Find Me I'm Yours by Hillary Carlip Page A

across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes ‘Awww!’”
    â€”Jack Kerouac,
On the Road
    â€œBeautiful,” Coco said, clearly drawn in.
    â€œAgree,” Blake added.
    â€œSee? What crazy murderer would quote Kerouac?” I asked.
    â€œBut what does it tell us?” Blake was thinking out loud. “What does it mean?”
    â€œUh, my future husband has the heart of a poet?” I answered. “I’ll take that!”
    â€œThere’s gotta be something more.” Coco was squinting. She squints when she is thinking hard, like it will help push the thought out of her brain like taking a satisfying dump.
    â€œAll right,” I muttered, getting back into a spy groove. “What’s Jack Kerouac most famous for? Writing
On the Road
. Could that mean something?”
    â€œThat we’re supposed to take a boozy road trip across the United States and Mexico to find this alleged guy that may not even exist?” Coco asked sarcastically.
    Then something hit me. “Maybe we’re trying to read too much into it. Maybe we need to just hit the road and go to Venice. Anyone coming with?” I asked as I closed my computer and put it into my backpack.
    â€œLike I’m gonna let you go alone?” Coco put on her sweater and motioned to the waiter for the check.
    â€œLike I’m gonna let you two go together?” Blake downed the rest of the sweet potato fries and guzzled his beer glass dry. “It all spells trouble.”

Chapter 11
    DAY 2—NIGHT
    Since there was none of the daytime traffic of runners, skaters, cyclers, incense sellers, people as creepy statues springing to life for a quarter, hawkers, barkers, and glass eaters on the Venice boardwalk, it didn’t take us long to find the Villa Seaside Apartments. We walked up to the front door.
    â€œMags, write these down,” Coco ordered, and I happily obeyed, typing each resident into my phone notes as she read them off the intercom system.
    â€œM. Adler #307, L. Astin #202, J. Bellingham #108, S. Finch….”
    Even though there were only four floors, the process could have taken hours if she were to read them all. “Allow me,” I said, gently moving her aside. I then took pictures of all that was on the intercom, and was done in seconds.
    â€œGood thinking. Now just follow my lead.” Coco rang the manager’s buzzer.
    â€œYeah?” A high-pitched, cartoon character–ish voice came through the intercom.
    â€œHi. Hope we didn’t wake you. We’re looking for a guy who lives here. He’s got a brown dog with a spotted tongue.”
    Catching on, I chimed in further. “My dog got into a scuffle with his at the dog park, and I’d like to give the owner some money to cover the vet bill.”
    Coco shot me a look. I just shrugged. If cash didn’t get the door open, nothing would.
    â€œBe down in a minute.”
    Shit. Now what? Give the only money I had left to the woman? OH, WAIT—
the MAN
, I saw as he opened the door. And a BURLY man whose cartoon voice so did not match his body in any way! Before we could say anything else, he handed us a MiniDV tape. “Way better story than the other girl who came by here earlier looking for him.”
    WHAT?! “Uh, the other girl?” I asked as calmly as I could.
    â€œBrunette. Tall drink of water. Looked like a Victoria’s Secrets models.”
    Did he just say Victoria’s Secret S model S ? What’s that about? And great. Grand. Awesome. Someone else is on the hunt and is not only ahead of us, but looks like a freakin’ lingerie model S ! I’m screwed. I took the tape, and thanked the guy. But Coco couldn’t leave it at that.
    â€œWho gave you this? Does he live here? What’s really going on?”
    The guy just shrugged. “I have orders to give these out to anyone mentioning a dog. That’s all I can