A Date With Fate

by Tracy Ellen

  With my back to him, it felt great to let loose a huge grin when I heard Jack growl, “Why, you little…One of these days, Anabel, one of these days.”

  Chapter XIII

  “Don’t Speak” by No Doubt

  Saturday, 11/17/2012

  9:45 PM

  I was finished talking with Chief Jack and Officer Nelson about police business. Other cops were around doing their police work, but our parts were done as witnesses or victims, or whatever we were this go around.

  The third time better be the charm. I was fed up with everything I wanted to do being interrupted by potential crimes and criminals. It was supposed to be my weekend off; not a never ending episode of Reno 911, Northfield-style.

  Mac, Anna, and Officer Nelson had been whisked off by Diego, but not before Mac’s husband shot me an accusing glare for putting his precious in danger.

  I was also really fed up with the men in my life being pissed at me. It’s not like counseling a friend over his missing slut wife, kicking an abusive ex-husband for attempting to kidnap my employee, and shooting at a serial rapist intending vehicular homicide was my idea of a fun Saturday.

  I’d held out my arms to Diego, palms up in supplication. “Hey, I didn’t PLAN for this to happen! Mac, don’t let your husband look at me like that!”

  While Mac scolded Diego in my defense, Anna and I hugged. She soothed, “Ah, June, don’t let Diego get you down. What does he know?” Her smile was still a little shaky. “I will say you keep your promises. We were singing before we broke out flurrying, right?”

  I squeezed her and stood back, shivering as cold gust of wind swirled around us. “Yes, we were. I’m sorry about missing the bunny hop. I feel crummy about that.”

  She sniggered, straightening her purple scarf around her neck. “Next time we’ll get the dancing in.” She patted my shoulder when I groaned dramatically at the thought of a next time. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  It wasn’t hard to conclude why she’d rather go home versus hanging at Reggie’s. Poker party night probably wasn’t her idea of the perfect venue for a State of the Union relationship talk with my brother.

  Tre J, Jazy, and I took off in Mac’s family sedan, a Honda Accord. We were being shadowed by Jack in his SUV on our way to my brother’s.

  We were getting close to the turn off for Lake Roberd’s. I still hadn’t made up my mind if I was going to ask Tre J to stop by Luke’s first to see if he was home, or go with them to the poker party.

  Seeing Diego so lovingly concerned over my sister made me wonder how Luke would react to tonight’s fiasco. This unusual thought made me next wonder how I was hoping he’d react. Due to the overactive, filthy imagination I was blessed with, I couldn’t help but picture Luke’s image in the mirror in my bathroom when he had his arms around me with such bold hunger on his face. Still feeling a bit queasy over Hammerschmidt’s attempt to end our existence; it played over again in my mind how warm and safe I’d felt with My Hero’s arms around me before I’d passed out downstairs in Bel’s.

  Both emotions were extremes; one all about driving, sexual desire and the other about blissful, sweet comfort. I couldn’t deny tonight I wanted to be wrapped around Luke and receiving a combination of both reactions.

  I didn’t need him, but I wanted him.

  Guess I had made my decision where I wanted to go. Now I only had to figure out how to accomplish this without Jack, currently attached to our rear bumper like a barnacle, knowing what I was up to. I didn’t have much of a choice whether Tre and Jaz knew where I was staying tonight, but if I could manage it, they’d be the only people knowing. After tossing around ideas in my head and mumbling to myself, I came up with a plan.

  The music was on low in the car because the three of us were back to hashing over what the man in the van’s ongoing connection was to Larissa’s ex.

  Despite my curiosity, it was par for the course that earlier Chief Jack hadn’t divulged much info on the dude to some pesky, female civilian. I was told his name was Gustav Hammerschmidt. I was warned ‘not to run my mouth with my friends too much and keep my eyes open’ since I seemed to have caught his eye.”

  ‘Where was Luke when somebody really needed to be called asinine?’

  From his viewpoint, I understood Just-the-Facts Jack reasoned what more did I need to know once the words ‘very bad actor and homicidal serial rapist’ were spat past his tightlipped mouth?

