Candy takes a step back and looks at me for a minute. She’s not entirely convinced, but she’s not going to eat my face right away.
She says, “What’s Abbot worried about? Everything is fine here.”
I decide that
I can tell her some of the truth, enough so she knows I’m not the enemy.
“It’s not you he’s worried about. It’s Alessa.”
That gets her interest. She leans back down to the window.
“What’s wrong with Alessa?”
“Nothing. He’s just worried that there might be people who want to hurt her.”
“What? Why? We run a video store. Who cares about us?”
I’m about to say something when someone shouts at me through the passenger window. It’s Alessa.
“Hey, fucker, what’s your problem with us?”
She sounds as mad and dangerous as Candy. I suddenly like her a little more.
Candy says, “He said Thomas Abbot sent him.”
Alessa reaches in and flips open my cooler.
“He’s a bum with a cooler full of beer. And it looks like he pissed all over himself. Abbot wouldn’t send this loser.”
I look from Alessa back to Candy.
“I know this setup looks a little strange but trust me, I’m here to help.”
“Help yourself and get out of here,” says Alessa. “I already dialed 911.”
She holds up her phone to show me.
Two LAPD cruisers swing around the corner and stop by the car. All four cops get out and head for us.
I look at her.
“I wish you hadn’t done that.”
“I bet you do,” Alessa says.
“You don’t understand. They might not be cops.”
“Wishful thinking.”
The first cop to reach us is an older guy right out of central casting. He has a gray crew cut with a five o’clock shadow and the weary gaze of a guy who’s seen it all. Imagine a more malevolent Joe Friday. He stands by Candy.
“Did one of you call the police?”
“I did,” says Alessa. “This creep has been sitting outside our store all day drinking and god knows what else.”
Friday shines a light in my face, then swings it over to the cooler, where he spots all the beer.
“Have you been drinking, sir?”