Rob Cornell - Ridley Brone 01 - Last Call (15 page)

He rolled his eyes. “My PO is a real trip. She didn’t tell you, huh?”

What the hell was this guy talking… The eyes. The feminine eyes that somehow looked familiar. I nearly choked when I figured it out.

“No way.”

He laughed. “There it is.”

“Dixie?” I said, voice breathy with disbelief. “You’re—”

“A dude,” he/she said. “And stop fucking calling me Dixie before I have to kill you.”

I felt dizzy a second. I had a hard time connecting this man with the girl I knew in high school—the girl I had made out with in the back of a stranger’s car.

“Close your mouth,” he said.

I did. That didn’t keep me from saying something stupid. “So you’re a man now.”

“Were you this slow in high school?”

I couldn’t take my eyes off the very male torso in front of me. “You look… convincing.”

“You should see what the doc’s done with my plumbing. It’s not finished, but I’m getting there.”

“You mean you have a …”

“Not quite yet. Basically, they’re turning my clit into a dick, if you can believe it.”

I looked down at one of the flower beds flanking the door to hide any repulsion that might have showed on my face.

“Sorry. Too much information, huh?”

There was something in the cadence of his words that, like his eyes, held a hint of the girl he used to be. “I don’t know what to say.”

He/she crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “The last person I ever expected to see again was you.” He narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t you move away?”

For a second I was surprised he knew anything about me until I realized Autumn might have talked about me with her…or
him
. This was going to take some getting used to.

“I moved back,” I said.

He shook his head. “You almost look exactly the same as you did in fucking high school.”

“Obviously, I can’t say the same about you.”

He laughed, but didn’t really sound amused. His stare hardened with each passing second, as if he was realizing something.

“What do you want?”

Before I could answer, a woman’s voice bellowed from inside the trailer. “Who is it?”

Dixie, or Samirah, or whoever she/he was now, looked over his shoulder and made a face. “Calm down.”

The woman stepped into view. Her t-shirt read “Bite Me” in red block letters, and her expression mirrored the sentiment. Something brownish in a spatter pattern stained the baggy sweatpants she wore. A distinct ripe scent wafted through the doorway at her presence.

She scowled out at me. “You an old boyfriend?”

Dixie stroked the woman’s arm with the back of his/her hand. “Easy, hon. Go drink another for me, okay?”

“He’s taken,” the girl said to me. “So fuck off.”

“Yes, hon, he knows,” Dixie said and kissed the woman on the neck, then gave her a shove back into the trailer. Dixie turned back to me and shrugged. “She just lost her job. She’s usually not so… Who am I kidding? She’s a slob, but I love her.”

A few more synapses in my brain fried out. It took me a second to reroute my thoughts to form a half-coherent sentence. “So you’re with a woman now.”

“I’m not a fag, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said, then smirked. “Why? Interested?”

I tried to keep cool, remain an adult. Did it really matter that Dixie was a guy now?

“I need to ask you some questions, Samirah.”

“Fuck, Brone, you can’t call me by a girl’s name.”

I tossed up my hands. “Throw me a bone, would you?”

“Sorry. You’re the first person I knew as a chick I’ve seen since the switch. Call me Sam.”

“Sam. Not too drastic.”

The sound of mariachi music echoed against the metals walls of the surrounding trailers. Shouts in Spanish tore out from the open windows of a neighboring home.

“What did you say about questions?” Dixie/Sam asked.

“You sound like you’re doing real good.”

“Got my girl. Got a job I can stand—and have to go to in a bit.” He cocked his head. “You didn’t go cop on me did you?”

“Why would you say that?”

“This question stuff.”

“I’m not a cop. I’m doing a friend a favor.”

“You’re not doing any friend a favor coming here and calling me Dixie. Now you know the situation, you should just leave here remembering old times. I’m not answering any questions.”

Right when I thought this might be easy.

“Just a few minutes of your time. I don’t want any trouble.”

“Trouble hangs on me like sweat. You know that.”

“I thought maybe you got your shit together.”

