by Kade, Teagan
“What about your father? What happened to him?”
He left. I didn’t see him until I got back from my first tour. I got word my mother—who I hadn’t seen in forever, mind—had passed away suddenly and he’d showed up at the funeral. He told me he hadn’t had a drink in years, that he was sorry. I didn’t believe him. In fact, it took another two years before I talked to him again, but slowly, slowly, we got there.
“His father, my grandfather, passed not long after—a real good run. I kind of lost Dad after that. He was busy travelling and living it up for the next few years, a new girlfriend every hot minute it seemed. Then he just showed up one day looking like hell, said he had lung cancer, no surprise given the way he smoked, that he’d bought a houseboat back home, that I should move in when he passed. So, I did.”
“But why?” Gisele asks, her finger leaving the line. “Why come back here, where it all happened?”
It’s a question I’ve asked myself a million times, but no answer’s ever come clear. “I guess people are happiest when they’re home, and I really fucking wanted to be happy.”
“Are you?”
Fuck no, but I smile and nod. “Sure.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GISELE
Bobby’s right. I already know his background, even though my files aren’t quite as detailed as his confessional. If I didn’t have those files, I might assume it is all bullshit designed to draw me in and drop my pants, but it does seem a genuine attempt to connect, if still a little staged.
Three times I feel something on the line, letting it go, not wanting to interrupt his story. I share myself, bits and pieces of my own upbringing, the truth, in the interests of open conversation. It is, however, nowhere near as deep because honestly, my upbringing wasn’t so bad.
Once the conversation quietens down, I take the opportunity to finally reel in the next bite, working fast, a sleek channel catfish coming free of the water.
Bobby whistles. “Damn it, girl, how you doing this? You some kind of fish whisperer? I thought the thing at the comp was a fluke, but man, maybe you’ll catch the Beast before you get Roxanne.”
I’d half-forgotten about the boat, still unsure why my client is so hell bent on obtaining it.
Bobby finds a net and moves to sweep the catfish back, but I hold him off, surprised how hard his chest is under my hand, how warm it is there. I reach to his belt and pull the knife he keeps there, taking hold of the catfish with one hand and twisting the hook out with the tip of the knife, tossing it back into the water where it disappears in a matter of seconds.
Bobby places the net down, perching himself beside me. “Not even a kiss goodbye?”
I give him a half-smile, handing the knife back by the handle. “Do I look like someone who goes around kissing catfish?”
“You… do not,” he laughs, wiping his brow, “but it’s tradition around here—kiss and release.”
I laugh. “I bet you know all about that, don’t you, Long Schlong?”
He almost falls off the side of the boat in surprise. “Who the hell told you about that?”
“A little birdie.” I smile smugly, placing the hand line down and turning to face him.
“Was this birdie’s name Belinda?”
I shake my head.
“Belle?”
Another shake.
He clicks his fingers. “Donna, with the inverted nipples.”
“Jesus, no. We going to do this all day, work our way through the alphabet?”
“Sorry,” he says. “It’s strange hearing about the legend second-hand, so to speak.”
“The ‘legend’,” I repeat, “and I don’t suppose there’s any room for modesty in said legend, is there?”
“Admit it,” he continues, back to his old self, “you want a peek, don’t you? A little looksee?”
When I don’t reply, he smiles. “Or maybe more?”
I reach forward and with a simple shove of the chest, send him over the side of the boat. He emerges from the water spluttering.
And there is the genuine expression I’ve been looking for.
“What in the hell?!” he barks.
I haven’t laughed this hard in a long time. I stand back so he can’t pull me in, holding up the keys to the boat I so expertly swindled earlier. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He shakes his head, levering himself up and rolling over into the deck, wet as an otter’s asshole, standing and wringing his shirt out. He extends his hand. “The keys, if you will.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“My word you’ll remain dry.”
I toss over the keys. “Don’t imagine you say that too often.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
BOBBY
It’s cold when I slide out of bed. I find my robe and pull it on, spotting Bart out the window with a line in the river.
It doesn’t get any warmer outside as I walk over.
Bart’s seated in a camp chair on the bank, rod in hand, a beverage in the other I’m pretty sure ain’t the Vitamin Water it’s purporting to be. “If it isn’t the Dude,” he jokes.
I stand next to him watching the river. “The only thing you’ll be catching this morning is a cold, my friend.”
He reels and re-casts. “Should I expect one Ms. Cole to come out of that houseboat any minute?”
Regretfully, I shake my head. “’Fraid not.”
Now the fucker turns to face me, smiling at that. “You’re telling me the Bear himself, the infamous and wonderful, indescribable Bobby Silver and his super schlong, can’t get this one over the line?”
I exhale. “It’s proving harder than expected, but you know me, I relish the chase.”
He laughs, deep, direct from the belly. “I know you’re trying to work her, Bobby, but I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around here. I mean, what is this? Your first defeat? How are you ever going to recover?”
Defeat—memories of the football field come back. I fucking hated losing. Still do.
