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Shannon appeared in Ann’s office fourteen minutes later. She flopped down on Ann’s sofa and tore open a bag of potato chips. She began munching them without a word, her gray eyes boring into Ann’s in defiance.
“I don’t believe it,” Ann said, shaking her head. She got up and looked out into the parking lot, where Shannon’s new Jaguar sat. Steam was pouring from under the hood, and a huge puddle of liquid was spreading out under the engine. “You killed your car,” Ann said. “Who else did you kill on the way up here?”
“What do you care?” Shannon shrugged. “You wanted me here, you got me. A couple of truck drivers will never forget me, I can tell you that much. So, what’s up?”
“I have a good tip. This one reminds me of, well, the Dennison brothers. Remember them?”
“Who could forget them,” Shannon sighed. The brothers had designed a machine that would destroy Earth by reversing the magnetic field. They had intended to use it, too, until Shannon and Ann had discovered its whereabouts in Long Island. “Dennison is dead. Both of them. No thanks to you, you fat waste, all you did was cry and hide while Tyler and I did all the work.”
“I’ll disregard that,” Ann said as she put on and adjusted her new glasses. “You are a degenerate liar.”
“And you’re a blind old douche bag,” Shannon giggled. “You wear glasses now? What for? Can’t you see a dick any more when it’s headed for your mouth?”
“Hey!” Ann snapped. “I don’t do that.” She sat straight up in her chair. “Unless I get paid a lot,” she muttered. “Now, l want you to listen to this shit and tell me if it’s plausible. You’re the best selling mystery author and private detective. You are also a drunk and a complete asshole, but that’s beside the point.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” Shannon sighed as she stretched out on the sofa. “What crackpot called you now? I’m tired of this, you know. Every week, some psycho gets your number off the Men’s Room wall and gives you some horse shit story about how he’s going to end the world. Maybe it’s better that it happens some day.”
“Don’t say that,” Ann said softly. “Look, I know you’ve had some problems. The last one we did was a real bastard. Your friend got killed, I understand that. If you don’t want to get involved any more, you tell me.”
“I’m involved,” Shannon said. “I have no choice. You think I want to do this? Think again. I have an editor, you know.”
“That whacko Gwen,” Ann said. “She’s out there. But she knows her stuff.”
“She knows too much,” Shannon said, looking away. “I got through it, okay? Don’t push it. I’m ready. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yes, you are. And I love you for it. Relax, she’ll be here in a minute.”
“Who?”
“My niece,” Ann said. “You’ll like her. She’s a free lance journalist. She’s just like you.”
“Nobody is like me, “Shannon sighed.
June 9, 2009