The Divorcee Murder Club

Doce ~ 12

                Morning has arrived, so it’s time to begin part two of my side mission.

As daylight trickles through the curtains, Angie’s head rests on my chest, with a spread of curls draping me. By the time I finished having my fun with Richie, it was past two in the morning, yet Angie was still game to come over. Now, I stare at the ceiling, listening to her soft breathing while twirling a lock of her hair around my index finger. 

Peaceful moments like these make me forget what Angie is like, and if she wasn’t so nuts, I could see us being a couple, but we both know what this is. It’s a transaction. She needs my help, and in return, I use her to release tension.

“What time is it?” she murmurs.

“Almost nine.”

“I have to go,” she yawns and pushes herself into an upright position. 

“What’s the rush? I can make breakfast.”

“Huh?” Angie scrunches her face and shakes her head. “Why on earth would we sit around having breakfast!”

“Why not. We could get to know each other better.”

“Yeah, I’ll pass.”

Like a little flea, Angie hops off the bed and gathers her clothes. As usual, she pulls them on while exiting the bedroom, so I follow her, and by the time we get to the living room, she’s fully dressed. 

“I can make coffee to go,” I offer, but she snorts and rakes her curls into a high ponytail.

“You’re acting weird.”

“Just being nice.”

“No. Weird,” she says, then opens the front door. “I’ll be in touch if I hear from Reina.”

With her out of the apartment, I scramble to pull on a black hoodie, grey sweat pants, and sneakers, then exit like a bowling ball speeding down the stairwell. Angie is already down the street, and her curls flutter behind her as she disappears around the corner. I might not be James Bond, but I’ve become pretty good at following people without them noticing. 

After a few blocks, she crosses onto 16th Street and heads down the escalator leading to the subway platform. Thankfully it’s a weekday, so morning commuters are helping me stay hidden as I pretend to read on my phone while sneaking glances at Angie. When the BART car slows to a stop, Angie doesn’t wait for passengers to get off. Instead, she shoves her way inside and claims an empty seat meant for the elderly, disabled, or pregnant women. However, she doesn’t seem to care as she sweeps aside her curls to plug in earbuds and mess around on her phone. 

Typical.

One of the things I find most fascinating about public transit is how everyone’s face is buried in their little pocket gadgets. They’re so focused on what is happening on the tiny screens that they forget real life is occurring around them. Danger enjoys lurking, and it awaits the perfect moment to sink its teeth into distracted targets.

But I’m not a psycho. 

I’m just spying on Angie. There’s a difference.

After thirty minutes, we reach the end of the line, and it’s a connection station, which means passengers for this ride either have to catch another BART for SFO airport or make their way to the CalTrains and busses. Angie hops onto a train heading southbound, so I hop on too, and it takes another thirty minutes until we’re in a bustling city on the peninsula. I have no clue where she’s going, but it must be important if she’s willing to travel this far. 

From here, Angie walks to her next destination and still hasn’t noticed I’m following her. Unless she does and is leading me on a wild goose hunt? If so, she’s a lot smarter than I give her credit.