“Down to business, then.”
“Well, the short version is that Moloney wants my girl dead and I need to know why.”
“I know he has a hit out on some cop’s kid, but nothing else. You remember Chief Delaune from Gretna, right? Ah, you would have been a youngster then. Back in the day, he couldn’t get anything on Moloney himself, so he ended up arresting a group of us for stacked misdemeanors. Delaune shut down business for nearly six months.”
Tristan nodded silently, wanting to extract as much information as possible.
“After the conviction, Moloney had Conners take out the chief’s wife. Made it look like an accident. Ol’ Earl Delaune must have gotten the message loud and clear because he took his kid and hauled ass across the country.”
Tristan almost growled at the dismissive way Barry spoke about Josie’s family. The rage built so rapidly, he felt a burning flush consume his body. He took a deep breath and calmed himself before speaking.
“Why is he after her? How could she possibly be a threat?”
“Ah, you know. Moloney has his reasons. Once he makes a decision, that’s it. Earl was talking to the feds, so we took him out. Was supposed to off the kid too, but she escaped. Pretty clever too. She broke a window and then hid up in an air duct. Moloney’s men thought she had squeezed through the bars on the window. When they left to search for her, she really escaped. Bested by a little girl.”
“She doesn’t remember anything.”
Barry’s eyes shoot up to meet Tristan’s, a look of genuine shock on his face.
“How would you know?”
“His daughter, that’s my girl.”
“No shit? What a small world!” Barry exclaimed. “Damn, man, that’s too bad. He’s had Mort on her for a while. How’d she stay under the radar for so long?”
Tristan eyed his former associate. He knew that the man was fishing for more information. He ignored the question.
“How close is Mort to finding her?”
“He’s in San Diego.”
“Shit,” Tristan whispered, scrubbing at his face with his rough palms. “That fucker would slit his own mother’s throat for the right price. He’s the typical model for dissociative detachment. I bet he’s even got psychotic symptoms.”
“I’m not sure what all that means, but he’s ice-cold, that one. Look, all I can tell you is that there’s been pressure on us lately to tie up lose ends. The Italians are not happy with Moloney’s growing business. Gino Gallo moved into town and he’s been trying to recruit us. Offering more money and a pardon for allegiance. He’s determined to eliminate the competition.”
Tristan nodded again because he knew exactly what Barry meant. Gallo was legit Italian Mafia. Moloney had flown under their radar for a while, but apparently his operation had gotten too big and they considered him a threat now.
“What are Mort’s orders?”
“I don’t know,” Barry answered.
“That’s bullshit, Barry. You know everything that goes down. Give me something!”
“Watch yourself, boy. I’m telling you the truth. This is personal for Moloney. He’s handling everything himself.”
Tristan cursed again and stood to leave.
“Thanks for the information.”
“Forget it, Fallbrook, consider us even. Get back to your girl and you two disappear. I don’t know, head down to Mexico or something.”
“I was never here,” Tristan said, knocking his knuckles on the table.
“Of course not.”
Barry watched the kid leave and groaned. He had given just enough information. And when the time came, Tristan would fall right into place.
Monica sat folded in half on Josie’s couch, painting her toenails a deep purple color called Pump Up the Jam. Josie watched Monica with curious fascination. She’d never seen a woman more in her element than Monica was now.
“I’m glad you asked me over,” Monica said, smiling to herself. “Rob and I had plans, but I told him we’d have to hold off. I need to hang with my girl.”
Josie smudged her penciled line on the paper, shading Monica’s face just so. She’d never been anyone’s girl before. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. What did being someone’s girl entail? Was she expected to gossip about boys while they braided each other’s hair? Would she need to have Monica’s back in a bar fight? These were things that, being a twenty-two year old woman, Josie thought she should know.
“You didn’t have to blow off your boyfriend to come over.”
“It’s okay. I see him every day. I hardly ever see you.”
Josie wanted to roll her eyes at Monica but couldn’t risk offending her. She was so glad to have another human’s company that she’d do almost anything to keep her here. Somehow, Monica made Josie feel more normal than anyone else. She sighed and wondered when she’d become so obsessed with normalcy.
Monica leaned over and grabbed a book from the floor.
“You’re reading J. D. Salinger?” she asked.
“That’s for Tristan. They’re all over the apartment.”
“Oh.”
“Hey, do you have any cigarettes?” Josie asked.
“No, Josie. You know I don’t smoke.”
“Anything better than cigarettes?” Josie hedged, knowing she’d get a reaction.
“Are you seriously asking me for drugs?”
“Relax. I was kidding. I haven’t done anything besides smoke an occasional joint since meeting Tristan.”
“Is he one of those ‘Just Say No’ guys?” Monica asked, intrigued and thrilled by Josie’s confession.
“No. He would never be so judgmental. I think when he’s around, he fills all those holes that I usually try to block with risky behavior.”
Josie grinned and shook her head, amazed at how she now echoed the words of every therapist she’d ever seen. She wondered why on earth she would share this information with her almost-friend, Monica. A pressing weight sat on her shoulders and she hated that the conversation had just taken a serious turn.
“So he fills your holes, huh?” Monica asked, eyebrow raised in amusement.
After a few seconds of stunned silence, both of them burst into a fit of giggles. The air around them grew light again. When she finally was able to catch her breath, Josie genuinely smiled. Maybe this was what being somebody’s girl was all about, knowing and providing what you need when you need it. Josie feared that she’d never be able to carry out such an important responsibility.
Alex, hearing a ruckus through the paper-thin walls, came barreling in to find Josie wiping tears from her eyes. Shocked by the man barging into the apartment, Monica gasped, pointing her nail file toward him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed.
“Nothing! Calm down. You can’t come barging in here like a Power Ranger. We were just laughing.”
“Oh. Well, that’s why. Never heard that shit coming from this apartment before,” he answered. “Power Ranger, Jo? Those guys son jotos! Coulda made me something cool, like He-Man.”
“Oh, yeah. He was so straight in his loin cloth and classic bob haircut,” Josie answered, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, I don’t presume to know what you do in your personal life.”
“Mamacita, you of all people know that I like the ladies,” Alex responded, a victorious lilt to his voice.
Josie blushed.
“Oh, this is my … friend. Um, Monica. Monica, this is my neighbor-slash-warden, Alex.”
“Hi,” Monica said, waving her nail file at him.
“Nice to meet you, Um Monica.”
Josie flipped him off and refocused on her drawing.
“What were you gonna do? File me to death?”
Monica smiled and returned her attention to her nails.