“Hey, want to get out of here? Get a drink at my place?” he says.
She feels the trickle of desire. She’s about to suggest the bathroom instead, but her phone snaps her out of it.
She doesn’t recognize the number but her clients sometimes call from unfamiliar lines. “Hello,” she answers, trying to sound sober.
Mike’s leering now, his eyes wolfish.
“Ella? It’s Jesse.”
Right. She remembers giving Jesse her business card.
“Hey.” It’s late to be calling. Ella inches away from the guy.
“I’m in some trouble, and I need someone to come.”
Ella pushes Mike to slide out of the booth. He does so quickly, as if assuming they’ll be leaving together. But Ella shoves past him and marches out of the tavern, speaking into her phone: “I’m on my way.”
* * *
Ella fast-walks into the Target in a shopping plaza off Edgar Road. Why in the hell there’s a twenty-four-hour Target in Union County, she can’t understand. She scoops up a tin of Altoids from a stand near a register, opens the can, and pops a mint. She sobered up considerably on the Uber ride over, but she probably still reeks of Corky’s. She’ll have to leave her car in the Corky’s lot tonight, but that’s all right. It won’t be the first time.
Finding the door at the back of the bed-and-bath section, Ella breathes in a whiff of the soap-scented air and knocks timidly.
“Come on in,” a voice calls out.
Ella turns the knob and goes inside. She’d expected some type of sophisticated command center—walls of monitors and surveillance equipment—but finds a small room with a bald man wearing a short-sleeved button-up shirt behind a desk. He looks more like a high school guidance counselor than head of security at a major corporation’s store. Across from him, Jesse sits, arms crossed tightly.
“Mr. Bowling?” Ella says.
The man stands, walks around the desk, and shakes her hand. He’s all-business, but has kind eyes.
“You’re Ms. Duvall’s guardian?” he asks, skepticism in his voice.
Ella hesitates. “Jesse’s in foster care. I’m a therapist. I work with her.”
Mr. Bowling bunches his lips like he’s debating whether to be a stickler and say he can speak only to a legal guardian. Ella turns to Jesse, gives her a look, then turns back to Bowling. “What’s going on?”
“It seems Jessica decided to redeem what we call the ‘five finger discount.’” He gestures to a pile of items on his desk. Two bags of Skittles, some Bubblicious gum, a Red Bull, and a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.
“I didn’t fucking steal anything,” Jesse protests. “I just didn’t have a shopping cart so I put them in my bag.”
Mr. Bowling blows out a breath. He pecks on a battered laptop on his desk, then twirls it around so the screen faces Ella and Jesse.
It shows Jesse looking around nervously in the aisle. She snatches a shirt from a rack and proceeds to the snack section, then tucks the items inside the shirt so you can’t see them. The screen jumps to what looks like a dressing room. Jesse peers out the door and then takes the items from the shirt and shoves them in her backpack.
“You were spying on me in the dressing room?” Jesse says, indignant. “That’s against the law. You’re ogling teenage girls in the fucking dressing room. I have a lawyer. I’m gonna sue!” She’s building steam now. Teenage Diversion 101.
Mr. Bowling ignores her and looks at Ella. “Our policy is normally to deal with first offenses informally, but I told her if she keeps cursing at me, we’re gonna have to call the police.”
Ella nods at Bowling. He’s had a long day, probably doesn’t want the paperwork. But if Jesse doesn’t cool it, she’ll find herself arrested.
“Mr. Bowling, can you and I have a word?” Ella asks. “In private?”
Bowling makes another audible sigh. “Sure. Ms. Duvall, if you could wait outside for a moment.”
Jesse opens her mouth but is cut short by a hard look from Ella. She stalks out of the room, closing the door too hard behind her.
Bowling waits for Ella to speak.
“I’m sorry about that.”
He waits.
“She’s been through a lot. Have you seen the news about the ice cream store murders?”
Bowling perks up now. “Yeah, those kids. Devastating.”
“There was one survivor…” Ella says pointedly.
Bowling blinks a few times. “You mean…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. “Sweet Jesus.” He slumps back in his chair. He thinks for a moment, then does two things. First, he lifts a sheet of paper, the incident report, and tears it in half. Second, he gathers the items Jesse had stolen, puts them in a plastic Target bag, and hands the bag to Ella.