by Britney King
As the bus pulled into the station, the new friend Myles had made on the bus nudged his shoulder with two fingers. Once, and then again, harder the second time.
“We’re here!” the shrill voice announced in a way that instantly grated on his nerves.
Myles opened his eyes slowly so as to give the full effect. He hadn’t really been sleeping. He’d only been pretending, which he found served as a helpful tactic to avoid a woman, which one had just picked up and slept with, yet remained stuck in close confinement with for the next several hours.
This one hadn’t been too bad, he considered. She was pretty, but she talked too much. And she was young. At twenty, she was younger than he would have liked under normal circumstances. He did have standards, after all. Myles knew the girl’s age just as he knew all his lover’s ages. He’d applied the ‘always determine their age first rule.’ If finding out whether you were picking up jailbait were a game, and it was, these were the rules:
First, he stated his age. Then he offered to guess the females age by offering up a smaller number than he reasonably presumed—smaller by at least a half decade until she threw out a number stating her actual age.
Second, he in turn took considerable time (one had to be patient) insisting that no way did she look anywhere near that age. He assured them that they had to be pulling his leg—that they looked at minimum two to three years younger than they’d just stated.
Finally, they ended up pulling out their ID just to prove him wrong, and to no doubt, reinforce the point they subconsciously felt he was trying to make and that they would age well and thus, were acceptable long-term mates.
Once the real number was on the table, he always managed to feign shock. It was in his favor to let them win. Worked like a charm every time. Side note, the older the woman, the less the need for proof in the form of identification, but nonetheless, the age tactic still tipped the odds in favor greatly that he would get laid, and he was always more than generous in his subtraction.
Anyhow, twenty it was today, despite his slight reservation. At thirty-five, twenty just seemed so young. But Myles couldn’t really help himself. He’d been desperate for variety over the past few months. So, when she’d smiled at him with that hopeful, naive look upon her face and batted her eyes in a terrible attempt at playing coy, Myles knew he wouldn’t have to work too hard for this one. And he didn’t. He spent fifteen minutes listening to her life story, combined with future aspirations. There was five more minutes’ worth of stories told about the time he spent in the military—all of which were true, of course—despite his hearty appetite for one night stands, one thing Myles didn’t believe in was lying. Twenty minutes in—and he had her up against the bathroom door. A mere fifteen minutes after that, she had positioned herself so close to him that she was partway in his seat and was yapping in his ear as he pretended to doze off into oblivion. When he felt the pull of the bus slowing and coming to a stop, he felt himself literally exhale in relief.
As soon as the bus came to a complete stop, and not a second later, Myles stood, grabbed his duffle bag and carefully made sure to avoid eye contact.
She stood abruptly. This was going to be more difficult than he’d hoped. It somehow always was. “Hey. Give me your phone and I’ll put my number in it,” her shrill voice demanded.
Myles stared at the line that had quickly formed in the aisle and wished he’d chosen a seat closer to the front. “I don’t have a phone.”
“Oh, come on, I’m not falling for that!”
“Okay, then don’t.”
“You know, I really like you,” she said as she fished around in her oversized bag. She pulled a card out and pushed it in his direction. “Here’s my number. Call me.”
Myles met her gaze then. Best to be direct, he thought. “I don’t think so.”
She scoffed. “Are you kidding me?”
Myles averted his gaze toward the front of the bus and wondered what the holdup was. He needed to get off this bus. Fast. “No.”
The girl turned in every direction and looked at the passengers around them. Myles presumed that this was in hopes that one of them might come to her defense. She shook her head slightly. “I don’t understand.”
Finally, the line began to move. He ushered her out into the aisle and placed his hand at the small of her back. This served two purposes. One, it proved he could be a gentleman despite what alarms were likely going off in her head. And two, the gesture calmed her by putting him in control. He understood that her type needed this more than others might.
“So, you’re serious? You’re really not going to call?” She turned and asked as they approached the door.
Myles could smell the fresh air and practically taste freedom. He pressed his hand in a little harder to remind her to keep moving. “That’s correct.”
As the girl stepped off the bus, she turned and watched as he did the same. She let her bag sink to the ground dramatically. “Well, why not?” She then began to cry. People were beginning to stare.
Myles acted quickly. He stepped forward and kissed her cheek. He pulled back, looked her in the eye before leaning in and placing his mouth against her ear. “Because you’re a beautiful, smart girl, and much too good for someone like me.”
She pulled back forcefully, wiped her eyes, and placed her hands on her hips. “That’s a bullshit excuse and you’re an asshole!” she shouted.
But Myles had already turned to go.
For the briefest of moments, he considered that perhaps his delivery could’ve been a little more subtle.
Myles knew he was never going to call, so he figured why lie?
He was many things, he thought to himself, but a liar wasn’t one of them.
Myles entered the dark, smoke-filled bar to find that not much had changed. From the music to the patrons to ol’ Sammy the bartender, it was in many ways as though he’d never left at all.