  From my viewpoint, why do men find it so hard to comprehend us girls like any scrap of detail we can get to gnaw over as we build a big, fat case of anxiety driven what-ifs to uselessly stress about in the short term?

  Like, for instance, even Gustav’s name was scary. We all heartily agreed due to his violent sexual propensities, he probably had a prison nickname of The Hammer. How would your average man, if he was a woman, like knowing he was being stalked and attacked by a female-hater known fondly by his slammer companions as The Hammer, for God’s sake? Girls like details. Details allow us to make intuitive leaps to conclusions that sometimes make no logical sense whatsoever, and in doing so, be the analytical, exponentially all-knowing creatures we are destined to be.

  Jack was right about one thing. Officer Nelson was a very nice man. After I gave my statement, and when Jack had his back turned, Mac and I double teamed the blushing cutie. We quickly persuaded him to tell us every fact and opinion he knew about this Gustav Hammerschmidt.

  Officer Nelson, Brad, knew some good stuff to share. Gustav Hammerschmidt had a long history of being in and out of state mental hospitals and jails. He and Ron Hansen had been cell mates in Dakota County Jail for the last year. They had also participated in jail inmate programs together. Anger Management was the latest program. (We were all silent a beat after Brad told us that fact.) This meant they had spent a heck of a lot of jail time together. The Hammer had been in Dakota County for almost two years. He was doing time for a third degree assault charge resulting from a fight in a strip joint off Highway 52. In the meantime, Wisconsin tried to get their case together to prosecute him for nine rapes occurring around the Madison area in 2010. The last rape resulted in the girl dying from the beating he inflicted. They knew without a doubt he was their man, but the chain of evidence was compromised on the DNA samples. Careers were ruined, and the prosecution refused to charge him if they couldn’t make their case. Having him off the streets in a Minnesota jail was better than nothing.

  Driving through the night to Reggie’s lake house, we talked over these details. Jazy tried to get some more dirt on The Hammer’s background, but her cell didn’t get internet service in the car. It seemed improbable to me this man would feel the need to hang around town and terrorize me because he gave a fellow inmate a friendly lift. He should have beat cheeks to avoid police interest. Of course, this is a man who has chosen to be a serial rapist and murderer as his major hobby. What seems probable to me might not apply here.

  Jazy suggested The Hammer could want to date me and this was how he got a girl’s attention. Tre J’s opinion was he was in the Aryan Brotherhood, Ron was his butt buddy and fellow brother, and so now he was out for revenge. Both of their comments had me thinking, analyzing, and leaping.

  So I called Jack’s cell.

  “Wait, don’t tell me. Somehow, you’ve got another crime against mankind to report even as I follow you, Quickdraw.”

  I nobly ignored his flesh ripping, although I secretly always appreciate some good, old-fashioned sarcasm to lighten up my night. It makes me feel less mean to know he started it when I inevitably retaliate.

  “Have any of your minions checked on Larissa tonight?”

  There was dead silence and I thought I’d lost the call. Then Jack exploded. “Did you swear to God to me not five hours ago to not get involved in police business?”

  “Mmm…sort of, but yet, not exactly. So moving on, I did swear I’d tell you anything I found out.” I spoke to him nicely without stooping to his level of sarcasm. “Can you go with me here, Jack? Would th
at be so hard? You’re just driving along singing to the oldies on KQ and reliving your glory day, anyway.” That’s right, I stooped even lower.

  I heard his snort and decided that meant yes. “Ron Hansen was intending to kidnap Larissa out of Bel’s today while threatening he was going to make her very sorry. Meanwhile, out in the parking lot, Gustav was waiting. Do you think Ron promised Gustav a poke at Larissa for his help? Could that be why he is after me now; I ruined his fun and must die? Have you verified Larissa is safe?”

  Jack swears quite loudly, but nowhere near as inventively as my brother. “I meant you should report FACTS to me, if you learned any. Not call to trade theories, or check if I am doing my job!”

  “Here’s a fact. You are acting very rude tonight. Why shouldn’t you listen to my theories for two seconds?” I was part amused--part offended at his obtuse, hard-headedness. “Have you conveniently forgotten it was me that noticed his van in the parking lot today, Chief Yellsalot? If I hadn’t theorized we’d be clueless who attacked us.”

