by A.R. Wise
* * *
Stephen told Rachel that he’d forgotten to pack the Holdsten Quad Meter in the van. He made up the name, aware that Rachel wouldn’t know that it was fictitious. Jacker gave him the keys to the van, and Stephen grabbed his cell phone before heading out behind the house.
It was chilly out, and he could see his breath as he quickly searched his phone’s list of contacts for the name of the girl he’d met in Branson that was familiar with Widowsfield. He called her, and anxiously waited for the young girl to answer while keeping an eye on the back door of his condo in case Rachel followed him.
“Come on, answer,” he said impatiently.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me, Stephen.”
“Oh hey,” said the girl before yawning.
“Listen, there’s been a change of plans.” He spoke quietly, just in case one of the windows of his condo was open. Then he walked briskly over to Jacker’s van and got in, deciding it would be better to talk there than out in the open.
“What’s up?” asked the girl.
“Are you still working at the bar?” asked Stephen.
“Yep,” said the girl.
“And are you still in the escort business?”
She didn’t answer immediately. He heard her rustling, as if getting out of bed. “Hold on,” she said quietly. Stephen heard a door close on her end, and then she said, “Not anymore, but if the offer’s good enough I might reconsider.”
“Okay, good,” said Stephen. “I think I’ve got a plan.”