The Approach Read Free

foot around its horizontal support and dragged it closer.
    “Hey, tough guy!” Candi called. “Whatcha waiting for? Come on out where I can see you so we can get this over with!”
    “Sure thing,” I replied. “I’m getting sick and tired of sitting around anyway.”
    I heaved Destiny’s suitcase around the corner of the dresser. It slid heavily across the floor toward the gun. As it left the protection of the shadows, Candi—seeing nothing but a dark mass headed her way—unloaded on it, firing until her pistol clicked empty. Then she ejected her spent magazine, plucked a fresh one from her back pocket, and knelt to inspect her handiwork.
    When she did, I rose from my hiding place behind the dresser, grabbed the television with both hands, and hoisted it over my head. Candi looked up—eyes wide, whites showing—as I brought it down hard on her head.
    The screen cracked but didn’t shatter—turns out, those old TVs were built to last—so I tried again. The screen buckled. I hit her twice more for good measure. The last time, the screen gave way.
    For a moment, Candi knelt before me, a television where her head should be. She looked like the sort of modern art that tried hard to be edgy, but always wound up way too on-the-nose. Then the TV’s weight caused her to topple over and she just looked dead.
    The exertion left me breathless and sweating. I shivered in the air-conditioned chill. I crossed the room. Shut the curtains. Turned on the lights. “Destiny?” I said. “You can come out now. It’s safe.”
    Destiny wriggled out from under the bed, her eyes widening as they lighted on Candi’s corpse. “Is she…” She trailed off, as if unable to say the word aloud.
    “Yeah. She’s dead.”
    “Thanks.” She swallowed hard. Her gaze met mine. I got the impression she was trying to look anywhere but the body. “My real name’s Sarah, by the way.”
    “Zack,” I lied. “It’s nice to meet you, Sarah.”
    “Is it?” she asked.
    I shrugged. “Beats the alternative. That could’ve gone another way.”
    “I…I don’t know how to repay you.”
    I thought about it for a moment. “Give me your wallet.”
    Her expression darkened. “Are you serious?”
    “Yes.”
    She frowned, but handed it over. It was more a coin purse than a wallet. It contained a hundred twenty-seven bucks, a driver’s license, a debit and two credit cards. I gave her back her cash. Then I crouched and patted Candi down. Found a quarter bag of crystal meth in her front right pocket. Nine hundred thirty-four dollars and a driver’s license held together with a hair elastic in her back left. The name on the license was Candace Mueller. The photo was a few years old. In it, Candi’s hair was black. Close enough, I thought.
    I handed the money and the ID to Desti—to Sarah. Then I tucked her coin purse into Candi’s pocket. The bag of meth, I tossed under the bed. A place this shitty, anybody could’ve left it there.
    “Congratulations,” I said. “You’re now Candace Mueller. And more important, she’s you.”
    “What, like forever? ”
    “No. Just until this all blows over.”
    “When will that be?”
    “If I had to guess? A week or so at most. The cash should be enough to see you through.”
    “How will I know when it’s safe for me to be me again?”
    “Keep an eye on the local news. You’ll know. But even then,” I said, eyeing the dead stripper at our feet, “you might be better off being you someplace else.”
    “Yeah,” she replied. “I think you’re right.”
    “You need a lift somewhere?”
    “What I need is a drink.”
    I smiled. “I hear the beer across the street is cold.”
    We turned off the lights. Left the room. Made sure the door was locked behind us. Outside, the band was deafening, and only got louder as we crossed the street.
    We drank and listened to the music. Chatted a little between sets. By night’s end, I even saw her smile once or twice, which I took as a sign she’d be all