Little Girls Lost by J. A. Kerley Read Free Book Online Page A

Museum and Exploreum. Paint-speckled canvas pants fell to outsized flip-flops. Sandhill sat and stared into the void of her Ray-Bans.
    Nike took a deep breath. “Listen, Conner, about the other night in the alley, I wanted to say—”
    “Wait,” Sandhill said. He reached across the table and gently removed Nike’s sunglasses. Her outsized eyes were laced with red.
    “Aha, there you are.”
    She blinked. “I wanted to say thanks for the other night.”
    “It was no problem.”
    “Uh, Conner, I’m a little fuzzy on details, but you had a gun to that boy’s head. You wouldn’t have—”
    “An act. At least with that damned misaligned kid. I would have enjoyed shooting the other one.”
    “I was afraid you were going to when he pulled the knife.”
    “If the kick had missed, it was my next choice. I preferred avoiding that route, thus avoiding unnecessary contact with the constabulary.There’s some of them don’t love me, strange as it seems.”
    Nike shook her head. “I shouldn’t have gone down the alley.”
    “You weren’t thinking straight.”
    “I’m better now.”
    “For how long?”
    She started to speak, then stood and swept her purse from the table. “Thanks again. I have to go.”
    “Stay for coffee.”
    “I don’t need lectures, Conner.”
    “Bad things are happening, Nike. You’ve got to keep that little girl safe. Jacy’s not safe when you’re on a binge.”
    She stared through him. But, at the corners of her eyes, he saw fear.
    “You’re making more out of it than it is, Conner. Most of the time I’m fine.”
    “That’s denial. Most of the time won’t cut it. Try all of the time.”
    Nike feigned a look at her watch. “Aren’t you late for your self-righteousness class? I’d hate for them to start without you; they’d miss so much.” She slung the purse over her shoulder and started away.
    “Nike.”
    She closed her eyes, sucked in a breath and turned. “I’ve got things to do, Conner. What is it?”
    “How’s your painting going?”
    The anger in her face softened. “It’s…good. Thanks for asking.”
    Sandhill smiled. “That’s great to hear. How about the next time you go off on a toot you paint a target on Jacy’s back? Maybe a few words under it, something like, ‘Come and get me.’”
    Nike’s eyes widened until there seemed no more face for them, and she walked away on legs as stiff as posts.
    Ryder was at his desk, rethinking his time with Harry Nautilus and wondering if anything else could go wrong in his life. The phone rang. It was Commander Ainsley Duckworth, Squill’s majordomo.
    “Hey, Ryder, the chief needs to see you.”
    Acting chief, Ryder thought, hearing Mayor Philips in his head. “What’s he want, Ducks?”
    “The name’s Duckworth, Ryder. Commander Duckworth to you. Here’s your first command of the day: How about you hustle your worthless ass over here, pronto. The chief’s got a chore for you.”

11
    Ryder drove by the restaurant three times before parking, like if he kept circling the block, the restaurant might disappear. When it didn’t, he parked in front of a neon window sign screaming THE GUMBO KING .
    He stood on the sidewalk, lifted his sunglasses, and studied the neighborhood. A half mile from the heart of the city, it was working class, more black than white, sixty-forty maybe. This particular block was zoned for business: restaurant, dry cleaner, beauty parlor, a storefront grocery with a table of fresh fruit and vegetables displayed outside the door. A small park occupied half of the next block, green space reclaimed after a warehouse had burned to the ground. It had been then-councilwoman Norma Philips who’d spearheaded the project, Ryder recalled.
    He dropped the shades in his pocket, turned to the restaurant, and went inside.
    Ryder was surprised at how neat the place was, light and airy, with glittering strands of Mardi Grasbeads strung from pine walls polished to a buttery glow. Here and there hung festival