to strangers one-on-one?
Crash and burn.
“Stick to your comfort zone.” Holcomb spun his chair around to reach for something on the credenza behind him, dismissing Gabe. “Shaking hands and kissing babies isn’t your forte. And it’s a job requirement for district attorney.”
“I can learn,” Gabe insisted. “Give me a chance.”
Holcomb twirled back around to face him, considering him through narrowed eyes. “Tell you what. The Feast of San Gennaro is in a few weeks.”
“Right.” Everyone knew that. The Italian street fair was one of New York City’s biggest and most popular events.
“I make a point to attend every year. Come with me, prove you can fit in with the crowd, and I’ll reconsider.”
“Fit in?”
“Meet people. Talk to them. Show me you can convince them to vote for you.”
“It’s a deal.”
Gabe rose, and Holcomb followed suit, extending his hand. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” He was going to need it. Because he had less than a month to learn how to “fit in” with the masses who populated the festival. And no freaking clue how he was going to do it.
* * *
“NOT IN SERVICE my ass.” Devin punched the End Call button on her cell phone.
Her boss and mentor, Leo Zambrano, looked up from the triceps he was tattooing and smirked. “You realize you’re talking to an automated message, right?”
“That low-life, rat bastard PI’s disconnected his phone.” She circled her station at Ink the Heights, the Washington Heights tattoo parlor where she’d worked since she was eighteen and Leo had caught her camped out in the storeroom. Instead of the boot, he gave her an apprenticeship, and he put up with her even on days like today. It was a damned good thing her next customer was running late. In this mood, she might accidentally stab him with a needle.
“The one Manny referred you to?” Leo wiped a spot of blood from his customer’s arm with a paper towel and studied his handiwork. The dark outline of a phoenix rising from the rubble of the Twin Towers stood out against Hector’s olive skin. “His cousin’s friend’s sister’s boyfriend, or something?”
“Yep. The jackass totally screwed me. Took my thousand-dollar retainer, told me he was on the trail of a hot lead then disappeared.” She paced between her station and Leo’s, needing some way to work off her anxiety short of tipping over the autoclave and dumping sterile instruments all over the floor.
“Can’t Manny track him down?” Their errand boy knew everything about everyone in the Heights.
Devin shook her head. “He tried. Says the guy dumped his cousin’s friend’s whatever three days ago and hopped a plane to Miami. Probably his first stop on his way to San Juan. How am I going to find Victor now? All I hit on my own was dead ends. And I can’t afford to pay anyone else. Hell, it took me months to scrape up that thousand.”
She balled her hands into fists. It wasn’t just the money that got to her, although losing a grand sucked big time. It was that for the first time in years she’d felt like she was getting close to finding her brother, only to have that hope snatched away, leaving her empty, depressed and mad as hell at the snatcher.
Then there was the article she’d read a few weeks ago in the Times about a group home for mentally disabled adults in the Bronx that was shut down after reporters for one of the local news programs found residents being verbally abused, pushed, kicked, starved and even spat on. What if Victor was in a place like that? “I swear, if that little pissant shows his face in this neighborhood again I’ll...”
“Kick him in the balls?” Leo smirked and went back to tattooing. “Like you did to Fast Fingers Freddie?”
“Worse. More like rip them off and shove them down his lying throat.”
“I could loan you—”
“No.” She stopped pacing to stare him down. “I’m not taking your money. Haven’t you rescued me enough?”
“You’re the one bailing me out these days. You’re good. Better than good. I keep expecting you to toss me for one of those fancy places near your apartment downtown.”
She shrugged. “What can I say? I have a fondness for aging bobos with a hero complex.”
“And I’m partial to smart-mouthed muchachas who insist on doing things their own way.” Leo set down his needle, took another swipe at the tattoo with the paper towel, and covered it with a bandage. “That’s it for today, Hector. We’ll start on the shading next week. Same time.”
“Thanks, man.” Hector flung a few bills onto the counter on his way out. “See you in seven.”
Leo peeled off his gloves, threw them into the trash can reserved for medical waste and crossed to the Keurig machine on the other side of the room. He held up a K-Cup. “Want one?”
“No, thanks.” Devin checked the clock above the sink. Three twenty-five. Almost half an hour past her client’s appointment time. Probably another case of cold feet. “I’m wound up enough already.”
Leo shrugged and started his cup brewing. “So you won’t take my money. What’s next? The police?”
Devin choked out a laugh. “What’s the point? The scumbag’s long gone, and the cops aren’t going to chase after him for a measly thousand bucks.”
“How about Holly’s brother?” The machine stopped gurgling, and he removed his mug, taking a long, slow sip of the dark roast. “Doesn’t he work for the DA’s office?”
“Gabe?” She turned her back to Leo, emptied the autoclave and tossed in a handful of fresh tools to be sterilized, glad for the excuse to hide her reddening face. “What about him?”
“He saved your sorry ass when you ran into him last week. Maybe he can help again.”
Ran into him. That was a major understatement. But she’d only told Leo that Gabe had found her in Central Park and taken her home. And she wouldn’t have even told him that if he hadn’t asked about the bruises on her upper arms from where that fuckup Freddie had grabbed her.
“My ass is not sorry, and he did not save it.” She released her hair from its messy ponytail, gathered it up again and secured it with the scrunchie she held in her teeth. “I took care of myself. And Freddie. Mr. Clean didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.”
“Well, Mr. Clean looks like your best bet to get your money back. Maybe even find Victor.”
Devin stopped, her hand on the pressure switch of the autoclave. She knew she’d never get the cash back. But it hadn’t occurred to her that Gabe could help find her brother. “How so?”
Leo lifted one shoulder and sipped his coffee. “He’s in Special Victims, right? He must know people in Child Services.”
Damn.