“Well, well, would ya look what the cat dragged in?” Sammy called out to everyone and no one before hastily slapping a whiskey sour on the bar. Myles dropped his bag at his feet and perched himself on the bar stool. He extended his hand, but Sammy one-upped him and reached in for a hug, slapping him on the back so hard he nearly choked. “It’s good to see you back here, man. Looks like the service has been treatin’ you well.”
Myles leaned back on the barstool. “Actually, I’m out.”
The man appeared confused. “You’re out. Ha! Nah, not you. You’re a lifer.” He waved his hand in the air to dismiss Myles. “Everyone around here always knew that about you, Ingram…with your big fancy medals and your name in the papers…”
Myles winced. It occurred to him that sometimes people weren’t ready for the truth and this time counted as one of them. “Well, nonetheless, I’m headed to Austin. On a different kind of assignment.”
The man laughed. “Top secret, eh? Well, hell, whaddaya say we get ya all liquored up and see how quick you forget it was ever a secret?”
Myles eyed the drink in front of him. An evil he’d long ago learned to say no to. “Thanks, Sam, but I think I’ll just have water if you don’t mind.”
The bartender reached for a glass, dumped a few ice cubes in, filled it with the spigot, and placed it in front of him. “You all right, boy? I reckon I know why you came in here, and I’m sorry, son, but I gotta tell ya, the answer’s still the same.”
Myles raised his brow in understanding. He certainly wasn’t surprised by the news he’d just been given, but knowing didn’t stop the sting. He downed the glass of water, placed it back on the bar, and let out a long sigh. “Life is good, Sammy. No complaints here.”
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I know this ain’t what you wanted to hear. That’s why you came in here and all…”
Captain, you mean. It was Captain now. Myles thought, but he didn’t correct the man. Instead, he handed him a card. “No worries, my friend. Hey… listen. This is the number where I’ll be staying. If you hear anything, anything at all, give me a ca
ll. Okay?”
The old bartender stared at the card as he flipped it over in his hands. He didn’t look Myles in the eye when he answered, but then again, he didn’t have to. “I sure will.”
Myles nodded. Old habits die hard, he thought.
He didn’t argue. He knew better this time. He simply stood, picked up his bag, and slapped a twenty on the bar. He nodded one last time at ol’ Sammy, and then he turned and didn’t look back.
Chapter Six
Myles had been on the job for approximately three days before he met his boss. Instead, upon his arrival, a man, who introduced himself as Dean, the Clemens Family’s butler, greeted him at the front gate. Dean was an ogre of a man and about what one might expect from a butler. Round, bald, and well, slightly past his prime. Myles didn’t immediately like or dislike the man, but nonetheless, he got the sense that the both of them wondered why the other was there. The butler ushered him onto a golf cart and told Myles they were headed for his living quarters, which were to be separate from the rest of the staff’s residence. There simply wasn’t room for him, Dean informed him with a hint of a smile.
They passed an expansive colonial style house, a pool, and tennis courts, rounded a bend and stopped in front of one of the nicest barns Myles had ever seen. Dean parked the golf cart, killed the ignition, and then ushered Myles around to the side of the barn and up a flight of stairs. He pulled a massive key ring from his suit pocket, which contained a dozen or more keys attached to it and used one of them to unlock the door. Myles watched as he deftly removed the key from the ring and handed it to him. Dean turned the knob and ushered him inside the small but homey space. The place reminded Myles of a country cottage he’d perhaps once seen in a magazine, the kind that looked expensive and rarely lived in. He scanned the room, noting the bed and a desk where a Mac computer sat. There was also a small sofa and a restroom that he ducked his head into and found that while small, it still contained both a shower and a tub.
“You’ll have to come down to the staff quarters for meals. We have a kitchen and a dining room there,” the man said.
Myles nodded. “This is a nice space.”
The butler looked at the ground and then up again staring out the window. “It used to be the Missus’s writing room.” He sighed. “Although, lucky for you I guess, she hasn’t done much of that in quite some time now....” He paused and exhaled before continuing. “But given her injury, the stairs do admittedly pose a bit of a problem.”
Myles shifted his stance and set down his duffle bag.
Dean abruptly turned toward the door. “Well, you have the key so I’ll leave it to you to get settled.”
Myles cleared his throat. He wanted to tell the man not to worry, he wouldn’t be taking his job—that he was an in and out sort of guy, but he sensed that he wouldn’t have listened anyway. It bothered him that the guy seemed to have known something he didn’t. But he didn’t say any of it. Instead, he simply posed a more clear-cut question. “Am I to report to you when I’m finished?”
If Myles wasn’t mistaken, he thought he saw the man flinch. Slowly, Dean turned around and pulled a two-way radio and a folded note from his pocket. “Oh, right. I almost forgot.” He handed the items to Myles and then ran his hand over his shiny bald head before continuing. “This here is a list of things which need attending to around the property as well as a map.” He eyed Myles up and down. “I reckon it should keep you busy for a while. The radio… is how the staff communicates. Keep it with you and turned on at all times. Also, and this is important, you don’t have access to the main house, so make sure to stay clear until you’re told otherwise.”
Myles twisted the knob on the radio, which brought it to life and with it a million memories came flooding back.
