Girl Defective Read Online Free

air, let alone the backseat of her limo.
    Dad priced records, nodding to Lou Reed. Gully decided Elvis wasn’t happy in the window after all and moved him back to the counter. I checked my phone. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
    â€œDad,” I said.
    â€œSkylark.”
    â€œWe should sell things online.”
    He brought his pricing gun down hard. Thwack.
    â€œWe could set up a shop on Goldmine. It would be easy.”
    Thwack.
    Thwack.
    â€œYou’re scared of change.”
    Thwack.
    â€œIt’s not safe,” Dad said.
    â€œWhat do you mean ‘not safe’?”
    He put the pricing gun down and looked at me. “Say I get you kids fixed up with the Internet. Next thing I know, some pervert from Oslo’s got you on a slab. Or is selling your . . . bits to China. I’m informed. I read the papers.”
    I laughed. “You don’t. You read Mojo .”
    Dad snapped his fingers. “The cannibal couple. You can’t tell me that would have happened without the Internet.”
    â€œYou’re ridiculous.”
    Thwack.
    Gully was watching our spat through two spy holes he’d cut out of the cover of Record Collector . He lowered the magazine. “No one’s going to eat me.”
    â€œYou’re ridiculous too,” I muttered.
    A police officer came in. I saw red hair againstthe blue uniform. Brown lipstick. She approached the counter with a strange smile on her face. Dad’s expression mirrored hers. He tugged his jeans up and patted down his hair. Gully, thrilled to see a law enforcement officer at close range, started hissing into his fist. I adopted an expression of nonchalance, but the lady cop only had eyes for Dad.
    Her voice was high with a touch of tease. “Is that Bill Martin?”
    â€œIs that Evil Eve Brennan?” Dad’s cheeks had gone pink.
    â€œ Constable Eve Brennan to you.”
    They gazed at each other for a beat without speaking, and then Dad opened his mouth. “Fuck me. How long have you—”
    â€œFour years. Crazy, huh?”
    â€œYou look good in uniform.”
    Constable Eve Brennan glanced from Dad to me and Gully. She didn’t flinch at the pig snout. A good sign.
    â€œAre these your kids?”
    â€œYes. Skylark and Seagull. Their mother liked birds.”
    â€œHow is Gail?”
    â€œGalaxy.”
    â€œAre you still . . . ?”
    â€œNO!” Dad coughed. “No, no. Divorced.”
    Evil Eve and Dad worked the smiles, and it was all Gully and I could do to clock the pheromones fizzing like fireflies around us.
    â€œEvie and I used to hang out,” Dad told us. “In the old punk days. She had a mohawk then.”
    The lady cop rejigged her hat and set her face to serious. “I heard you had some trouble.” She jerked her head toward the window. “I’m just following up.”
    Dad let out a puff of air. “So long ago, I forgot all about it.”
    â€œIt was the end of school. Could have been muck-up day antics. Silly season. We’re canvasing traders. Do you remember anything unusual?”
    Gully pushed forward. “I dusted for prints,” he reported. “The boys at the lab are flummoxed.”
    Evil Eve’s lips wavered. Don’t laugh, I thought. But she didn’t. She just waited. Gully was tracing the air, skywriting. He blurted, “The Bricker was in a white Jeep. Don’t ask me to reveal my sources. It will all be in my memo. I’ll send you a copy.”
    â€œGreat.” She smiled again, unruffled. Then she squinted at him. “Do you want to be a police officer?”
    Gully was affronted. “I’m already a detective.”
    Eve fixed back on Dad. “Do you have any security? Cameras, an alarm?”
    â€œâ€Šâ€™Fraid not.”
    â€œHe’s analog,” I said. It came out sounding snarky.
    â€œYou can get video cameras, Bill.” The way she said “Bill,” all