Missing Persons Case 1

I’m watching this girl in front of me, thinking of which question I should ask first. She’s curled up on a couch with so many different colors of stains on it that I couldn’t even count them, and for an instant she seems to blend right into them. Her hair’s pulled back, but a few streaks have fallen and become matted with the tears that occasionally stream from her face. The bottle that was in her hand clatters onto the coffee table in front of her, as she breaths in the last life of the cigarette in between her fingers.

“Are you ready now?” I question her as politely as possible. She may be my client, but I tend to have a very low tolerance for people like her. Especially when they’ve let their seven year old daughter go missing, and don’t really seem to give a fuck about it.

“Ya know I already told the police everything I know.” She waves one hand around in the smoke above her while she talks. “Whadaya think I’m losing it or something? I know where I was, and I already told dem all that shit. So what else is there?” She stammers through the words, probably trying to figure out if she should burst out crying again for dramatic effect or just tell me to fuck off. She spits, and I try figure out how I’m going to live with this women as my client. Her Mother-In-Law was the one who hired me, and now I understand her reasoning. This lady wasn’t going to help anyone find Amanda, even if it was her own child.

“I know what you told them, but what I’m wondering is why Ronnie over there at your hang out told me a different story. He said you were with him last night, for at least 3 hours, instead of the half you told us.”

“You punks think you’re so smart don’t you? Going around talking to a bunch of half drunk bastards that say they know me. You really think Ronnie knows anything about last night? Shit, I bet he can’t even remember where he woke up this morning. Haha, he’s an idiot!” She falls back laughing harder that I’ve ever seen before, and for a second I think her small frail bones are going to break with the movement of it. I don’t find anything too funny, and figure she wouldn’t either if she were sober.

“He looked pretty sober this morning, and no matter what we still have to wonder who’s telling the truth. You or him?”

She stands up then, looking serious all of the sudden. Her glazed hazel eyes squint through her bangs, and she puts her pointy nose right up to mine, breathing in my face. Sticking her index finger into my cheek bone so hard that the her fingernail bites into my skin, she speaks more clearly that I thought possible. “You don’t know noth’in, especially if you think for one second you’re going to get another statement outa me. I was where I said I was, and that’s the most truth you’re ever going to get. If you can’t find her with what I already told ya, then I guess she’s just gone baby,” she shrugs at me, smiling. “Gone.”