one this time. “I thought you guys were Big Brother, had all citizens’ vitals in a database.”
“We don’t always like the trouble of searching it, and we often don’t have the time when we need an answer to something.”
“I’m worth the time and trouble,” I threw over my shoulder as I walked out the door in the wake of his disbelief, the Chihuahua’s giggle, and Crandall’s Juicy Fruit snort.
I know it was stupid in light of the power of his position and especially in light of his gorgeousness, but I couldn’t help myself. Pomposity and arrogance wrapped up in testosterone do that to me.
five
J OLIE D UPONT’S GOLD L EXUS WAS IN THE CRAMPED six-car parking lot off McCullough, next to my house, but I hadn’t seen her standing at the main door of the salon. Nor was she at the back door, which led to the living quarters section of my old home. I didn’t want to incur the dogs’ mournful gazes through the kitchen window, so I parked the truck and walked along McCullough to unlock the door to the salon. I glanced down at my Cinderella watch and saw it was twenty minutes after seven. Damn, the day’s schedule was shot to hell. Especially if Jolie had lost patience and had walked down two blocks to the Bake ’N Brew for a cappuccino and a croissant. She’d return in the middle of my eight o’clock and expect to be worked in.
I fished for the keys I’d absentmindedly thrown back into my cavernous black leather tote. Far from vogue, it resembled a Mafia wife’s shopping bag. I’d tried other, smaller purses and wound up putting as much in them, so that it looked as if I were walking around carrying a sausage on a string. Finding stuff in there was hell, too. So I gave up fashion and carried the tote around with me, along with all the necessities, including a battery-powered curling iron in case I needed a touch-up or ran into a customer who did (don’t laugh, it happens more often than you think), dog biscuits in case the girls were with me, and pepper spray. Ever since I bought the little canister after our neighborhood flasher opened his coat for me, I’ve been dying to use it to spray him where it hurts. So far, he’d denied me the fun by hanging out (literally) nine blocks north, nearly to where Monte Vista becomes the incorporated and exclusive city of Olmos Park. He must’ve been ready for a couple of square meals and a bed. Those Olmos Park cops would collar him for stepping foot in their city limits. He’d have to do a lot more than showing his hot dog to get the attention of the SAPD. They had gangbangers, drive-bys, domestics, and chop shops to worry about. Not to mention a dead hairdresser now. A homeless flasher wasn’t tops on their priority list.
Not that Monte Vista was slumming it. It was one of two historical residential districts in San Antonio, featuring two dozen long, wide-street blocks and hundred-year-old homes, including many multimillion-dollar mansions. Mine wasn’t anywhere near that caliber, but I was proud of what I’d done with it. My chest puffed up with enough pride to turn my B-cups into Cs as I stepped on the newly buffed limestone steps that led to the wraparound porch. When the seventy-nine-year-old daughter of the original owner keeled over dead from a stroke while going through junk in the attic, her heirs just wanted to get rid of the run-down mess. I bought it for $102,000 (the price included a lot of that attic junk that cleaned up pretty well), and, with the help of my big brothers over one long, hot summer, I’d renovated it back to a two-story jewel that the appraisal district valued at three times the purchase price. Good thing I could write half of it off as a business. And good thing that business was holding its own, or I’d be in trouble.
Pressure. The knot was building between my shoulder blades as I thought about paying bills and a $50-a-week customer I’d kept waiting and was now missing. That led to thoughts of Ricardo and his
“We don’t always like the trouble of searching it, and we often don’t have the time when we need an answer to something.”
“I’m worth the time and trouble,” I threw over my shoulder as I walked out the door in the wake of his disbelief, the Chihuahua’s giggle, and Crandall’s Juicy Fruit snort.
I know it was stupid in light of the power of his position and especially in light of his gorgeousness, but I couldn’t help myself. Pomposity and arrogance wrapped up in testosterone do that to me.
five
J OLIE D UPONT’S GOLD L EXUS WAS IN THE CRAMPED six-car parking lot off McCullough, next to my house, but I hadn’t seen her standing at the main door of the salon. Nor was she at the back door, which led to the living quarters section of my old home. I didn’t want to incur the dogs’ mournful gazes through the kitchen window, so I parked the truck and walked along McCullough to unlock the door to the salon. I glanced down at my Cinderella watch and saw it was twenty minutes after seven. Damn, the day’s schedule was shot to hell. Especially if Jolie had lost patience and had walked down two blocks to the Bake ’N Brew for a cappuccino and a croissant. She’d return in the middle of my eight o’clock and expect to be worked in.
I fished for the keys I’d absentmindedly thrown back into my cavernous black leather tote. Far from vogue, it resembled a Mafia wife’s shopping bag. I’d tried other, smaller purses and wound up putting as much in them, so that it looked as if I were walking around carrying a sausage on a string. Finding stuff in there was hell, too. So I gave up fashion and carried the tote around with me, along with all the necessities, including a battery-powered curling iron in case I needed a touch-up or ran into a customer who did (don’t laugh, it happens more often than you think), dog biscuits in case the girls were with me, and pepper spray. Ever since I bought the little canister after our neighborhood flasher opened his coat for me, I’ve been dying to use it to spray him where it hurts. So far, he’d denied me the fun by hanging out (literally) nine blocks north, nearly to where Monte Vista becomes the incorporated and exclusive city of Olmos Park. He must’ve been ready for a couple of square meals and a bed. Those Olmos Park cops would collar him for stepping foot in their city limits. He’d have to do a lot more than showing his hot dog to get the attention of the SAPD. They had gangbangers, drive-bys, domestics, and chop shops to worry about. Not to mention a dead hairdresser now. A homeless flasher wasn’t tops on their priority list.
Not that Monte Vista was slumming it. It was one of two historical residential districts in San Antonio, featuring two dozen long, wide-street blocks and hundred-year-old homes, including many multimillion-dollar mansions. Mine wasn’t anywhere near that caliber, but I was proud of what I’d done with it. My chest puffed up with enough pride to turn my B-cups into Cs as I stepped on the newly buffed limestone steps that led to the wraparound porch. When the seventy-nine-year-old daughter of the original owner keeled over dead from a stroke while going through junk in the attic, her heirs just wanted to get rid of the run-down mess. I bought it for $102,000 (the price included a lot of that attic junk that cleaned up pretty well), and, with the help of my big brothers over one long, hot summer, I’d renovated it back to a two-story jewel that the appraisal district valued at three times the purchase price. Good thing I could write half of it off as a business. And good thing that business was holding its own, or I’d be in trouble.
Pressure. The knot was building between my shoulder blades as I thought about paying bills and a $50-a-week customer I’d kept waiting and was now missing. That led to thoughts of Ricardo and his
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