Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues

Chapter 21

My nerves were shot by the time we pulled into the parking lot of the XpressMart. It certainly wasn’t a shining example of the XpressMart franchise. The “pr” and “M” in the sign were burned out, and one of the front windows had been replaced with a large sheet of plywood, on which someone had spray-painted a giant picture of a penis. But the pay phone still worked, and I had a fistful of quarters that I’d fished out of the console of Ed’s truck, though I actually had no clue how much it cost to make a call. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d used a pay phone, if ever.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Ed said as I dumped coins into the phone. I sure as hell hoped he didn’t turn evil again. I was going to get whiplash with the insane loyalty switching here.

I paused with my finger hovering over the buttons. “Um, do you know Marcus’s number?” I asked Ed with a sheepish grin. “I have him in my contacts. I never have to actually dial it, y’know?”

Ed rolled his eyes and rattled off the digits. I dialed, shifting from foot to foot while I waited for Marcus to pick up. When it went to voicemail I groaned, then mentally fumbled for what to say during the brief outgoing message.

“Marcus, it’s Angel. There’s some weird shit going on, and you need to watch your back. The security guy from the lab shot me and tried to kidnap me, but Ed saved me, and, oh yeah, Ed’s cool now, but I can’t explain that now. But there’s some kind of conspiracy to get zombie heads, and it has to do with Sofia’s research and the zombie factions. Oh! I was totally right about Zeke Lyons. Ed said he gave the heads to someone, and we think they grew zombies back from them. Oh, and Sofia’s a bad guy. Don’t trust her! And anyway, I don’t have my cell phone, I’m on a pay phone, but I’ll try and call you again soon. Just, please be careful.”

I hung up, turned to Ed. “That was total incoherent babble, wasn’t it?”

He looked as if he was biting his lip to keep from laughing. “Well…you’ll definitely get his attention with that message.”

“Ugh. Whatever. I’ll try him again in a bit.” I could feel my expression settling into a scowl. “Lets go find Sofia.”

I had her address in my text messages, but I realized it was more than possible that it wasn’t actually her address and had been given to me to lead me into McKinney’s ambush. Therefore, Ed and I agreed that we should find out for sure. Looking her up in a phone book seemed like the logical first step, but finding a phone book was more of a challenge than we expected. There wasn’t one by the pay phone, and the clerk in the XpressMart simply gave me a vacant look when I asked if she had one. Ed then came up with the idea of finding a computer with internet to look her up, but I reminded him that the library was closed and the only way we would get to a computer at this point would be to break into someone’s house.

After several minutes of argument and increasingly pointless debate, we finally agreed that we should at least go and make sure that the address she gave me was bullshit before we took the step of breaking into someone’s house for the sole purpose of surfing the web. Yeah, we were some serious tactical geniuses, for sure.

Breckenridge Estates was still mostly under construction, and only every fourth lot or so had a finished house on it. It wasn’t very large, either, and pretty much consisted of two long roads that curved off from either side of the entrance, each ending in a cul du sac—which, in a satellite photo, looked like a pair of ovaries. In between the “ovaries” was a swath of woods—green space that was probably used for drainage—which, in a satellite photo looked like, well, bush.

And the only reason I knew this was because Nick had somehow discovered it and made sure everyone else in the office saw it as well. To his credit, this was totally my level of humor, and I’d thought it was hysterically funny. But, hey, if not for that I wouldn’t have known where Breckenridge was and how it was laid out.

I shared my wisdom with Ed as he drove, deeply disappointed when he failed to see the extreme hilarity in the layout. Oh well, maybe it was something that had to be seen to be appreciated.

As we entered the subdivision Ed put his hand on his gun, and I slouched down in the front seat of the truck.

“There’s the address she gave me,” I said, peering up over the dash at the very ordinary brick ranch-style house. I frowned at the blue Mazda in the driveway. “And that’s her car.” Guess it wasn’t a bullshit address after all.

I started to tell Ed not to pull into the driveway, but he obviously had a healthy dose of common sense and simply drove on past the house. I didn’t see any movement behind the curtains as we drove by, but there were other ways for her to be watching out for us. Surely by now McKinney would’ve let her know I’d escaped. But would either of them be expecting me to come here?

“This could be another ambush,” I told Ed as we rounded the curve.

