“He says you sometimes preach to the girls when they’re working?”
“I do the Lord’s work, no matter the danger.”
Amanda didn’t imagine he felt much danger, considering no sane person would be happy to run into a man as large as James Ulster in a dark alley. “Have you ever been to Techwood Homes?”
“On many occasions,” he answered. “I deliver soup to the shut-ins. Techwood is Mondays and Fridays. Grady Homes is Tuesdays and Thursdays. There is another kitchen that services Perry Homes, Washington Heights—”
“Thank you,” Evelyn interrupted, “but we’re just concerned with Techwood.”
“I’ve heard that there have been some awful things happening there.” He gripped his hands together. “It tries the soul to see how those people live. But I suppose we all shuffle off the same mortal coil.”
Amanda felt her heart stop mid-beat. “Trey Callahan used that same phrase with us. It’s from Shakespeare.”
“Is it?” he asked. “Perhaps I picked up his manner of speaking. As I said, he was incessant on the topic.”
“Do you remember a working girl named Jane Delray?”
“No. Is she in trouble?”
“How about Hank Bennett? Have you ever met him?” Evelyn waited, but Ulster shook his head. “He’s got hair about your color. Around six feet tall. Very well dressed.”
“No, sister, I’m afraid I do not.”
The radio in Evelyn’s purse clicked. There was a muffled call, followed by a series of clicks. Evelyn reached into the bag to turn down the sound, but then stopped when her name came through the speaker.
“Mitchell?” Amanda recognized Butch Bonnie’s voice.
“Excuse me,” she said, taking out the radio. “Mitchell, ten-four.”
Butch ordered, “Twenty-five me your location. Now.”
There were more clicks on the radio—a collective response of laughter. Butch was telling them both to meet him outside.
Evelyn told Ulster, “Thank you for speaking with us. I hope you won’t mind if we call with any questions?”
“Of course not. Shall I give you my telephone number?”
Her pen nearly disappeared in Ulster’s left hand. He gripped it in his fist, not between his thumb and index finger, as he wrote down the seven digits. Above this, he carefully wrote his name. It was more like a child’s scrawl. The ballpoint tore through the paper on the last letter.
“Thank you,” Evelyn said. She was visibly reluctant to take back the pen. She slid on the cap and closed her notebook. Ulster stood when they did. He offered his hand to each of them. They were all sweating in the heat, but there was something particularly clammy about Ulster’s skin. He held their hands delicately, but for Amanda’s part, it only served to remind her that he could crush the bones if he so chose.
Evelyn’s breathing was shallow as they walked toward the door. “Jesus,” she whispered. As relieved as they both were to be away from Ulster, the sight of Butch Bonnie almost sent Amanda back inside. He was obviously livid.
“What the fuck are you two doing?” He grabbed Evelyn by the arm and dragged her down the cinder-block stairs.
Amanda said, “Don’t you—”
“Shut your face!” He pushed Amanda against the wall. His fist reared back, but stopped short of punching her. “How many times do you have to be told?” he demanded. “Both of you!” He stepped back. His feet scuffed across the sidewalk. “Jesus Christ.”
Amanda pressed her hand to her chest. She could feel her heart punching against her rib cage. And then she saw that Evelyn had fallen. She ran to help her up.
“No.” Evelyn stood up on her own. She slammed both hands into Butch’s chest.
“What the—” He stumbled back.
She slammed him again. Then again, until he was up against the wall. “If you ever touch me like that again, I will shoot you in the face. Do you hear me?”
Butch looked dumbstruck. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”
Evelyn paced back and forth. She was like a caged animal. “I am so sick of you assholes.”
“Me?” Butch took out his cigarettes. “Whadabout you broads? How many times you gotta be told to leave this be?” He dug his finger into the pack. “I tried to be nice. I tried to warn you easy. And then I hear you’re snooping around my CI. Making trouble. Mr. Nice Guy ain’t workin’. What else am I supposed to do?”
“Who’s your CI?”
“None of your goddamn business.”
Evelyn slapped away the cigarettes. She was so gripped by anger she had trouble speaking. “You know that dead woman is Jane Delray.”
His eyes cut to the side. “I don’t know shit.”
“Who told you to say it was Lucy Bennett?”
“Ain’t nobody tellin’ me to do nothin’.”
Evelyn wouldn’t give up. “Juice didn’t kill Lucy Bennett.”
“You best be careful pining after some nigger in jail.” He gave her a condescending look as he picked up his Marlboros. “Jesus, Ev. Why you comin’ off like some kind of bull dyke?” He looked to Amanda for help. “Come on, Wag. Talk some sense into Annie Oakley here.”
Amanda tasted bile in her throat. She threw out the filthiest thing she could think of. “You motherfucker.”
He barked a shocked laugh. “You’re motherfuckerin’ me?” He fished in his pocket for his lighter. “You wanna know who’s mother-fucked?” He lit the cigarette. “You’re fucked”—he nodded toward Amanda—“for going to the jail yesterday, and you”—he pointed to Evelyn—“are fucked for putting her up to all this.”
“Putting me up to what?” Amanda demanded. “She’s not my keeper.”
He hissed out a stream of smoke. “You’re both gonna be transferred tomorrow. I hope you still got your white gloves for crossing duty.”
“I hope you’re up for a sex discrimination lawsuit,” Evelyn shot back. “You and Landry both.”
Smoke snorted out from his nostrils. “You ditzy bitches throw that around all the time, but you know what? Ain’t a one’a you done it yet. Keep cryin’ wolf while you’re directing traffic.” He waved to them over his shoulder as he walked away.
Evelyn stood watching him, her fists clenching and unclenching. For just a moment, Amanda thought she might chase after Butch and jump on his back. Amanda wasn’t sure what she would do if this happened. Her fingernails were short but strong. She could probably scratch his eyes. Failing that, she would bite off anything she could get between her teeth.
“I am so sick of this.” Evelyn started pacing again. “I am sick of taking bullshit from them. I am sick of being lied to.” She kicked the Plymouth’s tire. “I’m sick of not getting a car. I’m sick of people thinking I’m some kind of fucking secretary.” She gripped her purse. “Why didn’t I shoot him? God, I wanted to shoot him.”
“We can do it now.” Amanda had never been so ready to do anything in her life. “We’ll go find him and do it right now.”
Evelyn hefted her purse over her shoulder. She crossed her arms. “I’m not going to prison for that—” She stopped. “What did you call him? Motherfucker?” She gave a surprised laugh. “I didn’t know you even knew that word.”
Amanda realized her hands were clenched, too. She stretched out her fingers one by one. “I suppose this is what happens when you hang around pimps and whores.”
“Crossing guard duty.” Evelyn disgustedly huffed out the words. “It’s summer. We’ll be stuck with all the stupid kids who couldn’t hack it during the regular year.”
Amanda opened the car door. “Let’s go to Georgia Baptist and see if we can find Trey Callahan’s fiancée.”
“Are you kidding me? You heard what Butch said.”
“That’s tomorrow. Let’s just worry about today.”
Evelyn walked around to the other side of the car. “And then what, Scarlett O’Hara?”