The next day in my office I sat with a nervous bubbling in my stomach as I palmed the business card I'd put back together with scotch tape and a whole lot of effort. The pieces had littered Dolores Collins porch at one point, torn to shreds by a woman whose mental state grew more and more erratic. The card had been given to her by a chubby guy dressed in casual business wear.

The name on the card: Arnold Gibson. Psychiatric Social Worker.

I took a deep, slow breath. This was about to be a hell of a lie.

I dialed the number and waited, my breath catching with each ring until the line finally connected and I heard him greet me with a surprised, "Hello?"

"Hi, my name is Amelia Thomas. Um, I'm calling because someone gave me your number and said you could give me some information about how to go about getting my grandmother psychiatric help. She's been acting odd lately, and I'm not sure how to help her."

"Uh, Yes." I recognized his voice. It was the same man who had stood outside of Mrs. Collins porch and begged her to get back on her medication. "You said you wanted to get help for your grandmother? To schedule an appointment with one of the doctors she'll have to go through her insurance company. Now, we accept Medicare and Medicaid here."

"She doesn't have insurance," I said. "She's never trusted doctors. It wasn't a problem until this last year when she started acting strangely."

"How so?"

"Well...she's less alert than she used to be. Sometimes it's like she zones out and forgets I'm even talking to her."

"She might just be getting too old."

"She only in her sixties."

"Sounds like a psych evaluation is in order."

"Yes, I was hoping you'd say that," I paused for dramatic effect. "I was wondering if you could give me some ideas of what she may have?"

"That depends on the symptoms."

"Well she's forgetful-like I said. And she's got these peculiar habits. Like, the inside of her house is spotless, but the outside is a mess. She has this old car that hasn't moved in decades. But oddest of all is how religious she is."

"Religious?"

"Yes, she does nothing all day but pray and condemns people to hell. She's become an extremist!"

"Miss Thomas-"

"Misses. Thomas is my married name."

"Misses Thomas, your grandmother's religiosity isn't necessarily the cause of her behavior. Sometimes certain mental illnesses exaggerate ordinary traits, especially if this behavior is new. Other times certain environmental factors can trigger unusual behavior-things like social changes or stress. Often times these things can be managed with medication therapy and regular check-ups."

"The thing is she's not that great with taking her medicine."

"Mm hmm. A lot of patients have that sort of problem. We have staff here who can help her with a regimen if that's what she needs," I could sense he was getting impatient with the conversation.

"I just--I just wish I knew if this was her new church doing this to her or what kind of mental illness it could possibly be." I paused again, letting my voice getting weepy. "The other day she forgot she had a daughter! And then the day after she remembered again. I'm not sure what to do."

"From what it sounds like your grandmother may be suffering from a number of illnesses. Might be a personality disorder, bi-polar disorder perhaps, schizophrenia, or due to her age it may be Alzheimer's. She'd need to be evaluated to give a proper prognosis. Give me your information. We can set up an appointm-"

I hung up.

All signs pointed to Dolores Collins having some sort of mental disorder. That didn't necessarily mean she was violent, but from what I've seen mentally speaking she seemed to come in and out of reason. That wasn't a murder charge, only a cause for suspicion.

As I pondered, Jackson knocked on my office door and stepped inside. "Evie, there's some guy out here asking about some weird specialized tea or something."

"Do we serve it?"

"I don't know," he said with a careless shrug.

"What do you mean you don't know? How many times have I told you to memorize the menu?"

"Well, here's what happened-"

"No. Nope. Don't want the excuses. It's important for you to know what's on the beverage menu just like I know you know the all about the food part of the menu."

"Yeah, boss. I hear you. What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Just thinking-"

"About that murdered stripper?"

I nodded.

"You should do something to take your mind off of it."

What I really needed was a way to take my mind off the kiss Harley had given me last night-and the text message from Manny I had yet to return out of fear of what to say. "What do you do when you want to relax?"

"Bake."

"Next option."

"Get fucked up."

