Page 10 of Dragonfly

I could get a knife, too. Antonio’s got plenty. But when I need a little bit of space if I hope to survive our confrontation, I can’t get close enough to stab him. I need the gun, but it looks like I’m shit out of luck for now.

Swallowing my frustration, I lean against the glass case. I use my arms to push up my tits, hoping that the free peek might be enough to jog his memory until he suddenly remembers he has a couple hidden behind his counter.

When all he does is stare down my shirt, I give him a tiny smile. “So when should I come back, see if you got a shipment?”

He shrugs, eyes still glued to my chest. “Dunno. Week, maybe two. But if you’re in a rush, you can always check out the West Side. Most guns come in through there.”

Yeah. I guess I could. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Finally remembering there’s more to me than a pair of boobs, Antonio nods. “Watcha need it for anyway? Protection?”

“You could say that.”

“Good girl like you, maybe Springfield’s too hard of a place. Maybe you need to go back South.”

Huh. It’s nice to know that my affected drawl is still working.

“Maybe you’re right,” I lie. “But I came here because I have a job to do. I can’t leave until I finish it.”

“Yeah? Well, good luck.”

I push away from the glass case. “Thanks.”

I’ll need it.

I don’t have a gun, though I do have a new pick-up.

Who knows? Maybe luck’s a little on my side tonight because, when I arrive to get my passenger, I see it’s the same big guy who was in my ride when my gun went missing.

I want to ask him. I want to know if he saw the weapon, or if—like I suspect—he’s responsible for it vanishing. I’ve gone through the whole vehicle at least four more times since the other day and it’s nowhere to be found. Since I’m absolutely sure I had it in my purse before this Vin guy accepted my ride, it only makes sense that he has to know what happened to it.

I never get the chance. After he nods at me, as though he recognized me from the driver who took him to the office building the other day, he immediately takes out his phone. I just manage to confirm his destination is Il Sogno, one of the Dragonflies’ properties, before he’s got his phone to his ear.

“Hey. Yeah. I’m on my way.” He pauses, then adds, “Yup. Kieran’s still got my truck. Wait… what do you mean you saw it parked in front of the laundromat?” The big guy grumbles, and I’m glad I’m not the one he’s making that noise out. “He said he had shit to do this week on the West Side. No, I don’t know what it was, but if Kieran’s back, I want my truck.”

He lets the person on the other end of the phone speak some more, then says, “I’ll let the boss know there’s been a change of— what the fuck do you mean he knows?” He slaps the empty seat next to him. “Shit. I knew that kid was a loose cannon. Alright. You stay at the office. I’ll see if I can catch up to Damien.”

My ears perk up.

Damien.

My passenger finishes his call, then clears his throat, trying to catch my attention despite the fact I’ve been listening intently to his entire conversation.

“Hey, uh… change of plans. Instead of Il Sogno, can you drop me off at Springfield Wash? The one on Main. I’ll double your tip if you do.”

Shit. To get a chance to see what Damien Libellula is up to right now, I’d wipe the ride clean. But since that might be pretty suspicious, I just say, “Sure,” and update the address in my maps app.

The Springfield Wash off of Main is part of a strip mall with the row of businesses facing out and the parking lot built behind the strip. There’s only one way in to the parking lot, but when I put my blinker on to turn into it, my passenger clears his throat again.

“The front’s fine,” he tells me, pointing at an empty spot in front of the parking meter. “You can let me out here.”

Damn it. I was hoping to see if the flashy red car made it to the lot first or we did.

“Sure thing,” I answer, flicking the blinker off before pulling into the empty spot.

This time, I get a muttered ‘thanks’ as he climbs out of his car. I see him bee-line right for this pricy-looking truck that’s a better fit for a man his size. He shakes his head, pats the bumper, then strides purposely toward the laundromat’s front door.

Only after he slips inside do I kill the engine on my car. I figure I have five, ten minutes before some nosy meter maid comes by and sees that I didn’t put any time into the parking meter. That should be more than enough time to go by foot, peeking around the edge of the last building near the entrance, searching for Damien.

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