SATISH
The tap at the bedroom door was barely audible, but Maverick and Satish flinched as if hearing thunder. Zipping his lips with his thumb and forefinger, he motioned the kid to put on his pants.
“Not a problem.” Maverick bobbed his head up and down, up and down, like a wired parrot—even after he dragged his briefs from the top of the lampshade.
“AnnaSophia?” The tap came a little louder. “Is Alexandra okay? I heard—”
Satish cracked the door, squaring his body in the opening, and holding the Glock behind his back. Who else had AnnaSophia said was in the house? A woman’s round, unlined, flushed face brought her name back—but the woman was faster.
“Detective Patel?” She peered at him, her blue eyes blurry.
“Good memory, Jennifer.”
“Cooking requires a good memory.”
“I boil water, not much else.”
She blinked—whether confused or clearing her vision—he could only guess. The former, was his hunch since their conversation bordered on weird at any time of the day, but especially at one in the morning. He glanced over his shoulder. Maverick had pulled on a blue tee and faded jeans. He leaned over his knees, held a fat pillow in a death-hold, and stared at his bare feet as if they were exotic animals.
Satish refocused on Jennifer. “I’d like you to check on Magnus. If he’s asleep, stay in his room until AnnaSophia comes to tell you what’s happening.”
“I can do that.” She remained with her nose near the crack in the door. “Magnus used to have nightmares. Now, he’s the best sleeper in the house. I’ll tell him a story if he wakes up.”
“Thank you.” Satish closed the door, faced Maverick, and holstered the Glock. “How old are you—truthfully?”
“How old is Alexandra?” he countered.
“Fifteen.” Going on a tough forty.
“Shiiiiiit.” Maverick lurched off the bed, stutter-stepped, and flopped on the mattress.
“At the very least. Is tonight a casual hookup? A regular thing? Something else?”
“Something else. The first time. The only time. I swear—” He tugged at his buzzed hair. “Dude, I swear I thought she was twenty-six, twenty-seven. Older ’n me. She carries a bitchin’ fake ID. They’d never let her in at Leather’s if they thought for a nanosecond—they’d show her straight to the door.”
Satish’s jaw cracked. God, AnnaSophia, what a mess. He snapped his fingers at the kid whose head was bowed. “Last time. Pay attention. How old are you?”
“Twenty-one. A month ago. I added two years to impress Alexandra.” He slammed a fist against the middle of his forehead. “Dude, I am fuc—screw—in deep shit, right?”
“What are the chances she’ll corroborate—back up your story?”
“No idea. Hell, I met the chick three hours ago. The one th-thing she said for sure that’s truthful is she told me to undress her.”
“Did you use a condom?”
Maverick shook his head. “She wouldn’t let me.”
“Meaning ? She knocked you out? Took the condom? Flushed it down the toilet?”
“Damned close. I was carrying four Trojan Bareskins in my wallet. They’re lubricated, you know.”
“Your point?” Satish managed not to roll his eyes.
“I’m just saying, dude. The Bareskins aren’t cheap. They’re expensive. She punched a hole in all four with a fingernail file. Said she’d stopped using condoms after going on the pill.”
“You aware the pill protects her from getting pregnant? It doesn’t protect you from an STD.” Did this fool even know what STD meant?
“Sure. But … hey, she was smokin’ hot. Flounced into Leather’s in a dress barely covering her ass, cut down to her belly button—her little titties—”
“Watch it.” Satish didn’t give a damn about the kid’s language, but maybe a little editing now would pay off when AnnaSophia had to hear the details firsthand.
“Boobs.”
Satish narrowed his eyes. “Are you dense? Her mother’s a doctor.”
“Okay, whatever.” Maverick shrugged, his forehead wrinkled as if trying to pull out a satisfactory word. “Breasts. Her breasts hung out—one of ’em pierced with some kind of stone. It glittered like a diamond. Every guy there got a boner.”
“Why’d she pick you?”
“I lied better than anyone else.” He spoke as if he deserved a prize.
“How hard was that? What’d you say?”
Maverick shrugged. “A load of shit. Like how bad I am and how many babes I’ve fucked and how I love to live right on the edge—shit like that.”
“How bad are you?” Curious. Listening for the teenage male’s bravado. And drugs. Always on the lookout for drugs.
“I drive my mom nuts when I go at it with her latest boyfriend. Got sent home from kindergarten three or four times and once in my senior year. Never been in trouble with the cops. Never even had a speeding ticket.”
“I think we can overlook getting sent home from kindergarten.” Satish’s mouth twitched. He doubted Maverick was playing him, but he’d met plenty of baby-faced killers. “What about shooting or popping or smoking?”
“I’m clean, dude. Can’t afford a habit. I’m savin’ my bucks to get my own place. Saturday nights I guzzle beer. Check me anywhere you want.” He held up one bare foot. “Check between my toes, ya want.”
“I don’t want. Keys?” Satish extended his open palm. “Do I need a warrant?”
“Hell, no.” Maverick fished the keys out of his front pocket and handed them over, along with his wallet. “Truck’s clean. I guarantee it.”
The muffled beat of water from the adjacent bathroom caught Satish by surprise. Did Maverick even realize he’d caught a lucky break?
No semen made a charge of rape close to impossible.
“Call me Thomas, but let’s go check out the truck.”
“Huh?” Frowning, Maverick stood—lanky and three inches taller than Satish’s six feet. “Who’s Thomas?”
“I figure no one you ever heard of.”
“Not a rock star for sure. Someone in the Bible, I bet. I usta read the Bible—you know, picture books. When I was a little kid. Went to Sunday School ’n everything.”
Satish waited at the bathroom door, knuckles raised to knock. His cop’s-ear picked up the mournful undercurrent in Maverick’s boyish voice. “Why’d you stop?”
“Aw, my dad took off. My mom worked a lot. Didn’t feel like getting up on Sunday mornings.”
“How old were you?” Satish dropped his knuckles and glanced at the DOB on Francis Maverick O’Rourke’s license.
“Five. Just starting kindergarten.”