A Broken Woman

Chapter 4

4

I drove south a few miles to the Arizona Center, an open-air shopping center that was a mix of trendy restaurants, touristy shops, and small business offices. Assurity Bail Bonds was tucked away on the second floor in the corner of the L-shaped complex. A string of bells jingled as I walked in.

Unlike most bail bond shops, which had all the charm and elegance of a check-cashing joint, Assurity looked more like a cross between a law office and an art gallery. Plush carpeting. Framed prints on the wall. Leather armchairs for clients. Two cherrywood desks separated the waiting area from the rest of the office. One of them was occupied by Sadie, who did not look pleased to see me, despite her urgent texts.

Her wedge-cut helmet of hair was immaculate as always. Her makeup understated and professional. And the scowl on her face all too familiar.

I plopped down in one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Whassup?”

The creases in the corners of her eyes deepened. “Whassup?” she echoed in a mocking tone. “Are you genuinely asking me that? Where is Mr. Penzler?”

“Well, you see, there was an incident.”

She pulled a folded newspaper from the side of her desk and slapped it down between us. The headline read “Mob Informant Leaps to Death.”

“Would this be the ‘incident’ in question?” Her mouth was an ugly s***h across her face.

I shifted in my seat. Maybe I should’ve brought Diana with me. Or that bottle of rum. “Yeah, poor Penzler, huh? Maybe the Volkovs got to him.”

“Don’t give me any of that mishegas, Ms. Ballou. It’s beneath even you. Tell me what happened.”

“Look, I tracked him to a motel off I-17 and Northern. Talked my way inside, but when I cuffed him, he busted through the doorway so hard he flipped over the railing. Totally not my fault.”

“And were you drunk like you are this morning?”

“Drunk? Who’s drunk?” I stood in protest.

“Don’t even try! You smell like a tiki bar.”

“My point is Wilhelm Penzler either fell by accident or he jumped. Cops said so. At least you don’t have to pay out the full bail amount.”

“I have a business to run, and Mr. Penzler was a client. In the past three months, I’ve had more than a dozen complaints against you. Harassment. Assault. Abusive language. One gentleman claimed you broke his wrist.”

“That asshole broke his own wrist trying to squeeze out of the cuffs.”

“Not what he said.” She turned her attention to her computer screen.

“Who you gonna believe? Me or your criminal clients? Besides, a little rough play makes them more likely to show up to court.”

“You’ve got chutzpah. I’ll give you that.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“You’re fired.”

The words hit me like a gunshot from a sniper. “What?”

“You heard me.” Her gaze met mine. “I have no need for someone who lacks a single iota of professionalism. I’m reassigning your remaining cases to Viper Fugitive Recovery.”

“What about me? Where am I supposed to go? No one else will hire me.”

“Not my problem.” She tossed the newspaper in the trash and turned back to her computer.

“I’ve recovered a ton of fugitives, including some that no one else could locate. Paul Russo. Doug Chang. Shelly Reid. Steve Shaw.” I counted each one off on my hand. “Remember Holly Schwartz? Not even Fiddler could track her down. I did.”

Sadie leaned back and crossed her arms. “Yes, you used to be an ace bounty hunter. And you’ll recall I hired you when no one else would. I didn’t care if you were transgender. All I cared about was results. Right now, your results are bupkis. Time you get over Conor Doyle’s death and …”

The mention of Conor’s name sent a bright blade of rage slicing through me. “Leave Conor out of this!” I slammed my fist on the desk so hard she jumped. “I bet you’re the one who snitched on him to the Northern Ireland police.”

“I did nothing of the kind.” Her face became a wall of stone.

“Only three people knew about Conor’s past. Conor, me, and you. And I sure as f**k didn’t turn him in.”

“Ms. Ballou…Jinx.” She took a breath, and her expression softened. “I apologize for what I said. While I did not care for the man, I kept my knowledge of Conor’s past to myself. And I am sorry for your loss.”

