Page 22 of Tequila Tuesdays

“What does Mikey do?” I asked.

He scratched his ear and grimaced. “I’m pretty sure he sells drugs when Charlene’s gone. I think she knows though because they’ve had some loud fights lately.”

“But he’s still living there.”

Walt blew out a breath. “Yeah. Shanda brought Bertie over to our place a few times when Charlene was working. But then Shanda came over high one day. And it wasn’t marijuana. I told her she couldn’t come back.”

I put my hand on his arm. “I get it. You need to protect your grandchild first.”

He swallowed then nodded. “They live in apartment thirteen B. I think Charlene is still home, but it seems like she usually works evening shifts.” He looked me up and down. “I’d be careful about going over there, especially at night.”

“Okay. Do you know where Shanda would be if she’s not home?”

“Maybe the park or the community center north of here a few blocks.” He pointed in that direction.

“Desert Highland Park?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, thanks.” I started to turn away but stopped.

“Can I give you my card in case you see or hear anything? I swear I won’t tell anyone I talked to you. I understand about not getting on anyone’s radar.” I pulled a business card out of the side pocket of my backpack.

“Yeah. But pretend you don’t know me if you come back and I’m around, okay?”

“Absolutely.” I wrote my cell number on the back of the card and handed it to him. He nodded and walked away.

Their unit was on the second floor. I heard a TV playing and rang the doorbell, but no one answered. After a minute, I rang the doorbell again and knocked on the door.

“Are you going to get that or what, Mikey?” I could hear a lady’s voice inside say.

“No, ‘cause it ain’t for me.” It sounded like he was sitting right inside the door.

“You lazy fucker, I’m changing Bertie’s diaper. You wanna do that instead?”

“Fuck no,” the man answered.

“Then get the goddamn door!”

A shorter man who appeared to be in his mid-forties opened the door. He had on a stained white t-shirt, and he was thin and sallow with a few sores on his face.

“Hello. My name’s Harley Emerson, and I’m Shanda’s public defender. Is she around?”

“Shanda’s attorney is at the door!” he yelled, looking up at me. “What do you want me to tell her?”

I looked over Mikey’s shoulder and saw Charlene walking out of one of the back bedrooms with Bertie on her hip.

“Nothing. Just get out of the way.” She waved her hand at him.

Mikey shrugged and sat in front of the TV. The coffee table had at least three takeout meals’ worth of trash on it.

“Yeah? What can I do for you?” she asked. Bertie had on a little sunflower dress and her hair was in a pigtail on top of her head.

“Shanda missed an appointment with me last Wednesday, and I haven’t heard from her since. Is she here?”

“No. I haven’t seen her for almost a week, but that’s nothing new.” She eyed me. “Do most public defenders go to their clients’ apartments? ‘Cause none of the ones I’ve had ever did that.”

“No, but I got worried about her. She’s barely eighteen.”

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