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Trip on This: Chapter Four (Part Two)

Chapter Four (Part Two)

“Hello?”  I growl into my cell phone as I speed home.  If I was irritated or upset before, I’m furious now.

“Hey, it’s Roberto.  What’d you find out?”  He’s speaking in a low voice which means he’s at work and not on a break, naughty boy.

“The motherfucker rented the office from his lawyer for ten thousand for the day.”  I lay it on the line as I cut off an asshole SUV driver who thinks he’s hot shit.

“What the hell?”  Mowgli is understandably bewildered.

I explain the whole encounter from start to finish, not leaving out any details.  As I’m relating the story, my anger grows.  It has been a very long time since someone’s made a fool out of me on such a grand scale, and it’s leaving a sour taste in my mouth.  I pride myself on being on top of things—I have to be in my line of work.  Something like this slices to the guts of me.  It twists me up inside until all I can think about is how nice my hands will look wrapped around DiCalvo’s throat.  The satisfaction I’ll receive squeezing the life out of him as he begs for mercy.  By the time I’m through with him, he’ll think prison is the best idea he’s heard of in a very long time.  Mowgli patiently listens as I spew out the vitriol that is eating away the lining of my stomach.  He knows from experience not to interrupt when I’m on a roll.  Even when I’m finished talking, however, he remains silent.

“Say something,” I demand, giving the finger to the shit-head in the Jimmy who thinks it’s his god-given right to occupy two lanes simultaneously.

“I don’t like this, Del,” Mowgli says, his tone low, but firm.  “What’s your next step?”

“I’m going to find out more about the girl,” I say, cutting neatly in front of a Honda Civic who is timidly crawling along in the fucking left lane.  People, please, I’m begging you not to drive in the left lane if you’re not willing to speed.  I like the states on the East Coast where it’s mandated by law that the left lane is only for passing and you must immediately move back to the right once you’re through or be ticketed.  It’s a brilliant concept, and I don’t know why it’s not used everywhere.  “I want to know what she did to get herself fucking killed.”  Not that I care about the girl, but if she’s going to mess up my life, I have to find out why.

“What was her name?”

“Angelica Sylvian,” I say.  DiCalvo tried to rush past his slip, but

I have a good memory for names. In fact, I can be pretty sure this was a truth because he was pissed when he said the name. Good. One actual fact in a sea of lies.  “Looks like she was pretty once.  Long black curls, cat-green eyes.”  I frown as I picture her face.  “I think she had a mole on her lip like Marilyn Monroe.  She was wearing a white dress.”  Amazing what I can remember when I’m not in panic over possibly being arrested for murder.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Mowgli says.  “Do you have a lawyer?”

“What do I need a lawyer for when I got you?”

“Well, I know of one if you need her.”  Mowgli is not in the mood for jokes which is too bad because I am.  I could use some serious cheering up.  “Is there anything you want me to do?”

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