Free Everyone Pays by Seth Harwood

Ms. Szaj—” Hendricks stopped. “How do you say that?”
    “Just call me Shine,” she said, “Debbie Shine what everyone calls me. Or Sunshine.”
    He smiled. “Nice. I can do that, Ms. Sunshine.”
    I leaned on a wall, watching her body language as he asked for her particulars, went over what was already in the file. When I saw he was making her uncomfortable, I sat down.
    “What my partner’s trying to say”—I reached across the table to show her my empty hand, a peace gesture—“and you’ll have to excuse him for being so male tonight. He’s not always like this.” I winked. “We dragged him away from some private business.”
    I shot Hendricks a wink of apology but knew he was happy to be the sacrificial lamb if it made her more comfortable.
    “We can take you back out to talk at our desks, but this room is more quiet. Outside can get pretty loud.”
    Hendricks said, “There’s no one behind that mirror. I promise.”
    She pushed her lips out, nodded like it was settled. “I’m all right.”
    She started rummaging through her purse, brought out a crumpled soft pack of Camels. “Mind if I smoke?”
    I pushed an empty paper cup toward her to use as an ashtray, the ring of old coffee long dried on its bottom.
    “How about if you tell us what brought you in tonight?”
    “My friend got killed. I saw who did it.” She massaged her face, rubbing around her eyes. I wanted to know if she’d slept, what all she’d done, and where she’d been since Dub’s death the night before.
    “Your friend?” Hendricks said. “Dub.”
    She turned away, lit her cigarette, and inhaled hard enough that I could hear the tobacco crackle. Squinting through the smoke, she said, “I seen the guy clear as I see you two right now. I cared about Dub. No matter what you heard.”
    “Would you be willing to identify him? Maybe look through some mug shots or sit with a sketch artist?”
    “Yeah. I could do that.” She nodded. “I would.”
    Hendricks asked if she knew the man she’d seen, and she pulled her lips away from yellowed teeth like they hurt her—or the memory did. Her gums weren’t as far gone as some of the others’. The cigarette burned in her hand. In truth, I liked the secondhand smoke. “Had you ever seen him before last night?”
    “I thought Dub maybe recognized the dude. He said something to him.” She coughed. “I don’t know who the hell this guy was.”
    “How did he get inside?”
    “Dub lets in guys. Dudes that needed a quick fix.” She shrugged. “Maybe.” She stopped, unsure what was all right to tell us.
    I touched her hand. “Go on. It’s all right. Whatever you tell us is okay.”
    “Time to time. Usually someone he knew real well, but last night we was partying hard. What was Dub thinking? I don’t know. Never seen this dude before last night.”
    Her leg started bouncing double time under the table. “Why he let him in, then? Dub. Why he do that?” She smoked. “I really can’t get in trouble for what I say here, right? No Carmen Miranda?”
    It was all she could do to stay seated at the table.
    “You’re safe, Debbie. Nothing you say can get you in trouble here. We’re just after the man who killed your friend.”
    “That’s good. Good then.” She inhaled, nodded as if settling something inside her. She tested the surface tension of the tabletop with her fingers, as if trying to draw reassurance.
    Then more words came out in a rush. “I asked if he wanted something from me. You know? Like, he was staring. So I asked. Right? Said he wanted to get me out of there. Save me from Dub. I laughed. Who’s he gonna take out of there?”
    Hendricks asked, “You said Dub called him something? Can you remember what it was?”
    I touched his wrist, trying to ease him off, get him to let her tell it. The story was coming out; we just had to give it space to flow.
    “We both saw his face then, saw he wasn’t right. No.” She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened