“You don’t even know her,” Angela said.
“True,” Anna said, “but I know flowers.”
“Okay, fair enough,” Angela said, tucking the seeds into her jacket pocket. “What do I owe you?”
“You made a boring day interesting,” Anna said. “That’s payment enough.”
“If you insist,” Angela said. “See you around.”
“Bye,” Anna replied.
Angela stepped out the door into the cool afternoon air. She took a look around; no sign of Tony, obviously. She decided she needed more information. She flew over to Fatima’s place, knocked on the door, and waited.
Angela heard the clang of exercise equipment, then heavy footsteps. Fatima opened the door, face glistening.
“You’re always sweating whenever I stop by,” Angela said.
“Yeah, being stalked by some weird-ass white girl will do that to you,” Fatima replied, and cracked a smile. “Come on in.”
She turned. Angela followed her into the apartment. Fatima grabbed a towel and wiped herself down.
“So, you figure this shit out yet?” Fatima asked. “Or are you here to tell me you’re giving up?”
“Neither, actually,” Angela replied. “I might be onto something but I wanted to get some information from you first.”
Fatima grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and tossed it back in one gulp.
“What kind of information?”
“There’s this guy,” Angela said. “One of the names on your list. I talked to him a couple times and there’s just something… off about him.”
“Let me guess,” Fatima said. “Tony Solomon?”
“That’s the one,” Angela said. “What can you tell me about him?”
“God, I don’t even know where to begin,” Fatima said, leaning against the kitchen counter. “We both came to L.A. around the same time, met through the local art scene. We collaborated from time to time, even hooked up once or twice.”
“Really?” Angela asked, wrinkling her nose.