He gave a terse nod. “That occurred to me as well. There’s a bag behind the seat. Has night vision goggles in it. I’m going to park on the other side of that green space, and we can approach through the trees.”

I leaned over the back seat and saw a black nylon tactical bag. It was a lot heavier than I expected, and when I got a look at the contents I saw why.

“Holy shit, dude.” Not just night vision goggles, but also a variety of handguns, ammunition, road flares, and what looked like a stun gun. “Can I just say how glad I am that you’re doing the good guy thing right now?”

Ed smiled tightly, but shame flashed through his eyes. He parked the truck in an empty driveway in the left “ovary,” grabbed the bag and got out. I scrambled out after him, then had to struggle to keep up as he took off at a lope toward the trees. About a dozen feet into the woods he stopped and crouched, fished out a pair of the goggles and handed them to me. I took them gratefully since I could barely see my hand in front of my face.

The world leapt into green and black focus, just like in the movies. “These are so cool,” I breathed.

“Can you shoot a gun?” he asked.

“I’m not a great shot or anything, but I know which end to point at the bad guys,” I replied.

“Good enough.” He pressed the butt of a pistol into my hand. I couldn’t see details with the goggles on, but it wasn’t a very large gun. Some kind of automatic. Bigger than a .22 but smaller than a .45. And that was about the extent of my gun knowledge.

He began moving through the trees, and I followed, doing my best to be quiet but certain that we sounded like a pair of rampaging elephants. It probably took us close to fifteen minutes to get through the stretch of woods, part of which was a swampy section that we had to wade through, soaking us to our knees. I kept scanning but didn’t see anyone lurking in the woods lying in wait.

We dropped to the ground a few feet from the other edge of the woods and watched the house for several minutes. Finally Ed turned to me and pulled his goggles off. “Too much light around the house for night-vision now,” he said in a barely audible voice. I quickly tugged mine off, then had to blink a few times to get used to normal vision again.

“I don’t see anyone,” I said, doing my best to match his low volume.

“Me neither.”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t smell anyone either.”

He shot me an uncertain look. I shrugged and smiled sweetly.

“Uh, okay,” he muttered. “Well, I think we should go for it.”

We shifted into crouches, then moved quickly through the back yard and pressed ourselves up against the house. I edged to the door and started to reach for the handle, but Ed grabbed my arm before I could touch it.

“No gloves,” he hissed, giving my hand a pointed look. I winced. Oh, yeah. Probably best not to leave fingerprints.

But he didn’t release my arm. “Look at the door frame,” he said.

I followed his gaze, cold settling into my gut at the scrape marks around the lock.

“Lock is broken,” he whispered, grim expression coming over his face. He gave the backyard another quick scan, then—since he did have gloves on—gently tugged the back door open.

“Stay here while I check it out,” he murmured.

“The fuck I will,” I shot back.

He gave me a sharp look. “You’re a big tough zombie,” he whispered. “How can you be afraid to be left out here alone?”

“’Cause I’m also a neurotic chick who’s already been attacked once today,” I whispered back with a scowl.

He processed that, then nodded. “Fair enough. Follow me, and try not to shoot me in the back.”

“No promises,” I muttered.

He snorted in response and slipped inside. I followed and quietly pulled the door closed behind me. The house was utterly silent except for the hum of the refrigerator. The cold feeling in my gut began to increase as we moved through the kitchen and into the living room.

Yet even with the sense that something was really fucked up, it still shocked the hell out of me when I saw Sofia lying in a pool of blood in the middle of the floor.

I stopped where I was as I took it all in. She was on her back with one leg bent up under the other and her right arm flung out to her side. Her eyes were open, and blood tracked across her forehead from where she’d been shot in the head. I couldn’t tell if that was the only wound, but either way she was clearly dead. I’d seen hundreds of bodies before, of course, but I’d always been prepared for it. This time, though, I’d been coming here to lay into her and hopefully find out what the hell was going on. I’d never honestly believed that she’d ever really been in danger.

I let out a shaking breath as I scanned the room. No sign of struggle—just like Marianne’s house—except for a knocked-over can of Coke that had made a large brown stain in the pale carpet. Sofia didn’t keep a terribly neat house, though the mess was mostly clutter, not dirt. I moved over to the table. A desk calendar covered much of the surface, surrounded by stacks of books and magazines. The calendar was at least two years old and covered with notes and phone numbers and reminders. She probably didn’t want to get a new calendar because then she’d lose all the information scrawled onto this one. I could appreciate that mentality. I almost liked her a bit more now that I knew she hadn’t been perfect. Almost.

