before I turned around and picked up a fifth of vodka and a bottle of Bloody Mary mix.
Pine needles crackling beneath my shoes, I jogged home through streets still shrouded in the gray of dawn but randomly streaked with light where the early sun pierced the trees. My breath was steaming, and I had to ball my fists against the cold.
“Where the hell have you been?” Cody groused when I came inside. He was sitting at my kitchen table in his boxer shorts, a blanket over his shoulders, holding a coffee cup in front of him with both hands.
“Turn on the heat if you’re cold,” I said, and shrugged out of the pack and put a frying pan on the stove. Within a minute the kitchen was alive with the sizzle of eggs, potatoes, and bacon.
By the time we finished eating, the morning chill had dissipated and my yard was in full sunlight. We sat at the picnic table on my deck, reading the newspaper. A twenty-year-old compact Toyota pickup sputtered by, then turned around at the end of the street and came back, rolling to a stop in front of my house. The truck looked to have once been red, but it was now a hodgepodge of rust and primer. The passenger door opened, and we watched Juan Perez walk up my driveway carrying a black binder.
“Hey, Juan, what’s happening?” I said.
“
Hola,
Mr. Reno.”
“Just call me Dan, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Cody, this is Juan Perez. I’m going to be speaking in front of his class for career day.”
“Really?”
“That’s right.”
Cody stood and shook hands with Juan, who eyed Cody uncertainly.
“Who’s that in your truck, young man?” Cody said, looking at the dark-haired woman sitting behind the wheel.
“It is my sister, Teresa.”
“Well, invite her over. Maybe she’d like a cup of coffee.”
Juan went back to his truck and after a minute I looked up from the sports page and saw them walking toward us. I blinked and folded the newspaper shut and stood when she stepped onto the deck.
“
Hola, senorita,
” Cody said. “
Mi nombre es
Cody Gibbons.”
“
Buenos dias. Soy Teresa.
”
“Hi Teresa,” I said. “I’m Dan Reno. I’m helping Juan on his school project.” I held my eyes on hers, resisting the urge to stare down at her voluptuous body, which was clad in blue jeans and an orange cotton shirt that clung to her curves.
“Would you like coffee, or anything, Teresa?” Cody asked.
“No, thank you.”
“I just brewed a fresh pot.”
“Maybe a half-cup, then. With sugar, please.” Cody went inside, and we sat and began reviewing the pages in Juan’s binder.
“Juan tells me you’re a private eye,” Teresa said. She was sitting next to Juan and across from me, her hands folded under her chin.
“That’s right. I also have a bounty hunting license.”
“Bounty hunting? Do you work for the police?”
“No, but I frequently cross paths with them.” I looked up from the sheet I was trying to read. Her hair was thick and jet-black and fell over her forehead and around her cheeks. The ends were lighter in color and rested where her shirt was pulled tight over her breasts. “I’m usually hired by private individuals, attorneys, or bail bondsmen.”
“What do they hire you for?” She looked at me with frank interest, her eyes large and curious, her brown skin smooth and without the slightest blemish.
I smiled. “This will help me rehearse for talking to Juan’s class, I guess. Sometimes I look for missing people. Other times, I try to collect information about people, usually information they’d rather keep secret.”
“Like a man cheating on his wife?”
I nodded. “Divorce cases sometimes call for a private investigator.”
“How about drug dealing?”
Cody walked out just then and placed a cup in front of Teresa, on one of the little saucers I never used. “Here you are,” he said.
“
Gracias.
”
“Drug dealing is something I come across a lot in my work,” I said. “It’s a very common crime.”
“What would you do if
Pine needles crackling beneath my shoes, I jogged home through streets still shrouded in the gray of dawn but randomly streaked with light where the early sun pierced the trees. My breath was steaming, and I had to ball my fists against the cold.
“Where the hell have you been?” Cody groused when I came inside. He was sitting at my kitchen table in his boxer shorts, a blanket over his shoulders, holding a coffee cup in front of him with both hands.
“Turn on the heat if you’re cold,” I said, and shrugged out of the pack and put a frying pan on the stove. Within a minute the kitchen was alive with the sizzle of eggs, potatoes, and bacon.
By the time we finished eating, the morning chill had dissipated and my yard was in full sunlight. We sat at the picnic table on my deck, reading the newspaper. A twenty-year-old compact Toyota pickup sputtered by, then turned around at the end of the street and came back, rolling to a stop in front of my house. The truck looked to have once been red, but it was now a hodgepodge of rust and primer. The passenger door opened, and we watched Juan Perez walk up my driveway carrying a black binder.
“Hey, Juan, what’s happening?” I said.
“
Hola,
Mr. Reno.”
“Just call me Dan, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Cody, this is Juan Perez. I’m going to be speaking in front of his class for career day.”
“Really?”
“That’s right.”
Cody stood and shook hands with Juan, who eyed Cody uncertainly.
“Who’s that in your truck, young man?” Cody said, looking at the dark-haired woman sitting behind the wheel.
“It is my sister, Teresa.”
“Well, invite her over. Maybe she’d like a cup of coffee.”
Juan went back to his truck and after a minute I looked up from the sports page and saw them walking toward us. I blinked and folded the newspaper shut and stood when she stepped onto the deck.
“
Hola, senorita,
” Cody said. “
Mi nombre es
Cody Gibbons.”
“
Buenos dias. Soy Teresa.
”
“Hi Teresa,” I said. “I’m Dan Reno. I’m helping Juan on his school project.” I held my eyes on hers, resisting the urge to stare down at her voluptuous body, which was clad in blue jeans and an orange cotton shirt that clung to her curves.
“Would you like coffee, or anything, Teresa?” Cody asked.
“No, thank you.”
“I just brewed a fresh pot.”
“Maybe a half-cup, then. With sugar, please.” Cody went inside, and we sat and began reviewing the pages in Juan’s binder.
“Juan tells me you’re a private eye,” Teresa said. She was sitting next to Juan and across from me, her hands folded under her chin.
“That’s right. I also have a bounty hunting license.”
“Bounty hunting? Do you work for the police?”
“No, but I frequently cross paths with them.” I looked up from the sheet I was trying to read. Her hair was thick and jet-black and fell over her forehead and around her cheeks. The ends were lighter in color and rested where her shirt was pulled tight over her breasts. “I’m usually hired by private individuals, attorneys, or bail bondsmen.”
“What do they hire you for?” She looked at me with frank interest, her eyes large and curious, her brown skin smooth and without the slightest blemish.
I smiled. “This will help me rehearse for talking to Juan’s class, I guess. Sometimes I look for missing people. Other times, I try to collect information about people, usually information they’d rather keep secret.”
“Like a man cheating on his wife?”
I nodded. “Divorce cases sometimes call for a private investigator.”
“How about drug dealing?”
Cody walked out just then and placed a cup in front of Teresa, on one of the little saucers I never used. “Here you are,” he said.
“
Gracias.
”
“Drug dealing is something I come across a lot in my work,” I said. “It’s a very common crime.”
“What would you do if
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