Page 43 of Nightshade

“Because it’s my job. So it sounds like she had this… pattern of getting jobs that put her close to people with wealth.”

Stilwell stopped there, hoping Galloway would continue. He didn’t.

“What I’m getting at is, it sounds like she used her jobs to get to people—men—who could help her,” Stilwell said. “Is that what you would say?”

“I think I already did,” Galloway said. “What did she do, rip off one of those old fuckers? You ask me, he got what he deserved.”

“So you knew that she… was this way, had been this way as far back as the caterer. But you stayed together and moved down here?”

“Man, we broke up so many times… but then we always got back together. Except the last time, I guess.”

“You said that was a long time ago, but you also said it’s been a couple months since you’ve seen her. Which is it?”

“I actually didn’t see her. I talked to her. I still let her stay here when she has no place else to go. She’s got a key.”

“Is this a one-bedroom?”

“Yes.”

He drew the word out in a long frustrated tone.

“She sleep on the couch?” Stilwell asked. “Or with you?”

“None of your fucking business,” Galloway snapped.

“Okay, then tell me this. Was that the last time she stayed here, two months ago? That would be, what, March?”

“It was April. But I wasn’t here. I had a gig in Georgia. She called up, said she needed to crash, and I said, have at it.”

“What kind of gig? Acting?”

“You could call it that. I get booked as Deadpool at Comic Cons around the country. It’s good money between the real jobs. I’ve got the same height, weight, and build as Ryan Reynolds.”

Stilwell nodded. He knew Reynolds was a movie star. He and Tash had seen one of his films at the Casino. But he feigned confusion to draw Galloway out. The actor read him and started shuffling through the script pages scattered on the coffee table. Finally, he held up an eight-by-ten photo of a man in a red-and-black costume that covered him from head to toe. He had what looked like two ninja swords strapped to his back.

“That’s me,” Galloway said. “As Deadpool.”

Stilwell nodded again and smiled.

“So, Deadpool is a character?” he said as if just understanding. “How often do you do this?”

“About once a month. I work the circuit. It promotes the movies. It’s good money.”

His saying the money was good twice made Stilwell think it probably wasn’t.

“What about this month?” he asked. “Did you have a Deadpool gig?”

“That was a Comic Cruise. Left out of Tampa.”

“When was that?”

“Like two weeks ago. It was a three-day cruise. Why are you asking about me?”

Galloway had just given Stilwell what appeared to be an alibi for the weekend Leigh-Anne Moss had been fired and—Stilwell thought—murdered. He assumed that the Comic Cruise had been held over a weekend, and two weeks ago would mean two weekends ago. It would be easy enough to check the dates of the cruise and confirm that he’d been on the ship.

“It’s my job to ask questions,” he said. “Let’s get back to Leigh-Anne. Where is she from?”

“Originally Detroit,” Galloway said. “Like everybody else, she came out here to find fame and fortune. But it didn’t exactly turn out that way.”

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