“We need to get out of here now,” Ed said, grabbing me by the arm.

“Hang on,” I said, peering at one phone number that was circled. Above it was scrawled “K@ScottFH.” The number looked vaguely familiar, as if it was one that I’d dialed a few times. It wasn’t Marcus’s, I knew that much. What the hell did K@ScottFH mean? Was it an email address? If so wasn’t it supposed to have a “com” or “net” at the end?

I didn’t want to risk touching anything so I did my best to memorize it and the number instead of finding a pen and scrap of paper. Ed tugged on my arm again, but this time I didn’t resist and allowed him to lead me to the back door. He eased it open and did a quick scan, then seized my hand and took off at a run toward the woods. I had no problem keeping up, and when we reached the woods, I pulled the goggles back on as if I’d worn them a thousand times. I didn’t say a word as we returned to the truck, remaining silent until we were well away from the house and the subdivision.

“You okay?” I finally asked.

Ed’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Not really,” he said. “I’ve known Sofia a long time. She could be a real bitch sometimes, but…” His expression darkened. “I’m going to kill that McKinney motherfucker.”

“You think McKinney did it? But I thought you shot him.”

“He was wearing a vest,” Ed told me. Then he thumped his chest with his fist. “So am I, for that matter.”

Blinking in surprise, I took a closer look at him. Yeah, now that I was looking for it I could see a slightly thicker look to his torso beneath the hoodie. I’d been so distracted by the skulls and other goth or emo stuff that I hadn’t even noticed.

Goth…

“Oooooh,” I breathed. Now I knew what K@ScottFH meant and how I knew that phone number. “Sofia was two-timing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She was playing both sides of the zombie factions. There was a phone number on her desk calendar that looked vaguely familiar, with what I thought was an email address above it. But it wasn’t. It stood for ‘Kang at Scott Funeral Home.’” Kang, the seventy-year-old zombie who’d always dressed like a twenty-year-old goth.

“Who the hell is Kang?” he asked, sounding slightly exasperated.

“The zombie you killed at Scott Funeral Home.” Yeah, sure, Ed had rescued me and seemed to be changing his ways, but I still wasn’t ready to pull any punches. “If anyone was a leader of another zombie faction it would have been Kang,” I continued, talking it out more for my own sake than for his. “He was old as shit and had a tight hold on the brain distribution from the funeral homes in this area.”

Ed was silent for a moment, face stony. “That’s how I tracked him down. Two of the others had his name and number.”

As sorry as I was for Kang, I still couldn’t help but feel a teensy bit of I told you so. I’d told the damn man that I thought someone was hunting zombies and that he should be careful, and he’d blown it off as “not his problem.” Jerk.

“I need to call Marcus again,” I said after a moment. “And Pietro. He needs to know.” I frowned. “Shit. I don’t have his number.”

“I know his number,” Ed said. Then he gave me a puzzled look. “But what does Pietro have to do with any of…” His expression abruptly shifted to one of shock. “Oh, my god. He’s a zombie too, isn’t he.”

“Yeah, he’s another Zombie Leader. I think Sofia was playing Kang and Pietro off each other. In fact,” I said, musing, “I bet it was Kang’s murder that started getting her all freaked out.” I considered this for a moment as I fought to get all the pieces to fit together. I was still missing something. “You’ve known Pietro a long time, haven’t you?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “He and my parents were friends.”

A horrible suspicion came over me, but I didn’t want to say anything just yet. However, Ed wasn’t stupid.

“How long has he been a zombie?” His voice was calm, but I had the feeling that if he tightened his grip on the wheel any more it would crumble.

“Um, a pretty long time, as far as I know.” I watched him, wary. Dude was about to snap. “He’s the one who turned Marcus,” I continued. “Marcus got bit by a raccoon or something and got rabies.”

Surprise flashed over Ed’s face. “I remember that.” His shoulders slumped and his death grip on the steering wheel relaxed a fraction. “He…Marcus told me he got the shots in time.”

“He didn’t,” I said. “He didn’t know he was infected until he started to get symptoms. It didn’t even occur to him.”

Ed shuddered. He was medically trained and knew that it was almost always too late by that point.

