Black Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #2 (Watty Winner)

Chapter 18

Chris does his best to not look like he's eavesdropping as Zandra talks with Amanda.

"Did you find something?" Zandra says, taking care to not get too specific with her producer sitting across from her.

"Yeah, I think," Amanda says. Her voice is faint. Weak.

"Are you OK?"

"I guess so."

"What do you mean you 'guess so?'" Zandra says, watching Chris pretend to look through some paperwork.

"Why were the police here?" Amanda says.

"Why are you answering a question with a question?" Zandra says, fully aware of how the question contradicts itself.

Just do your job, Amanda.

"I'm scared now. Are they going to arrest me?"

"Is there a reason they would?" Zandra says.

"Why'd you bring them to my apartment?" Amanda says.

Zandra sighs. "Get on with what you've got or I'm hanging up."

Amanda sniffs.

She's in college, but she's still a kid. Malleable, yes, but also irritating.

"I found someone with that special kind of typewriter," Amanda says.

Zandra's eyes widen. She grabs a pencil and slides a notepad toward herself. "Who is it?"

"You won't tell the police?" Amanda says.

"Out with it."

"Because the person is the guy I buy...weed from," Amanda says.

Now this is getting interesting. So that's how Dvorak would be able to connect Amanda back to me. She probably got stoned and started blabbing on about how she was paid off by a psychic. Shit, you can't even pay these kids to not be idiots.

"You were right to tell me about this. You have my word I won't let another soul know about your transgressions," Zandra says, choosing her words carefully in front of Chris.

Too bad my word is as worthless as yours.

"I was worried that's why you brought the police to my apartment. You won't send them after him, will you?" Amanda says.

"I'll pay him a personal visit by myself," Zandra says. She readies the pencil. "Now where might I find him?"

Amanda gives the address of a dumpy house not far from college housing. It's the perfect location for a pot dealer.

"I'm on my way. Stay at your apartment until you hear from me," Zandra says.

"Leaving so soon?" Chris says after Zandra hangs up.

"We're done here. Something came up," Zandra says and shakes the creases from her purple gown. It exposes the sheath up Zandra's sleeve. She had it custom-made for the lawnmower knife when she upgraded her wardrobe. It's not quite as good as Herman's, but it'll do.

I hope you can read Braille, Dvorak. You're going to need it when I'm through with you.