  I heard Jack’s cell beep and a faint background squawking from his police radio in his truck. He sounded distracted when he ended our call. “Listen, Larissa’s fine. Stand by.”

  My phone buzzed a moment later.

  Jack said without preamble, “Something’s come up. Eyes open, Anabel. Call Reg and let him know you’re turning onto the lake road. Text me you’re safe within ten minutes.”

  Fun and Games aside, I reassured him instantly. “Roger that. Thank you, Jack.”

  “I’ve notified the locals of the situation. They’ll be keeping an eye out around Reggie’s place throughout the night.”

  “Great, I’ll warn the drinking poker players. Bye.”

  Jack slowed, flashed his lights, and did a U turn. We all watched his fast retreating taillights disappear down the dark county road behind us. The clock on the dash read 10:09 PM.

  “I wonder what’s happened that would make Jack leave us before we got to Reggie’s. For all his grouching, I know Jack thinks of us girls like we’re his special needs kids.” Jazy hurried on, “Not that I’m worried about Hammerschmidt.”

  Turning onto the road circling the lake, Tre J located the switch for the car’s brights and lit up the narrow road ahead of us.

  She was chuckling at my sister’s comment. “Anabel’s lucky she’s not his kid. She’d probably walk with a permanent limp.”

  There was a snigger from the back seat. “I bet Jack dreams of spanking her.”

  “You twisted sister!” I exclaimed in disgust at my deviant sibling over Tre’s laughter.

  I had no idea what police business had Jack peeling off, but I was keeping my fingers crossed they had picked up Gustav Hammerschmidt. My life was going to suck until this dude was caught somehow and put back in a cage.

  Sinning and moral debates aside, was it terrible of me to wish it would be a coffin and not a cell?

  I don’t think it was, either.

  However, Jack’s leaving us to fend for ourselves did make my life simpler right now.

  “Before we go to Reggie’s, do you chickies want to see where Luke lives?”

  Jazy leaned forward between the bucket seats. Tre J stopped the car. She turned on the dome light. Both women were staring at me in astonishment.

  “What?”

  I could see the shock plain on Jazy’s face. I think it was the wide-open mouth and round eyes that clued me in.

  She finally spoke. “You realize we’ve never met Luke, and only heard about him for the first time…”

  Tre J interrupted excitedly, “I’ve never heard you even mention a man’s name you’re dating! Now that I think about it, I don’t remember you even going out with the same man more than a couple of times since what’s his name…”

  I interjected to avoid, avoid, avoid. “Give me a break, I only asked if you wanted to see where he lives. I never said anything about going out with anyone. Luke’s become a friend of mine.” I diverted. “Hey, just what the heck do you mean by I’ve never gone out with a man more than twice?”

  The girls started guffawing at my righteous protests.

  Jazy answered first. “Oh, Bel, puh-lease. It’s been your pattern to stop going out with men after one or two dates for years.” Her voice turned musing. “I’m envious of your talent for keeping them as friends. I haven’t mastered that feat and I’m feeling the hate lately.” Her voice got brisk again. “Not that it’s a bad thing, but it seems like you’re always in control. We’ve never seen you fall for anyone, have we, Tre J?”

  Tre agreed with a smiling shrug at me and took her foot off the brake. “She’s right, we haven’t.”

  Jazy poked me in the arm. “Who do you think you’re talking to here, huh? You think we’re brainless and couldn’t figure out why you want us to see his house?” She impatiently shook her head. “It’s a classic move, Sister. It’s the smart way to check out if a man’s home without having to call him. Also, you don’t have to tell your friends what you’re really up to, or how much you like him.” She paused and it was so pregnant, birth was eminent. “So, what exactly are you up to, Anabel?”

  Tre J nodded again in agreement, “It is a classic move, Bel.”

  I muttered, “It is? Huh.”

  Jazy’s blunt statements certainly put to rest any question in my mind where Stella inherited her lack of subtleness and her rat terrier tendencies.

  I leaned my head against my window, covering my eyes with my hand. It was my turn to laugh at me. I may not like hearing what my sister said, but that didn’t make her wrong. I was performing a classic move and checking out a man.

