hadn’t found the need to switch.
I rarely wore a bra around the apartment, but out was a different matter. I’d chosen one of two padded bras that I owned. There’s no way to make B breasts look like double-D breasts, and even if there was, I wasn’t interested. Still, I was on a mission and I figured a little help wouldn’t hurt.
The door opened and Keith Hammond stood in the condo’s entry light. His short hair was blond and tossed but still somehow neat, his face was clean shaven but he still looked rough, his jeans were marked but not torn, his shirt was a blue button-front with short sleeves, but it wasn’t buttoned. How he’d gotten so casual so quickly was a bit of a mystery, but my first impression of him was hopeful.
He looked like the kind of man who wasn’t confined by the system.
“Sorry, honey, whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying,” he said.
“You’re Keith Hammond?” I replied.
“That would be me.”
“Can I come in?”
“Umm, why?”
See, that’s what I would have said. He wasn’t only outside the system, he was cautious. That was good.
“Because I have some information you might find interesting, that’s why. And I’m not selling it.”
“And who are you?”
“My name is Renee Gilmore.”
“Information, huh? And what makes you think I need any information, Renee Gilmore?”
“Because you and I have the same enemy.”
His brow arched. “Is that so? And who might that be?”
“Bruce Randell,” I said.
Up to that point Keith had worn the face of a man who is mildly amused. But when I gave him the name, the light went out of his eyes.
“I wouldn’t say that Mr. Randell is my enemy,” he said. “Our paths crossed once, but that was a long time ago.”
“Do you know where he is today?”
“Chino, last I heard.”
“He’s in Basal.”
“Basal?”
“Basal Institute of Corrections.”
“The experimental prison.”
“The inmates call it Basal.”
“And why should that concern me?”
“Because Danny’s there too.”
“And who’s Danny?”
“My husband,” I said. “Well, not technically. Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“Can I come in?”
“You do realize I don’t practice law anymore.”
“I’m not looking for a lawyer.”
“How did you hear about me?”
“I tracked you down. Can I come in?”
He studied me for a moment, then stepped aside. “Be my guest. But I can assure you there’s nothing I can do for you. Unless you’re looking for a drink and dinner. That I think I could manage.”
I ignored the compliment and looked around his condo. Stairs to my right descended to what I assumed was the garage and maybe a room or two. The brown carpet was lint free. Beyond the living room, a tiled breakfast bar divided the rest of the living space from a spotless kitchen, although I couldn’t see the sink from where I stood—sinks always speak the truth. By all appearances Keith looked to be a clean man who was comfortable enough in his own shell to leave his shirt unbuttoned when answering the door.
But I wasn’t here to judge his cleanliness. I wanted his help.
He stepped past me, doing up one button in a respectable show of modesty. “Look, Renee…I know you think there’s a connection between us, but I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” He put a hand on the stair rail and crossed one leg over the other. “You’ve obviously done your research and know that I helped put Bruce Randell behind bars, but like I said, that was a long time ago. I really don’t care what he’s doing, as long as he stays where he was put.”
“He’s trying to kill Danny,” I said.
“Your not-really-husband husband.”
“That’s right. And I can’t get into Basal to warn him.”
“What makes you think I can? Assuming I wanted to. Prisons are run by wardens who all share at least one goal: preventing violence. You should be talking to the warden, not to a washed-up cop-turned-attorney who walked away from it all. I dabble in stocks for
I rarely wore a bra around the apartment, but out was a different matter. I’d chosen one of two padded bras that I owned. There’s no way to make B breasts look like double-D breasts, and even if there was, I wasn’t interested. Still, I was on a mission and I figured a little help wouldn’t hurt.
The door opened and Keith Hammond stood in the condo’s entry light. His short hair was blond and tossed but still somehow neat, his face was clean shaven but he still looked rough, his jeans were marked but not torn, his shirt was a blue button-front with short sleeves, but it wasn’t buttoned. How he’d gotten so casual so quickly was a bit of a mystery, but my first impression of him was hopeful.
He looked like the kind of man who wasn’t confined by the system.
“Sorry, honey, whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying,” he said.
“You’re Keith Hammond?” I replied.
“That would be me.”
“Can I come in?”
“Umm, why?”
See, that’s what I would have said. He wasn’t only outside the system, he was cautious. That was good.
“Because I have some information you might find interesting, that’s why. And I’m not selling it.”
“And who are you?”
“My name is Renee Gilmore.”
“Information, huh? And what makes you think I need any information, Renee Gilmore?”
“Because you and I have the same enemy.”
His brow arched. “Is that so? And who might that be?”
“Bruce Randell,” I said.
Up to that point Keith had worn the face of a man who is mildly amused. But when I gave him the name, the light went out of his eyes.
“I wouldn’t say that Mr. Randell is my enemy,” he said. “Our paths crossed once, but that was a long time ago.”
“Do you know where he is today?”
“Chino, last I heard.”
“He’s in Basal.”
“Basal?”
“Basal Institute of Corrections.”
“The experimental prison.”
“The inmates call it Basal.”
“And why should that concern me?”
“Because Danny’s there too.”
“And who’s Danny?”
“My husband,” I said. “Well, not technically. Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“Can I come in?”
“You do realize I don’t practice law anymore.”
“I’m not looking for a lawyer.”
“How did you hear about me?”
“I tracked you down. Can I come in?”
He studied me for a moment, then stepped aside. “Be my guest. But I can assure you there’s nothing I can do for you. Unless you’re looking for a drink and dinner. That I think I could manage.”
I ignored the compliment and looked around his condo. Stairs to my right descended to what I assumed was the garage and maybe a room or two. The brown carpet was lint free. Beyond the living room, a tiled breakfast bar divided the rest of the living space from a spotless kitchen, although I couldn’t see the sink from where I stood—sinks always speak the truth. By all appearances Keith looked to be a clean man who was comfortable enough in his own shell to leave his shirt unbuttoned when answering the door.
But I wasn’t here to judge his cleanliness. I wanted his help.
He stepped past me, doing up one button in a respectable show of modesty. “Look, Renee…I know you think there’s a connection between us, but I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” He put a hand on the stair rail and crossed one leg over the other. “You’ve obviously done your research and know that I helped put Bruce Randell behind bars, but like I said, that was a long time ago. I really don’t care what he’s doing, as long as he stays where he was put.”
“He’s trying to kill Danny,” I said.
“Your not-really-husband husband.”
“That’s right. And I can’t get into Basal to warn him.”
“What makes you think I can? Assuming I wanted to. Prisons are run by wardens who all share at least one goal: preventing violence. You should be talking to the warden, not to a washed-up cop-turned-attorney who walked away from it all. I dabble in stocks for
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