Dirty Deeds

by James, Nicole

  Kara. It’s a pretty name, but I try not to use it; makes it easier to keep this an impersonal job.

  I’m in the driver seat, and I shift, trying to accommodate my knees around the steering wheel as I slump back. Stakeouts are the kind of bullshit we usually leave to prospects. But since it’s just Rusty and me, here we sit. I tap the wheel with my thumb and check the clock on the dash again. “Thought she had a class.”

  “She’s a chick, and she’s high-maintenance. Therefore, she probably takes too long to get ready.”

  “That in the dossier?” I crack.

  “No, I deduced that from her fucking photo. Doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure a girl that looks like that is gonna be high-maintenance.”

  “If you’re Sherlock Holmes, does that make me Watson?”

  “Fucking shut up.”

  I grin. “I’m bored. Deal with it.”

  He lifts his chin. “There she is.”

  I swivel my head, and I forget to breathe. Christ. The photo of her face did not reveal the long sexy legs or the curves on this chick. She’s stunning. I straighten in my seat. She moves down the sidewalk headed away from us, and I get a shot of her fucking perfect heart-shaped ass. I can’t stop my brain from the image it throws into my imagination. My hands on her hips, taking her from behind, that perfect ass bouncing as I slam into her… I suddenly have to straighten in the seat to adjust my growing hard-on.

  She stops at a blue Prius and climbs in. I’m turning the ignition, shifting into gear, and following without even thinking about it. I don’t think anything could have stopped me in that moment.

  We head across campus, and as she pulls down Capstone Drive and parks in a spot, I drive past. I find a spot a few spaces down.

  “Okay, now what?” I ask Rusty.

  “She’s getting out. You think we should follow her?”

  “We’re less conspicuous in the car than we would be on foot. You and I stick out like a sore thumb around here, even in these clothes.”

  I’m wearing a non-descript black T-shirt, a white thermal underneath, the sleeves pushed up, revealing the ink on my arms, and he’s got on a denim shirt unsnapped over an inside out DK shirt.

  “Maybe we need to go buy some pink polo shirts and backpacks,” he suggests.

  I give him a death glare. “Help yourself. I’ll take a picture of that to share with the boys back home.”

  “You do, you’re dead.”

  “What was the point of this? We’re not grabbing her out of a class or on the streets of campus in broad fucking daylight.”

  “I wanted a look at her. Didn’t you?”

  I turn back to see her walking down a walkway to the big building. A sign says it’s the Clark Hall, but I only give it a glance. I can’t keep my eyes off her ass and the sexy-as-fuck way she walks. Not all chicks have a sexy walk. Not like this girl.

  Rusty’s got his phone out.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Googling what’s in this building. Says Dance studios. Maybe she’s taking dance.”

  “Thought you had her schedule.”

  “It’s a bunch of numbers and abbreviations. I can’t figure it out.”

  “Great. Okay, we got a look at her, now what?”

  “Drive past her place again. We need to get a plan.”

  He’s got that right. And whatever we do, it’s gonna have to be at night and away from this campus. The place is crawling with people.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Reno—

  I stare into the mirror behind the line of liquor bottles from my seat at the bar. It’s a college joint with a sports theme that claims to serve some of the best cheeseburgers around. Pete’s—supposedly a campus fixture. Not my kind of place. The only reason I’m here is because of the woman in the reflection.

  Kara sits at a table behind me. I followed her from her apartment—something I shouldn’t have done. Not the only thing I shouldn’t have done. I shouldn’t have gotten in the car when Rusty left on his bike to take care of some shit back in Georgia. I shouldn’t have parked in front of Kara’s apartment, or gotten out and walked around her building in the dark, looking through her window and scoping a way inside. Just information gathering I may need use of later, I told myself. But I know the truth; I just wanted another look at her…

  An hour ago…

  Her apartment is on the ground floor, which makes it easy. It’s dark outside, so her living room is illuminated through the sheer curtains. I see her sitting on the couch, her long legs tucked under her. She’s studying a textbook and making notes on a pad. She’s left-handed. I file away every new bit of information I gather.

