Indigo Slam: An Elvis Cole Novel Read Free

hands.
    “Don’t worry about it, Luce. Take all the time you need.” She hadn’t yet decided if she would take the job, but I very much wanted it to happen.
    “Are you sure?”
    “Sure, I’m sure. How about I pick you up at six? We can go for an early dinner at Border Grill, then back to the house to pack.” Border Grill was Lucy’s favorite.
    “You’re a dream, kiddo. Thanks.”
    “Or, I could drive over and pull the veep out of his meeting at gunpoint. That might work.”
    “True, but he might hold it against me in the negotiation.”
    “You lawyers. All you think about is money.”
    I was telling Lucy how rotten my plants looked when the outer door opened and three children stepped into my office. I cupped the receiver and called, “Out here.”
    The oldest was a girl with long dark hair and pale skin and little oval glasses. I made her for fifteen, but she might have been older. A younger boy trailed in behind her, pulling a much smaller girl. The boy was wearing oversized baggy shorts and Air Nike sneakers. He looked sullen. The younger girl was wearing an
X-Files
T-shirt. I said, “I’m being invaded.”
    Lucy said, “Tracy just looked in. I have to go.”
    The older girl came to the French doors. “Are you Mr. Cole?”
    I held up a finger, and the girl nodded. “Luce, don’t worry about how long it takes. If you run late, it’s okay.”
    “You’re such a doll.”
    “I know.”
    “Meetcha outside the building at six.”
    Lucy made kissy sounds and I made kissy sounds back. The girl pretended not to hear, but the boy muttered something to the younger girl. She giggled. I have never thought of myself as the kissy-sound type of person, but since I’ve known Lucy I’ve been doing and saying all manner of silly things. That’s love for you.
    When I turned off the phone, the older girl was frowning at my plants. “When they’re yellow it means they get too much sun.”
    Everyone’s an expert.
    “Maybe you should consider cactus. They’re hard to kill.”
    “Thanks for the advice.”
    The girl followed me back into my office. The younger girl was sitting on the couch, but the boy was inspecting the photographs and the little figurines of Jiminy Cricket that I keep on my desk. He squinted at everything with disdain, and he carried himself with a kind of round-shouldered skulk. I wanted to tell him to stand up straight. I said, “What’s up, guys? How can I help you?” Maybe they were selling magazine subscriptions.
    The older girl said, “Are you Elvis Cole, the private investigator?”
    “Yes, I am.” The boy snuck a glance at the Dan Wesson, then eyed the Pinocchio clock that hangs on the wall above the file cabinet. The clock has eyes that move from side to side as it tocks and is a helluva thing to watch.
    She said, “Your ad in the Yellow Pages said you find missing people.”
    “That’s right. I’m having a special this week. I’ll find two missing people for the price of one.” Maybe she was writing a class report:
A Day in the Life of the World’s Greatest Detective
.
    She stared at me. Blank.
    “I’m kidding. That’s what we in the trade call private-eye humor.”
    “Oh.”
    The boy coughed once, but he wasn’t really coughing. He was saying “Asshole” and masking it with the cough. The younger girl giggled again.
    I looked at him hard. “How’s that?”
    The boy went sullen and floated back to my desk. He looked like he wanted to steal something. I said, “Come away from there.”
    “I didn’t do anything.”
    “I want you on this side of the desk.”
    The older girl said, “Charles.” Warning him. I guess he was like this a lot.
    “Jeez.” He skulked back to the file cabinet, and snuck another glance at the Dan Wesson. “What kind of gun is that?”
    “It’s a Dan Wesson thirty-eight-caliber revolver.”
    “How many guys you kill?”
    “I’m thinking about adding another notch right now.”
    The older girl said, “Charles,
please
.” She looked