Free All Things Pretty by M. Leighton Page A

certain
amount of casual communication without it seeming suspicious. After
leaving Tommi upstairs with that, I can’t just sit on my
hands and wait for things to fall into place any longer. I have
to do something.
    Me: Tonin is tied up with a couple of
chicks. Anything I can do to help you?
    He doesn’t respond right away. Probably
asking his boss, one of Tonin’s higher-ups.
    Hop: Not right now, man. Just cleaning out
the warehouse.
    Warehouse?
    Wonder what he plans to do with a warehouse?
In looking back over what information Finch has been able to turn
in, which has yet to amount to much of anything because he’s still
unproven in Lance’s operation, I don’t remember any mention of a
warehouse. Unless it’s a recent purchase. And if it is, what the
hell does Lance Tonin need a warehouse for? It’s not like drug
dealers keep stock or anything. But they do need a landing
place for shipments when they come in. That or maybe he’s branching
out into some other illegal kind of shit. Hell, I’d take anything I
could use to bring his ass down. Anything at all.
    I make a mental note to see what else I can
find out about the warehouse. Maybe Tommi will know something.
    Tommi.
    Shit.
    Rather than staying in my truck or making
“casual, friendly” connections with some key people in this
building, I go back upstairs to wait. Maybe I’ll learn more up
there.
     
    ********

    I glance at my watch again. I’ve been
sitting on my ass in Tonin’s penthouse all day, hanging out with
the loser pack of shitheads he surrounds himself with. Evidently,
when he’s “in” all day like this, these guys just hang around in
the three employee rooms while Tonin and “his girls” as they call
them use and abuse the private quarters.
    I’ve played Call of Duty for two
hours with Henson and Stiff, played five card draw with Jakes,
Jimmy and Joman (the three Js as everyone jokingly calls their
attached asses) and eaten a late breakfast and two lunches with
Barber, the guy who holds a senior position in the ranks of Tonin’s
closest boys. He hasn’t had a drop of alcohol, hasn’t taken off his
tie and hasn’t let one of us out of his sight for more than a
five-minute trip to the bathroom. All-in-all, it’s been a
productive day in the way of getting to know the guys, but it’s
been frustrating as hell wondering about Tommi and continually
having to discard mental images all damn day.
    Finally at 2:30, Tommi appears in the
kitchen just as I’m polishing off a second lunch of some salami and
cheese on some artisan crackers with a name I can’t pronounce. The
instant I see her in the doorway, my senses are on high alert. At
first glance, she looks just like she did when we got here this
morning–hair in a smooth, platinum wave down her back, black shirt
and skirt, smoky makeup around her eyes, light, glossy lipstick on
her mouth. It’s as I look more closely that I can see how pale she
is, even under the subtle color of her tan. And her eyes, they look
dull and lifeless. Her nose isn’t red like she’s been crying, but
it wouldn’t surprise me if it was. She has that upset look about
her. Or maybe she’s just tired. At any rate, she doesn’t seem
satisfied, like she just spent the afternoon doing sex acts that
she enjoys. And that makes me think she was doing things
she’s been made to do.
    Obviously this is what she’s accustomed to.
At least to some degree. But something about the way she meets my
eyes for only a fraction of a second and before she looks away
makes me think this is something she never wanted me to know about.
When she speaks, she addresses Barber. “I’m going to pick up
Travis. One of your men can take Lance’s companion home later, as
she will be staying behind when he comes to pick me up for dinner
tonight.” Her voice is low and her big green eyes flicker to me
again before she licks her lips and adds, “I won’t have need of
Sig.”
    Her request confirms my suspicion. She’s
ashamed or