Picked(9)

Startling me from my neighborhood watch and my reminiscences, my phone rang. I jumped, sending it to the passenger side floor. Trying to retrieve my phone with a grunt, my head jerked from the restraining seatbelt and the forgetfulness of me placing it there. Stupid thing cut right into my neck. Ouch.

“Hey, Dad,” I answered, trying not to sound like the scatter-brain that I was.

“Where are you?”

Boasting, I proudly beamed. “I’m working. I’m across the road from Zimmer, waiting for him to come out.”

“Did you do a drive-by first?”

“Drive-by? Why would I do that?”

“Is the yard mowed?”

“What?” I asked, glancing toward the freshly mowed lawn.

“The yard. Is the yard mowed or not?”

“Yeah,” I replied disappointed. I knew what he was getting at. That was like Private Investigator 101, something any idiot could figure out.

“You can leave. Come into the office. I’ll go over a few pointers with you.”

“I’m not driving in there for that. I’ve heard it all a thousand times.”

I could hear the tension in his voice. “But you don’t listen,” my frustrated father accused. “What were you planning on catching him doing? Walking to the mailbox? Disabled people check their mail, too. Get out of there. You can go back in a few days, narrow down his routine and hopefully catch him then.”

“Okay, but I’m not fighting traffic to come in there. There is nothing I can’t do at home.”

“I thought you wanted this, Cass.”

“Wanted what?” I feigned ignorance.

“I thought you wanted to leave a legacy, do this for your mother. I’m not convinced your heart’s in it.”

“It is. I’m fine. I’ll see ya later,” I lied. He wasn’t convinced because I wasn’t convinced. My heart wasn’t in it. I wasn’t sure where my heart was. I’d never gotten the chance to find out.

Pulling away from the curb, I waved when the little girl waved first, thinking about my choices, or my dad’s choices anyway. My mother always gave me choices, hot or cold cereal, pink or purple socks, sandals or flip flops, McDonalds or Pizza, one ponytail or two? My dad didn’t know how to take care of me, not like my mom did.

Avoiding the route where my mother lay, I took the long way home, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel to some melodramatic, cutting music. Driving home, I wondered where Becker Cole’s residence was. I couldn’t wait for the next day’s briefing so I could hear what Marti found out about him.

After stopping at the store, I spent my night doing pretty much what I’d done since I moved into my own house. Snowball ate his customary can of tuna and I had grilled cheese and tomato soup. At least I had the game to figure out. That would keep me busy for a while.

Looking around at the mess in my living room, I thought about tidying it up. I changed my mind, deciding I would rather learn more about the game, hoping to somehow meet up with Becker Cole while in there. I wondered if he played the game or just sat at home like a fat, feral cat cashing in on his fortune, pulling in hot kitties like a playboy. That’s probably exactly what he did. I bet he met all three of his wives right there on that game.

Walking down the sidewalk of the city, I determined I was staying out of the club. I chose the coffee shop instead. I smiled, standing in line to order my fake cup of coffee. This game was so stupid. It was beyond stupid. I wasn’t allowed to sit until I ordered something. Choosing a café latte with vanilla, I paid using my counterfeit glitter money and chose a window seat. I watched people on the street, coming in and out of the shop, and ordering their bogus coffee.

KC-Beer – You always drink your coffee with artificial sweeteners?

Great. I should have chosen the night club. This was just what I wanted. Someone that went by the name of beer to hit on me.

Cass – Does it matter? I can’t taste it anyway.

KC-Beer – You always so edgy?

Cass – Edgy? I ordered a cup of coffee with a shot of vanilla. How about you continue on, bother someone else, I’m not interested.

I liked this game. Smiling, I boasted my telling-off abilities. I could never talk to someone like that in person. Hell, I probably would have gone out with the guy because I was afraid to say no had he been standing in front of me.

That’s the part my father didn’t understand. He wanted me to be like him, full of power and control. I wasn’t. Plain and simple. I was more like my mother, not that she couldn’t hold her own. I’d seen her small frame stand up to my dad a few times. She usually won. It was the other people she couldn’t stand up to. Like our neighbor, Ms. Lead Foot. I don’t remember her real name. That was what my mom called her and that’s all I can remember her by. She used to fly up and down our street. My mother would get mad and complain to my dad, but never to her, and yet the woman walked all over her. She could fly up and down the road all day, but when she needed something, she called my mom.