"Be serious this time."

"Go to a strip club."

"Jackson! Don't tell me you went back."

His demeanor got more animated. "I couldn't help it! Tanquray is fine, ok! I just had to go see her dance one more time!"

"They sell cocaine out of that club. Probably other stuff too."

"I know and I haven't touched it! I'm only interested in ass not drugs. Hand to God, Evie. Hand. To. God."

I shook my head. "Whatever. But if you need help let me know."

"Ai'ight. What about you? If you need my help you know you only have to ask."

"I'm fine. I think the dead lady's mom is crazy, that's all."

"Like, 'Fatal Attraction' crazy, or 'No wire hangers', crazy?"

"Like Carrie's mom crazy."

"Damn. Does that mean she did it?"

I shrugged. "Mental health is complicated."

"I know that's right. One time in prison the psych guy wanted to throw me in isolation just because I was talking. Evie, I wasn't really going fuck that guy up so bad his children and great-grandchildren were going to get residual fucked! It's just a turn of phrase!" He rolled his eyes to further his clear exaggeration. "Why is everyone so sensitive all the damn time?"

"What the hell are you even mumbling about?"

"I don't know. I ain't been sleeping good lately."

"Why? Nightmares again?"

"No. Keep hearing noise coming from the cigar factory."

"That place closed down fifteen years ago," I said.

"Yeah. Some kids are probably going around there to do drugs and fuck or something. Mama and a bunch of other old ass women from the neighborhood are trying to petition with our city counsel member to do something about it."

"What are they supposed to do?"

"I don't know put up a fucking sound proof fence or some shit. Grown folks got to get up and go to work. Almost went over there to interrupt the fun myself but mama stopped me."

"Jesus, are they really so loud? You guys live a good ways down the street."

"Sounds like cars driving in and out of it or something like that."

"Are you sure the factory hasn't reopened?"

"Trust me, if that shit reopened the neighborhood would never be talkin' about nothing else except who's going for the job, who's got the job, how much the job pays, etcetera." He rolled his eyes. "Anyway girl's mom is crazy."

"Yeah, but I'm not sure whether she's crazy enough to kill her own daughter."

"You'd be surprised. Life is fucked up. That's way Tanquray's exist. To give people a reason to go on."

"Get out of my office."

He put his hands up with a smile, teasing me. "Don't I have freedom of expression or some shit?"

"Not on my property you don't."

"Alright, cool."

When he was gone I had a moment of quiet to think. I might not have an appreciation for Tanquray's particular skill set, but I could appreciate that she might know something about what was going on in Abbey's last days. As I recall, she wasn't Abbey's biggest fan and that was enough of a reason to check her out-just not anywhere near a strip club.

Instead I called Tia and asked if she had the woman's address.

"Yeah, girl," she said over the phone. "Old girl lives on The Alley, in the Woodland Apartments. I'd wanna ride along but I need to put a foot up my son's father's ass for not sending me the money I asked for our son."

I was starting to get the idea that the bartender was a bit of an over-sharer but I let her rant.

"Good for nothing son of a bitch!...I love him though. God help me I love his stupid ass."

After I managed to ease her out of a conversation about how I should never 'have no man's children', I managed to drive the new rental car over to Tanquray's place.

She lived in some subset near The Alley that was lined by clusters of section 8 apartments that had long since seen better days. The Woodland Apartments was an exhausted looking brick building painted over in a droll blue hue that did nothing to lift the veil of depression from the place. People loitered all around the block laughing and talking, but with the exception of a couple of guys asking for my number I was mostly ignored.

On the second story I knocked on door two thirty-nine and waited. When I got no answer I knocked again, louder.

"Hold on!" I heard a voice from the other side of the thin wooden door. "Damn. I'm coming."

I could hear the locks clicking up the door and she continued to curse under her breath. The door opened but caught on the final chain as she stared at me with contempt-filled eyes. "Yeah?" she said with so much force I thought she'd huff and puff me right over the balcony rail.

