She’s doing that thing that cops do where they let you keep talking until you share some information that they can use against you. I correct myself: I’m here so she can help me, not so she can use something against me.
“If anything, I’m worried he’s going to dump me. I mean, I’m a burden right now. I don’t know who I am. I have no access to money. And JP’s a catch. Like I said, I think some chick who wanted him for herself might have pushed me.”
She nods thoughtfully. “I got it. I need to look into him, though. If we find that a crime took place, domestic partners are the most common assailants in cases involving injuries like yours.”
“It wasn’t him.”
“But you don’t remember the injury. Am I right?”
I nod.
“How long has he been out of town?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does he have access to your bank accounts?”
“I don’t think so.”
She clearly thinks he clocked me and skipped town, but I’m sure he didn’t. “We’ll let you know if we find anything,” she says, and hands me a business card so I can give her a call if I remember anything else.35 This is my cue to walk out, and it is clear that I was hoping for something she isn’t going to give.
“I just need to file that assault report and get my money back.”
“Gotcha.”
But does she? I don’t need her distracted by JP and Kobra, even if he is a kingpin. I just need my money and I’m sure I can fix it all myself.
* * *
Max is already waiting for me when I leave the police station. As we walk back down the pee-filled streets to the car, he says, “I think I would have rather talked to a cop than a librarian. Jesus.”
“What happened?”
“God. I think that poor woman forgot the reasons she went into library science to begin with. It seems like she’s just a bouncer for the homeless. And bitter. I’ve never seen so much attitude, and I’m a black man.”
With a laugh, I say, “I’m sorry.” I really am.
“How did it go for you? Did the police figure anything out?”
“Not yet. She has some ideas.” I wish she was less interested in JP and more interested in finding my money.
A sick feeling overwhelms me when I think of telling Max that I’m broke. What if he leaves? What if JP really is the bad guy in my life? I’m not ready to face any of that, especially if I don’t need to. “She’s very interested in JP as a suspect. I don’t know, though. Casting suspicion everywhere just feels like unnecessary drama.”
Max blurts out a laugh. “Mia, that’s what the police do. They investigate suspects.”
He’s right. Plus, I have a business to run while the police do their job. And I have an idea. While waiting for Officer Denise, I couldn’t help but notice the chick next to me in the waiting room scanning Craigslist for casting calls. I announce, “I think we should go to a casting call. There will be tons of out-of-work chicks desperate for an opportunity, or at least a free meal.”36
I wait for him to congratulate me on my genius. Instead he looks skeptical. “You want to solicit a date from all the women in line?” he says, thinking through the strategy out loud. “That sounds…awkward.”
“True, but it’s pure genius.”
“Let’s table that idea for now.” Table it until I forget it, is what he’s hoping, I think. Given my condition, this isn’t a bad play on his part.
Meanwhile, I need to pop into a grocery store while he changes his mind. “Let’s stop by Vons. I need ibuprofen and water.” After yesterday’s all-day investigation and this morning’s escapades, I’ve got a tension headache the size of California.
We get into the car and I tell him what I’ve learned about Kobra.
“We had coffee with a drug lord this morning?” He stops to reflect for a moment. “That might be why Crystal isn’t talking to you.”
Come to think of it, that makes sense.
“You know, I’ve made it until the age of twenty-nine as a black man without getting into trouble. And here you are, a pretty white girl, and you can’t seem to stay away from it.”
He has a point. The only question is: how much trouble am I really in?
Max navigates us smoothly to a nearby Vons and then offers me his arm as we walk up to the storefront. I don’t know if I’m just desperate and vulnerable or if I’m falling for him. His arm feels warm, solid, and muscled. “Max.” I look up at him all, let’s be honest, desperate and vulnerable, but also overcome. This man has been here for me like no one else and he doesn’t even know me. I want to tell him he looks handsome and reach up on my toes and kiss him. I want him to wrap his arms around me tight. Instead, I say, “Thank you.”
Outside Vons is a homeless guy, and I recognize him immediately; he’s the guy from the beach on Friday. “Yo, Mia,” he says.
“Wassup, Don?” His name rolls off my tongue without thinking.
Max stops and does a double take. Then he looks directly at the guy. “You know Mia?”
“I told you I volunteer at a local soup kitchen,” I say, all self-satisfied and smug. “Don remembers me.” I must have been one of the kindest volunteers.
The guy laughs like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Um, no. I work for you.” Then he adds, “And you ate at the shelter with me at least once, back in the day.”
“Sorry…what?” What does not capture how confused I am.
I ate at the homeless shelter? How real does my life have to get?
Max laughs. “I work for Mia too.” He holds out his hand and says, “I’m Max, I’m helping her with…day-to-day operations.”
The guy nods.
“I also chauffeur now and then.”
Don brightens. “Really? God I’d love driving that Ferrari. You wouldn’t even have to pay me. Glad you do, Mia, but damn that’s a fine machine.”
Just in case Don knows me better than I suspect, I ask him if he knows any other pertinent details, like, for instance, where I live. I kind of hope he says no, even though I want him to say yes. One way or the other, I’m not as highbrow as I thought. You can only be so much of a snob if you’re homeless.
Don’s memory of me doesn’t extend that far. “I just know you have a thing for Jacques-o-late,” he says. This actually makes Max rolls his eyes.