  She tucks her hair behind her ear and bites her bottom lip. She’s wearing reading glasses; they’re blue of all things, and for some reason they look cute as hell on her.

  Her cell must have rung, because she picks it up off the side table and puts it to her ear. She smiles, and her face lights up. It does something to me—her smile. She tosses the textbook aside and laughs, then looks at the watch on her wrist. The corner of my mouth pulls up. Who wears a watch anymore?

  She stands, slips her shoes on, and grabs her purse.

  Fuck, she’s leaving. I slide back around the bushes that conceal me and jog quickly to my vehicle. There’re a few people down the block, but no one pays me any attention.

  I slip behind the wheel and fire up the engine. I’m idling in the parking spot when the front door to her building opens. She skips down the step and heads up the block on foot.

  Fuck. I turn off the car and climb back out, following her down the street, keeping at a distance on the opposite side.

  She walks downtown to the older part of the city near the campus. I can’t help but notice she turns a few heads, and I want to kill every last one of these bastards who check her out. Finally, she steps inside a bar and grill called Pete’s.

  I wait a minute before following her inside. There’s a bar against the left wall, about twenty tables to the right. The place is busy. I take a seat at the bar, spotting her at a table behind me. She’s laughing with two girls her age. They all have sweatshirts with the same Greek letters across them. I’ve got no fucking clue what they mean, other than it must be her sorority.

  I order a beer and try to be nonchalant as I watch her. Football plays on the big screen, and the place is loud. The bartender sets the draft on a coaster in front of me, and I pass him a five.

  I shouldn’t be here, but since I first laid eyes on this girl, I haven’t been able to get her out of my fucking mind, especially late at night, lying in that dump of a motel room. I’ve been fantasizing about her for the last two nights.

  Rusty would be pissed if he knew what I was up to.

  I’m not even sure what it is about her that draws me. Maybe it’s her resemblance to Patty. I haven’t thought about Patty in years, not until I saw Kara’s photo. Since then I’ve been reliving it all in my head, every detail from the moment she first walked into biology class and sat at the same table as me…

  Jackson High School

  Junior year—

  I scoot my stool over, its metal legs scraping on the linoleum. We’re dissecting a frog today, and I know Patty is dreading it. I glance over at her and grin. She looks cute in the protective glasses and blue medical gloves we’re required to wear.

  She holds the small scalpel in her hand. “I can’t do it, Dante.”

  I hold my hand out. “Here. I’ll do it.”

  She looks relieved as she passes the sharp instrument carefully to my hand. I give her a wink, and she smiles back at me. I love the dimples that form every time she smiles. She’s cute—girl-next-door cute—the kind that’s always drawn me. But it’s more than that; she doesn’t seem to see my worn clothing that carry no designer labels and are just hand-me-downs from my older cousin. She doesn’t seem to care that I don’t come from a family with a country club membership like hers or that I don’t have the latest Nikes.

  She doesn
’t treat me like the rest of the kids do—like I come from the wrong side of the tracks, which I do. Roscoe Street is the definition of the wrong neighborhood. We can’t even get pizzas delivered—not that we could afford them.

  Patty doesn’t seem to see any of that. She just likes that I can make her laugh.

  Today she’s got on a fuzzy pink sweater that reminds me of cotton candy and makes me long to touch it.

  I lean closer, pretending I need better access to the poor dead amphibian pinned to the wax-bottomed pan. But the real reason I move closer is because I want to inhale the addicting scent of the perfume she wears. It’s always subtle and seductive, and I really want to know what it’s called. I don’t ask her, though. I’d sound like a jerk if I did, and I really don’t want to sound like a jerk in front of Patty.

  Prom is coming, and I’ve imagined asking her, but fear stops me. I don’t want to destroy what we have if she turns me down. I’m pretty sure she’s not seeing anyone, not since she broke up with Ian at the start of the year.

