Goody One Shoe (17 page)

BILLIE STEPPED FROM
the
subway station and leaned against the brick of an office building. If Anthony
Gerard Dickinson was in the same spot, she wanted to be as prepared, as
composed as possible. Show no fear, that’s what her father used to tell her.

Didn’t do him any damn good.

She headed up the street to where she’d found Gold Tooth the
day before. She neared the concrete steps that led into the Dilly Diner. There
he was, half a block up, same place, same lump of dirty fabric. He looked like
a massive mound of steaming dog shit. She set her jaw and strode toward him.

She stopped directly in front of him, casting him in shadow.
She crossed her arms and gave him the meanest glare she could muster.

He nodded his goofy head like he had Parkinson’s or
something, held up his cup and shook it. He leered at her and squinted his
eyes.

She blinked a long blink and focused.

He just sat there grinning at her. No leer. No squint. Just
crow’s feet around his crazy eyes, deepened and weathered by the sun and the
elements. Just how long had he been on the street? And why had he chosen this
spot to take up residence?

He lifted the cup a few more inches and shook it again. When
she didn’t budge, he brought it back down and looked to the left of her for
other donors. His gaze swept right and he hesitated, staring at her legs. He
glanced up in a sharp jerk. He cocked his head and examined her face. His wide
eyes took on a familiar wild look.

All confidence and bravado drained from Billie’s bones. She
turned and hurried away. Maybe she’d have to start riding the subway to the
next stop and doubling back to the office. It was only a few more blocks. And
the walk would do her good.

Billie hung up the phone and stared at her untouched lunch.
The lobster bisque had gone cold and the thought of swallowing even one bite of
turkey on rye turned her stomach to stone. She put the lid on the soup and
swept it all into the garbage can under her desk. Her favourite lunch from the
best deli in town, ruined. Forever linked to the realities of a conversation
with the former Crown Prosecutor — now Judge — Robbins.

Model prisoner he’d said. Repentant and filled with remorse.
Never missed a group session and was even counselling young offenders. This led
to early parole, he’d told her. And just why was she never invited to any of
these hearings? Not asked to speak to the evil he’d helped bestow upon her
parents? The hell he’d made of her life?

“And put you through all that again?” Robbins said. “Billie,
it wouldn’t have helped. He was eligible. There was no reason not to grant
parole. And you’d never come to any hearings prior, never even requested
information about him.”

“I didn’t know about the hearings. And I didn’t know I was
allowed information. For God’s sake, I was only eleven. Shouldn’t someone have
told me?”

“I’m sorry, Billie. That would be up to your legal
guardian.”

So it was her grandmother’s fault.

“Besides. He found God. I know how important that is to
you.”

This smug representative of failed justice presumed to know
her? Twenty-two years later? He’d never even checked up on her. Even the cop, a
buddy of her father’s, who led the investigation had kept in touch for a few
years. He was still trying to find the guy with the gun when he dropped dead at
his desk. Massive coronary. Billie had carried guilt for years that maybe his
unwavering devotion to her case, his pigheaded persistence to catch the
murderer had been his undoing. But his waistline and heavy breathing assured
her that it was his own doing. Bad food choices. Lack of exercise. The cop
lifestyle, that’s what killed him.

Since his death, the case had gone cold. No new leads. No
new evidence. The only evidence was bottled up inside of Dickinson’s head. He
knew the shooter. But he’d never identified him.

It was time he told her.

NICK FRASER PASSED A JOINT
to
Todd, his best friend and partner in crime, as Nick’s mother always said. It
used to be just a lame cliché. Another pile of crap that his mother spewed on a
daily basis. Two-peas-in-a-pod kind of crap. Like biscuits and butter. Mutt and
Jeff, Frick and Frack, Thing One and Thing Two. Her bullshit knew no bounds.

But partners in crime came true. After their stint in juvie,
they graduated from grab-and-run shoplifting and palming shitty Wal-Mart
jewelry to pawn for chump change to drug deals in dark alleys, liquor store
hold ups, and snatching purses from stupid bitches who just sling their bags
over their shoulders. Easy pickings — one slice of a sharp knife through the
strap and those bags were gone before the dumb broads knew what hit ‘em.

Todd tapped Nick’s shoulder and handed the joint back. Nick
always got the last hit. He sucked smoke through the tiny nub until he was
getting nothing but air, opened the alligator clip, and tossed the bit of
rolling paper that remained to the alley floor. He pocketed the clip and
surveyed the pedestrians who paraded past on the darkened sidewalk.

Nick discovered this location a couple nights earlier. He
and Todd got all lit up, grabbed some high-end hag’s purse, and took off
running. Good take, that one. Coach bag. Even with the cut strap it earned them
a hundred bucks at pawn. Not only was there a wallet stuffed with three hundred
cash, but a gold chain and a diamond ring were tucked inside the change purse.
They traded all that loot for good weed, cut it with oregano and parsley, and
sold it all at the middle school. Stupid eighth graders have no clue.

They ducked into this alley, made darker than usual by three
busted-out streetlights on the same block. What fucking luck. A dark street
just a block from the bright lights and busy shops filled with all manner of
rich twats just dying to give it away. Or at least too stupid to keep it to
themselves.

He spied a lone woman wandering up the street toward them.
She dug in her bag and pulled out her cell phone. She weaved side-to-side, a
bit unsteady on her ridiculous stiletto heels. She grinned at the phone and
tapped away at it with her thumbs, fake nails clacking against the screen.

Nick fingered the switchblade in his pocket, rolled it in
his hand until he got just the right grip. He reached out and squeezed Todd’s
forearm. “Target, twelve o’clock.”

