“Why wouldn’t it be her? Just because we couldn’t trace her back to Tycos or anyone else who could be after me doesn’t mean she’s clean. What kind of PA wears red lingerie under her pencil skirt and strips down in her boss’s office?”
He barks out a laugh. “That sounds like a porno I’d watch.”
I shake my head, reaching for the gun concealed on my hip. “I want to interrogate Stephen Rail until he cracks.”
We’re both in suits, and in this place, that kind of attire stands out. I don’t bother knocking on the third-floor apartment, shoving my shoulder into it. The doorjamb cracks, opening the door easily. The putrid smell of animal waste and weed greets my nostrils, and I hold my breath.
Stephen Rail is passed out on the dingy sofa, a blunt still lit between his lips. His long, stringy hair is nearly in dreadlocks, and he’s dressed in a pair of boxers.
Jackson removes the blunt, stubbing it on the empty can of bean dip already filled with ash.
“Dipshit could’ve burned down the whole place,” he grumbles, kicking his leg. “Rise and shine, Willie Nelson.”
Stephen’s eyes open, widening at the sight of two handguns in his face.
“It’s medicinal,” he says, starting to sit up and rub his eyes. “I got a paper from a doctor and everything.” He yawns, reaching his arms behind his back to stretch.
I grab the glass of water on the coffee table, throwing it on his face.
“Hey! Cool down, man. I’ll get it for you?—”
“Shut the fuck up. Tell me about Kate Dawson.”
His eyebrows furrow at the name. “Katie Bug? What about her?”
Katie Bug?
I clench my jaw.
“You know who we’re talking about. Tell us who she’s working for,” Jackson threatens, pressing the cold metal into the guy’s throat.
His eyes widen again, and he begins to stammer. “I, uh, I only cheated on her a couple of times, man. I don’t know where the hell she works now. I went to see her at that design place, but they said she got fired.”
He tries to move away from the gun, but Jackson grabs a fistful of his greasy hair.
Posing as the ex makes sense, but why the slob routine?
“Cut the shit. We know you’re her contact. Tell us who you’re working for!” Jackson grabs on to Stephen’s neck.
“Is it Tycos?” I ask him, watching to gauge his reaction.
He doesn’t seem to hear me; all his focus is on Jackson’s steel grip on his neck.
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’ve known her since we were in high school. I have her yearbook! I can prove it!” He chokes the words out, tears beginning to form in the corners of his fearful eyes.
Jackson looks at me, and I nod. He releases Stephen, who stumbles onto the floor to get away from us. Jackson follows him into the bedroom, gun pointed at his head.
I look around, more confused than ever. I was so sure that we’d get some kind of answers here, that there was no way he was as good as Kate. Maybe he really is simply a civilian she’s using to establish the part she’s playing.
They both come back into the living room a minute later, an old yellow yearbook open in Stephen’s hands as he flips through.
“Here it is! See, that’s us dancing the Wobble at prom. I bet I could find that tie...”
He tries to go back into the bedroom, but Jackson grabs him by the hair again.
“Stay here.”
Stephen swallows, continuing to turn the pages as he babbles frantically. “Okay, I don’t know how to prove it, but I took her virginity that night. I also kissed her best friend, but I don’t think she ever found out. Here’s us at a swim team meet.”
