Page 62 of The Perfect Appearance

He shook his head. He didn’t want to call her by her first name. That would make it hard if things went bad later.

"I'm not interested in your name," he said. "I'm interested in what you can do for me. I want to date this girl. I want her to do things with me, and not because I make her, but because she wants to. Tell me how to make that happen."

“Sure thing,” she said with a confidence that made him feel good. “Let’s start with the basics. What’s this girl’s name?”

“Why?”

“Because it will be much easier for me to help you in your mission if I have a real person in mind rather than just some vague idea of a girl.”

“Her name is Marybeth Huxley. Like I said, we met at the mall. She’s hot with blonde hair and big boobs.”

“Wonderful,” the doctor said. “She sounds lovely. Tell me more.”

Eli began to describe her in more detail, but he made sure never to loosen his grip on the blood-soaked glass award.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

Everything hurt.

Kat had been walking the streets in and around Skid Row for hours now, stopping into every business, asking anyone who would talk if they had seen somebody matching Haddonfield’s description, perhaps with a limp. So far, she’d come up completely empty.

She could sense Gila’s increasing discomfort with the situation and knew things would come to a head soon. When she got this job, the woman had likely assumed that she’d be sitting with a private detective while she spent hours in a car, watching some scumbag through binoculars to see if he was cheating on his wife.

The bodyguard certainly hadn’t bargained on spending much of the day walking through a notorious part of town, replete with down-on- their-luck people, many addicts—some unstable, never knowing who might pose a real threat. And now it was starting to get dark. She had been patient because she understood the stakes were so high. But Kat knew her security officer was about to put her foot down.

“It is not safe anymore,” Gila said, right on cue. “We cannot stay here any longer.”

“Was it ever safe?” Kat tried to joke as she scanned the street they were on, looking for any other places they could stop at to ask questions.

“In the day, I could anticipate better, gauge risk,” Gila told her, not seeing the gallows humor. “In the dark, there are too many variables. We have no advantage. I have waited as long as I could, probably too long. But we must go now.”

"I get it," Kat conceded. "I know this hasn't been an easy assignment. We'll go, but in just a minute. There are two places across the street I want to check out, and I promise after that, I won't put up a fight."

Gila looked up at the fast-setting sun, then back at Kat.

"Those two, but no more after that," she said firmly. "No negotiation. No pleases. I have your word?"

“You have my word,” Kat told her.

Gila nodded, satisfied, and they dashed across the street, avoiding a woman pushing an overstuffed shopping cart in the center lane, who was shouting at anyone who dared to make eye contact with her. Once safely on the sidewalk, Kat headed to the first business, a coin laundry. But she quickly saw that there were metal gates across the place. It wasn’t just closed. From the accumulation of dust inside, it looked like it had gone out of business a while ago.

Kat turned her attention to the corner bodega next door. She walked in and went straight to the cashier, a middle-aged black man with reading glasses dangling from his neck. He looked up from his magazine slowly.

“What do you need?” he asked with polite trepidation, noting Gila standing close by with her hand resting on her shirt where a gun was obviously holstered underneath.

"Just some information," Kat told him. "I'm wondering if a young guy came in here in the last few days—tall, white, with a limp. Might have had curly blond hair, but maybe not."

The cashier squinted at her suspiciously.

“Am I in some kind of trouble here?”

"No sir, but this man might be," Kat explained. "He's hurt some people, and I'm trying to make sure he doesn't hurt anymore. Have you seen him?"

“You a cop?” he wanted to know.

"Nope," she replied, trying not to get agitated at his lack of responsiveness. "Private eye."

“So I don’t have to answer your questions,” he said.

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