Iron just smirks at me.
“Masher told you?” It’s not really a question, but I pose it all the same.
“Of course he did. Real talk, I think he was worried about you,” he admits with an eye roll, showing how valid he thinks the concern is.
I tilt my head to the side, indicating the closed door to tell him where she is.
“He also told me she was sliced up. What happened?” He keeps his voice low enough that I’m not worried about her overhearing.
I motion for him to follow me across the apartment. “Masher has a big mouth,” I start.
“He’s not going to win any IQ tests, but he’s loyal.” Iron shrugs. “What gives?”
“She was attacked in the parking lot. The guy stabbed her lower belly before running off. I tapped him.”
“He’s the guy you wanted me to check out?” he confirms.
“Yeah, you find anything on him or know who he is?”
“Nothing but a little change and a phone. I haven’t had the time to sort through it yet.”
“Masher said he had fifteen hundred bucks. Did he seem like the kind of guy to have that kind of cash? I didn’t get a good look.”
“Maybe. He didn’t look like a street rat, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I haven’t seen anything about a missing person on the news today.” I glance over at the television that hasn’t been on in hours.
“Do you know how many people go missing in a day? Hundreds. If it’s not a pretty lady or a kid, you don’t hear about that shit.” Iron snorts. “I’ll ask my contact at the station and see if he matches with anyone they are looking for.”
“Let me know. Something felt off about it, like he knew her or something.”
“She’s not talking?” Iron lifts his eyebrows in surprise.
“I haven’t gotten much out of her,” I admit. “I wanted to make sure she wasn’t going to die first.”
Iron’s lips curl up on one side in a knowing smirk. “Want me to have a chat with her?”
“Maybe, if she doesn’t open up soon.”
The door opens, revealing a very disheveled Maxine. Iron turns so he can see her, and she takes a big step back but doesn’t close the door.
“Close the door,” I order.
Her eyes narrow on me before she takes a long look at Iron, then swings the door closed hard enough to rattle the wall.
“She looks like trouble all wrapped up in a pretty mess of a package,” Iron says, his thoughts mirroring my own. “I bet she’s like candy to you.” He faces me again.
“More like a fucking headache,” I retort.
“You want me to get a couple of the other guys over here to sit on her until she’s ready to confess all her sins?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so,” he sings. It’s fucking weird coming from a grown man his size, but he’s never cared about what people think of him.
“Thanks for bringing me the shit.”
“Is that your way of telling me to get lost?” He does the opposite and throws himself on the sofa.
