Page 32 of Devil's Due

But it is a risky step. If I want to pursue a friendship with her, I’ll need to be fucking careful never to reveal I know something about her which she hasn’t told me herself.

But the feeling inside me tells me this could be important. “I want to know, Cad. I don’t know what, but something’s not right, and she doesn’t seem to have many in her corner.”

“Well, let me take a look.” He raises his bottle to his lips, puts it down, and pulls his laptop closer, flexing his fingers as he rests them on the keys. “What do you know about her? Full name would be a good start.”

“Stevie Nichols.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Chapter Twelve

“You know her?” If he does, that would cut the investigation time in half.How does he know her?Suspicions flick through my head.Is she a criminal that he’s read about?But how can a blind woman commit a crime?Computer fraud?Yeah, that would be something Cad would know about.

His head moves to left then right. “Nah, I don’t know her. How old is she?”

“Late twenties, early thirties?” I frown. It’s not something you ask a lady, not when you’ve only just met. Well, not without risking getting your face smacked.

He raises his eyes. “Reckon her parents liked music.”

He’s lost me. My confusion shows.

“Stevie? Stevie Nicks? Sang with Fleetwood Mac? Was inducted into the Hall of Fame with the band in nineteen-ninety-eight, and in her own right as a solo artist in two-thousand-nineteen. She’s a fuckin’ legend. Love her voice.”

He must be a fan to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of the bitch.

“Oh, well, never mind. It could just be coincidence. So, Stevie. You reckon she’s a Stephanie?”

“Assume so.”

He leans his head back and closes his eyes. After a moment he looks down. “We know she’s blind, let’s start there. You know what kind of blindness? Was she born that way?”

“Nah. Degenerative disease started back when she was a kid.” It’s my turn for my eyelids to shutter my pupils as I try to recall the conversation in my mind. I’ve got quite good recall for technical details and at last can hear her saying it again. “Something to do with retinal pigment.” Not quite that, but close enough.

A chin jerk, then he starts tapping. “This is going to take me some time, Beef. You want to go do something else while I check?”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be around. Give me a shout when you know something.”

“Beef! Wanna game?” Pal yells from the other side of the room and holds up a pool cue.

Indicating yes, I detour via the bar and get a fresh beer.

As the hours pass and Pal and I are joined by Lizard and Thunder, I lose some, win some, par for the course. All of us are about evenly matched, which makes the games interesting. It’s getting late when I realise Cad hasn’t appeared with information. Putting away my cue, I wander over in his direction. I see him sitting, deep in concentration, a phone under one ear as he taps at the keys.

“Hold on a sec,” he says into the phone, then looks at me. “Not proving as easy as I expected. Got some searches running that may take all night. Catch up in the morning?” As soon as I nod, he returns to his call.

I suppose I hadn’t given him much to go on. I don’t know where she moved from, and if she hasn’t been in Pueblo long, maybe she’s not registered anywhere here.

Another couple of beers. A nice chat with Pyro about some of the bikes that he’s worked on, then I go to bed having turned down an offer from Titsy and Breezy, who if I’m not mistaken are offering their services together. I regret once again that rash promise to Sally. As I undress, I wonder if there’s anything strange in not being able to get immediate information about Stevie, but if there’s something I need to know, I’m certain Cad will find it. If he’s not up to it, there’s always Mouse, our computer guy back in Tucson.

Jeannie, Bomber’s old lady, is in the kitchen when I go down the next morning. Violet, Demon’s wife is with her. They seem to be directing the sweet butts whose duties apparently include cooking and serving the men. I take a plate full of a breakfast that looks as good as it smells.

“What are you doing today, Beef?” Thunder asks conversationally. “Prez put you to work?”

“Sorted that out with Pyro yesterday.” I point my fork at the man I’ve named. “Gonna be working in the shop alongside him.”

“Know what you’re doing?”

“Reckon I know the ins and outs of an engine,” I respond, not taking his question as anything other than a polite enquiry.

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