The Devil's Wire Read Free Page B

stay in her room but someone has to pay the bills. She looks in the mirror and clenches her teeth as she pulls the comb through the rough and unruly hair she has cursed everyday of her life. At a bar once some wanna-be rapper type told her she looked like the serial killer Aileen Wuornos, only with ginger hair. She had laughed and Tupac had looked surprised because he hadn't meant it as a compliment. But Lenise had been called far worse. Her former husband had frequently referred to her as "pig" or "dog" so at least Aileen Wuornos was the right kind of species. And Wuornos was a woman of course, a strong, dangerous woman, who didn't take bullshit from anyone.
    "You better watch out then, P Diddly," Lenise had said, inching close to his gold-hooped ear lobe. "Because I may have more in common with Ms. Wuornos than just looks."
    Then she had clicked off a round with her finger and thumb, and just for a moment, the guy's eyes opened a touch too wide.
    "Crazy bitch," he had said, walking off.
    Lenise couldn't care less if she never looked in another mirror again and wouldn't even bother with make-up if it wasn't for the job, but in America it was expected you look "your best" or "professional" and for a woman that meant mascara and lipstick. She leans into her reflection and applies a layer of amber nights and thinks about how her teeth are in dire need of attention but that with her bank balance a trip to the dentist was not going to happen anytime soon.
    Once she's done with the make-up, Lenise slips on her Brook River Real Estate blazer and, as always, experiences a tiny burst of pride. Yes, she had to tell a few white lies to get the job, mainly about holding similar roles back in South Africa, but that's what a person had to do in order to get ahead in life. It was called being resourceful. Not that the job had been an out and out success, and truth be told, some days it truly felt like she was getting nowhere – it had already been two years and she was hardly raking it in – nevertheless, it was a vast improvement on handing out fries to slobs at Cheetoes Burritos and she was certain her luck would turn any day now. It was only a matter of time before a prime listing or referral would come her way.
    She walks past Cody's bedroom. He isn't up yet and she fights the urge to slam her fist into the door, at the fact she is sure he is at it again, even though he'd promised her a million times he would stop, but the money didn't grow legs and walk out of the house, did it? Lenise will have to deal with that later. Right now, there were more important things to think about, like Baby, alone and frightened in some steel cage.
    The vet still hasn't called but the open home is at 10am and she has to leave so she puts her cell in her pocket, shoves the Brook River sign in the back of the station wagon and heads to Fitchburg.
    When Lenise arrives at the four bedroom colonial she's annoyed to see no one has cut the grass. The empty house was another mortgagee sale and had been in a general state of disrepair since the bank kicked the owner out nine months ago. She forces the sign into the hard earth, and goes inside to open a few windows to air the place out and prays someone will show. She needs this sale because last week she had to withdraw money from her credit card for groceries.
    Lenise is considering a quick cigarette round the back when a blue SUV pulls up. Mike and Missy are from Texas and seem particularly interested.
    "Great natural light. Lots of storage," says Lenise.
    "Where y'all from?" asks Missy, noting the accent.
    "Jo'Burg."
    "Come again?"
    "South Africa."
    "No kidding."
    Lenise hears a loud male voice downstairs she recognizes instantly. Bert Radley. A sanctimonious shyster who would sell his own mother if he thought there was a buck in it. The breathtaking audacity of it – to bring a client to view a house during her open home.
    "If you'll excuse me for a moment," she says to Mike and Missy.
    Lenise finds Bert