Page 47 of My Girl
There’s still a window that needs to be replaced, but after spending all of my free time in the Galloway House, the wall is patched up and both floors are finally clean enough for a party.
“Then we’ll start decorating soon,” she says.
“And the guests?” I ask.
“Everyone’s coming. It’s going to be packed.”
“This is—” I stop. I’m at a loss for words. I don’t know how to feel about it.
“Exciting,” Penny finally says.
My stomach flutters. I’m not sure if “exciting” is the right term for it, but I fake a smile and go along with it. On the surface, I’m eager for it. This party has the potential to give me the answers to my questions. If my mother—someone who loves me—can keep me at a distance due to blood that I supposedly share with a killer, then proving that he’s avictimwill give me the ability to prove my worth, and give me the opportunity to shove my innocence in her face.
But with each day that passes, my mind is increasingly on overdrive, sensitive to every subtle change in the atmosphere. A party like this may drown me even deeper than before, leaving me with more questions than ever.
“It’s getting cold,” I say. “Let’s head back.”
We walk back to the car, and I make a decision for myself: whether or not Michael Hall is a murderer or a victim, it doesn’t change anything. He’s still my father, and the truth matters to me.
There’s nothing I can do to change my past.
Chapter15
Crave
Rae drivesher sedan with a blonde teenage minion in the passenger seat, not noticing my truck following them. White trucks blend in around here. Mine isn’t the only one on this street.
The two women drive into a neighborhood to take the teenager home.
I drive forward, taking the highway to Las Vegas. Off to my other job.
Tourists tend to prefer rideshares, but the digital trail would make things difficult for me. Luckily, taxis are still frequent in Sin City. My boss lets me come and go as I please, and he doesn’t know I’m using a fake name nor did he give my “background check” a second glance. I keep the taxi’s back windows tinted, and I keep the front windows at thirty-five percent density, distorting my visibility from outsiders. The tourists’ cell phones ping the service towers, but once you toss their devices in the desert, the cops are as lost as sharks in a sandpit.
This next victim isn’t a tourist, but everyone who lives in this town is the same. They hustle through the daily grind and earn themselves some cash to spend on cheap sex and booze. Once the right time comes, I park across the street in a strip mall parking lot, where I’ve got a perfect view of my next victim’s favorite spot. The titty club he frequents is a shack, especially sitting next to the giant hotels and resorts on Flamingo. It must have good-looking strippers and cheap booze inside. I keep my roof light off, a taxi driver on his break.
A rideshare drops off DrummerBoy420 in front of a strip club. He checks both ways before entering the building. And like clockwork, DrummerBoy420 exits the building three hours later, drunk and satiated.
I put on my leather gloves and drive over, pulling up in front of him. He usually orders a rideshare. Tonight, I’m faster.
Are you going to make your little plaything watch this time?my mother’s voice asks.You’re letting her control you again, aren’t you?
“I’m controllingher,” I mutter.
DrummerBoy420 wrinkles his nose. I jump out of the car to open the back door for him before he can tell me no. Capturing Rae’s latest conquest is another way to manipulate her into being a little killer for me.
He blinks, unable to focus on me. “Uh?—”
“Taxis are cheaper than rideshares, man,” I say. “You look like you need a ride.”
“I do.” He bobs his head. “I don’t have cash. Do you take card?—”
“Don’t worry,” I interrupt. “As long as you’re not driving drunk, it’s on me.”
“Thanks, bro.”
He falls into the backseat, then slides to the middle. The scent of fast food stinks up the cab. He belches, and I lock his seat belt for him.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, his eyelids heavy.
