Page 19 of The Woman with the Wallet

“Just like you as a friend, man,” I teased, making him shoot me a smile as he turned his screen for me to see.

“She was arrested for trespassing four years ago. The charges didn’t stick, though. Looks like she had a killer fucking lawyer, actually.”

A killer lawyer?

When she was wearing a shitty jacket and cheap shoes? That felt… off.

“What’s her name?” I asked, unable to read the small print from so far away.

“Maxine Anne Taylor.”

“Max,” I said, thinking there was no way the woman in the video would go by such a feminine name. “You got a current address?”

“Let’s see,” Zeno said, turning the screen back to himself and starting to type.

“Seems like she lives in an apartment with some girl named Megan and another named Nicole. Those two are together.”

“Megan and Nicole?” I asked, annoyed with myself that I wanted Max to be into guys. Since she’d fucking stolen so much from me. But I couldn’t seem to help it, either.

“Yeah. And some dude who uses their address as his mailing one but seems to work as a flight attendant, so he’s out of town a solid fifteen or twenty nights a month.”

“So, he’s Max’s boyfriend?” I asked, pretending I wanted to know if there was going to be someone around who might pose a problem when I showed up to take my property back. Only I knew that I just wanted to know if she was single or not.

“No. No, seems like he’s with the other two girls. One, big, happy, ethical poly relationship. According to their social media presence. Max, well, Max doesn’t seem to like anyone but her roommates,” he said, smirking at his screen as he looked at Max’s socials.

“Alright. Let me see that address,” I said, leaning over the desk to look at it. “I appreciate it, Zeno. I will get back to you to pay you for your time.”

“Think you paid it in labor, man,” Zeno said, leaning back in his chair, cradling his coffee in both hands. “Don’t think the place was this clean when I moved in.”

“All you gotta do is your laundry,” I told him, finishing my coffee.

“It’s that or go naked,” he said, confirming my earlier thoughts. “Alright. Go get whatever precious shit is in that wallet to drag your ass all the way over here.”

With that, I made my way out.

Night had fallen by the time I got down to the street, the line for the club wrapping around the side street. Men in tight tees. Women in short dresses. Everyone shivering in the cold.

Taking a deep breath that mingled crisp air with car exhaust and the gyro cart a few buildings down, I made my way towardthe subway, figuring it would be the fastest way to get where I was going.

Some part of me felt bad going over to her place in the middle of the night. Three women living alone had to be worried enough already about normal guys being creeps. Having someone like me darken their door was worse.

But I couldn’t risk Max having my diamonds any longer than necessary. It wouldn’t be easy to move that many of them. That said, she seemed smart and ballsy. She’d figure it out. I had to get them back before that.

Max lived in a typical high-rise right across from a newer super-high-rise. By contrast, her building seemed squat and ancient. But it easily had to house a solid three to five hundred people. The kind of busy building that allowed for real anonymity and a certain sense of safety.

Or, at least, that was what I thought as I raised my hand to knock on her door after lucking in by rushing into the lobby behind someone else down below.

But then her locks slid.

The door opened.

And I realized there was no such thing as safety sometimes.

Someone had fucked her up.

There were bruises on her cheek, jaw, and chin. There was a nasty fingerprint necklace around her throat. The whites of one of her eyes was blood red.

Not only beaten to high hell, but strangled.

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