The Deader the Better Read Free Page A

custody,
Misty ran away. That was three months ago yesterday. Constance Hart
gave me a rundown of her efforts to find her granddaughter. First the
cops. Overworked and understaffed. Runaways not a high priority. The
shelters. Doing the best they can. The CPS folks. Barely holding
their own. The missions. Same deal but with religion. Somebody said
maybe she ought to try a private firm. Hired Consolidated, the
biggest firm in town. For the past six weeks, they’d had an army of
suits papering the city with posters of the kid. No go.
    “What makes you think she’s in
Seattle?”
    “She called. About a month after
she ran away.” Her spine stiffened. She took a deep breath.
“She…she sounded like she was on drugs. She kept saying she was
fine. Just kept repeating that she was fine. I tried to explain the
court order…but she hung up.” She took a sip of her tea.
    “I’m afraid you’re my last
resort, Mr. Waterman.”
    Par for the course. Nobody comes to
me first. At least not with anything legal. In my business, you get
over any ro mantic idea that you were their first choice to help
them with their problem and come to realize that by the time they
worked their way down to your yellow pages ad, they’d already
consulted everything from the cops to the I ching.
    “Why me?”
    She eyed me carefully. “I heard—in
several places—that you were quite skilled at finding people and
things that didn’t want to be found. They said you were tenacious
and knew people on the street.”
    Tenacious was a pretty big
word for most of the people I knew on the street, so I asked, “Who
said?”
    “They asked me not to use their
names.”
    Couldn’t say I blamed them.
    “What else did Misty say?”
    “She said she was okay. She said
she’d seen her picture on a poster and wanted me to know that she
was okay.”
    “That all?”
    “I tried to tell her about the
court order, but she kept repeating that she was okay and that I
should stop looking for her.” She took a deep breath. “She said
an angel was taking care of her.”
    I shuddered. Not an angel.
Angel. Angel Monzon. Kiddie pimp.
    “Consolidated came up a complete
blank?” I asked. She pressed her lips into a thin line. “They
said…,” she began, “they said they had information that she
was…” She stopped again. Looking away this time. Shook her head.
    “Turning tricks?” I prodded.
    She gave the smallest of nods. I
wasn’t surprised. Pimps like Angel Monzon have a sixth sense when
it comes to finding the broken ones. The secret is to find the ones
who’ve already been to hell. Then the rest is easy. All that’s
left is to get them strung out on something they can’t afford and
then turn them out. I was betting Angel had been standing right by
Misty’s side while she talked to Grandma. Didn’t like the heat
from the posters. Especially not with one so young. Theysend your ass
down for thirteen-year-olds, and nobody but nobody wants to do state
time as a baby raper.
    “Suppose I do find her,” I said.
“She’s been on the streets for three months.” She was stirring
her tea. “Mrs. Hart,” I said. Reluctantly, she raised her eyes to
mine. “Have you given any thought to what I might bring back to
you? Three months is an eternity on the streets for a kid that age.”
    “What you bring home will be my
granddaughter.” She said it with such immense dignity that, for a
second, I almost believed it myself.
    The words escaped my lips before I
had a chance to think.
    “I’ll try to get a line on her,”
I said. G’s voice startled me. “What?” he barked. I showed him
my palms. “I didn’t say anything.”
    “Yeah, but your big ass was
thinkin’. I could hear it.”
    Two guys in yellow hard hats came out
of the diner and got into an orange Parks Department pickup truck.
The glare of the backup lights bathed the two women in stark black
and white.
    Funny how light works. In the
spectral glare, Narva looked like the Vampire Princess.