Suckers - J.A. Konrath

"I know she looks different," Phoebe had said, showing me a picture of a frowning brunette
with five nose rings, three eyebrow rings, and too many earrings to count.
"I hope she stays out of lightning storms."
"She’s really a good girl. Straight A’s. Doesn’t do drugs or have a boyfriend."
"She hangs around with other Goths?"
"Yes. All of her friends are into that."
I figured that Tanya was probably in an alley somewhere, stoned out of her mind, while a
bike gang ran a train on her.
I shared these thoughts with Phoebe, but it didn’t seem to ease her worries.
"I want you to find her and bring her home, Mr. McGlade."
"I get five hundred a day."
"That’s a lot of money."
"I’m expensive, but I’m worth it. You’re not just paying for the job. You’re paying for peace
of mind. Once the check clears, I’ll find her. Even if she turns up dead and dismembered in an
alley."
She burst into tears, obviously relieved I was on the job.
I spent the rest of Day 1 working on the case, subconsciously while I slept.
Day 2 involved me interviewing one of Tanya’s school friends, a guy named Steve who’d
recently bisected his own tongue down the middle in an effort to look more like a lizard. Steve
wasn’t talking—his mouth was too swollen. But he had some killer skunk bud and we lit one up.
Day 3 wasn’t very productive. I spent most of it at the ballgame, watching the Red Sox kick
the hell out of the Cubs. I kept an eye out for Tanya, but she didn’t show up.
Day 4 I spent drinking, and can’t remember much.
On Day 5 I caught a break. A phone call to a guy I know who works for a credit card
company informed me that Tanya’s Mastercard was getting a workout down south. Phoebe
provided me with plane fare, and I followed the paper trail to a leather bar in the suburbs of
Chamber, Florida. Flashing around Phoebe’s picture was met with the usual blank stares, until
President Grant helped one punk regain his memory.
"Oh yeah, she was here yesterday. Hanging out with some Pires."
Further interrogation revealed that the Pires were a gang of Goths who only came out at
night and liked to wear fake fangs and drink each other’s blood. I could relate; there wasn’t much
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