  I had never checked out a man before in this way. I mean, I do criminal background checks, sometimes credit checks, and even mental health checks, but doesn’t everyone?

  This house checking was a new concept for me. I was a novice at the classic moves since I never cared what a man was doing when I wasn’t with him. Nor did I worry about losing face when stopping over; probably because I never did stop over. It was an unsettling feeling.

  I didn’t think performing a classic move of checking the situation out signified I was falling for Luke. It only meant I was going to take him up on his earlier offer to hang together tonight due to my own plans falling apart. I didn’t want to interrupt by calling him if he had plans with someone else. That could be awkward. That’s all I was up to.

  No, the thing that floored me most was realizing I must be seriously losing it to have come up with this unworthy plan to put one over on these two worldly, talented fiends. There was no excuse for it. I know perfectly well what these two girls are like.

  Everywhere we go, Goddess Tre fights off men throwing themselves at her size eleven feet for the fruitless chance to worship at the altar of her voluptuous magnificence. I say fruitless because Tre J is a twenty-seven-year old virgin saving herself for Mr. Right and marriage.

  No shit.

  She’s probably the oldest voluntary virgin, next to Aunt Lily, in Northfield, Maybe in the entire twin cities metro area.

  Not that I think any man would voluntarily put it to Aunt Lily. But to give the demon her due, Aunt Lily has been the most zealously faithful bride of Christ outside of Carmelite convent a woman could ever claim to be.

  On that note; is it wrong, if only in theory, to pity the hell out of Jesus Christ?

  I don’t think it’s so wrong, either. Poor man.

  My little sister, on the other hand, treats her men like she works her horses. She expertly culls a prime piece of flesh out the herd. She saddles up and rides him relentlessly until he’s broke to the bridle to her satisfaction. Then she cheerfully gives him back to his owner, a more submissive, well-trained mount that can even perform a showy trick or two.

  The glass of the window feels cool against my cheek. I am feeling sleep deprived, yet full of strange, manic energy—a disturbing combination. My fun weekend off keeps throwing me curves. Feeling punchy with relief at surviving the latest near-miss; it was no wonde
r that all my filters and fences are down. This was the only explanation for me so clumsily messing up my need-to-know rule like an amateur with Jaz and Tre, yet not giving a damn when I thought it over.

  When life throws me curves, it’s only logical to bend and acknowledge what my choices are to achieve my goals. In this instance, I may have to flex my beloved control freak rules just a smidgen and not go it alone. I may have to take on partners and form a temporary triad.

  ‘Okay, I can do this. This was my sister and good friend, after all. Not a couple of enemies at the gate.’

  I dropped my hand and smiled. “So, was there a ‘Yes, you do want to see his house’ somewhere in all that, Jasmyn?”

  Tre J whooped and Jazy laughed, punching my shoulder in camaraderie before sitting back. The Dome Light of Truth was turned off. Soon we passed my brother’s driveway on the right and kept going. Absently rubbing my sore arm, I cautioned Tre J to be on the lookout on the left for the unique mailbox of a John Deere miniature tractor identifying Luke’s turn off.

  I had been to Luke’s house once before when he needed to pick up his wallet. I had waited in the car that time. I was curious to see the inside. It was odd to know him so intimately, yet not know such basic things about his everyday life. My stomach was fluttering in anticipation of seeing him so soon again.

  Jazy, the resident expert on classic moves, told Tre, “Let’s kill the headlights and coast quietly up the driveway.”

  I didn’t comment on Jazy’s directive to go in dark, this was their bailiwick, but I flicked off the radio. I knew Luke was hyper-aware of his surroundings. If he was home; I was counting on him to ask questions first and attack second. Hopefully, he believed in taking prisoners.

  I suggested, “Let’s wait a second here in the dark just to be doubly sure we weren’t followed. I’ll text Jack we’re okay so he doesn’t freak and call Reggie.”

  Jazy whistled. “Crap--I’d already forgotten. Good idea. I’ll text Reggie to expect us in ten. I’ll text Mac we’re safe, too, or else she’ll be all over our ass.”