Read No Such Thing as a Free Ride for Free Online Page B

answered I asked him if his refrigerator was running, and then I told him to go catch it and he hung up on me. Then I called to see if he had Prince Albert in a can.
    “How did you get to be this old and still manage to retain such an infantile sense of humor?” he asked.
    “I’m bored,” I whined into the phone.
    “Poor baby,” he said and hung up again.
    I got out of the car and peered through the coffee shop window. The girl was sitting in a booth in the corner, holding a glass of ice water up to her cheek. I entered the building just as the server approached with a cup of coffee, set it on the table in front of her and waited.
    The girl glanced up at her. “What the fuck are
you
lookin’ at?”
    The server was old school and must’ve been through this scenario a dozen times. She didn’t even blink. “Will there be anything else?”
    The girl shook her head so the waitress laid a check on the table and walked away.
    I blew out a big chicken breath and limped over to the kid making a conscious effort not to stare at her mottled face. “Okay, before you say anything,” I jumped in, “I didn’t call the cops, I’m sorry I got all up in your business and could I please buy you a sandwich, it’s the least I can do for interfering. Clearly, you can take care of yourself.”
    She didn’t say a word, just stared at me for a tense moment and then she shrugged, too tired to speak.
    I took that as a yes.
    I sat down opposite her and gave her a quick once-over. Up close she appeared younger than I’d originally thought, maybe fourteen or so, with delicate features and small hands, her nails bitten down to the quick. Her eyes were ringed with sleeplessness and she had the gaunt look of someone who was used to going without.
    I signaled the waitress and ordered a tuna melt. “Get anything you’d like,” I said to the girl.
    “Hamburger and a coke,” she murmured, not looking up.
    “Is that all? Really, order as much as you want.”
    “I’m not a fucking charity case,” she exploded. “You think buying me a hamburger is going to make everything better?”
    Wow. It would’ve been hard to keep up with her mood swings, except that she was in permanent bitch mode. Totally understandable but a little tough to deal with.
    “Listen, I’m not all that good in tense social situations, so if you could cut me some slack here, I’d really appreciate it.”
    She actually cracked a smile at that.
    “My name’s Brandy Alexander,” I said, settling into the booth.
    “Yeah, right. You and half my friends.”
    “No, really. That’s my name.”
    “Oh.” She waited a beat before adding, “Your parents must have some weird sense of humor.”
    My mother is a lovely person, but she’s never been accused of having a sense of humor, weird or otherwise.
    I picked up my fork and wiped the water spots off with my napkin. “So, do you have a name?” I asked.
    “Crystal.”
    I would’ve bet money it wasn’t her real name, but at least it was a start.
    “So, Crystal, where are you from?”
    “Around.”
    Judging by the girl’s accent, which was nondescript and the envy of broadcast radio and television students everywhere, I guessed she was from Iowa.
    Our sandwiches arrived and she hunched over hers and began eating. It was more inhalation than actual mastication, and I hoped nothing got caught in her throat, because I hadn’t paid attention in class when the Red Cross came to work last month and taught us all the Heimlich Maneuver.
    It took less than three minutes for Crystal to clean her plate. Sensing she was more receptive now that her stomach was full, I broached the subject of what brought me to her.
    “You have a tattoo under your ear,” I said.
    “So?”
    “So I found a girl about your age the other night with a similar tattoo. She was really sick and I took her to Jefferson. I thought you might know her.”
    “Lots of kids have tattoos like mine,” she said, leaning forward almost imperceptibly.