“That’s why I’m not taking any chances.” He flexed his neck. “You gotta stop thinking about how I used to be a girl. I’m all man now, and I will fuck you up you don’t walk away.”

“It’s important.”

“And your life isn’t?”

“You’re not going to violate your parole.”

Sam made a show of looking both ways. “Who’s going to tell?”

He probably had a gun parked somewhere close by. Man or woman, I remembered Sam well enough when he was Dixie to know he’d have no problem fucking me up.

I held up my hands in a placating gesture. I started to turn, but a nagging part of me wouldn’t let it go until I’d tried one more time.

Lowering my hands, I said, “Remember Autumn Rice?”

His face flushed. “Get the fuck away from here.” He slammed the door, the trailer’s metal siding rattling from the force.

He’d chosen to shut me out rather than throttle me. This told me he’d rather not violate parole, no matter his big talk. One thing most ex-con’s had in common was a firm desire to stay out of a cell.

I strolled back to my car, fleshing out a plan to force some answers out of Sam now that I knew what button to push.

Chapter 12

Thirty minutes later, I cruised two cars behind Dixie/Sam on his/her way to work. He drove a junked Reliant with little more than rust keeping the thing together. A bumper sticker on back reminded those following to get their cats spayed or neutered. Probably came with the car when he got it. Sam didn’t seem like a cat person.

I still struggled with the sex change. You don’t assimilate such information in an hour’s time. I kept getting my pronouns confused, and marveled at her/his masculine physique.

I needed to work out more.

Only a few miles from the trailer park, Sam turned into a diner parking lot. I sailed past, taking a quick look to see if he was parking or pulling through. When I saw the Reliant turn into a parking space, I made the next right and circled the block. By the time I’d reached the parking lot again, Sam was inside.

I waited in the lot for fifteen minutes, listening to Mozart’s requiem on the BMW’s stereo. Then I pulled my gun out of the glove box and strapped it on—for looks, not because I thought I’d use it. I pulled on my windbreaker, climbed out of the car, and strolled into the restaurant.

I asked the hostess to see the manager. While she went to fetch him, I made sure my windbreaker hung open and showed off the strap of my holster.

The diner was one of a chain, all designed to look the same once you stepped inside. A glass case filled with pies and Jell-O rotating inside stood by the cash counter. The banana cream looked a little too yellow.

I peered past the counter and into the kitchen, but I didn’t see any sign of Sam. Odds were they had him washing dishes, maybe cooking. Jobs that didn’t involve handling money.

A couple seconds later a portly black man came out sporting a tie and a plastic name badge. He hesitated a second, giving me the once over, before offering his managerial smile and coming over to greet me.

On his way, his gaze dipped twice to my holstered Sig Sauer.

He offered a hand to shake. “Can I help you, officer?”

Now, I never said I was a cop, so no law had been broken. Maybe I hadn’t heard him say “officer.” Oops.

“I’m looking for someone I think works here.”

His face tensed. “No trouble, I hope.”

“Hope,” I said, pausing dramatically, the buzz of conversation and clink of silverware filling the gap. “Good idea.”

The lines in his face deepened along pathways that looked accustomed to worry. I bet the guy went through half a bottle of Tums in a day. It was a noble but weary man that hired ex-cons.

“May I speak with Sam Jawhar?”

The manager looked genuinely surprised. “Sammy? You sure?”

I tucked back my own surprise and stuck to the script. “Afraid so.”

The manager sighed, shoulders sagging. “Please tell me I ain’t gonna lose another one of my cooks.” He cocked his head back and opened his mouth wide as if he intended to shout for him. He caught himself and smiled at me. “I’ll go and get him. You want a coffee or something? Donut?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling bad for shaking up a guy who probably worked hard and got paid in stomach ulcers. But I wanted him to look worried when he talked to Sam. That, in turn, might worry Sam enough to answer my questions.

The manager guided me to a small booth, then headed back into the kitchen.

Even with his dark complexion, Sam looked a little pale coming out of the back, the manager hanging by his side and a step behind as if escorting a prisoner. When Sam spotted me, though, a little color came back to his face.