  Even though she smiles at me and gives me all kinds of signals that she likes being around me, I worry I’m not good enough for her; she deserves someone better than a kid from Roscoe Street.

  The Borderlands—that’s what the kids in school call the neighborhood I grew up in. It’s the only poor area in the school district, so they’re stuck with us Borderlanders. Doesn’t mean they make it easy for us. Especially if any of us dare to try to be more.

  Elena Mancini once ran for class treasurer. She was bullied and smeared until she withdrew. I was standing outside in the smoking area the day it happened. She ran, crying into the gravel parking area reserved for Juniors and Seniors. I stopped her and asked if she was okay. She shook her head. I gave her a ride home in my beater of a car.

  I remember her telling me, “We’re nothing to them, Dante. We’re dirt under their feet, and we’ll never be more.”

  I knew in that moment I’d prove them wrong. Somehow, I’d escape the run-down house, my alcoholic father who couldn’t keep a job, and my mother who was so worn down from his verbal abuse she was barely a shell of the once vibrant woman she’d been.

  After I’ve dissected the frog, Patty smiles at me. “Thank you, Dante. I couldn’t have done it.”

  Biology is the last class of the day. We’re so late cleaning our lab table afterward that Patty misses her bus, and on top of that, it’s pouring rain. I move to stand next to her by the main entrance.

  “You want a ride home? I’ve got a car.”

  She bites her lip, considering. “Well, I guess that would be okay. Thanks.”

  We dash out the back entrance that leads to the student parking lot. I unlock the car and hold the door open for her. She scoots in, and I slam the door shut, dashing around to slide behind the wheel. The rain is beating down on the rooftop. I shake my head, and Patty laughs. We pull out, and I drive east.

  “I’m in Sunset Estates,” she tells me.

  I nod. We stop at a red light. We’re the only car at the intersection. If I turn left, it’ll take us out of town, out toward Rock Creek State Park. I look over at Patty.

  “Want to take a ride out to the lookout point?” That’s what us kids call it.

  She stares at me a long moment and then nods. I can’t believe she says yes. Hell, I can’t believe I had the guts to ask her.

  I drive slow and careful. For one, I want her to know I take her safety seriously, and for two, I want to make our time together last as long as possible.

  Eventually, I turn up the road to the parking spot that overlooks the valley. Since it’s pouring, there’s no one up here but us. The rain kicks up a foggy mist that’s almost magical. I put the car in park and turn to her.

  I don’t remember what all we talk about, but I make her laugh. We joke about how dorky our Algebra teacher is with his bow tie and pocket protector. She tells me she just got accepted to Tulane University in New Orleans. I smile. I want to be happy for her, but that will take her out of this crappy little town that I’ve grown to hate. And then I’ll hate it even more.

  “I’ll miss you,” I blurt out.

  Her smile fades, and she moves toward me, leaning over the console.

  I cup her cheek, tilt her face up to mine, and I kiss her. Before I know it, she’s climbing onto my lap and unbuttoning her sweater.

  We had sex in the backseat that rainy afternoon, and I thought I was in love, or damn near close to it.

  I drove her home, and we made out in her driveway before she smiled and dashed inside.

  The next Monday, I saw Patty in the hall at her locker and approached her. “Hey, Patty.”

  She looked up, giving me a bright smile. “Oh, hi, Dante.”

  I leaned against the adjacent locker and watched as she dug for the book she needed. “Um, Patty, I was wondering—”

  “Patty! Let’s go, girl!” a male voice called from down the hall.

  She turned. “I’ll be right there, Heath.”

  I glanced over her head to the boy in question. He was blond and clean-cut, wearing a football jersey. I recognized him immediately. He was the new quarterback.

  “Did you want something, Dante?” Patty asked, drawing my attention from the smirk on Heath’s face.

  “So, you and Heath?”

  “He asked me to Prom and gave me this.” She excitedly held up her hand. His class ring with about a foot of blue yarn wrapped around the inside loomed large from her finger.

