Page 50 of Mouse Trapped

“Mouse!” Drew comes over. “I can’t thank you enough.”

I slap him on the back. I’ve barely seen him since Blade drove the car back earlier. He’s been down at the auto-shop just sitting in the car, listening to music, some modern crap I’ve been told.

“Sound system’s as loud as fuckin’ shit,” Road grumbles as he walks past.Hmm. Seems his fifteen-year-old musical taste isn’t appreciated by everyone.I grin after my brother as he walks away. His comment was said good-naturedly.

Apart from the audio and speakers which are obviously in good working order, Blade’s pretty sure it’s mechanically sound, he’s given it the once over himself.

Raising my chin toward Mariana’s brother, I tell him, “Just keep studying and doing the practice tests to make sure you’re going to pass your written exam. Once you’ve done that, we’ll go get your learner’s permit.”

“I will, Mouse.”

Good to see the kid enthusiastic about something. Seeing the enforcer walking in, he makes a beeline for him, probably to ask him something else about his damn car. Shaking my head, I grin, grab a soda from Paige who’s bartender for the night, then go to my office. After taking a swig from the bottle and wiping my hand over the back of my mouth, I sit back. Have we done enough to make Jenkins change his story?

The importance of whether we have or not diminishes the next morning when I get a call from an unknown number.

“Yeah?”

“Er, is this the person who placed the leaflet about the recent collision?”

I sit up straight. “Certainly is.”

“I saw it. Saw what happened. Poor girl was stopped; a man drove straight into her. I do hope she’s okay.”

“Ma’am, she’s really not.” She’s not injured, or wasn’t badly enough for the cops to delay calling in ICE. “Look, can we meet to discuss this?” A voice on the phone is one thing, I need to pin this person down, check whether she’d be a credible witness.

“Don’t see why not. If we can meet somewhere public. I don’t know who I’m talking to.”

“My name’s Tse Williamson. And that would be fine with me. Name the time and place.”

She names a coffee shop, and a time which is just half an hour away. I can make it if I push it. Ending the call, I race through the clubhouse, not stopping even when Wraith calls my name. I’m on my bike and flying out of the compound before I start processing the ramifications.This could be just what we were looking for.I try not to get my hopes up, but it’s hard not to feel optimistic.Just once, just fucking once, could things go Mariana’s way?

The coffee shop isn’t crowded, and there’s only one woman sitting on her own. I go to the counter and order a drink, saying my name loudly. Having to spell it out for the girl to write on the cup. When I turn around, the woman in the corner raises her hand. Making a quick perusal, I walk over.She’s white, not young, but not too old to be unreliable. Well dressed.She’d tick many boxes. Approaching the table, I hold out my hand. “Tse Williamson.”

“Martha Schmitt.”

My name is called from behind me. I go back to collect the drink I didn’t really want, then return to the table and sit down. “Ma’am, thank you for meeting me. Can you remember what you saw that day?”

“Sure can. Such a loud crash. I was waiting for a friend to finish purchasing something, looking out of the window wondering whether there was going to be a storm. Saw the light turn red and a car pull up and stop. Suddenly another car came up out of the blue, didn’t look like he even slowed down.”

“You didn’t say anything to the police who turned up?”

She shakes her head. “No. Why should I? Enough people went running over, I thought one of them would have said something. My friend was ready to leave, so I left. Thought nothing more about it until I saw your leaflet.”

“Ms Schmitt. The man who drove the other car, he lied and said the light was green, and that the car in front stopped suddenly.”

Adamantly she shakes her head. “Not what I saw.”

“My fiancée, well, she’s been charged with a felony. Insurance fraud, the cops believe.”

“Oh my.” Her eyes go wide. “They’ve charged the wrong person. Why didn’t they believe your fiancée? Surely she must have protested her innocence?”

This is the hard part. But if she later finds out the truth and doesn’t like it, she might refuse to make a statement. “Ms Schmitt, my fiancée came to the US as a child when she was four years old. The US is all she’s ever known. She’s studying to become a nurse.”

Her eyes have narrowed as she quickly puts two and two together. “She’s here illegally?”

“She’s one of the Dreamers.”

She humphs, but waves at me to continue.