Page 31 of Dirty Roxie

“We did,” I say before Roxie opens her mouth.

“The dancing was good, no?”

“So good,” Roxie enthuses.

“Tell me,” Inspector Castillo continues, “Did you try the signature cocktail? The one they made smoke? So clever—”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but did you have a specific question for us, or did you just want to know if we had a good time?” I ask, breaking my rule of brief-answers-and-no-questions during interrogations.

“Of course. My apologies. I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I’m sure you are eager to get back to your vacation.”

“We’re here to look at textile factories,” Roxie interjects.

I squeeze her hand hard.

She squeezes mine back, just as hard.

“I’m starting my own clothing line, and a little birdy told me that textile production is one of the leading industries in Medellín.”

“That is true.” The inspector nods. “And how has your search gone?”

“Very well.” Roxie smiles at him.

“Tell me which one has been your favorite?” He smiles back.

“I don’t think—” I start.

“You know that huge three-story one on Pueblo Street? Tella something? Or maybe it was market?”

“La Fabrica de la Tela.”

“That’s it!” Roxie points at him and snaps her fingers.

Once again, I’m impressed by this woman. Her ability to think on her feet, and how she pulled that completely out of her ass.

“That is a very nice factory. You must tellSeñoraRivera hello for me when you return.”

“Rivera?” Roxie taps her finger against her lips. “I don’t remember meeting anyone by that name.”

This time Inspector Castillo snaps his fingers and points at Roxie. “That’s right. My apologies.SeñoraRivera is atEl Mercado de la Material. It isSeñoraReyes atLa Fabrica de la Tela.”

“Now don’t you go confusing me, Inspector. I’ve met so many people already with all sorts of names that sound alike, it makes my head spin.”

Roxie has morphed her character into a southern airhead. I suppose that goes better with my attempt at a Southern California surfer accent, though we are both to be hailing from the Pacific Northwest in the United States, so who knows.

The inspector smiles, indulgently. “Tell me, did you see any of the shooters last night?”

“I’m sorry, no. I wish we could be more help,” I say. Using more words than I should when a simple yes or no will do. Roxie is throwing me off my game. I don’t like it. I’m here for a reason and I can’t let her distract or influence me.

“That is fine. Thank you.” He stands, so we move to do the same. “If you wouldn’t mind indulging me for just a moment longer.” He holds up a finger to stop us and we both sit back down.

The up and down movement wreaks havoc on my core, and I think I just split a stitch trying to move like I’m not injured.

He leaves the room. Roxie turns and backhands me in the stomach, I let out a groan.

“You suck at this. How are you a big shot mafioso in Russia?” she asks.

“I asked you to let me do the talking.”