“He was going to die,” I went on. “So Pietro…saved him the only way he could.”

Ed didn’t respond. He stared at the highway ahead as we drove. I didn’t ask him where we were going. Right now it didn’t really matter.

“He’s the one who killed my dad,” he finally said in a voice so raw it made me shiver.

I didn’t ask him if was sure. He was. I could see that. His eyes were on the road, but memories flickered behind them.

“He killed my dad,” he repeated. “But not my mom.” His throat bobbed again as he swallowed hard. “He loved her.” His voice broke on that, and then it was as if the dam opened up. He began to sob, and I quickly put out a hand and took hold of the steering wheel. To my relief he slowed down, retaining enough control of himself to pull over to the side of the road and put the truck in park before completely breaking down.

“I used to hear my parents fight,” he managed to get out as he leaned his forehead against the steering wheel, his body shaking.

I blew out my breath as it all clicked together. Pietro and Dawn Quinn. Pietro didn’t kill her. Her husband shot her in a fit of jealous rage. But why didn’t Pietro turn Dawn into a zombie to save her? I thought, but then realized the answer. She was probably already dead, and it was too late. And then Pietro killed Sam Quinn in revenge….

Jesus fucking Christ, it was a zombie soap opera.

And I didn’t know what the hell to do with Ed while he cried. Ah hell, should I try and comfort him or hug him or some crap like that? I mean, the guy had obviously been through a ton of shit, but he had tried to kill me not all that long ago.

Fuck it, I thought with a sigh and pulled him to me so that he could cry on my shoulder. First Marcus, now Ed. What the hell was it about my bony little shoulder that made it so easy for men to cry on?

He regained control of himself after a couple of minutes—to my intense relief—scrubbed a hand over his face, put the truck back into drive and pulled back onto the highway. “Let’s find you another pay phone,” he said.

We didn’t want to go back to the pay phone we’d used before, since we both had our paranoia meters pegged on Everyone’s out to get us! However, it turned out that pay phones were rarer than phone books, and it took almost fifteen minutes of driving around to find another. We eventually located one at a decrepit gas station in an unspeakably dicey area of town, where I knew damn well we were being watched and sized up. I’d been in the drug scene long enough to know that if I’d ever wanted to switch from painkillers to crack or meth, this was the area to find it.

Ed parked and got out, then kept a scowl on his face and the gun in his hand while I scrounged quarters from the floor of the truck.

“Shit,” I heard Ed breathe even as the crunch of gravel warned me that someone was pulling into the lot. I straightened and stuffed the quarters I’d found into my pocket as I got a look at the newcomer.

“Shit,” I echoed.

“That’s a cop,” Ed muttered as he leaned against the truck in what looked like a completely casual pose. I didn’t see the gun. Both his hands were in plain sight, thumbs tucked into his front pockets. He looked bored and mildly impatient, as if he was waiting for me to finish up what I had to do so that we could get the hell out of there.

It would have worked great in any other location, most likely. But here his gothed-out look made him look like he was in the neighborhood trying to score drugs.

Then I got a good look at the car and my mood sunk even more. “Not just a cop,” I groaned, doing my best to keep from looking guilty or furtive, though I was probably managing to look even more so simply by trying to look all innocent and shit. One thing I certainly wasn’t was innocent. “That’s my probation officer.” Damn it! I could get into trouble just for being in a high-crime area if my probation officer wanted to be a jerk about it. And what if he happened to recognize Ed as Ed? Hanging out with a suspected serial killer probably wouldn’t look too great either.

Probation Officer Garza’s mouth was pressed into a thin, tight line as he got out of his car. He sure as hell didn’t look like he was too pleased with me. He gave Ed a long and measuring look as he approached us. I fought the urge to glance at Ed to see what he was doing. I could only put all my faith in the fact that he’d worked around cops for years and knew what to do—and what not to do—to keep from arousing suspicion.

“’Sup?” Ed said to Garza. “Y’got a light, man?” He slurred his words ever so slightly, and when I finally risked a peek at him I saw that he seemed to be having trouble focusing on the probation officer.

A sour look settled on Garza’s face. He ignored the question and turned his attention to me, apparently—hopefully—pegging Ed as a stoner who was too high to worry about at the moment.

“What are you doing here, Angel?” he asked. I could have sworn he looked disappointed in me.