  I swallowed. “That’s great.” I jerked my chin. “Go on, he’s waiting. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  She slammed her locker. “Okay, see you in class tomorrow?”

  “Sure.” I watched her bop down the hall and catch up with him. He wrapped his arm around her and glanced back at me, laughing.

  The guy in the football uniform—that’s who stole her heart.

  The semester ended, and I never had another class with Patty. When I saw her in the halls, she’d always smile or wave, but we never again shared a joke or a conversation. I dropped out of school the next semester.

  The day I cleaned out my locker and drove home, I stopped to put my last five bucks in the gas tank. While I stood pumping, three Harleys pulled in off the interstate, which was our little town’s main connection to the outside world. There was a bigger truck stop that most travelers used, but townies like me used this little gas station. So, I was shocked to see these obvious out-of-towners rolling in.

  I studied the way they were dressed. I’d never in my life seen an actual one-percent MC member before, and they fascinated me. Everything about them called to the man in me who longed to be free of everything in my life.

  I wanted to get on a big motorcycle like theirs and ride with the wind in my face and go places I imagined they went. And more than anything I wanted to escape this town and everything in it.

  They pumped their gas, and I noticed the flirtatious smiles the girls in the car one pump over gave them, the way their eyes moved over the men, admiringly. These men wore the uniform of a one-percenter biker. And they wore it well.

  I looked at the rockers on the back of their vests. Devil Kings MC, Georgia. I lived in a small town in Mississippi and had no clue who they were or what those patches meant, I just suddenly knew I had a new purpose, and it was to become one of them.

  “Hey, mister,” I found myself saying.

  A burly guy with wild gray hair turned to me. “Yeah, kid?”

  I motioned to his vest and brazenly asked, “How do I become one of you?”

  He grinned, exposing a missing tooth. He looked past me to my beater of a car and lifted his chin. “You got a bike? You ride?”

  “No, sir.”

  “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Dante. Dante De Luca.”

  “You from around here, Dante?”

  “I was born in Reno, but we move around a lot. Moved here two years ago when my old man lost his job.”

  He nodded. “Well, Reno. We’re always lookin�
�� for good members, ones we can trust, ones who understand loyalty and brotherhood.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You sell that cage, get yourself an old Harley, and learn to ride.” He dug in his vest pocket and held a card out to me. “You do, come see me. We’ll see what you’re made of.”

  I took the card and looked down at it as he walked inside the station. It read Wildman, Devil Kings MC, Atlanta Chapter

  I sit at the bar for an hour, watching Kara. The game ends, and a band starts up in the corner. The place is getting packed, and the girls are laughing and mingling through the crowd. I can’t take my eyes off her. Something about her draws me.

  In the years I’ve been a patch holder, getting pussy has always come easy. Girls seem to throw themselves at anyone wearing the colors of a one-percenter. I admit, I’ve taken full advantage, but somehow, I never found any satisfaction. They all seemed too easy, like it wasn’t me they were seeing; it was just the patch they were fucking.

  For a long time, it’s been eating at me—the feeling that I was never seen for who I was. To them I was a Devil King; I wasn’t Reno, much less Dante.

  Something in me longs to know what it would be like to have a beautiful woman attracted to me for just me. To know if they would still turn their pretty smile my way, to have them want to be with me and not the patch and all it represents.

  Somehow, when I look at Kara, I need to know. Here, tonight, with her, while I’m dressed like a civilian with no patch on my back. If I hit on her, how would she respond? It’s a question that’s kept me up at night, though I dare not admit it to myself. Even now, sitting here, watching her move around this room, I’m so fucking drawn to her that I know there’s not a damn thing gonna stop me from finding out before I walk out this door tonight.

  Seeing my chance, I follow her to the bathroom and wait in the hall until she comes back out, then I pretend to be looking down at my phone and bump into her. She bounces off my chest.

  “Oh, sorry, beautiful. You okay?”

  She smiles. “Yes, fine.”