by K. S. Adkins
“Yeah so this is your room,” I say, fastening my bra. “Where will you be sleeping?”
“Next to you.” He groans and inside I chuckle. Yep, he totally licked the window.
“Is this a joke? You know, like Punk’d only Ashton Kutcher is getting a mani and you’re filling in?”
“I want you close to me. I like you close to me. That way we both sleep well and when you wake with a nightmare, I can help you through it, like I did last night. We’ll help each other.”
The second I hear nightmare I tense up. Shit, red alert, he knows. Not cool. “Well, I have to go. I don’t do sleepovers.”
“Don’t Lina,” he warns in a firm voice. “This is where you belong. Here, with me. Your nightmares are nothing to be ashamed of. You can trust me.”
Suddenly my phone goes off and I check my message to see that I do in fact, have to go. “My entire life is filled with things to be ashamed of, and I have pics to prove it. Trust you? I don’t know you. I also don’t want to know you, so trust plays no part here. You want this for her? I’ll play along for a bit because you’re telling the truth. Right now though, I need your keys,” I say, sticking my hand out. “I just got a case and this is one of those parties I go to alone.”
“Let’s go then, I’ll drive you.”
“Anthony…”
“Unless you prefer walking? I only live twenty-five minutes away by freeway. How long is that on foot? I’d say judging by your foot size that would put you there approximately, next Thursday.”
“Man, you’re a pushy fucker. You’ll drop me at my truck after?”
“Yes and while you’re working, I’ll clean out your room. Where were you staying this time?”
“I was in between,” I say, rolling my eyes at his having an answer for everything. “Everything I own is in my truck.”
“Perfect,” he says, leading me out to his car. “Tonight I’ll even cook for you to celebrate our partnership.”
I had not a word to say as we headed downtown. Dropping me off at the scene, I grab my things and approach the lead detective. The guy is indifferent to me and I expected as much. No matter how long you’ve been in this business, brain matter gets to you. Especially when it’s that of an officer. That kind of mess makes a man think. Kneeling down, I see he was shot execution style. He was forced to his knees and the shooter had faced him. The last thing this man saw was the face of his killer. The question is why he was shot in broad daylight in the heart of the city. That’s risky business even here. Questioning the officers called to the scene is useless. There’s no need to inquire about witnesses. There weren’t any because the citizens want no part of this shit and why should they? It’s not like anyone listens to them or helps out when they need it. People are tired of being fucked over, so they stayed to themselves, policing their own streets. Not every cop is a bad cop. Most want to help but, there isn’t enough of them to go around.
For the most part, cops here aren’t seen as heroes. They are seen as chumps. Fair or not, that’s what happens when the people you’re supposed to protect don’t trust you. I’ve got a murder scene with no suspects, a dead cop who’s been on the force less than two years but had a clean record and zero evidence.
Four hours later my answer was simple.
Someone knew what they were doing. No casing, no prints and no witnesses.
Someone wanted our attention.
They got it.
The DPD wouldn’t call me in unless they were doing damage control or they had a serial. I firmly believe we have both and that this murder is a warning. Not like the captain would tell me if it were. I’m just spitballing here, but I trust my gut. Gathering my data, storing my camera’s memory card, I leave the scene letting the lead detective know I’ll be in touch with the captain, the very last man I want to give answers to. Also, the very last man that wants to hear what I have to say. Digging in my pocket, I retrieve Anthony’s number and text him for a pick up. Yeah, I saved his number, what of it? I knew he was close because I felt him watching me and thought it’s hard to admit, his prescene calms me. I’ve come to rely heavily on it. When I am back in his car heading toward my truck five minutes later, I know this guy is under my skin.
Not only is yummy, he’s punctual too; you can’t get mad about that.
When she took a break from her set, I followed her to the back locker room and annoyed her like I always did. “Another big crowd,” I told her, tossing her a water.
“Looks like it, yeah?” she said, taking a drink. “Let me guess, story time?”
Sitting across from her, I nod. “I can’t help it,” I tell her. “I can’t believe she’s a real person.”
Giving me a small smile, she shrugs. “Well, she is,” she says checking her phone. “Here’s one for you…eleventh grade, right? We’re at lunch when this big bitch plows Lina over and walks off laughing like she didn’t see her. Lina jumps on a chair and spider monkeys on her back. The girl tried flinging her off forever, but she wouldn’t let go.”
“Then what happened?”
“Oh well, then Jules got the troll in the back of the knees so Lina wouldn’t hurt herself climbing down.”
“The girl was that big?”
“Uh no,” she chuckles. “Lina is that small.”
Grabbing her phone, she scrolls through then hands it to me. “That’s her next to Macy. Jules is the redhead and Lina is—”
“The beautiful blonde,” I whisper to myself, sliding my finger over her picture.
“Well, that was fun and creepy,” she says, taking her phone back. “Later, Tony.”