“I don’t need your pity, lady.”

“Jinx, listen to me.”

Were those tears in her eyes?

She put a hand on my arm. “I respect you. You have the potential to be a top-notch bail enforcement professional. But since Conor’s passing, you’ve fallen apart. Understandable. Grief hits us hard. I struggled after my father passed. But you need to get help. Until you do, you’re a liability.”

I stepped away from the desk, even as my own eyes threatened to water. I was not gonna let her see me cry. “f**k you, b***h! I don’t need this s**t, anyway. I got money. Maybe I’ll just hang out at coffee shops and write a novel.”

“Do what you like, Ms. Ballou. But for your own sake, get some help. Your father’s a psychologist, isn’t he? I’m sure he can recommend someone.”

I flipped her a single-finger salute with each hand, turned on my heels, and marched out of the door.

On the way home, I stopped at a liquor store and picked up a couple of bottles of tequila. Back in the car, I poured some into a travel cup. Fuel for the road.

Despite my simmering rage, I kept to the speed limit as I drove north up Seventh Street. Not hard to do since there were so many stoplights.

“Go, you f*****g i***t!” I shouted at the Ford Explorer ahead of me, going five miles under the speed limit. When I finally passed him, I noticed the Phoenix Police decal on the side of the car. f**k!

I kept pace with the patrol vehicle until it turned west on McDowell, then I floored it. f*****g slow cop.

I was feeling better when I pulled into my driveway. Grabbed the paper bag with the two bottles along with my travel cup and shuffled to the front door. Took me a moment to figure out the right key to open the door. When I finally stumbled inside, I collapsed on the couch and turned on the TV.

For the record, daytime television sucks a*s. Seriously, it’s all talk shows with the worst sorts of people on. And the commercials. Holy f**k me with a spoon! Nothing but ambulance chasers, substandard insurance, and pharmaceutical ads with a mile-long list of horrific side effects. I finally found a punk-rock music channel and cranked it up while I vegged to ponder what a shithole my life had become.

“Hey! Can you turn it down? Some of us are trying to sleep.”

I looked up to see an androgynous person in a wifebeater and boxers standing over me.

“Who the f**k are you?” I asked.

“I’m Max, and I live here. Who the hell are you?”

“This is my f*****g house!” I tried to stand up, but the room wobbled, so I sank back down on the couch.

“Like hell it is. I’ve never seen you before. I’m getting Ciara.”

Ciara. The name was familiar. Ciara. Ciara Mountains. No, that was the Sierra-something Mountains. Who was Ciara again?

Next thing I knew, a woman with a familiar yet asymmetrical face was standing next to the asshole, telling me to get out of my own goddamn house. Ciara. Now I remembered. I drained my travel cup.

“Jinx, what are you doing here?”

“I’m sitting here listening to music in my house. What are you doing here?”

“I was trying to do some bookkeeping until Max interrupted me.”

Max. The asshole giving me s**t. “Tell Max to get the hell out of my house, then.”

“Jinx, Max lives here. And while yes, technically you still own this house, you live in Conor’s old place now. Remember?”

Thoughts flitted against the current of booze lubricating my brain. s**t. I was at my old house. Ciara was…was something…oh yeah, she was the resident manager. f**k.

I took a deep breath and looked at the asshole. Max. Not an asshole. Or maybe an asshole. Wasn’t sure. “Look, man, I’m sorry. I got a little confused.”

“Like I don’t have enough s**t to deal with.” Max crossed his arms.

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Just sorry.” I pulled myself to my feet. The room spun, but I managed to stay upright and hold onto the bottle of tequila. “I’m outta here.”

Ciara put a flat hand on my chest. “Whoa. You can’t drive home like this. Come on. There’s an empty bed in my room. Sleep it off.”

I looked at her. Or tried to. Everything was so goddamn swirly and hard to focus on. I was tired. “Yeah, okay.”