He shook his head slightly, needing to gain his bearings, although not enough for the man to take notice. Distracted, he unfolded the paper and stared at the list even though his mind was far from the words on the page. “Looks like I’d better get to it then.”
The butler turned toward the door once again, and without saying a word, shut it a little harder than necessary behind him.
Myles put the few belongings he owned away and then unfolded the map and studied it. He read the list and laid out a plan in his mind. Twenty-seven minutes later, he was onto the first task—to fix a portion of the wooden fence that lined the property. He gathered the tools he would need from the barn, located a half empty toolbox covered in dust, and went to work. It was warm that day, especially so early in the spring season, even for Texas. But Myles didn’t mind the heat. Or the labor-intensive work. He found it meditative in the sense that it took his mind off things and kept him focused. It was just him and the sun and a fence that needed mending. He stayed out until dusk, finding that the fence needed a little more work than the list had suggested. He sat for a moment in the grass admiring his handiwork and watched the sun sink lower in the sky before heading back. He was sweaty and tired, and for this, he was grateful because it was a good indication that this might actually be a good night—one in which sleep did not elude him, as it so often did these days.
As Myles entered the barn to return the tools, he rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. He watched the brown haired woman, who was standing with her back to him as he quietly placed the toolbox at his feet.
He stood back up steadily and started toward her, one foot in front of the other. Halfway there, he stopped, lowered his voice and spoke slowly. “I could be mistaken but… I’m not sure you’ve fully thought this through…”
The woman flinched upon hearing his voice and he could tell he’d startled her—that she hadn’t known he was there. As she spun to face him, she eyed him up and down. Myles didn’t takes his eyes from her gaze noticing that the color of her eyes were a shade of green that he was pretty sure he’d never seen before.
“What I mean is… the knot you have there isn’t going to do the trick.”
“Excuse me?” she said with considerable contempt.
“Well, it’s just that the rope isn’t tied in a way that will bear your weight, that’s all.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Are you saying I’m fat?”
Myles noticed how her words slurred as she spoke. She wasn’t fat. Not even close. She was tiny and clearly, any person who offered that argument up couldn’t be reasonably sane, which made sense given the circumstances. “No. But wouldn’t you say that’s a bit irrelevant at this point.”
“I don’t care if you’re calling me fat,” she scoffed.
He took a step forward, instantly knowing it was a bad idea.
She pulled the rope tighter around her neck. “Stay back or I’ll let go,” she said almost breathlessly.
Myles put his hands up to show he understood and to assure her that he wasn’t moving. “Here, I’ll even sit down and enjoy the show. How’s that?”
“Are you mocking me?” she said, sweeping the almond colored hair from her face.
“No. I just want to stick around and see how you’re gonna get yourself out of this one.” He grinned and then continued. “You’ve gotten yourself in quite the predicament here. It’s gonna be tough to get down from there… the way you have yourself positioned and all.”
The woman cocked her head and squinted, clearly sizing him up once again. “Yeah, well, I’ll be dead so it appears that it’ll be your problem, doesn’t it.”
“Nah.”
She followed his eyes down and noticed that he was staring at the briefest hints of her midriff peeking through, huffed, and quickly adjusted her t-shirt. In doing so, she stumbled a little but managed to regain her balance.
Myles flinched and took a deep breath trying to steady himself.
“You won’t do it. I know it. And you know it.”
She laughed, and it was so unexpected, it concerned him more than he cared to admit. Every warning bell inside his head was blaring. This woman is crazy. Not simply drunk, but certifiable. She pointed directly at
him and spoke matter of factly. “The fact that the color of your face is the same as that white t-shirt you’re wearing begs to differ.”
He shook his head. “If you were going to jump, you would’ve already done it—”
She straightened her stance before cutting him off. “Well, I would have if you hadn’t so rudely interrupted me.”
“What I was going to add was that it wouldn’t matter anyhow. That knot wouldn’t hold, the rope would break, and you’d simply fall on your ass. Best-case scenario, you’d break your legs—worst case, your legs and back. No worries, though. You’d still be alive to enjoy all that fun. And you’d probably hate yourself more and more every day… the least of those reasons being your inability to properly tie a knot.”
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
He flashed his winning smile. “So I’ve been told. But the real name’s Myles. And I assume you must be Jessica.”
She seemed surprised. “How do I know what you’re saying is true anyway?”
“That’s easy. I never lie.”
She frowned. “That’s impossible. Everyone lies.”
Myles dusted his palms against his pants. “I’m not everyone.”
She smirked ever so slightly at this. It was a good sign, Myles knew. “Okay, Mr. ‘not everyone.’ So what am I supposed to do now?”
“In other words, you’re asking me how you get the job done?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m asking.”
“Well, with all due respect, you do seem to be pretty liquored up. Couldn’t you just wait a little while and let alcohol poisoning work it’s magic?”
“Fuck you.”
“It’s a much more pleasurable way to off yourself is all I’m saying.” He stood. “Look, this conversation has been fun, but if you don’t mind, I have work to do. So, the way I see it, you have two options. One, you let me help you down. Or two, you stay up there and continue to weigh your options.”