Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
"How old are you?" she asked, head cocked to the side as she eyed up his short-cropped wheat-colored hair, ruddy cheeks, and bright green, almost unsettlingly keen eyes.
"Seven," he declared, raising his chin like the age was an accomplishment the way all small kids did.
"Seven. Really. Well, I don't think you should have a mouth like that until you're... seven-and-a-half at least," she decided, shaking her head. "And, see, if you're going to lie to me, you should really try to do a better job."
"I ain't lying. Somebody ain't here."
"Well, see, I think someone is here. I think your Uncle Percy is here."
"You a cop?"
"Nope."
"Then you can't come in."
To that, Lou's smile was a little wicked. "Well, see now... what's your name, kid?"
"Kevin."
"Well, see now Kevin, the funny thing is... if I were a cop, I actually couldn't come in. Not without a warrant. But since I'm not a cop... I kinda can do this," she declared, pushing open the door, and moving to walk inside. "Why don't you go outside and, ah," she paused, looking over at me. "What do little kids do?"
"Play hopscotch?" I suggested, equally out of my depths.
"He's a boy," she shot back, rolling her eyes.
"Well, now, look who's being a sexist. Maybe he likes hopscotch. And those little lamp oven things. And the dolls that shite themselves."
"I don't like dolls," Kevin insisted, looking between the two of us like we were nuts. And, well, we weren't exactly showing up with our A-game when it came to kid shite.
"Ya like money?" I asked, reaching for my wallet, fishing out a fifty. "This is yours if ya head outside and don't go screaming or shite like that."
All kids liked money, liked the possibilities of it. Huge piles of candy. That new video game they were after.
But poor kids looked at it differently.
Like it held the promise of a full belly.
Or shoes that weren't full of holes.
I would know.
"Fine," he said, jumping up to snatch it out of my hand, "but I ain't telling you where he is. I ain't no snitch."
"Nah, not a snitch, kid. Just an opportunist. Those are much better," I told him, watching as he took the cash and ran down the driveway, back down the road we had come from, likely heading to the gas station convenience store we'd seen on the corner.
Even as I turned back, Lou was moving further in the house, leaving me to follow, something I didn't mind. In fact, I was pretty sure I would always prefer it.
There was something about a woman who was doing something she was passionate about. For some, that was singing or dancing, for others it was painting or arranging flowers.
For Lou, it was catching scumbags.
And she was sexy as fuck while she did it. She was in her element. Confident. Happy. This was what she got off on. And I found myself getting my jollies watching her do it. Even as she carefully swept the living room, getting down on her knees on a shag carpet that had the distinct traces of vomit and cat piss, doing it carelessly so she could peek under the twin bed that was supposed to act as the couch, then moving through to the kitchen, not even seeming to notice the way her shoes stepped into something sticky, making a ripping sound each time the sole lifted from the linoleum surface.
Finding nothing, she moved toward the last remaining room, save for the bathroom, but the door had been left open, as had the shower curtain, revealing nothing hiding there except some thick mold that maybe should have been bleached or something because it couldn't have been healthy to breathe that shite in.
"Come out, come out wherever you are," she called as she rounded the corner of the only bedroom in the trailer.
Then stopped, making me have to peek over her shoulder to find the man from the mugshot standing with his hand on the window, not even smart enough to think to pull up the plastic blinds first.
"Well, look who it is," she said, and I could hear the sneer she was sending him. "Oh, do it. Please do it," she begged, watching as he made a move to duck into the window. "See Percy, I have missed my afternoon dose of Midol. And I am just looking for something to slam my fists into. So, please, give me a reason to fuck your shit up. Just breathe in my direction." The man looked over at me, almost like he was seeking advice.
"Mate, she's fuckin' psycho on a good day. She got a hangover and cramps, I wouldn't fuck with her. Just give in. You'll be going to jail regardless. It's yer choice if ya do that with yer cock intact or not."
"Killjoy," she grumbled when he fell back against the wall, offering up his wrists.