I place my hand on Bart’s shoulder. “Buddy, this battle is far from won. She might think she has the upper hand, but I can tell you now she’s not leaving this town without a) Roxanne and b) a good, old-fashioned fucking from Yours Truly.”
“Such a poet you are. How can they resist? Speaking of which, what do you want me to tell the lovely ladies who’ve been waiting patiently for a go at your prized pecker there?”
Shit. The bookings. I’d completely forgotten about them.
Bart sees my confusion. “She got you that cock-whipped, has she?”
I think of Gisele and know I need my full power here, complete focus if I’m going to get what I want. “Cancel them,” I tell Bart.
“What?” he spits.
“Cancel the bookings. All of them.”
Now he’s the one looking confused. “You serious? Your balls will be blue before sundown.”
“So be it,” I shrug.
Bart returns to fishing shaking his head. “This is going to get ugly, isn’t it?”
I pat his shoulder. “I sure as hell hope so.”
*
I return to Roxanne mildly amused, pouring myself a glass and standing out on the deck with a smug smile on my face.
I really can’t recall the last time I was so ‘cock-whipped’ as Bart so bluntly put it. There’s been the odd attraction, but even then it was a simple passing curiosity. Gisele seems to have rearranged something within me, unblocked a part of myself I’ve been trying to keep closed up for a very long time, because if I dwell on it for too long—my father, the accident, the fallout, the shit that went down in the Army in the name of fucking ‘freedom’—I begin to break apart and reach for my usual vices. It’s no surprise they’re always of the warm and slippery variety.
I move the whiskey around in my mouth.
My cock aches thinking about her, of what she’d be like down there, the feel of her mouth on my lips and shaft, those delicate, manicured city fingers going to work on me.
/> I shake my head at myself. “You know how this is going to play out and you still want a piece?”
I’ve become accustomed to talking to myself out here. I hear Bart from time to time having a good old chat with himself out back. It’s just something you do.
I do know how it is going to play out, yet I’m still ready to shed my shoes and walk the coals regardless. Anything to turn these distant thoughts in my head into that warm, wet reality I’ve been dreaming of.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GISELE
I’m doing my best to relax. I’ve got on my best silk pajamas, the motel bed refitted with my own sheets that aren’t full of bed bugs. I’ve got a glass of fine brown sugar bourbon and a series of pay-per-views lined up. Nothing short of Bobby Silver himself rocking up at my door is going to stop me enjoying myself.
You know you’d welcome him in with open arms… maybe even an open something else.
Jesus Christ, I really can’t get this hillbilly out of my head. I close my eyes to sleep and he’s right there, coming down upon me, sliding down my body and spreading my legs, heavy stubble against the alabaster skin there…
Enough.
I’m just about to press play on the remote when my cell starts ringing. I check the screen and answer it, knowing full well it’s the client.
He doesn’t even wait for me to answer. “Do we have a result yet?” comes his voice, muddy and thick.
“I have several lines of inquiry open but I’m afraid this particular purchase is proving harder than expected.”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
I need to be firmer here. “Take it how you want, but I’m going to need more time.”
“Time is something I do not have, Ms. Cole. I needed this tied up yesterday.”
“Rest assured I am doing everything in my power to push it through.”
“Are you?” he questions. “Everything? Because if you really were putting your full, feminine powers to work, Ms. Cole, I don’t imagine we’d have a problem here. Is that what a hundred thousand dollars is buying me here, a problem?”
Shit. “No, sir. I’ll get it done.”
“Will you?” he laughs.
“Yes.”
“It might be a little late for that.”
He hangs up, leaving me to stare down at the screen with confusion. What the fuck did that mean?
I don’t know, but it didn’t sound like anything positive. There was no formal termination of the contract, but what was he implying?
I place the cell down and hit play. My eyes are watching the screen, my ears are open, but nothing’s getting through the static of my mind. I watch the movie mindlessly trying to work out how to settle this fast, and get the fuck out of this hole.
*
The following morning I decide to take a walk downtown, not that there’s much to see. There’s your usual Main Street strip of Mom and Pops. Given the general signage and décor, doesn’t look like much has changed since the seventies. Maybe that’s the way the aging population around here like it. God help the teenagers. They probably have to head upriver to get their rocks off.
I’m walking past the diner when I spot Bobby inside, seated at a table by the window.
Gotcha.
Perhaps I’ll be more persuasive coming at him when he’s got a full belly, had a day to think on my proposal.
I enter, the bell dinging but Bobby not looking up from the paper he’s reading.
I swing myself into the booth opposite him, noting his plate of fried eggs, grits, and pancakes. Surprise, surprise, it’s the hillbilly heart-attack special. “Now how does a guy like you maintain a body like that with a breakfast like this,” I prod at the plate.
He looks up smiling, pushing the paper aside and taking up his knife and fork. “I’ve got a big appetite. Lots of physical activity and all,” the last two words slurred together into one.
“You can drop the manwhore routine around me, you know.”
He slices into an egg. “Baby, it ain’t a routine.”
I signal to the waitress, though she doesn’t seem to be in any rush to make her way over. “After everything we discussed you’re going back to being a caveman.”
