head around it and it helped, at least with the beginning stuff. Look. If you draw circles for each number…”
I listened to him teach her, trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong. I’d told Frankie it was fine to use her fingers, but she still struggled when the numbers were greater than ten. I hadn’t thought about making circles or whatever.
I pulled out my phone, studying my contacts. Who else on the crew could help Frankie like Killian was doing? If I couldn’t do a good job, I could at least find someone who could.