“I suppose so,” Rinaldo says with a grimace. “My back has been killing me the past few weeks. I’ve been to the chiropractor Franklyn suggested, but it hasn’t helped. Just getting to be an old man, I suppose.”
“You’ve got a few years left, I imagine.” I grin at him. “I’m going to get with Jonathan and start digging some more.”
“You do that.”
I grab my jacket from the wall hook and open the door.
“Evan?” Rinaldo calls as I start to leave. “Have you seen Felisa around?”
I pause a moment, pretending to think.
“I guess the last time I saw her was yesterday. She was looking for you.”
“Where?”
“Here in your office.”
“Did she say what she wanted?”
“No,” I tell him. I raise an eyebrow in his direction. “Actually, she was hitting me up for information on myself. Apparently, someone told her I needed to get my feelings out or something.”
“Guilty!” Rinaldo laughs and holds his hands up in the air. “She’s good to talk to. I hope you take her up on it.”
“We talked a bit,” I say with a shrug, then let out a long sigh. “I appreciate it, sir. Really I do, but I’m fine.”
“You’ve never been fine, son.” His words send a tingle down my back.
For a moment, I try to determine when I have been really, truly fine. There have been a handful of good memories over the years, but I can’t come up with an extended period of time when I was really all right. As a child, I wondered who my parents were. As a teen, it was all about how to get Mother Superior out of her habit and into bed so I could blackmail her into letting me leave. From there, I went straight into the Marines.
Maybe then—that first year—I was good. I recalled going through basic training and feeling like I actually belonged somewhere for the first time in my life. There was the initial moment when someone put a rifle with a scope in my hands, and I hit the target on the second shot. I knew right then what I was meant to do, and the sense of pride in myself was something that has only ever been matched by hearing Rinaldo refer to me as his son.
He’d just done that again. In addition, I’d taken care of something that was a threat to him and his family whether he recognized it or not. In that sense, I did feel pretty good.
“I’m as fine as I have ever been,” I say with a half-smile.
He gives me a hard look, but I remain ever stoic. I’m pleased the conversation was so easily diverted to me instead of Felisa, but I don’t want it going much further.
“Well, I hope you’ll talk to her again,” Rinaldo finally says. “Let me know if you see her. She’s not answering her phone.”
“Will do, sir.”
*****
Scratch, scratch, scrape!
“Stupid little bitch.” The sound of metal on metal makes me cringe.
No matter what I do, the damn Soccer Mom bumper sticker won’t come off the Camaro. I don’t know what kind of adhesive it has on it, but I’m convinced the stuff could withstand acid. All I’ve managed to do is make it look worse. I throw the screwdriver and bottle of Goo Gone across the parking garage and curse.
It’s nearly ten pm. I’m getting a headache, and I’m going to need a whole new bumper because this damn sticker won’t come off my car. I’ve also hit nothing but dead ends on my investigation of Landon Stark and Joshua Taylor. I can’t find any trace of either of them in town, and I’m actually considering hitting up gang members for more information.
“Fuck this.” I shove away from the vehicle and head back up to my apartment for a shower. It doesn’t help my mood any. I try to sleep, but I just stare at the ceiling. After an hour of this, I shove out of bed and get dressed.
Looking for Alina feels like giving in. I’m not sure exactly what I’m surrendering to, but the feeling is definitely there. Felisa’s last conversation keeps running through my mind. I’ve spent my life as a loner in one way or another. I’d had Odin, my dog, and he’d always been enough company for me. It seems out of character to admit that I don’t want to be alone, at least not at night, as if I were a six-year-old insisting on a nightlight before the door is closed.
I briefly consider the acquisition of another dog but ultimately dismiss the idea. I’d become attached, and attached means vulnerable.
Alina’s not on her corner.