Free Thursday's Child by Teri White

mean?”
    He sped through a yellow light. “I care. Sort of. But, see, I don’t allow myself to get all tangled up in heavy philosophical issues like that.”
    â€œSure. You used to be a cop, right?”
    He couldn’t help smiling a little at that. Sometimes these kids surprised him with how smart they could be. Except, of course, when it came to their own lives. Then they got real dumb.
    The conversation seemed to die off at that point, probably from a lack of motivation on either side.
    The house in Brentwood was dark, of course. Apparently nobody was sitting up nights worrying about the girl. Gar parked in the circular driveway and they both got out. “This really sucks,” Tammi said as they walked to the door.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Gar said. “But maybe it’ll all work out better this time.” He pressed the doorbell.
    She snorted in disbelief.
    It took several minutes, but finally a light went on inside, and then the door opened. McClure himself stood there, tying a sash around his midnight-blue silk robe. “Oh, it’s you,” he said to Gar. Then he spotted Tammi, who was hanging back. “You found her a lot quicker than anybody did before.”
    â€œThat so?” Gar gave the girl a slight push forward.
    â€œHello, Tammi,” her father said. “Your mother has been worried sick about you.”
    â€œI’ll bet.”
    McClure sighed. “Go to your room now. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”
    â€œSure. The way we always talk, right?” She turned and looked at Gar one last time. “Prick.” Then she ran up the stairs and out of sight.
    Gar waited and then, when McClure remained silent, he said, “You’ll get a bill.”
    McClure nodded. “Itemized, of course.”
    â€œOf course.”
    Gar dragged himself back to his car. Another happy family reunited. This work was so goddamned rewarding.
    Item: one daughter, returned.
    He couldn’t wait to get home to his girlfriend and his dog.

7
    His dog was waiting for him.
    His girlfriend wasn’t.
    It was just after dawn by the time Gar walked into the house, and the first thing he saw was that the red light was on over the darkroom door. That meant Mickey was still at work developing and printing her pictures from the night before.
    They had been living together for almost a year now, he and Mickey Duncan. Mickey was a photographer, one of that oft-cursed breed of ruthless paparazzi who stalked the celebrities of Tinseltown. Their constant hope was to catch one of the beautiful people at a particularly humiliating or salacious moment, capture the instant on film, and then sell the picture for a lot of money. Although he knew absolutely nothing about the business, it hadn’t taken Gar very long to realize that Mickey was one of the best in the field. And while he wasn’t entirely sure that what she did was a really necessary profession, he did figure that if you were going to do it at all, you might as well be very good.
    He gazed glumly at the warning red light for a moment, dismissing his vague notion of grabbing a little early-morning fun in the sack. Even a man his age could, when properly inspired, surprise himself. But today he wasn’t going to get the chance. So what to do? He was tired, but hunger won out over weariness. “Come on, Spock,” he said to the small Boston terrier waiting expectantly at his feet. “I guess it’s just you and me for breakfast.”
    The dog thought that was just fine, which was one of the main reasons for having him around.
    The telephone-message light on his business line was flashing as he walked into the kitchen. After a mere moment of consideration, he decided to ignore the urgent blinking until after he’d eaten.
    Instead of breakfast, he opted to have dinner, which he seemed to have missed the night before. A quick search of the refrigerator revealed only a bowl of leftover