Page 30 of The Fallen Man
“I got cash. You tell me if there is a girl here.”
“Lots of girls, but I ain’t a pimp. Try two blocks over.”
“No, I’m looking for specific girl. Caitlin St. Cloud.”
“Huh. Yeah, I don’t know anyone named Caitlin,” said Jamal.
“You sure? Maybe she uses Katie.”
“Sorry,” said Jamal. “There’s a Michaela two doors up.” Caitlin was impressed. Jamal sounded so honest.
“But at this address. Maybe there is some other girl?”
“Nah,” said Jamal.
They were just out of view of her peephole. She could only see the Russian’s back, and her hand tightened into a fist as he reached into his back pocket. She relaxed when she saw it was cash but then tensed again. Jamal’s family was as broke as she was.
The Russian held out the money. “You’re sure?”
“I should take your cash,” said Jamal, “but honestly, man, there ain’t no one living here named Caitlin. There’s just old lady Carpetti. Someone was living upstairs, but they just moved out. I don’t know who. They worked nights a lot.”
The Russian grunted and was about to put the bills away, but then he seemed to reconsider. “If you find anything out about the one who moved. Call me.” He wrapped a twenty around a business card and stuffed it into Jamal’s shirt.
“What’d this Caitlin chick do anyway?” asked Jamal. “Key your car?”
“Mind your own business,” snapped the Russian and walked back across the street to a large black SUV.
Jamal waited until the SUV left and then knocked cautiously on her door. Caitlin opened it with a shaking hand.
“Are you OK?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Jamal. “Are you?”
“People think I owe them a lot of money,” said Caitlin. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t have anything to do with it, but they still think I owe.”
Jamal nodded. “He looked like a loan shark. Do you want me to text you if I see him around again?”
Caitlin nodded. “Let me know, but don’t… Don’t put yourself on the line, Jamal. I’m serious. These are bad people.”
“I’m not crazy, but if I see something, I’ll text.”
“Thanks, Jamal,” said Caitlin. “I’m working a wedding today.I’ll bring you home some cake.”
Jamal grinned. “That’s the kind of bribe I like.”
Jackson
The Detective’s Kid
Jackson leaned against the wall and nursed a vodka and soda. The Capitol Hill parties were not parties. They were work events where everyone hoped someone else drank too much and said the wrong thing. They were a competitive sporting event for extroverts. Eleanor, who had spent years training for such events by being married to an abusive husband, was hands down champ of the ring, but Jackson wasn’t in fighting shape. He invariably just ended up being rude to someone and walking away. Which at least upheld the Deveraux reputation for assholery but wasn’t particularly helpful.
“Found you,” said Hannah Nowitsky. She had brown hair and the Capitol Hill intern’s uniform of awkward business attire, but at barely twenty, she had a mature presence that Jackson knew many found intimidating. Jackson also knew that she had inherited it and her no-nonsense attitude from her police detective father. Detective Nowitsky had been willing to work with Jackson on a few occasions in return for letters of recommendation from Eleanor to get Hannah into Brown. Hannah wasn’t wasting the opportunity. She interned for Eleanor on breaks and was rocking a 3.9 GPA. She was also paying dividends by informing on Eleanor’s staff to Jackson.
“There’s a lot of red in the room tonight,” said Jackson.
“Yeah,” said Hannah. “I need to talk to you about that.”
“Kay,” said Jackson, taking a sip, but neither of them moved. Jackson enjoyed that Hannah had already learned that sudden movement attracted attention. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he took it out and glanced at the face.
