Free Unwanted Company - Barbara Seranella by Barbara Seranella

Munch's arm, stretched out from the
driver's-side window, reaching for the keypad. The tinted rear window
of the limo was rolled halfway down, but the angle from the camera
didn't capture the face of any occupant.
    He fast-forwarded to 11:29 P.M. One of the victims
moved away from the keypad and back inside the limo, which proceeded
through the gate. The camera also caught the detail of the open moon
roof. At 11:36 the limo left. He clicked through rapidly, stopping at
1:33 A.M. A cab had appeared at the front gate. A few minutes later a
bald man was shown letting himself out of the pedestrian gate with a
hand raised to the waiting car. The cab's TCP number was plainly
visible, as was the bald man's face. He even seemed to smile for the
camera. Mace made a note to get a copy of that still to Munch for
identification.
    He reached for the phone to call Caroline. She'd be
interested to hear that he'd spoken to Munch. Munch was one of her
great success stories. Caroline had seen something in the little waif
that nobody else had. An addict such as Munch, who had so completely
turned her life around, was just the sort of thing that made
probation officers feel that what they were doing really made a
difference. According to Cassiletti, Munch had continued to thrive:
She was still working as a mechanic, running a limo business on the
side, living in a nicer neighborhood, maintaining her sobriety. Yep,
Caroline would love to hear how she'd made a difference. And besides,
he missed the sound of her voice.
    He called her at home.
    As he listened to the phone ring, a thousand thoughts
flitted through his mind. Why did he feel he needed the armor of an
excuse? Why didn't he just call her and tell her how empty his life
was without her? Because she said she needed her space, that he had
wrung her dry.
    "Caroline St. John," she answered.
    " Hi, it's me," he said.
    " Oh. Hi."
    "Yeah, I ran into somebody today. Well, I didn't
actually see her, but I thought you might be interested." Oh,
God, he thought, real smooth. I hate this shit, this growling.
    "Who?" she asked.
    "Munch, Munch Mancini."
    "How is she?"
    "She's got a limo service. We should throw her
some business some night. You know, take in a show downtown—go out
to dinner."
    He waited for her to jump in, but she said nothing.
He wished he could see her face. Was she hopeful? Annoyed?
    Pleased? Bored?
    "So, how are you doing?" he asked. "How's
work? I mean."
    "Busy. Same as always. Caring too much, getting
disappointed a lot."
    Was that meant for him?
    " Is the car running all right?" he asked.
    " The car's fine."
    " And you've got everything you need?" he
asked.
    "I'm fine."
    "Good, good," he said. He paused, lowered
his voice. "I went to see my dad this weekend."
    " How often do you do that?" she asked, her
tone gentle. "When I'm in the neighborhood. I like to put fresh
flowers up. You know, make it look like someone cares."
    " Mace, he knew you cared. No one could have done
more."
    "I don't know why he stopped trusting me,"
Mace said. It was an old debate, but one he'd yet to come to terms
with. His dad had died, and his last words uttered could never be
erased. I've got no one.
    "You can't take to heart the things he said. He
wasn't thinking clearly. I wish you'd believe that." She paused.
"Are you still having those dreams?"
    He bit back the familiar heat of irritation that
rushed through his chest. If she were with him, she wouldn't have to
ask. Big Miss I-give-everyone-a-chance couldn't get past her
husband's single infidelity. If you could call going to a hotel room
with an old girlfriend only to discover that you'd made a mistake an
act of infidelity. He'd gotten as far as unwrapping the condom before
he realized there was no way he could go through with it. Technically
he hadn't cheated, but he hadn't told Caroline that. She'd already
convicted him on the evidence. It was all he could manage now to keep
the bitterness out of his tone.
    "I've gotta go," he said, looking