"Tanquray?" She didn't look the same as she had that night. Her face was bare of make-up and her eyes were heavy with an age older than I'd thought before but still her features were attractive in a shapely way. Her beauty was on par with Abbey, probably even higher when she was in her early twenties. The only truly notable change was that she'd taken out that overwhelming clown-red curly weave. Underneath she had a cute pixie cut instead.

"Shit! Not another stalker! And a woman too! You one of them pussy munching lesbians?"

"Not since college."

She eyed me up and down barely hiding her derision. "Huh?"

"Kidding. I've always had an unwavering fondness for penis. Vagina never even crossed my mind. That was a...it was a joke. Sorry."

"Do you need something? I was sleeping, I work at night."

"Yeah, I had some questions about Abbey Collins."

"Who?" She looked confused.

"Blondie."

"Oh, that bitch."

"Yeah. I'm not sure if you've heard but she's dead."

She shrugged.

"Well, I was a friend and was wondering if you could talk to me about what was going on in her life?"

"Oh no. You gotta leave."

She tried to close the door but I pushed my palm against it. "Please. I just want to talk."

"Talkin' gets people killed around here."

"I know. It also gets people arrested."

"Bitch, you threatening me?"

"I know what goes on in the private rooms. I also have connections on the police force." That wasn't technically a lie, though neither drugs nor solicitation was his specialized line of work. "I just need twenty minutes tops."

She looked at me then with so much hatred I thought she might deck me, but instead she just sighed and opened the door. "Just make it quick. I'm tired as hell."

I walked through and into a moderately tidy living room/dining room. "Come on here!" She walked around me and slung herself down on an old couch that had probably been crafted in nineteen thirty-one.

I sat next to her, conscious of the old stains that had bleed into the fabric. She pulled out a cigarette from a pack on the table and put it to her lips with clear agitation. As she lit up I noticed that she smoked Marlboros-the same brand as Johnny.

"So what are you? Another reporter?"

Another? "No just a friend of a friend. Have reporters been talking to you about Abbey's murder?" I didn't see anything in the news about Abbey.

She laughed. "Nobody cares about that ho. They keep asking me about some kid in the ICU. Something about Mayor Nash."

"...Kodi Nash?"

"Yeah, that little girl." She took a long drag from her cigarette. "A bunch of police and reporters keep coming around The Alley asking about some bitch in a coma."

"Well, she is the mayor's daughter. They probably-" I shut up. It was almost certainly unwise to bring up Kodi Nash right now. "Never mind. I'm not here about her. I heard from a reliable source that you hated Abbey Collins."

"Yeah. So?" Well she's refreshingly honest.

"So she's dead."

She rolled her eyes at me. "Oh, please. Nobody liked that bitch."

"The customers liked her."

She cut her eyes at me, narrowing them slightly as she sized me up. "What you getting at?"

"I'm not getting at anything. Only that word is nobody hated the murdered girl more than you."

"You sure you ain't a cop?"

"I just need to know about her. You're tired, I'm tired. Let's cut the bullshit."

She looked at me differently this time. "How much is it worth to you?"

"I've got ten bucks and a peppermint in my pocket. You can have the whole haul if you tell me what I want to know."

"You can keep the peppermint."

"It's one of those delicious cinnamon kinds though. Are you sure? You can have it, I'm cinnamon rich!"

She sighed. "Fine. It's enough for another pack of cigarettes I guess."

"Why did you hate her so much?"

"Because men are stupid as all hell." She took a long drag of her cigarette as I watched her face go from disinterested to irritated. "I'm a better dancer than that two-left-feet-having bitch could have ever dreamed of being. I'm finer too. As a matter of fact, I'm the baddest bitch for miles! But who did everyone come to see? Blondie!"

"You seem upset about that."

"No shit!" She gave me such an exaggerated snarl that I had to stop myself from laughing. "Look, I'm sure in whatever college you went to you got all the lectures about girl power and sisterhood and shit, but in the real world it's every bitch for herself. And that bitch was interfering with my money."

