Page 10 of Snow Blind
"My father ran off with my mother's sister," she replied.
"Well, mine picked my mother out of the women he trafficked from Central America, took her home to his family, made her his housekeeper and then his whore," she said.
Helen watched the anger in the woman, an anger which still needed a home to flourish and infest every living organism around the open sore. However, she saw another flicker of an idea in her eyes, leading her to ask, "So he paid for you to attend medical school?"
"How did you guess that?" Lashonda asked.
"You hate and respect him at the same time," Helen said. "Fathers can do that to people, but what I have come to understand in the past few months is that men are also fragile. The right male figures in their lives to guide them can either make them into wonderful, loving fathers or assholes."
She said it with honesty, thinking of Mark Neary and how he had raised his son Michael, who was known as Mr. Slow. Michael had married Helen’s cousin Abigail and was a wonderful father to his daughter Naomi and became a friend to Helen. His brother, whom she was involved in a relationship with, was raised by the same man and was also a good guy.
"And what does that mean to me, Helen?"
"It means, Lashonda, that your anger needs a new direction and focus," she said. "You're fixated on who he is now. The real way to get to a man like that is to understand where he came from and how he was made into the monster he is. You get those answers and you understand the man."
Lashonda scowled at her. "You're smarter than you look."
"Why do people keep saying that? Do I look like a dumbass or if I am mentally dull? You know the Fer de Lance asked me if I was unwell or onthe medication," she said, frowning imitating his accent.
It was then that Lashonda Temple actually laughed. She laughed loudly, holding her belly. Each time the laughter eased off, she looked at Helen and laughed harder.
"I don't think it's that funny," Helen said, poking out her lip.
"Honey, when the baddest mutherfucker on two continents asks if you're unwell or on medication, you know that your radar is left of center," she said, laughing again. "I changed my mind; you are going to be so much fun to train."
Helen didn't appreciate Lashonda's sense of humor, especially at her expense. "And the dude in the other room?"
"He lied to me and said his name was Bryan," Lashonda said, picking up on the change in Helen's tone. "Let's get his fingerprints, run them through the database, and find out who he really is."
"Roger that," Helen said. "Question. Why were you in the same spot where he was shot, or why were you in the same spot where he fell?"
"I was there to stage an accident for a contract, which I didn't fulfill," she said. "Azrael is not going to be pleased with me."
Helen stated, "So we need to reacquire your target and restage the set up. Let me get my computer and get an update on where the target's next move is to help you get in place. Will that help?"
"Naw, I got it," she said looking down the hall. "Helen, this feels weird. I think I fucked up in a way that is going to change a few things. Coincidences and me aren't good friends. That dude being in the same location I was staging an accident is just too weird."
"You got an image of the target...but wait...yeah, the dude in the other room is missing his face. I mean, it's there, but in a Phantom of the Opera kind of way," Helen replied, turning down her lips.
"Again, too coincidental. If the universe is his silent ally, I'm supposed to help him," Lashonda said.
"Let's just make sure we help ourselves first," Helen said, going for her Technician kit to remove her finger printing set.
Today they would find out who he was, or at least she thought they would. In the room where the man's bandaged hands were, she looked at his fingers, ready to ink them for fingerprinting, only to discover the man had none.
Helen was taken aback. She whispered into the void, "What in the fresh hell did this accident-prone cat drag home?"
