The Divorcee Murder Club

Trece ~ 13

      Traffic zips behind me as I stand in front of Franky’s building in Hunter’s Point. My reflection stares back at me—a suave, good-looking son-of-a-bitch dressed in black from head to toe and a pocket full of cash. What I’m doing is sneaky, and Angie would probably fry my balls for going behind her back, but to move forward, I need information on her husband. 

The care home where Ana lives must cost a pretty penny each month, and if Angie’s husband put her there, he can’t be that bad. Right? Someone who doesn’t give a shit wouldn’t go through the trouble. So I find it hard to believe he’s as vile as Angie claims. 

Stepping forward, I remove my shades and press the intercom button. It takes a while before Franky’s voice crackles on the other end.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s Miguel. Angie’s friend. I’ve got a job for you.”

“I’m not open for business.”

“I’ve got cash.” 

“Fine.”

The door buzzes, and I yank it open before Frankie can change her mind. I cross the glossy marble floor and enter the elevator, which takes me to the top level. Unlike last time, I don’t have to wait for Franky to pry open the gate for her penthouse. She’s waiting as soon as the elevator door slides open. 

“Where’s Angie?” She adjusts her glasses. By the look of her oversized sweater, bare legs, and messy bun, I’m guessing it’s her day off.

“Doing whatever bullshit Angie likes to do.”

“I see.” Frankie turns on her heels and heads for the living room, where a half-naked guy is sprawled across the couch. He’s hypnotized by the video game he’s playing on the gigantic flat-screen TV and doesn’t notice me as Frankie nudges aside one of the cats and nestles into him. “So, what do you want, Miguel?”

“Information on Angie’s husband.” I sink onto the opposite end from them.

“Like what?”

“Whatever you’ve got.”

“How much cash do you have?” She crosses her legs like a pretzel, and doesn’t bother to adjust her sweater, even though it has ridden up her thighs and I can see her bright orange underwear.

“Will this do?” I pull out the wad from my pocket and slap it on the coffee table. Franky sizes it up like a donut she’s unsure about eating, but the way she purses her mouth tells me she’s doing calculations in her head.

“That’s enough cash to get you a background check, and miscellaneous records.”

“Miscellaneous?”

“Whatever I can dig up from things like medical records, bank transactions, phone records, etc,” she explains.

“I can work with that.”

“Cool. I’ll have it ready for you in a few days.” She scoots forward and grabs the stack of cash, then flashes her gaze to me. “You can go now.”

“Guess I’ll see myself out…” 

“Later.” 

When I make it outside, part of me feels lighter knowing this will balance the scales between Angie and me. She dug up dirt on my ex to dangle in my face, and now I’ll have information to tease her with too. 

Speaking of teasing, I need to get back to the basement and check on dear old Richie. 

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