enough to give her a nice long break from the pressure being
applied by whoever it is that still wants her to be an actress. Is
it possible?
The pieces fit, Monroe
decided, although it amazed him to think that Angela could have
been desperate enough to risk being shot. How could she have been
certain the wound would not be slightly miscalculated and rip into
a major artery or shatter a bone or cost her an arm? Still, people
do stupid things when desperation rises to a certain level, Monroe
knew. He decided to assume, until he learned differently, that he
was close to the truth with what he had both discovered and
theorized so far. Tomorrow he would try to confirm his
suspicions.
Chapter 5: Mouse,
Waiting for Cat
“ If that’s you, Rick, come
in!”
Monroe had knocked and
Angela answered, pleasantly and quickly. Monroe pressed down on the
handle, pushed the door open, and entered her room. Angela was
staring out the window again, which Monroe had observed that she
seemed to do at every opportunity. It made sense to him and seemed
like the sort of thing a perpetual dreamer might do. She was much
less dressed than she had been the last time he’d seen her. No robe
this time, just a tank top and shorts. Her hair was down, the
injured arm was still in the sling, and she was barefoot. She
turned to face him.
“ Good morning!”
“ Angela. How do you feel
today?”
“ Not bad, and I can even
move my fingers a little bit now.”
Monroe looked down at the
hand that hung in the sling. The fingertips swayed back and forth
slightly. “Can you feel it, too?”
“ Somewhat,” Angela answered.
“It’s coming back, slowly but steadily I think.”
“ That’s very good,” Monroe
said, came closer to her, stopped and reached down to put his hand
against hers, the one in the sling. “If you keep improving on your
own, you’ll put me out of a job.”
“ You can always be my mental
therapist if I don’t need a physical one anymore. You seemed quite
good in that department yesterday.”
“ Well I’m happy to help
however I can,” Monroe said, “and I enjoyed our talk.”
“ So what’s on for today?”
Angela asked.
“ Can I ask you a question?
Do you trust me enough to answer it?”
“ Ask and you’ll find
out.”
She smiled as she invited
the question and Monroe realized she was flirting with him. He
stared at her for a moment; let his eyes go cold, back to business.
She saw the change in his expression and took a step back, pulling
away from his touch.
“ Who shot you,
Angela?”
“ Oh shit! You’re a cop!
Tomasi sent you, didn’t he? The two of you are double-teaming
me!”
“ No,” Monroe said. “I’m not
a cop, Angela, I promise.”
“ Then what are
you?”
“ Sit down,” Monroe said,
pointing to the bed. The ice in his eyes made plain that it was not
a suggestion, but an order.
Angela did as he said,
sitting down on the edge of the bed then sliding back, pulling her
legs up in front of her so her chin rested on her knees. Her
shoulders shook with upset and she used her good hand to balance
herself as she sat there trying not to cry.
Monroe sat down next to her,
not too close, but near enough that he could grab her if she tried
to get up or run or scream. “I’m with the government…and I have
some ideas about why you were shot.”
“ What ideas?”
“ Tell me this Angela: who’s
been pushing you so hard toward doing something you didn’t want to
do that you felt you had to resort to something so stupid as having
yourself shot to make them back off?”
“ You figured it
out?”
“ I think so.”
“ How much trouble am I
in?”
“ Not as much as you think
you might be,” Monroe assured her, “if you come clean with me. Who
was it that insisted on your acting career? Was it your
parents?”
Angela let out a long sigh,
a sound of surrender. “It was my mother mostly. She’d tried it when
she was young and failed and now she’s trying, I suppose, to
applied by whoever it is that still wants her to be an actress. Is
it possible?
The pieces fit, Monroe
decided, although it amazed him to think that Angela could have
been desperate enough to risk being shot. How could she have been
certain the wound would not be slightly miscalculated and rip into
a major artery or shatter a bone or cost her an arm? Still, people
do stupid things when desperation rises to a certain level, Monroe
knew. He decided to assume, until he learned differently, that he
was close to the truth with what he had both discovered and
theorized so far. Tomorrow he would try to confirm his
suspicions.
Chapter 5: Mouse,
Waiting for Cat
“ If that’s you, Rick, come
in!”
Monroe had knocked and
Angela answered, pleasantly and quickly. Monroe pressed down on the
handle, pushed the door open, and entered her room. Angela was
staring out the window again, which Monroe had observed that she
seemed to do at every opportunity. It made sense to him and seemed
like the sort of thing a perpetual dreamer might do. She was much
less dressed than she had been the last time he’d seen her. No robe
this time, just a tank top and shorts. Her hair was down, the
injured arm was still in the sling, and she was barefoot. She
turned to face him.
“ Good morning!”
“ Angela. How do you feel
today?”
“ Not bad, and I can even
move my fingers a little bit now.”
Monroe looked down at the
hand that hung in the sling. The fingertips swayed back and forth
slightly. “Can you feel it, too?”
“ Somewhat,” Angela answered.
“It’s coming back, slowly but steadily I think.”
“ That’s very good,” Monroe
said, came closer to her, stopped and reached down to put his hand
against hers, the one in the sling. “If you keep improving on your
own, you’ll put me out of a job.”
“ You can always be my mental
therapist if I don’t need a physical one anymore. You seemed quite
good in that department yesterday.”
“ Well I’m happy to help
however I can,” Monroe said, “and I enjoyed our talk.”
“ So what’s on for today?”
Angela asked.
“ Can I ask you a question?
Do you trust me enough to answer it?”
“ Ask and you’ll find
out.”
She smiled as she invited
the question and Monroe realized she was flirting with him. He
stared at her for a moment; let his eyes go cold, back to business.
She saw the change in his expression and took a step back, pulling
away from his touch.
“ Who shot you,
Angela?”
“ Oh shit! You’re a cop!
Tomasi sent you, didn’t he? The two of you are double-teaming
me!”
“ No,” Monroe said. “I’m not
a cop, Angela, I promise.”
“ Then what are
you?”
“ Sit down,” Monroe said,
pointing to the bed. The ice in his eyes made plain that it was not
a suggestion, but an order.
Angela did as he said,
sitting down on the edge of the bed then sliding back, pulling her
legs up in front of her so her chin rested on her knees. Her
shoulders shook with upset and she used her good hand to balance
herself as she sat there trying not to cry.
Monroe sat down next to her,
not too close, but near enough that he could grab her if she tried
to get up or run or scream. “I’m with the government…and I have
some ideas about why you were shot.”
“ What ideas?”
“ Tell me this Angela: who’s
been pushing you so hard toward doing something you didn’t want to
do that you felt you had to resort to something so stupid as having
yourself shot to make them back off?”
“ You figured it
out?”
“ I think so.”
“ How much trouble am I
in?”
“ Not as much as you think
you might be,” Monroe assured her, “if you come clean with me. Who
was it that insisted on your acting career? Was it your
parents?”
Angela let out a long sigh,
a sound of surrender. “It was my mother mostly. She’d tried it when
she was young and failed and now she’s trying, I suppose, to
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