When she got within a few yards, she tossed her phone back
in her bag.

Nick shook his shoulders and bounced on his toes. He pressed
the button on the knife, propelling the razor-sharp blade into the open air.
When she was almost past the mouth of the alley, he pounced. He grabbed the
strap of her purse and sliced through it, then turned to run.

He came to the end of the long strap in two strides. It went
taut, and his momentum snapped him back like a Saturday morning cartoon dog on
a short leash. He landed on his ass on the pavement.

The chick screamed and held tight to a short handle attached
near the opening of the purse.

He bounded to his feet. “Grab it,” he yelled at Todd.

Todd emerged from the alley and gripped the purse with both
hands. He had a tug of war with the woman, and he was losing. They’d pegged her
as easy pickings, but this bitch was tough. She released one hand from the
purse, but kept an iron grip on the handle. She fumbled with a pendant on a
long chain around her neck.

A whistle.

Nick stepped forward, grabbed her by her long, blond hair
and put his other arm around her waist. He dragged her into the alley. She
smelled of flowers and wine and something just a little sweet.

“Okay, okay.” She let go of the handle. “Take the purse.
Just take it. I’ll walk away. I won’t tell anyone.”

He threw her onto a pile of hefty bags overflowing with
kitchen garbage from the trattoria.

She kicked at his legs and tried scramble to her feet.

No one was going to get the best of him. That gimpy bitch on
the subway was the last one. And she’d pay one day.

He jerked his head at his accomplice. “Hold her down.”

Todd did as he was told, wrestled with her until her arms
were pinned against the bags.

Nick unzipped his jeans. “Should’ve just let me take it the
first time.”

Todd stared up at him. “Dude. The fuck?”

“What do you mean, the fuck? Bitch pushed her luck. She’s
gonna get what she deserves.”

“No way, man. You’re out of control. I’m out.” He let the
woman go and took off into the night.

Fucking traitor.

Her arms free, the woman rolled off the bags and got her
feet underneath her.

Nick put one foot on her back and stomped.

She landed face-first on the asphalt. The air groaned from
her lungs.

Nick rolled her over, shoved her legs apart and yanked up
her skirt.

She slapped at Nick’s head. “Help me,” she yelled into the
empty alley. Her voice bounced off the walls of the buildings towering above
the alley floor.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed. He grabbed her hands, held
both wrists with one hand, and pinned them above her head. “You yell one more
time and I’ll cut your tongue out. You feel me?”

She nodded, her eyes wide, tears streaming down her temples.

He ripped her underpants off, and raped her while she cried.

“STOP HARASSING ME
and be
patient. It’ll happen when it happens.” Katherine tapped her lime-green fake
nails against her glass-top desk. “Or, in your case,
if
it happens.
Which is unlikely.”

Billie drew her hands into fists. She flailed at the made-up
face across the desk, beat Katherine’s surgically upturned nose into red-ink
pulp and ripped her extensions out one by one. “Interviews were supposed to
have been finished by now. Can’t you tell me when they’ll start?” She ground
her teeth together.

“Nope. Can’t. Not my area.” She leaned forward, her elbows
on the desk. “Don’t worry, your resume is in the mix. Since you bypassed me and
sent a copy directly upstairs.”

Billie was certain that “you presumptuous bitch” died on
Katherine’s lips before she spoke the words aloud. Billie stood, commanded her
nerves to quell and her hands not to shake, that awful tell that gave away her
true nature — chicken to the core — when she tried so hard to be tough on the
outside. “Fine. I’ll wait.” She turned and left the office, sat at her desk,
and stared at the blank monitor.

No way was Katherine not the reason for the delay. She was
pulling someone’s strings. If only Billie could figure out whose. Someone with
influence. Someone who, like Katherine, was intent on keeping Billie in the
proofer’s wading pool. But who would conspire with that flame-haired shrew? Who
could hate Billie as much as Katherine did? Did anyone upstairs even know who
Billie was?

“Still no go?” Jeffrey’s hand patted Billie’s shoulder.

“Correct.”

“It’ll happen. It’s out of her control now.” He winked at Billie.

She doubted anything was out of Katherine’s control. One
thing was certain. Billie had control of nothing.

“How can she hold me back like this? What did I ever do to
her?”

Doc wrote on her notepad, the scratch of a near-dry
Rollerball pen like a hot stick in Billie’s ear.

“You tell me.” Doc didn’t look up from her scribbling.

Billie gaped at her. “Tell you what? I’ve not done anything
to deserve this. I get my work done, put up with her bull crap, her outrageous
demands and ridiculous deadlines. She just piles more on, never gives me
credit, and never, ever, acknowledges my hard work.”

“Maybe that’s the issue.”

Billie shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re too nice, Billie. You let her walk on you. Heck, you
almost encourage it. You have to be more proactive. Make her acknowledge you.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” Tears threatened the corners
of Billie’s eyes.

“Yes. But it’s too late. The pattern is set, has been in
play for, what, six years? And your efforts to get out from under it now are a
threat to her. She’s fighting to keep the status quo. Making sure you remain at
her disposal to use and abuse.”

Billie furrowed her brow, opened her mouth to speak, but
hesitated. She swallowed. “That’s crappy advice. You know that, right?”

“My job is not to give advice. It’s to help you see how you
can help yourself. But if advice is what you’re after, here it is. Be patient.
Wait for the interview process. Forget Katherine. If you get the job, then
leapfrog over the bitch and never look back.”

“And if I don’t?”

Doc slapped her notepad onto her lap and eyed Billie over
her glasses. “Get out. Fast. Because it’ll only get worse.”