Page 21 of Tequila Tuesdays

Damien seemed to like asking personal questions but didn’t like answering them. “Why’d you quit?” I asked anyway.

He rocked back a little. “Several reasons. Money, burnout, and having to answer to someone else. The usual.” The shadows in his eyes told a different story, and suddenly I wanted to know the real reasons.

Chapter 9

Shandadidn’tmakeherafternoon appointment that Wednesday. I was disappointed but not too surprised since a fair number of my public defender clients missed appointments and court hearings sometimes.

I tried the number she’d written down on her intake form, but she didn’t answer. I noticed her address listed the same apartment complex as her mother, but not a unit number. When Shanda still hadn’t contacted me a week later, I decided to make a house call and see if I could find her.

The apartment complex sat just off Rosa Parks Road on the north end of Palm Springs. The neighborhood was a checkerboard of small but decent homes with fenced yards, smaller rundown homes, and even a few homes that were abandoned and boarded up.

Most of the apartment complexes in the neighborhood were two-story squat cinderblock buildings. I was relieved to see the old apartment complex Shanda lived in still looked like it was being maintained at least. I pulled into a visitor parking spot and noticed a few men milling around the open courtyard area smoking and talking.

They stopped talking and watched me approach.

“Hello. Does anyone know where Charlene Briggs lives?” I didn’t give Shanda’s name.

One of them finally turned to me. He had on a yellow flannel shirt and track pants. He was an older man who looked like he hadn’t seen a razor or a comb in a while, and his hairstyle reminded me of the mad scientist inBack to the Future. But his clothes looked clean.

He looked me up and down. “What do you want with Charlene and Mikey, anyway? Nothing good goes on in that apartment.”

“I need to talk with someone who lives there.”

“Are you a bill collector? Or child welfare?” he asked.

I decided being vague wasn’t getting me anywhere. “No, I’m a public defender, and I’m looking for Charlene’s daughter. She missed an appointment with me a few days ago.”

The other two men he’d been talking with shifted back a little. “I’ll see you later, Walt,” one of them said as the other flicked his cigarette butt on the ground. They both walked away.

Walt assessed me. “You talking about Shanda Briggs?”

I nodded and his mouth tightened.

“Have you seen her lately?” I asked.

He looked across the playground. “I heard she got into a mess not long ago. She and my granddaughter used to be friends.”

“Why aren’t they friends anymore?”

“Shanda’s stepdad started selling drugs out of their apartment a while back.” He glanced over his shoulder.

“Will you answer a few questions for me?”

He looked around again. “I thought I was already doing that.”

I smiled wryly. “A few more questions then.”

“I don’t want my name mentioned. I live here with my daughter and granddaughter, and we don’t want trouble.”

“Fair enough. Shanda said she has a little sister. Who watches her?”

He looked at me. “You sure you’re not from DCFS?”

I shook my head and pulled my California State Bar card out of my little backpack and showed it to him.

“I’m just a public defender. But I know Shanda’s worried about Bertie. And I’m worried about both of them.”

He seemed to relax a little. “Her mom, Charlene, works at the corner Arco gas station part-time, and I think Mikey is supposed to be watching the baby when Charlene’s gone. But it’s usually Shanda who babysits.”

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