Page 42 of Catfish

“You’re a pretty girl, Miller, has—”

"Thank youuuu." She smiles, bright and genuine, and straightens her spine so that the top of her breasts become more noticeable. "I didn't think you noticed me when we last spoke. You were kinda—"

“Has Mr. Montgomery shown any interest in you?” I rest my hands on the table, watching her excited smile turn into a confused sulk.

“Interest?”

“You don’t need the birds and the bees talk, do you?”

“No, no,” she retorts, shaking her head. “I just don’t—”

“Has he ever approached you? Maybe asked you what your plans were?”

“Yes but—”

“And did you happen to always be busy those days?”

Her brows fall. “I go back home sometimes...or hang out with friends. But, yes, I’m busy when he asks.”

I bite my bottom lip and lean forward, leaning my elbows on the table. “And I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened over the weekend.”

She swallows, tucking her chin into her chest. “I saw it on social media.”

“Do you believe it?”

She jerks her gaze back to me. “I—I don’t know. He’s always been kind to me, sometimes he waves when he’s not on his phone. He gave me his bag of chips once when they gave him two.”

I blink because I’m just...yeah.

“When I visited the mayor the day we met, Mila, he was fucking a blonde against his wall. Whatever nice tendencies you think that old man has or fed you, it’s a lie. And I want him removed.”

She gawks at me. “You mean...you want him...killed?”

I furrow my brows. “No. I want him removed from office.” She releases an exhale before the waitress starts to make her way to our table. I jerk my head to the side, not needing her right now.

“I need evidence,” I tell her. “A recording, something to release to the public.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“Anything that will show that he’s a cheating husband and doesn’t deserve to be the mayor to the great city of Bridgeport. I have the rest.”

She places her hand around her throat like my words are choking her. “The rest?”

I blow air from my mouth, easing my rising temper and keeping my cool-as-a-cucumber mentality. “Don’t worry about that. Thing is, Mila, I’m running for the Democratic ballot for president over the next few months. Montgomery has been stealing from the city’s treasury and using the money to gamble and buy whores. You see my problem?”

Her small frame starts to shake, and her jaw drops as she searches the table for, maybe, some sort of answers? I'm not sure, nor do I care. I just need her to fucking agree.

“I—um, well...what do you need me to—do you need me to grab something?”

“I need you to record something for me on your phone." I slide her cell towards her. "A risque conversation or him fucking his new Tuesday prostitute. Her name is Sapphire, wears a black dress every time she shows up, you've probably seen her."

She nods. "I have, but Mr. Montgomery said she was his CPA." Doubt starts to play a factor in this conversation quicker than the idea hit me in the first place.

“Do you know of any CPAs that wear tight dresses up to their ass and have the name Sapphire?”

“Well, no, but I’m not in the position to question him. Becky says that he doesn’t like being probed about who comes in the office. He gives us—”

“A list of names of people that will be coming to his office that week,” I finish for her. “I got that from Rebecca.”

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