He opens his mouth. In goes the egg, but I’ve struck enough of a nerve for him to place his utensils down and eye me off. He swallows. “Is this how it’s going to be? You stalking me around town, my own personal shadow… A sexy shadow, yes, but it’s a bit creepy, don’t you think?”
I roll my eyes. “As much as I enjoy our banter, I’ve got better places to be.”
“You want to get back to the city so soon,” he extends his arms wide, “when you’ve got all this, all this fine American dining here?”
I pick up the menu. “I guess the ‘Ratburger’ is where the Michelin Stars come from?”
He shrugs. “Hey, don’t knock it until you try it. That goes for more than the Ratburger.”
The waitress arrives also eyeing me, but in a way that says more ‘stay away from my side man or I’ll claw your eyes out’ than ‘can I take your order?’
“Mocha,” I order, “skim.”
“So, coffee?” she queries.
“Sure.”
She disappears, Bobby stifling laughter. “What did you think you’d get in here? Cold-pressed and organic-certified?”
“I thought I might get an answer, actually.”
He picks up his utensils again, returning to his breakfast. “I’m in no mood to talk buying and selling today, sorry.”
“There’s something else you’d rather be doing?”
“Someone maybe,” he smiles.
I point to the counter. “Ah, you mean Doris over there with the double-Ds and metal rod up her ass?”
“She’s harmless.”
“What about me then? Am I ‘harmless’ too?”
He pauses, egg in midair. “Far from it, I would imagine, and trust me, I’ve been imagining it a lot.”
I lean over the table. Let’s go. “What’s that? Fucking me? Making me go down on you, maybe suck on your balls a bit? Or do you want me to lick your asshole, because I hear that’s all the rage these days.”
I’ve raised my voice enough to attract the attention of the diner’s morning patrons, ol’ Doris looking especially interested in our conversation.
Bobby literally drops his knife, fumbling. “Jesus, keep your voice down.”
I knit my eyebrows. “You’re saying you wouldn’t like any of that?”
My coffee arrives, but I’ve got no inclination to drink it.
Two can play this game, I think.
He scratches his head, blushing, lost. It’s a beautiful sight to see.
“I’m saying… I mean, what I’m saying is…”
This round won, I stand. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“But you haven’t even—”
I strut out of there like I’m Marilyn Monroe, smiling right out into the sunshine all the way back to the motel.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BOBBY
I swing into the Gas & Tackle with a smile on my face.
Bart doesn’t seem to share my enthusiasm for this time of morning. “Bobby.”
“Bart.”
I saunter up to the counter as I’ve done thousands of times before. I spot an ‘out of order’ sign on the coffee machine and my mood slumps. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
Now he smiles. “How about a water instead?”
I point over to the drinks fridge. “At three dollars a bottle? You can keep your damn water.”
“Suit yourself,” he grins. “Might I ask what has, or had, you so chipper this morning? You finally get into Ms. Congeniality’s pants?”
I shake my finger at him. “Ah, now. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
Bart actually pushes himself back from the counter to grab his stomach he’s laughing so hard. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in such hysterics. “You’re no gentleman, Bobby, and you’ve told me plenty over the year
s. Hell, I think I know about your own dick more than you do yourself.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve been sneaking onto Roxanne at night, having your wicked way with me?”
“I prefer something a little less worn… when I can get it.”
“And when was that? Nineteen-twenty-two?”
But he’s still smiling. “I’ve had my share. Best to leave it up to you young’uns. Now, you want to hear what my Intelligence buddy had to say or you want to keep discussing the intricate web is that Bobby Silver’s love life?”
My curiosity has been piqued. I lean against the counter. “Go on.”
Bart crosses his arms. “Seems your girl works in the private sector for very private, very wealthy people. I’m talking people with more money than the good lord himself.”
“Alright. So what?”
“By all accounts she’s a fixer of sorts, a broker working on behalf of these cashed-up whales to purchase, well, things.”
“Criminal?”
“Clean as a chlorinated whistle, but she might have waded through murky waters to get where she is?”
“There are records?” I ask, hopeful.
“Nothing concrete, I’m afraid. Looks like she keeps a tight ship.”
And even tighter body, I think to myself, wondering if she’s ever had to put it to use professionally, but not exactly pegging her for the prostitution type. “Anything else?”
Bart reaches under the counter and places a stapled series of papers on it, Gisele Cole’s government files, no less. He flicks through them, his fat finger jabbing at things he’s circled. “Grew up just five counties over.”
That’s a surprise. “No, shit?”
Bart continues moving through the files. “There’s a DUI strike against the father here, but it was nothing major. Moved to New York, law at Columbia. Worked for one of the big NY firms for a while, probably allowed her to build up her contacts before she went lone wolf a couple of years back. It’s been radio silence since then, skipping around the place.”
“Family now, old exes, random kids hidden away?”
Bart leafs through a few more pages, finding what he’s after. “Parents both deceased, no kids, and no marriages. Why? You expecting an ex-husband to come out of the woodwork?”