Tristan eyed his former associate. He knew that the man was fishing for more information. He ignored the question.

“How close is Mort to finding her?”

“He’s in San Diego.”

“Shit,” Tristan whispered, scrubbing at his face with his rough palms. “That fucker would slit his own mother’s throat for the right price. He’s the typical model for dissociative detachment. I bet he’s even got psychotic symptoms.”

“I’m not sure what all that means, but he’s ice-cold, that one. Look, all I can tell you is that there’s been pressure on us lately to tie up lose ends. The Italians are not happy with Moloney’s growing business. Gino Gallo moved into town and he’s been trying to recruit us. Offering more money and a pardon for allegiance. He’s determined to eliminate the competition.”

Tristan nodded again because he knew exactly what Barry meant. Gallo was legit Italian Mafia. Moloney had flown under their radar for a while, but apparently his operation had gotten too big and they considered him a threat now.

“What are Mort’s orders?”

“I don’t know,” Barry answered.

“That’s bullshit, Barry. You know everything that goes down. Give me something!”

“Watch yourself, boy. I’m telling you the truth. This is personal for Moloney. He’s handling everything himself.”

Tristan cursed again and stood to leave.

“Thanks for the information.”

“Forget it, Fallbrook, consider us even. Get back to your girl and you two disappear. I don’t know, head down to Mexico or something.”

“I was never here,” Tristan said, knocking his knuckles on the table.

“Of course not.”

Barry watched the kid leave and groaned. He had given just enough information. And when the time came, Tristan would fall right into place.

Monica sat folded in half on Josie’s couch, painting her toenails a deep purple color called Pump Up the Jam. Josie watched Monica with curious fascination. She’d never seen a woman more in her element than Monica was now.

“I’m glad you asked me over,” Monica said, smiling to herself. “Rob and I had plans, but I told him we’d have to hold off. I need to hang with my girl.”

Josie smudged her penciled line on the paper, shading Monica’s face just so. She’d never been anyone’s girl before. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. What did being someone’s girl entail? Was she expected to gossip about boys while they braided each other’s hair? Would she need to have Monica’s back in a bar fight? These were things that, being a twenty-two year old woman, Josie thought she should know.

“You didn’t have to blow off your boyfriend to come over.”

“It’s okay. I see him every day. I hardly ever see you.”

Josie wanted to roll her eyes at Monica but couldn’t risk offending her. She was so glad to have another human’s company that she’d do almost anything to keep her here. Somehow, Monica made Josie feel more normal than anyone else. She sighed and wondered when she’d become so obsessed with normalcy.

Monica leaned over and grabbed a book from the floor.

“You’re reading J. D. Salinger?” she asked.

“That’s for Tristan. They’re all over the apartment.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, do you have any cigarettes?” Josie asked.

“No, Josie. You know I don’t smoke.”

“Anything better than cigarettes?” Josie hedged, knowing she’d get a reaction.

“Are you seriously asking me for drugs?”

“Relax. I was kidding. I haven’t done anything besides smoke an occasional joint since meeting Tristan.”

“Is he one of those ‘Just Say No’ guys?” Monica asked, intrigued and thrilled by Josie’s confession.

“No. He would never be so judgmental. I think when he’s around, he fills all those holes that I usually try to block with risky behavior.”

Josie grinned and shook her head, amazed at how she now echoed the words of every therapist she’d ever seen. She wondered why on earth she would share this information with her almost-friend, Monica. A pressing weight sat on her shoulders and she hated that the conversation had just taken a serious turn.

“So he fills your holes, huh?” Monica asked, eyebrow raised in amusement.

After a few seconds of stunned silence, both of them burst into a fit of giggles. The air around them grew light again. When she finally was able to catch her breath, Josie genuinely smiled. Maybe this was what being somebody’s girl was all about, knowing and providing what you need when you need it. Josie feared that she’d never be able to carry out such an important responsibility.

Alex, hearing a ruckus through the paper-thin walls, came barreling in to find Josie wiping tears from her eyes. Shocked by the man barging into the apartment, Monica gasped, pointing her nail file toward him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed.

“Nothing! Calm down. You can’t come barging in here like a Power Ranger. We were just laughing.”

“Oh. Well, that’s why. Never heard that shit coming from this apartment before,” he answered. “Power Ranger, Jo? Those guys son jotos! Coulda made me something cool, like He-Man.”

“Oh, yeah. He was so straight in his loin cloth and classic bob haircut,” Josie answered, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, I don’t presume to know what you do in your personal life.”

“Mamacita, you of all people know that I like the ladies,” Alex responded, a victorious lilt to his voice.

Josie blushed.

“Oh, this is my … friend. Um, Monica. Monica, this is my neighbor-slash-warden, Alex.”

“Hi,” Monica said, waving her nail file at him.

“Nice to meet you, Um Monica.”

Josie flipped him off and refocused on her drawing.

“What were you gonna do? File me to death?”

Monica smiled and returned her attention to her nails.

“Heard from Tristan?” he asked, glancing back and forth between the two women, not knowing how much Monica knew.

Another involuntary smile graced Josie’s lips at the mention of Tristan.

“Yeah, I talked to him for a while last night. There have been some interesting developments.”

Alex assessed from Josie’s strained code language that Monica didn’t know anything.

“Okay, well, I’ll give him a call when I get back.”

“Where are you going?” Josie whined.

“Heading downtown. I’ll be back soon. Stay inside and out of trouble. For the last time, lock this fucking door!” he warned, pointing his enormous finger at her.

Josie huffed and waved him off. The door closed behind him and she scurried over, locking all three locks with an overdramatic flair before turning and crossing her arms in defiance. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about her safety, she just hated being told what to do. At some point, one of her shrinks had diagnosed her with oppositional defiant disorder. Of course, she’d argued that he was a quack with no logical explanation for this imaginary disorder. She’d told him to fuck off when he pointed out that she’d proved his point.

“Did he say to stay inside? What? Are you grounded or something?” Monica joked, wiggling her painted toes in admiration.

“Uh, kind of. Not really. Maybe a little bit,” Josie responded uncomfortably, tucking herself onto the sofa.

Monica looked up, suddenly aware of Josie’s conversational avoidance maneuvers. She’d come up against them more times than she could count.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m kind of in some trouble,” Josie answered, not meeting Monica’s worried gaze.

“Trouble? Like I stole a pack of gum trouble? Or I killed a hooker trouble?”

“Like we think we know who was responsible for my parents’ death and now he’s after me trouble,” Josie spit out.

Monica’s strangled gasp cut through the air and her trembling hands reached to embrace Josie. After the initial shock had worn off, Josie told Monica everything she knew. She hadn’t realized how much of a load she’d been carrying around by keeping the secret. When she was finished, she sat in silence, trying to calculate Monica’s reaction.