Page 77 of Forgotten Deeds

I raise my eyebrow in question; Lily just shakes her head. “Now’s really not the best time,” Lily gently tells her. “Finals are coming up for me, then graduation.”

Valentina perks up. “Oooh, let’s talk about the graduation party, then.”

“We’d be happy to come to your graduation party,” Lily says.

“Not my party.” Valentina rolls her eyes. “That’s been planned for months now, and of course you’re coming. I’m talking about yours,” she corrects Lily.

“Oh, my parents are already planning on hosting a party,” Lily says, surprising me. This is the first time she’s brought up her family.

“Fine, but you’re not off the hook about the reception. I’m like an elephant—I never forget.” Valentina taps her temple. “Gotta get back to work. My boss is a real tyrant,” she jokes, flittering off.

A different barista delivers our order, and Iris goes to town on a cookie bigger than my hand. “How was the service?” I ask Lily.

“It was fine,” she says, picking at a much more reasonably-sized amaretti cookie. “Ethan gave a very nice eulogy.”

“I need to potty,” Iris announces.

“Sure, sweetie,” Lily says, standing and taking her daughter’s hand. “Be right back,” she tells me.

My burner phone goes off; I check the message, gritting my teeth. Lily and Iris return a few minutes later, and I tell them, “I’ve gotta go to the gym for a little bit. I’ll meet you at home.”

“Alright,” Lily says, sounding tired.

“I’ll grab dinner. What would the rainbow goddess like?” I ask.

“Pizza!”

“Extra pineapple, right?” I tease.

“No!” Iris dramatically places her hand on her head.

“Pepperoni for you; Pineapple and ham for wifey.” Winking at Iris, I lean over and give Lily a kiss before walking out.

Driving to the sketchiest part of town—my car gets stolen, I’m gonna be pissed—I enter the office of the Jersey Motor Inn.

“I’m here to see Big Benny,” I tell the methhead desk clerk who’s seated behind a bullet-resistant partition. I call it resistant and not bullet proof, because I guarantee the projectile from the gun I’m packing could bust a hole through it.

“He ain’t here,” she says with a mouthful of rotten teeth, flicking her cigarette.

Grabbing a twenty from my pocket, I wave it in the air; that gets her attention. She opens the deal tray, and I drop the cash inside. “Be right back,” she says, pocketing the cash before taking off through the back.

Looking around the office, the only furniture on this side of the partition is a rust-colored chair—then again, that just could be a blood stain—and I decide it’s best to remain standing.

Big Benny appears, unlocking the door for me, and I follow him through the back to his office. He gestures for me to sit; I don’t fucking want to, but at least this chair looks marginally cleaner. “You got a lead for me?” I cut to the chase.

“You got my money?” he counters.

I reach into my pocket, pulling out some cash and slapping two hundred on his desk. “Let’s hear what you’ve got before I decide if it’s worth more,” I warn him.

Big Benny smiles as he accepts the cash; not a methhead smile, but nevertheless grotesque with his teeth stained yellow, his face coated in a sheen of grease, and the folds of his chin creasing uncomfortably upon themselves. “This your guy?” he asks, sliding over a photo.

I examine a pic of a man exiting one of the motel rooms. He likely has European ancestry, but that doesn’t necessarily help me narrow things down. The guy could be anywhere from mid-twenties to early thirties. He’s fit, dressed in a white tank top and shorts, with a large flaming-red Phoenix tattoo covering the entirety of his right shoulder. Lucky for him, he didn’t go with a big red dog. Pulling out my phone and comparing the pool security pic of John Davis to this one, I smile. Same build; same facial features; tattoos even line up.

Counting out an additional three hundred bucks, I slide the cash across the table. “Tell me everything you know about this guy.”

“One step ahead of you.” He accepts the cash before handing me a file folder, and I open it to find a copy of a driver’s license. “That’s the ID he used to check in for the first time, about a month ago. Before I knew you were looking for him,” Big Benny’s quick to add.

“Andrew Wang.” A fake or stolen ID, considering the picture is of an Asian man, and John Davis clearly isn’t.

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