"You weren't getting paid enough? Even as the second highest biller?"

"Hell no! You know what's up down there. The pimps take most of what I make. It all gets sent up somewhere. Got the boss rollin' around in a Rolls Royce off the money I made making it clap for a bunch of fuckin' crackheads. Meanwhile I live in this shit." She gestured around the apartment.

"Why don't you guys find other work?"

She laughed at me. "Doing what? Flipping burgers? I make a little more than that. Anyway, you don't just leave the Brotherhood."

"So, if you don't get paid so much either way, why were you so bothered by Abbey?"

"Look, you don't make so much at this job okay? Most of the girls have boyfriends to help pay for stuff."

"Okay, so?"
"So, Abbey got everything she wanted." Her speech became laced with bitterness.

Abbey had been dating Delgato. And before that, he had been dating Tanquray. When Tanquray said that Abbey had taken her livelihood she wasn't just talking about being a more sought after...sex worker. She took the attention, and money by association, of The Boss.

"Man, I-", her voice caught in her throat and I watched as this woman who had been so confident and sure not two seconds ago become quiet and vulnerable. "I forgot how hard it was to do this without someone having your back, you know?"

I dug through my purse and found a half full pack of Kleenex and handed it to her.

She took it and pulled out one hypoallergenic sheet and dabbed at her eyes. "Thank you."

"Well, you know. Those girl power rallies in college at least taught me to always carry tissues in case of emergency." She almost smiled at that. "So, Tanquray, Abbey stole your man on top of everything?"

"My name's Janica and yeah the bitch just took everything from me," a loud, uncomely snorting sound came from somewhere up her runny nose. She took another tissue. "Even when she's dead, she's all anyone ever talks about."

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever. I'm getting out of here soon anyway."

"You're leaving."

She nodded. "I work part time at a club on the other side of town. The pay is fantastic. I didn't even know you could make that much money dancing."

"Well, yeah. When you work for a legitimate business they're obligated to pay you a fair wage because all that stuffs going to show up when they file their taxes...usually"

"Yeah, I'm learning about that shit in my finance classes."

"You're in school?"

"Community college. Want a degree in business."

"Oh, really?"

"Mmm hmm. I think I want to own my own business. Maybe one day I'll be the one who owns the club. I'll be the one paying the dancers, and I'll be the one making the rules."

"Now there's a dream."

"Can you imagine? My own boss."

"Actually I can," After she dabbed at her eyes one last time her demeanor changed and she became business-like again. "Janica, do you have any idea who may have killed?"

"I honestly don't know. People die. They just do. And half the time nobody really knows them like they think they do. You already know I didn't like her, so I never really talked to her. But none of the other girls did either. So, yeah, I guess anyone could have killed her. She was a stuck-up bitch who had zero talent yet still took all the attention just because of a pair of blue eyes."

I guess some part of me could see the dislike. It couldn't be an easy life. And hard lives breed hard people who have a harder time pretending to care about others. I couldn't even one hundred percent say that if in the same situation I wouldn't dislike her either.

"Wait a minute," I said. "You said some of the other women who work at the club didn't like Abbey either. Was it because she was dating Delgatto at the time of her death?"

"How do you know about Delgatto?" She stood up suddenly, and began pacing.

"Would someone kill her because of her relationship with Delgatto? Did Delgatto kill her because he didn't want her leaving The Brotherhood, or is this about the drugs in her apartment?"

She looked at me, no doubt thinking of her next move before she began walking toward the door. "You need to leave."

"Wait, I just want to know-"

"No! Leave now." I fished the ten dollars out of my purse, dropped it on the table, and made my way to the door. As I passed by her and looked her in the eye I saw the quickest glimmer of fear wash over her stern face-but only for a moment.

I'dhit something important. Whether Abbey was dead because of drugs, sex, or KodiNash was to be seen, but one thing was for certain and that was that all roadslead to Angelo Delgatto.