“Yeah, later,” I mumble, wondering why I feel the need to hunt a woman I’ve never met but, knowing I would just the same.
Staying several blocks up, I park and walk as close to the scene as possible without detection. Watching her work is an easy way to get lost. She doesn’t say much, but she takes everything in with knowing eyes. I’ve heard stories about how she works but until you’ve seen it, you’d never believe it. The men on the scene also watch her work and as much as it irritates me, I get why they can’t stop staring. Few women are built like she is. Even fewer own it the way she does too. I also don’t know of any who can do what she does and look that beautiful doing it. She deals in death and deceit. That’s not easy for even the most seasoned in this business. No one approaches her directly, although based on how she talks to herself and how zoned out she is, I can’t imagine she’d notice anyway.
My phone rings but I hesitate to answer. I didn’t want to miss a second of watching her. “Is she on the scene?”
“She is,” I reply blandly. “She looks to be wrapping up.”
“Keep her close and safe,” he says, “I want to know what she knows.”
“When I have something to report, I’ll report it.”
“See that you do.”
“You need her as much as I do,” I remind him. “Don’t get it in the way. If you do, Venessa will kill us both.”
“I couldn’t be any farther away if I tried!” he argues. “Do your job and do not tell me how to do mine.”
When she starts to store her camera in her bag, I see she’s wrapping up. Making my way back to my car it isn’t’ a full minute before I get a text asking for a pick up. So she saved my number, then. This is promising.
Disconnecting the call and making it to her quickly, she stores her bag and climbs in with zero fuss. She smells of fresh air and I can’t help but inhale her. She seems oblivious, but I don’t care, I keep doing it. “Are you sniffing me?”
“I am.”
“After I came from a crime scene, you’re sniffing me?”
“I believe I made it perfectly clear that I was. May I continue?”
“So you like the smell of abandonment?”
“I don’t even know what that means but, I think that is your subtle attempt at pushing me away. I can’t help myself when you smell like the outdoors.”
“I was outdoors.”
“Th
e crime scene,” I ask, changing the subject because she just seems ‘off’. No witty banter, no cutting remarks either. She’s shutting down on me. “Do you have any leads?”
“Get me to my truck please. I can’t talk about this right now.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both,” she says, looking out the window while I drive. “I need my truck and to decompress. What time is dinner?”
“What is this, Lina? I just told you we’re sticking together. Trying to run already?”
Turning toward me as we pull in the lot, she sticks her hand out requesting her keys. “I don’t lie, Anthony. I have no reason to. You ask me a question and most of the time you’ll get an answer. I need to get my head right and I don’t want company when I do it. One more time, when is dinner?”
Grinding my jaw, I answer her. “Seven.”
“See you at seven,” she says, getting out and throwing her bag over her shoulder. “Thanks for the lift.”
“Your things are still in your truck, I didn’t have a chance to get them,” I call out.
“I know,” she whispers, “You were too busy watching me.”
Closing the door she walks slowly to her truck, looks it over, then climbs in. I wait for her to make sure she’s safely away, but she puts her arms across the steering wheel then sets her head down. When she doesn’t move, I debate whether or not to drive away.
She’s not okay.
Parking in the lot next to her, I tap on the window startling her. She surprises me when she hits unlock and lets me in.
Also surprising, since I half expected her to flip me off or run me over.
“People build up walls not to keep others out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.”
I call bullshit on that, but whatever. In my opinion people who say shit like that are too stupid to realize they are getting fucked over. Then once they do, they cry foul. Guess what? You don’t get to cry foul, dumbass. Pay a-fucking-tention! There is always a line around the block of people waiting to screw you. Pass out the numbers like they do in the deli and tell each and every one to suck a dick. Works like a charm.
Can he not just give me five fucking minutes to myself? I take back what I said about him being herpes. He’s not herpes, he’s worse. What’s worse than herpes? Christ, I don’t even fucking know. Unlocking the doors because he stands there looking like a lost puppy, he climbs in, grabs my smokes and lights one for each of us. Cracking my window while he cracks his, I inhale deep, holding it in as long as possible. Jules asked me why I smoke and I told her it’s because the poison feels good. It works through my system slowly giving me the buzz I need while soothing me at the same time. Yes, I’m aware it’s killing me and looking over at him, it’s safe to say I’ve found another poison. This one far deadlier than what I’m inhaling. Probably far more addicting too, as far as vices go. If I started inhaling him I’d never quit and I know it.
When I don’t initiate conversation, he does it for me. One thing about him is he doesn’t like silence. He also doesn’t take hints well either. I’ve decided he’s a puppy with herpes. “Do you ever wonder what a victim’s last thoughts were?”
Closing my eyes, I think on it. Odd he’d mention it, considering it’s a thought that plagues me daily. “I like to think their last thoughts were of someone they loved. Someone who loved them back, if they were lucky enough. That they were comforted by the fact that they knew love at all.”
“Love is powerful.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You’ve never been in love?”
“Anthony,” I whisper, taking another hit. “Please go.”
“I can’t do that,” he says, taking my hand despite my resistance. “The scene was tough for you, I see it. What can I do to help?”
Silently cursing myself because it would figure the one guy who has secrets he isn’t sharing, also appears to be the most honest one in this truck right now, is fucking with my head. “Thanks for the offer, but you don’t have the skills to help me. Let’s just call it even with dinner.”
“You are not like any woman I have ever met,” he says, taking his hand back and it bothers me that I miss the contact already. I mentally slap myself twice for being such a chick about it too. “You’ve built a fortress around yourself. I’m not sure there is a man alive strong enough gain entry.”
“After dinner I’ll start on your case,” I tell him, turning away not wanting him to see how the truth of his words affected me. “The sooner we finish this the better for both of us.”
He continues on like I haven’t dismissed him. Like I said, herpes. “I believe the answer to destroying the fortress is truth. I hope that when I prove myself by giving it to you, that you’ll see I’m the exception and treat me accordingly. I don’t need to be strong to do it Lina, I just have find another way in.”
As he climbs out and gets back into his own car, I sit there devastated. He wants to destroy my walls, when walls are the only thing I have left. By destroying the walls I built, he’ll be, in essence, destroying me too. He called it a fortress, I called it self preservation.
I don’t know Anthony well, but I do know determination when I see it. Herpes doesn’t just go away and apparently neither does he. Taking the long way back, I get fuel and a carton of cigarettes. I smoke a lot on a good day, but it seems it’s better to have too many that not enough, kind of like ammo, dental floss and tampons. While my truck is filling up my phone rings and it’s Jules.
“Lo.”
“Where are you?”
“Just finished at a scene, getting gas, then I’ve got dinner plans.”
“I like it,” she says, laughing “Anyone I know?”
“Anthony Gallo,” I tell her casually. “I’m working a few leads for him.”
“You know Max needs his help. Lina this is dangerous.”
“Dinner and I’m out, Red. This isn’t my first day on the job.”
“You’re good where you are, then? You know I’ll get you out.”
“I’m good,” I tell her. “I’ve got this.”
“You trust him?”
“I don’t know him Red. I just met the guy.”
“Oh.”
“So how’s the reunion?”
“He’s just a job.”
“You don’t even try to lie well,” I say, laughing and putting the nozzle back. “You don’t love him, Jules?”
“No,” she says, with a smile in her voice. “I don’t love him. Not even a little bit.”
Disconnecting with her, I smile to myself while I drive off. Jules loves Max to distraction. Always has, always will. After chain smoking all the way back to his place, I pull in his drive, grab my bag and head in. The house smells amazing and fuck me, but he’s wearing an apron.
This just gets better and better.
“I pretend to look around, but I was actually looking at you.”
All these weeks of pretending to be out walking, looking in windows, staying out of her way and now if she shows, she’d be allowing me to cook for her. This surpassed even my own expectations. I had hoped I could win her help, but now I want to win her heart. I want to win all of her. This was a game I refused to lose. I also feared it was a game she refused to play.
Acting like I do this all the time, I wipe my hands on my apron and take her bag. She’s staring like she’s never seen a man in an apron before, but at least she looks entertained by it. Men wearing aprons probably isn’t popular, but I am a messy cook so I went this route instead of ruining my clothes. My mother loved my father in an apron, maybe she will too. Leaning in to kiss her rosy cheek, I inhale her again. This time she smells like fresh air and cigarettes. Fucking beautiful.
“I’ll go fix my lipstick, I won’t be gone long, Killer. I’ll call you Killer ‘cause you slay me.” she says, laughing at her own joke, thinking I don’t get it.
“And I’m calling you Bellevue,” I deliver in my best Ralph Kramden voice. “Cause you’re nuts!”
/> She blinks, but doesn’t laugh. Oh shit! I just called her nuts. “Lina, I didn’t mean it to sound---”
“You know ‘The Honeymooner’s’?” she asks in a quiet voice.
“My parent’s loved the reruns,” I tell her in my own quiet voice. Then in an instant the look of wonder leaves her face, replaced by the concrete walls of her fortress.
Kicking her shoes off, she sets them by the back door, opens the refrigerator, grabs a bottle of wine and works on opening it, pouring it and taking a seat. She’s comfortable enough at least to feel at ease in my kitchen, that is a start. Who am I kidding? She’s probably only here for the alcohol, but I’ll take it.
“What’s cookin?”
“Just your typical spaghetti, meatballs and French bread.”
“There is nothing typical about what you’ve got going on here,” she says, coming over to look. Putting some sauce on a spoon for a taste, I offer it to her. She takes it by closing her eyes to savor it. “Oh god, Anthony, that’s nirvana. Whoever taught you to cook loved you a lot.” When I don’t answer because I’m too busy hoping my cock isn’t busting out from beneath the apron and soaking up her praise, she tries getting my attention again. “Anthony?”