Kris said something to Kamal about catching him later as he and Maggie walked off. “That was . . . a lot,” Maggie remarked. “My brain itches now.”
It was meant as a slight, but Kris took it as a compliment. “Yeah, I know,” he grinned, “I told you he was something, didn’t I?”
“Oh he’s something. Kris, you think too much. Seriously.” As they made their way across the baking pavement, Paul flagged them down, waving them to himself from the doorway beside the great ashtray. Kris reached out to shake Paul’s hand. “Paul,” he said, “What’s up?”
Paul took Kris’ hand warmly in both of his, “Actually, hermono, I need to talk to the detective alone. Nothin’ personal, buddy.”
“Oh sure, no worries” he said – he was only too happy to get back to Kamal’s dissertations. To Maggie he added as he trotted backward towards Kamal, “See you later, at the Shack. Oh, and I got a wireless card. See ya!”
Paul motioned Maggie inside and closed the door behind. “So, you enjoying our little family here, detective?”
“Very much so, Paul. It’s like a dysfunctional frat, but without all the drinking or sex or fun.”
“Oh I assure you,” Paul chuckled, “you’ll find no shortage of any of those here.” He rubbed his moustache thoughtfully, “Listen, I understand what you’re doing here. And it’s cool. You don’t have to worry about me. I won’t meddle or blow your cover. But there’s somebody I think you should check out, take a look at. There’s a guy in your SAA class with some real problems: Rhett Herron. You’ll probably know him already, big guy, muscles.” Paul pumped himself up, a mime of a body-builder. “I just got a feeling about that guy.”
“Ok, Inspector Gomez. No problem. I appreciate any insights you have.”
A middle-aged woman in Daisy Duke cut-offs stepped out of Paul’s office into the hallway. Her hair was pulled up in a wild mane’s tail and she clearly wasn’t wearing a bra. She hollered down the hallway to Paul, “How do you get on the Internet? I clicked the thing, but it’s not doin’ nothin’.”
“I’ll be right there,” he hollered back. “I need to take care of this,” he told Maggie, “But check that dude out, for me, ok? Rhett. You’ll see.”
“Sure thing, Paul.”
-----
Maggie was late for Group now, which, truth be told, really bothered her. The best laid plans fail for something as basic as punctuality.
Maggie took the elevator to the second floor of the main building, the floor above Mary’s office. The length of the hall to the SAA meeting was flanked with windows along one side. Maggie could see the quad below, as well as the street beyond the gates, lined with modest single-story bungalows. From this vantage, one could see most of the rest of the campus as well. Off towards Adams Drive were the basketball courts, which were empty at the moment. Over on the south side, children frolicked noisily on play equipment. Maggie turned a corner to find the plant manager with a small digital camera trained on someone or something outside. “Donnie Gomez?” Maggie said.
“Oh, hey Miss Maggie. How you doin’?” He lowered the camera.
“What are you up to, Donnie?”
“Well, we’re replacing the chiller and I’m doing some field verification, to make sure that we can get the cold water lines back to the Youth Building.”
“What a cool camera, Don? Can I see?” Detective Kennedy stole the device away from him and started scrolling quickly through the shots.
“That’s Sacred Heart property. I ain’t supposed to let anyone mess with it except for employees.” Donnie grabbed for the camera, but Detective Kennedy played keep-away with it. He finally was able to take it back, but not before the detective had a chance to scroll through several of the pictures. There were in fact a few shots of rooftop mechanical units. But a handful of the shots were of the courtyard, taken from above. Two had Paul in them, and the rest were of different young ladies about the campus.
“Why Donnie, what are all these pictures of these lovely young things? Aww, that’s cute, Donnie. I think you’ve got a crush on this one in the uniform. She’s in here a lot.”
“It’s not like that, Miss Maggie. I’m just an amateur photographer is all – an en-thu-siast.” Donnie had to work at that last piece of vocabulary; it was out of his range. He took the camera back.
“Oh don’t be modest, Don-Juan. I’m sure you get lots of the girls around here, always flirting with you I’m sure.”
Donnie shrugged in an aww shucks sort of way. “Stop playin’, Miss Maggie.” The detective thought to herself that she could play this dolt with her brain tied behind her back.
“You only like those Latin girls, huh? What’s wrong, Donnie, no quiero the guerro? You don’t like us gringas? No love for us.” She rubbed his shoulder; a seemingly innocent gesture. But with the subtlest suggestion, the lightest, most strategic caress, Maggie knew that she could knock his guard to pieces.
“Oh no, I like all girls.”
“That right, Donnie? What kind of girls do you like? You like ‘em dirty? Or do you prefer a nice little school-girl?”
“Miss Maggie! It ain’t even like that.” Was he blushing? “I don’t get no girls around here. They don’t even talk to me. I’m just Donnie, that’s all.”
“Ok sweetie,” the detective said, “Maggie’s gotta run right now. But we’ll see you soon, ok?” Just for good measure she kissed Donnie on the cheek. That might come in handy later, she thought.
“Yes, ma’am. See you soon.”
Now she was really late.
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