Collectibles and Discards

Fiction

“What’s Conway doing for money these days?”

Dina wiped her mouth with a napkin that looked like it wasn’t made for all the wipes she had put it through. 

The counter, the dog’s eye boogers, her mouth for the fourth time. 

“Collectibles,” Dina said, her voice catching a few times.

“I don’t recall him being a collector,” Fortman said, “ but anyway, I can’t do another pro bono case for him. Sorry Dina, I just can’t.”

“Is that why it took you so long to call back, Michael?” Dina asked. “You were afraid we were gonna ask for a freebie? You guys were on a state championship hockey team together. You go all the way back.”

Fortman smiled like he would at a witness that was about to topple over the edge. A lifeline smile is what he called it.

Dina wiped the counter in a circular motion. She wasn’t high, Fortman was certain. Her eyes were good, she didn’t fidget, she just wiped. Nerves. Too many of ‘em.