Free Kick (The Jenkins Cycle Book 1) by John L. Monk Page A

and rocked a little to some tune only she could hear. Something told me it wasn’t some cheesy Sarah McLachlan song. I imagined something from The Drifters or Marvin Gaye, back when a song sounded good no matter how many times you heard it.
    “Will that be it?” Ted said.
    I’d been tipping him and his friends a hundred bucks a night since my scenic drive on the unlikely chance the woman came back. I’d also worn my fancy new dress shirts to hide Mike’s tattoos. What with fresh shaves and clean, combed hair, I looked like a normal person. Other than being obviously more comfortable for me, all of this was by design.
    Resting on the table beside my empty plate spread a fan of twenties totaling $1,000. Ted’s eyes just about bugged out of his head when he saw it.
    “Listen,” I said, quietly, and was promptly listened to. “I need your help with something.”
    I described what I needed and watched with a sinking feeling as I detected a fierce resistance brewing behind his eyes.
    “I can’t do that sir, I’m sorry. I could get fired and for all I know you’re …” He stopped himself. “What I mean is …”
    I made a placating gesture.
    “I know what you mean,” I said, “and you’re right to be concerned. I would too. But I swear, I don’t mean her any harm—and neither does my client. We just want to know who she is, that’s all.”
    “So you’re saying she’s some sort of a con artist?”
    “That’s what we’re trying to find out. If I could just get a good look at her ID, that might help us answer a few questions back at the dealership.”
    The story I’d spun—of bounced checks and forged documents used at a Honda dealership—wouldn’t withstand the scrutiny of a vigorous mind, and that’s where Ted came in. And the money helped too.
    “Ah man, I don’t know… If I do it, wouldn’t I be breaking the law?”
    That’s the problem with casual bribery in America—it’s all but extinct. Politicians and government contractors do it every day, but if a sixteen-year-old tried to bribe his way into a rated R movie the cashier wouldn’t know what to do. Even with a thousand dollars sitting right there on the table, Ted couldn’t tell me yes.
    “Look,” I said. “It isn’t breaking the law if she gives it to you freely—that’s standard Common Law under the Habeas Corpus Act of 1876.”
    Ted just nodded.
    “But I can understand how you’d be worried—hell, I would too in your shoes, and I do this every day. So here’s what I’ll do.”
    I laid down another thousand, all in twenties, which I’d counted out and wrapped in rubber bands back at the hotel. Ted’s eyes just about popped out of his head when I did that. Honestly, I began to worry he might be part frog.
    In a shaking voice, as if everything in his life depended on it, he said, “Ok, I’ll do it—but half up front.” Quick as that, Ted was an old pro at this.
    I pushed one of the piles over to him so he could pick it up himself. Then I explained what I wanted him to do.
    “Ok, right, give me a few minutes,” he said, then left.
    Watching the girl from my seat, I noticed that her former waiter had been replaced by a visibly embarrassed and conciliatory Ted. After finishing her meal, she paid with a credit card. It had been a gamble she’d use one at all—for all I knew she preferred cash. Just as Ted stepped away from the table, he turned around as if he’d overlooked something important. Then he said what I told him to say—that they were doing spot identification checks because of a stolen credit-card ring in the area. She seemed taken aback, but he looked so embarrassed and bothered for asking that she smiled like an angel and handed over her ID.
    Minutes later, Ted stopped by my table and held the card down low so only I could see it, all while trying to appear professional. The picture on her ID showed her with shorter hair and a big, cheery smile. Her name was Elizabeth MacKeigan, and she had renewed her