“You sit here and talk to this nice man,” the manager said when they reached my table. To me he said, “Jenna will be right out in a sec with your coffee and donut.” He waited until Sam took a seat across from me before leaving.

Sam rested his tattooed arms on the table, folding his hands together. He wore a hair net and apron, the apron still pretty clean.

“I thought you said you weren’t a cop?”

I ignored the question. “You smoke?”

“Why? You got one?”

I shook my head.

“Then what the fuck?”

“Proving a point,” I said and leaned back, stretching my arm along the top of the seat. “You can answer simple questions.”

The muscles all up Sam’s arms tensed, showing off thick veins that crawled across his forearms like ivy. When he leaned in I noticed, with the hairnet on, a hint of the woman he used to be, the woman I had known.

“You come in here like this, talk to my manager? You’re going to get me fired.”

“Depends,” I said.

“I’m on parole. This is my life you’re messing with here. Since when did you become such an asshole?”

“All I want is some answers.”

“Fuck you.”

I drew my arm off the seatback and folded my own hands on the table in front of me. “Maybe I need to talk to your manager again.”

Sam’s eyes went wide, but before he could say anything a waitress skated by and set a jelly donut and a cup of coffee in front of me. Under her breath she sing-songed, “Sammy’s in trouble.”

Sam glared at her, and the waitress actually stuck her tongue out at him. I got the feeling she had a crush on Sam. I wondered if she knew the details.

After the waitress sauntered off, Sam returned his attention to me. “And say what?”

“I can get creative.” I made sure I had his attention. “Where were you this past Saturday night?”

“At home.”

“With your girlfriend?

“No, she was… Oh, hell no. Whatever it is, I didn’t do it. I wasn’t fucking there.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I’ve heard these questions before. It never ends well for people like me.”

“You mean criminals?”

Sam’s nostrils flared. His back went straight. “Listen to me, I have changed my life. I’m at peace for the first time I can remember.”

“You’re a new man,” I offered.

Sam’s hands came apart and turned to fists on the table. He glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen. Through the order window I could see the manager peeking at us, and so must have Sam. He opened his hands and splayed them both flat on the table.

While he tried to calm himself, I sipped my coffee. Not bad. Tasted like a fresh pot. I hoped they hadn’t brewed it for my sake. The donut, on the other hand, looked a little hard around the edges. I slid the plate aside.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Sam said.

“Fair enough. Then answer my questions and I’ll be out of your way.”

He sneered, but nodded.

I took another sip of the coffee. “No one can vouch for your whereabouts on Friday night?”

“Fucking pig,” he said under his breath. “No. No one.”

“You remember Autumn Rice?”

“You already asked me that question.”

“Never got an answer.”

He threw a hand up. “Yeah, I remember her.”

I checked the order window, but didn’t see the manager there anymore. Not convinced he could give up his voyeurism, I looked around and spotted his head in the square window of one of the swinging doors leading to the back. Our eyes met and he scurried away.

“You don’t sound too fond of her anymore.”

“What the hell she got to do with this? She already jacked up my life once.”

“I heard about that.”

“From who?”

I noticed the puffed vein on Sam’s forehead. Job at stake or not, he looked ready to reach across the table and rip out my throat any minute.

“Calm down,” I said. “Your manager’s still watching us.”

He had, I saw from the corner of my eye, reestablished his surveillance from the kitchen.

“I wish you’d get to the point. The longer I sit here, the more chance I lose my job.”

“Autumn ratted you out,” I said.

“So what? Is she dead? You think I did her?” The smile seemed to come out of nowhere, and it looked twice as strange with the anger still simmering in Sam’s eyes. “Man, I wish I could take credit for something like that—”

“She’s fine,” I said.

The smile curled away. “Whatever.”

“Someone killed her husband.”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“Who said you did?”

Sam rolled his eyes and stared at me like I was an idiot.

“Revenge,” I said.

“I didn’t even know she was married.”

“So you say.”

Sam plucked my donut off its plate, took a massive bite, getting powdered sugar caked around his mouth, then threw the donut back on the plate.

“I’m done here, man. You say what you want.” He started to slide out of the booth.