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I don’t know why I haven’t cleared out the stacks of money from the bag. I could, and I should; it’s my money from my casino and she won’t be needing it anytime soon. If ever.
But something keeps stopping me from taking it. I’m blaming my sense of honor for Lady Luck; I have to respect that it was pure chance, a strange stroke of good fortune—for her—and it would be no different if someone else had sat at that machine.
Fuck. What a stupid thought.
Everythingwould be different if someone else had sat at that stupid machine.
I find her cheap cell phone tucked inside a zippered pocket I almost missed. At first, it seems strange for anyone to put their phone somewhere unreachable… but then, maybe that was the point. Clara didn’t have the budget, or the time, to buy a new phone before running from her ex.
My theory is dead on. The passcode to the phone was easy—Willow’s birthday, which I had Bambi grab for me along with other paperwork in case this “visit” extends into the school year. No sense in depriving the kid of an education just because her parents are shitty.
I’m quick to switch the settings to Airplane Mode, just in case anyone decides to try using the GPS to locate Clara. I’ll have Pavel do a full sweep through just to make doubly sure no one can follow the tech trail here; we can’t forget who her father is and who he works for. As much as I’d love the chance to take him out in a firefight, I don’t want that shit blowing up my house.
Most of the phone’s storage is taken up by pictures of Clara and Willow. Every picture, no matter how happy she seems with her daughter, is tinted with a shadow of sadness in her eyes, a melancholy tightness in her smile.
I’m bothered by how much that bothers me.
Time to close the photo album and look for some real information.
Her friend from that tiny apartment, Roxy, has been blowing up her phone with texts and calls demanding updates. No voicemail, but that’s typical, I guess. Mostly just messages in thetext inbox saying things like,Are you okay?andAre you still alive?andDid he fuck your brains out?
I snort at that one. There are a few others of this woman referring to me in rather flattering ways. One text asks if I have a brother, and if that brother is single.
Right. That’s exactly what Tolya needs—conjugal visits from his accuser’s best friend.
Come to think of it, Roxy may be a problem. A serious problem. From the five minutes I spent in her microscopic living room, I got the impression that she’s not the kind of woman to just let things slide when it comes to Clara and the girl. She watched me like a hawk from the second I darkened her doorway; I have no doubt she’d comb the desert to find her best friend and pseudo-niece.
What Iamdoubting is my sudden distaste at the idea of getting rid of Roxy. It’s nothing different from what I’ve ordered before; we can’t have witnesses or nosy neighbors complicating things. So why does the idea of eliminating Clara’s best friend put a bad taste in my mouth?
I shake it off and scroll through more of the texts. The ones that grab my attention are the ones that make my blood instantly boil.
MARTIN: Where the fuck are you??
MARTIN: Pick up the phone, you dumb bitch!
MARTIN: Clara, I swear to fucking God, you better bring my daughter back or so help me
MARTIN: Want me to call your father? Is that what you want?
MARTIN: Your ass better be back home with the brat
MARTIN: Baby, I’m sorry. I’m just worried. I’m so fucking worried about you
MARTIN: I love you so much
MARTIN: Please, Baby, pick up the phone
MARTIN: I promise I’ll treat you so good when I get home Baby
MARTIN: Unless that’s it? You found some other dick?
MARTIN: Out spreading your legs like the fucking slut you are?
MARTIN: I bet that kid isn’t even mine.
MARTIN: Whore
MARTIN: You’ll fucking regret this, Clara. I swear to God, you’ll regret ever leaving me and you’ll be lucky if I take your stupid whore pussy back once you’re on your knees begging
