In Cold Blonde Read Online Free Page A

800
465-9586.
    “What’s that mean?” Syd asked.
    The clerk hesitated, then, “It means you’ve won a very large
jackpot.  The 800 number comes up whenever the ticket is worth more than
fifty thousand dollars.”
    “And if I’d left after you threw my ‘losing’ ticket away, you were going
to take it out of the trash and claim it yourself?”
    He just stared at her, sullenly silent.
    “One final question,” Syd said, writing down the 800 number.  “Do
any of your security cameras point toward the parking lot across the street?”
    The question was so out of left field, confusion filled his face. 
“What?”
    “Look there,” Syd said pointing out the window, losing patience. 
“See all the police cars?  That’s a crime scene.  Do any of your
security cameras point toward that parking lot?”
    “No, they only point inside.”
    “At you, ripping off your customers?”
    “It was an honest mistake, I swear.”
    “Yeah, right,” Syd said.  She was tempted to arrest him for attempted
robbery or fraud, or whatever the hell you call trying to fuck someone out of
their Lotto winnings.  But deep down she understood the clerk’s survival
instinct.  He was a cliché stuck in a xenophobic wasteland, a Middle
Eastern man running a 7-Eleven.  He’s mocked in pop culture in everything
from The Simpsons to South Park.   And in return for his
humiliation he makes minimum wage.  So he plays a few angles and, if the
locals are dumb enough to fall for his act, more power to him.  So Syd
simply withered him with a look, holstered her weapon and left.  
    Syd was used to guys trying to take advantage of her.  She had such
a sweet, girl-next- door look that most guys thought she was naïve, or worse,
nice.  At her core, Syd was neither. She outgrew naïve when her stepfather
raped her on her fourteenth birthday.  She outgrew nice when she killed
him two years later after countless molestations.  Well, that’s not
exactly true, it was one hundred and thirty-eight molestations.  Syd kept
count.
    Ryan didn’t know about the rapes or the murder.  No one did. 
In fact, no one even knew Syd’s real background.  She lied to everyone.
    Syd walked out of the 7-Eleven, pulled out her cell phone and called the Lotto
800 number.  A woman answered on the third ring.  “California Lottery.”
    “Yes, hi, I hope you can help me.  I’ve got a Lotto ticket and when
I checked to see if it was a winner, a screen came up telling me to call this
number.”
    “There is a serial number on the ticket, just below the date.  Do
you see it?”  Syd could hear a change in the woman’s voice, a thrum of
excitement.
    “Yes.”
    “Read the number to me please.”
    “193-036806682-086035.” Syd heard her type the numbers into a keyboard.
    “Oh my God, congratulations, you have a winner with a capital W!” 
The thrum had turned into a marching band.  “Where are you calling from?”
    “Hollywood.”
    “There’s a Lotto office in Van Nuys.  Bring the ticket, answer a couple
of questions and we can begin to process your check.  But you better
hurry.  The jackpot must be picked up within one hundred and eighty days
of the drawing date; you’ve only got two days left.  The ticket expires on
the twenty-sixth, that’s Thursday, the day after tomorrow.”
    Thank God I found it when I did, thought Syd.  “Actually, I’m
calling for a friend, it’s his ticket,” she said.
    “Well, you got a very lucky friend.”
    “How lucky, how much has he won?”
    The woman laughed.  “Oh, of course, sorry; the jackpot is forty
seven million dollars.”

FOUR
     
    Syd walked in Havoc with a big smile on her face.  Ryan was at a
corner table conducting an interview with the bartender. 
    Syd loved Ryan’s looks.  He was tall, six-two to be exact, with jet-black
hair, straight nose and strong chin.  But what sent her heart a thumping
were his dimples, one in each cheek, and his boyish, self-deprecating
style.  Like he