I gulped, suddenly feeling oddly guilty even though I had no reason to. But, damn, he was intimidating. “It’s not what it looks like,” I said in a rush. “My car got busted up over on Highway 191, and I had to call my buddy for a ride. And then I lost my purse, and I wanted to call my dad to let him know I was all right so we stopped to use the pay phone. That’s all.”

He blinked, then frowned. “I see. That’s pretty far from here.”

I gave a sigh. “Have you ever tried to find a pay phone? There aren’t too many of them.”

He considered that for a moment. “True.” He cast a sweeping look around, eyes narrowing. “You need to finish your business up here and get out of here.” He delivered a scathing glance at Ed before turning back to me. “And be careful of the company you keep.”

I nodded emphatically. “Yes, sir. I will. Promise.”

“And don’t forget about Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?” What the hell was…shit. “Right! Wednesday. Our meeting.”

“Yes,” he said, mouth twisted sourly. “Please don’t miss it.”

“I won’t,” I said as fervently as I could. Cripes, with all the other shit going on, this was the last thing I needed to deal with. And how would he react if he knew I broke into a house and found a dead body tonight? I had a sudden cartoonish image of his head exploding, and I had to press my lips together to keep from busting out an entirely inappropriate laugh.

He let out a low snort, shook his head, then—to my immense relief—turned around and climbed back into his car. I hurriedly dug the quarters out of my pocket and moved to the phone so that he’d believe what I’d said about the phone call. Well, it was partially true.

I started feeding quarters into the slot, relieved beyond all reason to hear the crunch of tires as he backed up and turned around.

“He’s gone now,” Ed muttered. “Jesus, that was close.”

“I am so going straight back to jail,” I moaned as I fumbled with the coins.

Ed let out a snort of laughter. “Yeah, probably.” I shot him a glare, but he lifted his chin toward the phone. “Don’t tell Marcus about Sofia on his voice mail.”

I paused mid-number-punch. “Why?” Then I grimaced. “Oh, right. That would be evidence that I’d been there.”

“Exactly.”

Well here’s hoping he picks up, I thought, but of course he didn’t. No, that would be too easy. I hung up without leaving a message.

I asked Ed for Pietro’s number, amused that the last four digits were the same as my ex-boyfriend Randy’s, and was completely unsurprised when that call also went to voice mail. “Pietro, this is Angel. I’m trying to reach Marcus. I know you don’t like me, but I just want to warn him—and you, I suppose, as well—that Walter McKinney, the head of security at NuQuesCor shot me and tried to kidnap me tonight. I’m worried that y’all might be targeted as well.” I paused, trying to think of some way to tell them about Sofia. “I think he killed Marianne. And…someone else. Someone you both know.” Shit, this was pointless. “Tell him to watch his back,” I said, then hung up.

“I think you did better when you were spouting incoherent babble,” Ed said mildly as he continued to scan the area.

“I think you’re right,” I muttered as I fed more quarters into the phone.

“Who are you calling now?” he asked with a frown.

“My dad,” I replied. “If the cops find my car on the side of the road they might call him or come to the house, and I don’t want him to worry.” I paused before dialing. What the hell was his cellphone number? I had him in my contacts as “DAD.” I never had to actually dial the damn thing. Cursing under my breath, I checked my watch. Nine p.m. I knew the home phone number but at this hour on a Sunday there was no way he’d be home. He’d be down at Kaster’s watching football with the rest of his buddies.

But at least I could leave a message for him.

I jerked in surprise as the phone rang before I could punch the first number in. Ed and I exchanged a wary look, then I picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Angel? This is Pietro. I’m sorry for not answering, but I always screen calls from unfamiliar numbers. What’s going on?”

I frantically waved Ed over so that he could listen in. “Sofia’s dead, Pietro. We’re pretty sure that Walter McKinney killed her. Oh, and—”

“Hold on, Sofia’s dead? How do you know? And who’s ‘we’?”

“Yes. We went to her house and saw her body. She’d been shot. And ‘we’ is Ed. And me.”

“Ed Quinn?” he asked, shock and anger in his voice. “Angel, this is ridiculous. You’re not thinking clearly and now you want to get Marcus involved in—”

“Shut up and let me talk!” I yelled. “I’m trying to protect Marcus! Look, it’s complicated, but that’s not the important thing right now.” I quickly explained about Zeke the zombie who was beheaded and then grown back, and my theory that whoever was doing it was escalating their experiments using Sofia’s fake brain research.

