Just Add Water (1) Read Online Free PDF

concentrated on the task at hand,
but made a mental note to find out more about the California penal system. I
didn’t think I had anything to worry about. Wade “the perp” and I had ended our
friendship long before he took his brief, but ruinous, walk on the felonious
side of life. Up until that fateful foray, Wade had been a much decorated hero
during a fifteen year firefighting career. Jan and I had followed Wade’s trial
in the newspapers, fascinated that we knew someone who could be so incredibly
stupid.
    Somewhere in the saga of a
convoluted crime spree involving a drug deal gone wrong and kidnapping, one of
Wade’s coked-up cohorts put out a cigarette out on his then girlfriend, now the
State’s star witness/victim, thereby earning a mayhem conviction for all
concerned. In California, that drew a quick one-way ticket to a facility
catering to the criminally insane. I pictured him playing Ping-Pong with
Charlie Manson.
    That wasn’t the first time I’d been
involved with someone strolling the shady side of Justice Street. The way I
choose men, it’s no wonder I prefer living with a real dog.
    “There. Done,” I said, clicking the
deadbolt back and forth.
    “You’re pretty good at this
handyperson thing.”
    “Hey, when you’ve lived alone as
long as I have and renovated a ninety-year-old house, changing out a lock is
kid’s play. Let’s try the key. Just in case, you’d better go inside.”
    She did, and as I bent to unlock
the door, the small key I wore around my neck swung forward and clinked against
the door handle. I wondered, as I unlocked Jan’s door, if I would ever know
what my key unlocked. Actually, not my key, but Hudson the jilter’s key.
    I threw open the door with a little
“Ta-dah,” a shuffle ball change step, and a bow. “That’ll be one-hundred
dollah. American. Does madame wish to
put this on one of her overextended credit cards?”
    “ Mademoiselle , thank you. And she wishes to put it on her tab. Now,
let’s get to work, for we have important labors ere this day ends.”
    Exorcising Jan’s one room Victorian
apartment was made simple by virtue of its small size and BDR’s lack
thereof—virtue, that is. The sleaze kept only enough of his stuff at her place
to keep Jan from entertaining thoughts of entertaining other men there. God
only knew if hers was a pied-à-femme amongst many.
    I found the slimeball’s Armani
jacket draped over a chair. Plucking a long black hair from the shoulder, I
held it aloft as if it had cooties. “Fat broad hair, my dear Watson,” I
announced, then proceeded to go through the pockets.
    “What are you looking for, Hetta?”
    “Nothing. It has been my experience
that only faithful and honest men leave stuff in their pockets for women to
find. Show me a cheater and I’ll show you clean pockets every time.” I pulled
out the empty pocket linings with a smug, “ Voi-la !”
    We piled BDR’s crap, with the
exception of the Armani, in the stairwell as a “Dear Reechard, you’re screwed”
greeting on his next visit and trudged down two flights to where RJ waited
patiently in his VW. Luckily for us, no one else had thought to park in the NO
PARKING zone in front of Jan’s building.
    “Where to now?” Jan asked. “I’m
famished.”
    “Me, too. But first, a quick search
for a deserving soul, then, how about Mexican? I feel a strong urge for a
refried frijole ,” I said.
    We headed downtown, where we found
a gaunt and hairy man of indeterminate age leaning against his Safeway cart of
worldly possessions. I left him wearing an Armani jacket and a toothless smile.
    “How much did you put in the
pocket, Hetta?”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Het-ta.”
    “Fifty bucks. That Armani fairly
screams for a silk cravat.”
    “You’re a phony, you know it? How
come he knew your name?”
    I gave her the disdainful look she
deserved, sniffed, “Very funny. Let us retrieve my car,” and drove to the
Berkeley restaurant where we’d