Smile grows.“Anything I want.”
“Not a bad gig.”
“Kid’s generous.Take care of him—and his pets—he’ll take care of you.”
“You know anything about the gaming world?”
“Nope.”
“But you trust him.”
“Yep.”
“You also serve as hired muscle?”I ask.
“Never come up.”
“But you could if necessary.Boxer, I’m guessing?”
Daryl gives me an unexpected wink.“Ballroom dancer.”
Well, now my day of surprises is complete.What the hell.In for a penny, in for a pound.I unsling my messenger bag, let it rest on top of my luggage.“Guess I’ll give this a try.”
Daryl nods as if my decision was never in doubt.Maybe when it comes to the workings of Boy Wonder, Bart, it never is.
“But any snake that escapes is a you problem,” I warn him.
“Nope.”He pauses.“We’ll put Genni in charge.”
“Deal.”I stick out my hand.After a belated moment, he shakes it, his expression serious.
“Genni will provide meals,” he explains.“When you need to go somewhere, ring for me.”
“You’ll drive me anywhere at any time?”
He pauses long enough to give me a considering look.I don’t think there are very many things Daryl misses, and even fewer people he can’t assess.“What kind of places are you thinking?”
My turn to smile.“Well, now that you’ve brought it up…”
“THIS IS NOTa good idea.”
“You’ll learn soon enough, most of mine aren’t.”
“You know anything about Tucson?”Daryl asks from behind the steering wheel.After a quick shower, change of clothes, and apple snagged from the fridge, I’d met him out front, destinationaddress in hand.I tried to ride shotgun.He’d pointedly opened the rear door for me.
“First time here,” I concede.I have my phone open and am studying the picture Aliah gave me of her and her missing friend, Sabera.The two are positioned with their arms around each other’s shoulders, heads touching.Aliah is recognizable with her short, tousled hair.Sabera, on the other hand, sports more traditional long black locks.The pose is intimate, speaking of a deep friendship between the older woman and her younger charge, but there’s something about Sabera that tugs at me.She isn’t classically beautiful; her face is a bit wide, her brow heavy.But her eyes—a deep gray—grab you.They speak of limitless secrets and sorrowful knowledge.
I can already tell she’s one of those people who will never truly be known, not even by those who love her.
I think, if someone took a picture of me, I would look much the same.
“Grant and Alvernon is what you’d call the not-so-good side of town,” Daryl is saying.
“That makes sense.”And matches the scenery.The clusters of bright, shiny strip malls and big box stores lining each side of the crumbly six-lane avenue are rapidly giving way to boarded-up buildings, vacant lots, and pawnshops.Always a sign in my business that I’m getting close.
Daryl slows, peers to the right where there’s a squat, bile-green apartment building with a cracked asphalt parking lot and sagging second-story deck.One of the rain spouts has come loose and is falling away from the beat-up exterior, which fits with the eviction notice I already spy plastered against the lower corner unit windows.I’m guessing that’s our destination.
Daryl pulls into the parking lot.Beneath the shade of a broad tree dotting the front corner, six people turn to stare.Two adults, two teens, two smaller children.Maybe all one family, maybe two families hanging out together.I peg them to be refugees.Syrian, Pakistani, Afghan.The possibilities are endless.They’re currently eyeing the luxury sedan with the carefully guarded gazes of people who’ve come to expect the worst.
