82 Desire

pulling out across the street, its lights off, no way to see its plates, or even its make. But she was pretty sure at least two people were in it.
    She looked back toward the house and saw that the door was open. Thankfully, no curious neighbors lined the sidewalk.
    She wished she could call for backup, but she was on her own here. Gingerly, she peeked in the house, and then, cautiously, she entered. It was quite dark, except in the back of the house.
    She saw movement, low, toward the back. It was the woman who’d been on the sofa, wriggling like a snake. Her feet were tied as well as her hands. “Who the fuck are you?” she said.
    “Police. Who else is here?”
    “Nobody. The asshole’s gone.” She sighed, and Skip had the impression she was keeping back tears. Skip came in, shut the door behind her, and searched the house quickly. It had an odd smell to it, like new wood, though it was probably at least twenty years old.
    The woman was crying when she came back. “Eleanor Holser?”
    “Yes.”
    Skip untied her. “I’m Skip Langdon. New Orleans Police.”
    “New Orleans! Shithead Favret’s from New Orleans. I hope the fuck the river floods the Superdome.”
    She rubbed her ankles and stood up. Skip saw that she was very short, scarcely over five feet, with an hourglass figure poured into a tight red dress. An odd outfit for a forger, but this was Florida.
    Skip said, “Can you walk? “
    “Yeah, maybe.”
    “Let me help you.”
    But Holser pulled away. “What the fuck do you want? “
    Skip took a step away from her. “Did you see the silencer on that man’s gun? He was going to kill you, are you aware of that?”
    Holser only gaped.
    “I just saved your life, Ms. Holser. You mean, what do I want as a reward? Five minutes of your time—would that be too much to ask?”
    Holser stared at her. “I’ve got things to do.”
    Skip was getting angry. “Eleanor, you’ve got problems you don’t even know about, and I don’t mean your little cottage industry here.”
    “What you talking about?”
    “What you think—your kid.”
    For the first time, Holser showed an emotion other than anger. Her face turned a whole-wheat color. “What you mean, my kid?”
    “Get nice and I’ll tell you.”
    “I don’t got to—”
    “Stop being stupid, Eleanor. Make your life easier.”
    Holser looked at her out of eyes like quarters—big, but glittery and hard as metal. Finally, she said, “My kid okay?”
    “Why should I tell you?”
    The forger let some of the belligerence go out of her stance. “Okay, all right. Tell me what you want.”
    Uninvited, Skip sat on the sofa, and Holser followed suit. “For openers, who was that man and what did he want?”
    “A hired thug. I don’ know who hired him.” She shrugged.
    “Why do you say that?”
    “He had a silencer, he wasn’t bright, and he was looking for a client of mine. Looking for Edward Favret.” She gave Skip a shrewd look. “Popular guy, Edward Favret. You want him, too?”
    “You got it. Where is he?”
    “I did a little job for him, he didn’t pick it up.”
    “When was he supposed to?”
    “Today.”
    “What do you mean, today? When today?”
    “Just today, okay? He said he’d come; he didn’t.”
    “Don’t give me that shit. All the hired gun had to do was wait for him.”
    “I told him Favret’d already been here.”
    “Why’d you do that? It just about cost you your life.”
    “Well, I didn’t know that, did I? I didn’t want the creep hanging around.”
    “And you wanted the money—in case Favret did show up.”
    “He’s not gonna show.” She looked at her watch. “I told him I was going out at seven. It’s seven-thirty now.”
    “Okay, here’s what you do. You give me the papers you made for him, and when you see him, you tell him I need him.”
    “Fuck, no. How’m I gonna get paid?”
    “You just told me he’s not gonna show. Which is it?”
    She sighed. “You got it. He ain’t gonna show. I don’t care—take the fuckin’ papers. Just tell me where my goddamn kid is.” A note of desperation had crept into her voice.
    Skip had what she wanted, she gave something back. “Look, your kid’s okay. He’s in custody in Miami. I’ve got to call an officer in Fort Lauderdale—she’ll give you the particulars.”
    She called Rudolfo and outlined what had happened, leaning heavily on the gun with the silencer.
    “I think,” said Rudolfo, “I’d better send somebody to check on the