I can't tell time. My watch is broke, has been for twenty years now. It's a Timex, metal band, stuck on 4:13. Crystal's cracked through, looks like someone pasted a spiderweb to it. It's only right twice a day, but I don't know when it's right, cause my watch is broke. Thing is, it reminds me to be careful. It broke cause I was a slob, got sloppy. When you get sloppy as a PI, you get hurt.
I don't remember the weeks after Mark died, except for living at the bottom of bottles of bourbon. It's nice if you're trying to get away from everything without getting a ticket to Timbuktu. Only stopped cause I couldn't afford it. Bills were starting to pile up.
Like a miracle, in came this dame, wrinkling her nose like she smells sewage. I was overripe, being pickled in bourbon. Kinda mousey, wearing a nurse's uniform and flats. She had her paper hat pinned to her chestnut hair. Not a lick of makeup, which coulda helped the bags under her eyes. Then again, she probably just got off work.
I kept telling her to speak up, cause every time I leaned over my desk, she'd lean back. Tina told me her husband, Zeke, was a good man. Provider, stand up guy, helped keep a roof over their heads. He just had a lot of stress at the plant. Staying out later and later to drink, probably just her being paranoid. She made to get up, clutching her handbag in front of her, saying this was a mistake.
I had to get between her and the door to keep her from leaving. Truth is, I was desperate.
No comments:
Post a Comment