Excerpt

Nikki watched the woman cry. Delma Merced had cried since Nikki made the mistake of letting her in the office. A Latino woman with dark skin, obsidian eyes, black hair blunt cut at her shoulders, she wore an inexpensive white blouse tucked into a drab skirt, no makeup, no jewelry, a plain black canvas purse in her lap. The kind of woman Nikki saw without seeing a dozen times a day.

A speech impediment slurred Delma's Spanish, and as far as Nikki could tell, Delma could neither read nor write anything beyond the simplest words. Nikki wondered whether the term mental retardation applied or if Delma Merced existed along some borderline. Nikki couldn't quite gauge her age. She looked forties but her mental deficiencies made her seem younger, childlike even.

Delma slid a white business envelope from her purse and held it out to Nikki.

Nikki took the envelope, peeked under the flap and saw the neat edge of bills. She closed it without checking the denomination of the cash; money wasn't going to change her mind.

"I'm sorry. But as I've explained, the Wells Agency cannot take your case." She returned the envelope to Delma.

Delma shook her head, refusing to take the money back.

Nikki laid the envelope on the coffee table in front of the tearful woman.

"Losing a loved one is tragic and all the more tragic when it comes so unexpectedly. But, there is nothing we can do. I can assure you, the San Francisco Police Department has the investigation well in hand." Nikki rose hoping Delma would take the hint.

Delma pressed tissues to her eyes and made no move to get up.

Determined to be rid of her, Nikki crossed to the door and opened it. She stepped into the hall, empty, no one to save her. She came back into the office. No envelope of money on the coffee table and Delma on her feet. Excellent, Nikki thought.

Head bowed, Delma Merced shuffled toward the door. Nikki moved out of the way. The diminutive Latin woman stopped at the threshold and waved, like a baby waves, palm facing out, fingers pressed together and hinging up and down at the knuckles.

Nikki watched the child-woman shamble away and felt a flash of regret. Had she been rash, abrupt, thoughtless? Nikki shook the feeling off like a spasm. She had a bigger problem this morning, a real problem, no time for Delma Merced and her unreasonable, dead-end case.

She closed the door and her eyes. Three little words played an endless loop in her head. God. Damn. Him. She let out a breath. There was no avoiding it. She turned and faced the immaculate office. The pictures on the walls were straight. The books in the bookcase were arranged tallest to shortest. Every power and phone cord was pulled taut and tucked securely under the area rug. Jesus, she thought, he had combed the fringe on the rug.

Tom only did this kind of crap right before a bender. And, by the looks of this office, he would be drunk for days.

She slumped into her chair and kicked her trashcan. It toppled over, spilling nothing. A sudden cramp seized Nikki's chest, as if a crab had scuttled between her ribs and clamped its little claw on her heart. He was just her boss. It shouldn't matter so much. But it did.

Every time Tom left her, she suffered his absence from the waking world as if some vital part of her had been extinguished. She never learned. She never changed. She never left. She would turn thirty this November, old enough to move on. She lacked Tom's depth of experience, but she could handle a small agency: missing persons, insurance fraud, identity theft. All the same, she stayed.

She could call him. He wouldn't answer. She was sure of that, but she could leave a message. Or, she could drive out to the duplex and try to sober him up. Memories of the last time she tried reviving Tom made her shudder. Forget that.

She pulled up the blinds and caught her reflection in the windowpane: long brown hair framing pale skin. She saw the Chinese slant of her dark eyes, the strong line of her Aztec cheekbones, her full African lips. The features from her mongrel ancestry abutted each other like nasty neighbors, never making nice, never at ease.

She wanted a donut.

Fleeing her image, she lifted the glass up and away.

The cool morning air smelled of salt and sea lions and coffee. She heard people and traffic and the distinct clang of the Powell Street cable car. From the second-story window, Nikki watched the stream of morning rush hour traffic and noticed Delma Merced standing at the curb. It looked like Delma was waiting for a break in traffic. It looked like she intended to jaywalk across 10th Street.

A second flash of regret flooded Nikki, harsher this time, more insistent. Should she have cared more? She pushed the feeling down and decided to call Tom.

At her desk, Nikki dug her cell phone out of her oversized shoulder bag, dialed Tom's home number and saw it. The envelope of money Delma Merced had tried to press on her. It was still on the coffee table tucked under a magazine, half-hidden.

Damn.

Holding the phone to her ear, Nikki snatched the envelope from under the magazine and saw the words POR FAVOR scrawled in childlike block letters. No way. No way she was taking this case. No way Tom would take it.

Nikki rushed to the window. Across 10th Street, Delma stood next to a bruised and abraded red Kia. Keys in hand, Delma reached for the car door.

"Delma. Delma Merced," Nikki screamed over the traffic noise as she waved the envelope in the air.

Delma turned, saw Nikki, and took a half-step forward.

Then, something went wrong. Later, Nikki would remember that second in time as devoid of sound, like the silence of a forest when a predator appears.

Bright red liquid pelted the white VW bug parked in front of the red Kia, and Delma's body crashed onto the black pavement.

Screeching tires shattered the brittle air as cars halted before her crumpled body.

Nikki froze and her brain click, click, clicked. Words played in her head, but she couldn't identify the voice.

It was Tom; it was his outgoing message and the beep on his answering machine.

"Tom, Jesus, Tom. She's hit. Pick up the goddamn phone, someone just shot our woman down in the street."

The silence on the other end of the line pummeled her eardrum.

Nikki closed her flip phone and started running. It felt to Nikki that it had never taken so long to cross her office.