Series: The Laws of Opposite Attract Series by Vi Keeland
Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 105253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“We? So you were part of this, too?”
Hannah pursed her lips.
I shook my head. “Is your sister home?”
“No.”
“Where is she?”
“How should I know?”
Jesus, these kids were not easy. “You need to call her and tell her what’s going on.”
Hannah folded her arms across her chest. “I’m no rat.”
“They took your brother to jail, Hannah. He needs help.”
Her eyes bulged. “To jail? Just for spray painting a cat? It isn’t even permanent. The temporary stuff was cheaper.”
I pointed to the cell in her hand. “Call your sister.”
“I already did. She didn’t answer.”
I shook my head. Why the hell did she give me a hard time if she’d already called? “Did you leave her a message?”
“Yeah, but she hasn’t called back.”
I sighed. “Alright. Tell me exactly what happened, and I’ll see what I can do.”
“We went down to the third floor to ring and run, but when we got off the elevator, that old lady who lives in the apartment on the end had her door open. Her prissy-looking cat walked out. So we borrowed it.”
Borrowed. “Okay, and then what?”
“I said the cat walked like a tiger. And Heath said let’s make him into one. So we locked the cat in our apartment while we went to Duane Reade and got orange and black hair dye. When we were done, the old lady’s door was still open. She didn’t even notice her precious cat was gone. Heath wanted to video her reaction when she saw the paintjob, so he snuck in with the cat. He wasn’t supposed to get caught.”
“Pretty sure prisons are filled with people who weren’t supposed to get caught.”
“Can you help Heath? It was just a prank.”
Mrs. Unger did have a habit of leaving her door open so her cats could come in and out and roam the hall, so the story sounded plausible. I didn’t know if there was anything I could do, but I supposed I could try.
I pointed my finger at Hannah. “Stay here. Do not go out and cause more trouble.”
The girl rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome.”
I took the stairs down to the third floor, to Mrs. Unger’s apartment. I had no idea why the hell I was getting involved in this shitshow, but I knocked anyway.
She opened, cradling her vandalized cat in her arms. I wasn’t about to say it, but they’d done a pretty good job on the stripes. It really looked like a tiger.
“Hi, Mrs. Unger. How are you doing?”
“I’ve been better.” She frowned. “Some hoodlums tortured my little Snowball here.”
“I heard. That’s what I came to talk to you about.”
“We could use better locks on our doors.”
I bit my tongue rather than say, “You’d have to shut your door to get the benefit of locks.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll look into it. But I was hoping we could talk about the kid who dyed Snowball’s fur.”
“What about him?”
“Well, is there any chance I could talk you out of pressing charges? I know the family. He’s not a bad kid, just sort of acting out.”
Mrs. Unger didn’t look too sympathetic, so I laid it on thicker.
“His mom took off. She left him and his little sister on their own. They’ve been doing some stupid things and making videos, trying to get attention from someone because they’ve been missing it at home.”
Her face softened.
Who knows, maybe what I was pulling out of my ass had some truth to it. Mrs. Unger looked like she was buying it, so I kept going.
“The kid’s actually a cat lover. He used the temporary hair dye because it’s gentler. He didn’t mean any harm. Just a dumb way to get some attention.”
“I don’t know…”
It took another fifteen minutes, and me committing to wash the dye out of Snowball’s fur later, but Mrs. Unger finally agreed to not press charges. I knew the police could move forward with the case without her if they really wanted to, but they usually dropped it if they didn’t have cooperation from the complaining witness—unless of course, they wanted to make an example out of someone. Shit. Like maybe a disrespectful brat who called a cop a pig and needed to be taught a lesson.
There was a good chance Heath was digging his own grave at this very moment, so I figured I’d better go down to the police station. On the way, I called my dad. He was retired now, but he’d been a Philadelphia cop for thirty years, the last fifteen as a detective. I reached out to him for advice, but he offered something better—to make a call to the precinct and see what he could do. He had a bunch of friends in the NYPD from years on joint task forces.
I walked into the local precinct and went straight to the front desk. “Hi, I’m looking for Heath…” Shit. Is the kid’s last name the same as Vera’s? “Umm... He’s about fifteen and was brought in maybe an hour ago.”