Chapter 89 Eighty-eight

• The ten-minute wait for Brandon soon extends to thirty, my feet drum into the floor and I clench my phone in sweaty palms, waiting for a message to explain his lateness. Tree branches hang above me, providing relief from the heat but my underarm still perspires.
• Curly hair’s card is still on the bench, the name written in Calligraphic letters at the top is David. After much contemplation, I snatch it and put it into my bag. I can rip it later.
• A Google search of the name David whispered to me reveals nothing but an image of Brandon and a girl who looks less than five years old. Tapping on the link leads me to a site temporarily down, I hiss. Okay, this David guy is an unserious hustler. He will need to give me more than a name the almighty Google can not identify if he wants my help.