He was silent for a long moment. “You’re absolutely certain Sofia is dead?” he said, voice so even that it was obvious he was holding back a great deal of emotion.

“Yeah,” I said. “She was shot in the head. I’m sorry.”

He let out a long exhalation. “I see. As to your dead zombie, I’ll admit that it does seem that he was somehow, as you say, grown back. But that hardly means there’s some sort of secret lab doing covert experiments.”

Somehow I resisted the deep urge to shriek in frustration. “Y’know, I’m not a fucking moron,” I told him, unable to keep the anger out of my voice. “Look, I’m real sorry Sofia’s dead, but it’s pretty clear that she was playing both sides, and I don’t mean that she was bisexual.” Then I shrugged. “Then again, I suppose it’s possible that she was, but that’s not my point.” I took a deep breath to get myself back on track. “You weren’t the only one she was giving info to,” I told him. “And then McKinney shot me several times earlier tonight during an attempt to kidnap me. Ed was the one who fucking saved me. He was duped into killing zombies and turning over the heads to whoever is doing this shit.”

“I’m relieved that Ed was there to assist you,” Pietro said. “But I have a hard time believing Sofia would do that. We had intel that the other faction was after Sofia’s research. And, clearly, tonight they chose to kill her rather than allow us to have it.”

Intel? Seriously? I opened my mouth to argue then closed it before I could say something that would forever ruin my chances of getting any help out of him. He was up to something, the fucker. Meanwhile there was a thought trying to work its way loose from the back of my head.

“Angel,” he said before I could speak. “It’s obvious you’re in trouble. I can help you. Tell me where you are.”

“Nah,” I said absently, still trying to think. “I don’t trust you.”

He let out a low snort of amusement. “At least you’re honest. Are you still injured? Do you need brains?”

“No, I’m cool.” Injuries. Brains. Was that it? I covered the receiver and whispered to Ed, “Your mom—she was friends with Dr. Kristi Burke, right? Was she a neurologist too?”

“They worked in the same practice,” he said, still looking confused. “But she’s not Dr. Burke anymore. She divorced and took back her maiden name. She’s Dr. Charish now.”

I stared at him, suddenly feeling as if my brain was one of those old-fashioned boards at train terminals in old movies where the little tiles cascaded down to form words or a picture. Because, finally, a coherent picture was starting to form.

I smiled thinly. “She changed her hair color too, right?” At his nod I continued. “And did Pietro know her as well?” I already knew the answer to this one since I remembered she’d been at his little soirée.

Now his mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Most definitely.”

Grinning, I uncovered the mouthpiece. “Okay, Pietro, I’m pretty sure you’re full of shit. Well, maybe not completely full of shit, but I think that maybe Sofia wasn’t the only scientist on your payroll. Dr. Charish also works for you, right?”

There was a moment of silence before he spoke. “Yes, Kristi also works for me, but on a different project than the one Sofia was working on.”

I scowled into the phone. “Yeah, well I think your good doctor knew exactly what was going on in her lab. And I’m pretty sure she was the one who duped Ed into chopping zombie heads off.” But I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something. Was this whole thing really just about developing better fake brains to make money off zombies? Or was it some kind of zombie war? But if so, why the hell did they now need a live zombie? And why me?

There was another extended silence on Pietro’s end. “There are dire consequences for harming or interfering with anyone under my protection,” he finally said, voice low and dark. “Whoever is responsible for these murders, you can be certain that I will deal with it.”

I didn’t trust Pietro, but I also knew I wouldn’t ever want to cross him. I was pretty sure that all of my comments about the Zombie Mafia were closer to the mark than most people suspected. So, in a way, this was almost reassuring. Almost.

“I have to make some calls,” he said abruptly. “Call me again as soon as you’re in a safe place.”

I scowled as the line went dead. “Asshole,” I muttered. I hung up the phone then blinked at the sound of quarters dropping into the change return. Oh, right, I’d been in the middle of calling my dad. I quickly put the quarters back in and dialed the house number, mentally framing what message I was going to leave, in the hopes that it wouldn’t be quite so much incoherent babble.

It picked up after the second ring. “Hello, Angel,” said a familiar voice that wasn’t my dad’s.