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“You asking permission to take a piss?”
He rolled his eyes like she was daft. “Restroom’s always in the
back.”
She still didn’t get the point.
He sighed. “You go to the bathroom. You climb out the window
into the courtyard.”
“Me?”
“You don’t expect me to do it, do you?” He pointed at his withered
legs.
“No, but—”
“I thought you wanted to be a PI. If you’re too afraid—”
“Fine.” Tucker ground her teeth. “So, let’s say I manage to climb
out the back window without getting caught. Then what?”
“There’s probably stairs, leading from the back of the apartments
down to the courtyard. You know, like some kind of shared backyard.
You just go on up to the second floor…and there you are.”
“There I am? How am I supposed to get inside? Did you think
about that?”
“Oh for godssakes, Shade, haven’t you learned anything yet?
What are they teaching you at that detective school anyway?”
“Silly them, not teaching me how to get arrested committing a
crime by breaking into someone’s house.”
“If you act like you belong, nobody’s going to notice. If they do,
just tell them you’re Conant’s little sister or something and you’re
staying there and got locked out. The neighbors would probably help
you break in.”
“How do you suggest I do that? It’s not like I learned how to pick
locks.”
“One of the windows is probably unlocked. I doubt if they think
someone’s gonna break in from their private courtyard. But if not, then
improvise. This is your chance to prove you’ve got what it takes to be a
PI. Or should I just tell Yoshi you pussied out?”
• 98 •
BLIND LEAP
Tucker imagined disappointment besmirching Yoshi’s beautiful
face. Damn. Bud was going to get her arrested.
“Fine,” she said. “But you owe me.”
A grin spread across his face.
“What am I looking for?” Tucker asked.
“Mostly a sense of who these guys are. Here.” He shuffled
through a pocket on the wheelchair’s side and pushed something under
the table at her.
It was a throwaway camera.
“Take photos. If you stumble on a diary, suicide note, or murder
confession, bring them back with you. Oh yeah, and don’t be gone too
long.”
Tucker stalked through the restaurant to the bathrooms, the camera
tucked inside one of her jacket’s many pockets. The women’s restroom
was not at the back of the building as Bud had suggested. She looked
back at him, planning to make a nonverbal fuss about it, but he avoided
her eyes as he ordered food.
She looked at the men’s room, which did border the back wall, and
sighed. Improvise. She knocked and when no one answered, she ducked
inside and locked the door. The room reeked of urine. The burning
ammonia smell seemed to have soaked into all four of the walls—and
the ceilings. Boys were so gross.
Back home she’d caught the unneutered billy goats licking pee off
each other. Their pheromones smelled almost as bad as the bathroom.
Tucker’s mom wiped a rag on the stud buck’s head. The rag smelled as
bad as the goat. She kept it in a glass jar, with the lid screwed tightly
in place. When she wanted the does to come into heat, she’d take the
lid off that jar and let the nanny goats sniff it. They’d be ready to breed
within a week.
In the Thai restaurant’s graffiti-brightened bathroom, Tucker looked
around, hoping to quickly escape the stench. The one dust-encrusted
window was about the size of the bamboo place mats out front. You’ve
got to be kidding. She wondered if she would even fit through the
damn thing. Only one way to be sure. She’d always been pretty good at
getting through tight spaces. The lava field behind her childhood home
had stretched for miles. It was crisscrossed with fissures that plunged
fifteen feet or more to the ground. Some cracks were narrow enough
to easily step over, but others dominated the landscape, spreading like
• 99 •
DIANE AND JACOB ANDERSON-MINSHALL
wide canyons. Her mother made it clear that Tucker was to avoid those
broad fissures.
As a teen, Tucker had ignored all warnings and advice. She used
to clamber up and down the slick black rocks, slowly finding hand- and
footholds like a free-form rock climber. She had no ropes, kneepads,
or helmet to protect her if she fell. Once she reached the canyon floor,
she’d follow it as far as possible. Above her, the crack would narrow
progressively until it fused together over her head, becoming a cave.
She had squeezed through a lot of narrow spaces in her time and she
could probably get through this one, too. She stepped on the toilet seat,
then up to the top of the tank. The porcelain lid shifted under her weight.
She grabbed the top of the stall to keep her balance, and with one foot
on the ceramic tank and the other hanging in the air over the toilet bowl,
she reached for the window. It appeared to be painted shut. Still, she
unlatched the metal hook from its donut eye and gave it a shove with
the palm of her hand.
Tucker was surprised when it gave under pressure and swung
outward. Her hand went with it. The motion reverberated through her
body, pulling her toward the window. Her foot slipped off the toilet tank
and she scrambled, grabbing at the lip of the windowsill and narrowly
preventing her foot from a good soaking in foul toilet water. Clinging
to the edge of the windowsill, she could not hold the dead weight of
her legs for long. She jammed her sneakered feet into the corner and
pushed off. Somehow she shoved her head through the open window.
Cold air ruffled aside her short locks and blew a chill onto her scalp. It
was no Idaho freeze, but winter was winter. Not her favorite season in [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]