The Devil's Right Hand - J. D. Rhoades [53]
“Who are you?” she said. Her voice sounded slurred and Keller wondered if she was drunk. Then he noticed a flash of light reflecting off the metal stud through the girl’s tongue.
“My name’s Keller,” he said. “I’m the one that brought her in.”
“I’m Rita,” the girl said. She gave him a professional smile with no actual warmth.
“She going to be okay?” Keller asked.
The girl looked back at the pale figure on the bed, chewed her lower lip. “She’s going to live,” she said, “but she ain’t nowhere near okay.”
“She been shooting up long?”
The girl sat down and shook her head. “She never did anything like that before. Said she was scared of needles. She just did a little reefer, a little blow, nothing serious. But after her brother and her parents got killed, Jesus, in the same week and all--I guess she just decided what the fuck, y’know?”
“What about that cousin of hers,” Keller said. “You know, DeWayne. Anybody contact him?”
Another shake of the head. “Nobody knows where he is. They say he shot a cop. He’s on the run.”
Keller shrugged, trying to appear casual. “I just thought, he’s the only family she has left. He ought to be here.”
The girl laughed bitterly. “Right,” she said. “They hardly ever saw each other. Me and Mara, we’re the closest thing she has to family.”
“Mara?”
“We work together. I mean, not together, you know, although Mara and I used to do a show together sometimes. But the three of us worked at the same place.”
“The club?”
Rita looked puzzled, but quickly nodded. “Yeah. Right. The club.”
She obviously didn’t know what Keller was talking about. The girl was another hooker, he realized.
“Still,” he persisted. “Somebody ought to let him know. She ever tell you how to reach him?”
“No,” she said. She looked up, suddenly suspicious. “How come you’re so interested in DeWayne, anyway?”
“I know the family,” Keller said. “Maybe she told your boss something.”
Rita’s face became hard. “What boss? Who the hell are--”
“I talked to your boss on the phone,” Keller said. “She tried to call Crystal while I was driving her to the hospital.”
Rita stood up. “What are you, a cop? Son of a..”
Keller shook his head. “No. Not a cop.”
“Her dealer then? Did you give that shit to her?” The girl advanced on him, her hands clutching at him like claws. Keller noticed her nails, They were at least two inches long. He didn’t feel like going up against them, so he backed up. “No,” he said firmly. “How many dealers you know would drive someone to the hospital when they OD’d?”
The girl’s hands fell to her sides. “You trying to get Amber to work for you, maybe? Trying to steal her away? Let me tell you buddy, you don’t want to tangle with my boss. You may think she’s a pushover ‘cause she’s a woman. There’s people who’ve made that mistake. But she’s got people that’ll fuck you up, but good.”
“Yeah, she likes to point that out. But I’m not a pimp, either,” Keller said. “So you can tell your boss that.”
“What, you think she sent me down here?”
“It’s a pretty good bet. I doubt you’d stir your ass out of bed otherwise.” The girl swung a clawed hand at his face. He caught her wrist and held it in a painful grip. She gritted her teeth, but didn’t cry out.
“Tell your boss,” he said evenly, “That I’m not after her or Crystal. I’m after DeWayne.”
“Hah,” Rita hissed. “I knew it. You are a cop.”
Keller shook his head. “Nope. I work for DeWayne’s bondsman. I came to talk to Crystal--Amber--because she might know where he’d go if he was on the run.”
The girl nearly spat into Keller’s face. “Fuck you. She isn’t going to tell you shit.”
“Even if I knew,” a small voice said.
They turned to look at the bed. Crystal’s eyes were open. Her face sagged with fatigue and sickness, and Keller saw what she would look like when she got old.
Rita gave a scream of theatrical joy and threw herself on the bed beside Crystal, who winced with the jouncing. “Baby, sweetie,” Rita crooned, running her fingers through Crystal