Like Part of the Family

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“My ex-husband is trying to kill me,” she said.

She was one of those cookie-cutter East Coast blondes. Pale skin, pale hair, pale eyes. Lots of New Age jewelry. Not a lot of curves and too much perfume. Kind of pretty if you dig the modeling-scene heroin chic look. Or if you troll the anorexia twelve-steps or crack houses looking for easy ass that’s so desperate for affection they’ll boff you blind for a smile. Not my kind. I like a little more meat on the bone, and a bit more sanity in the eyes. This one came to me on a referral from another client.

“He actually try?”

“I can tell, Mr. Hunter.”

Yeah, I thought and tried not to sigh. What I figured.

“You call the cops?”

She shrugged.

“What’s that mean? You call them or not?”

“I called,” she said. “They said that there wasn’t anything they could do unless he did something first.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Can’t arrest someone for thinking about something.”

“He threatened me.”

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