Tanked: TANKED

by Cheri Lewis

  I sarcastically reply, “So jeans and a tank top it is.” I slap my hand over my mouth. My eyes get wide; I drop my hand and start stammering. “I—I—I—don’t know why that came out of my mouth, I guess I forgot where I was. I promise it won’t be jeans and a tank top. I was being sarcastic.”

  He slightly grins. “It’s fine, Ms. Morrow. I figured you were joking. Now go work on those proposals.”

  ****

  The job fair is crazy; from the time the doors open at six and close at nine it feels like I hand out six thousand applications and answer nine thousand questions. I most definitely wore the wrong shoes, as my feet are killing me. I look at the chair I brought. If I sit down I won’t get back up. I sigh and get busy loading all the materials back in the boxes and am pleased we have one hundred and seven new promising applicants. I feel my phone as it buzzes against my leg in my slacks pocket. I pull it out and look at the phone and see it’s a text from Mr. Samford – “How did we do?”

  I respond, “I divided the applications into yes and no piles, one hundred and seven yes and sixty seven no; overall I think it went real well. I am packing up now, and going to drop this stuff off at the office on my way home.”

  “Ok, thanks for covering for me tonight. See you Monday.”

  I decide not to text him back; I stick the phone back in my pocket and continue to pack up. By the time I’ve dropped everything off at the office and turn on the road to my house it’s 10:30. When I pull up I’d notice a blacked out full size SUV parked across the street. I sit in my car a few seconds watching, I don’t want to call the police again, and they already think I’m insane. Maybe I could drive over to my parents? No they would know something was up. What if – my thoughts are interrupted when I see the door open and somebody get out walking toward me. Panic immediately starts pulsing across my body. I try to get my phone but can’t get it out of my pocket fast enough. Tap—Tap—Tap, on the window right beside my head, I yell so loud my throat instantly becomes sore. I look up at the man and jump all at the same time. “McKinsey, it’s me.”

  I squint my eyes to try to get a good look at him in the dim light, and then he spoke again “McKinsey, it’s me— Tatum”

  Tatum? Who is Tatum? He steps back a step and reaches in his pocket, I turn the key to crank the engine and the overhead light comes on he slaps something against the window making me jump, it’s his wallet and I can see a card it reads State of Alabama Private Investigators License Tatum Neal Osborne. Relief floods through me, followed closely by fury. That lowdown skunk. What is he thinking scaring me like that! I turn off the car, snatch the door open almost ramming it into him in the process. Then I get right in his face so close I can see the scar running down his cheek in the dim light and start yelling, “That scared the living shit out of me! Don’t you know how to approach somebody like a normal human being?!”

  He doesn’t back away and his voice stays a steady calm, “Look I’m—”

  “No, you look you stupid moron! I had no clue who you were and you came up and knocked on my car window in the dark after everything I’ve been through. I have a good mind to kick you right now.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest and smiles. “Are you finished?”

  “No I’m still pissed. I’ll think of something else to say in a minute. What are you doing here anyway?”

  “I came to tell you that I looked into your case and I believe you. You do have someone messing with you.”

  I roll my eyes. “Well. Yeah, I could’ve told you that already and I could’ve told you who it most likely is as well. But you were too busy making assumptions and trying to make my problems all about you.” I turn and walk to my front door, unlock the door and walk inside. I leave the door open behind me and kick my shoes off my aching feet at the door. I turn to walk out of the foyer into the living room as multiple meows start sounding in the air. I fuss at her as she weaves in and out of my legs almost tripping me, “Prima hush. Now shoo for a minute.” She tells me what she thinks of me shooing her as she sashays down the hallway toward my bedroom. I turn back around and the front door is still wide open with Tatum still standing on the outside of the door and he asks, “May I come inside?”

  I groan with aggravation. “Yes, you can come inside. Do you think I just left my door wide open for no reason?”

  He sighs and finally walks through the door, I notice when he shuts the door he locks the door including the deadbolt.

  “That bad?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “Is it that bad you know you have to lock the dead bolt?”

  “I’m not sure yet. You’ve made an impression on Cootie and he made a phone call to me about 15 minutes after you left Tuesday. He said they couldn’t do anything about it and asked if I might look into it and I told him I would.”

  Completely confused I ask, “Cootie? Who in the world is Cootie?”

  “The police officer you talked to Monday night at the station.”

  “Oh, he said his name was Bruce.”

  “It is Bruce, but we’ve always called him Cootie.”

  “Why do you call him Cootie?”

  “You really don’t want to know.”

  “Then why would you tell me his name was Cootie?”

  “Are you always this way?”

  “What way?”

  “The way you are right now?”

  “What way am I right now?”

  He stares at me a second and a wicked grin crosses his bearded face. “No way.”

  “Ooooo—kay. Now do you mind telling me why you are here, besides confirming what I already know that Joel an ex— well not even an ex-boyfriend, just somebody I dated a few times has went off his meds and now thinks our relationship was a lot more than it actually was.”

  “What’s Joel’s last name and why do you think it’s him?”

  I pull my cell phone out of my pocket, open the text messages from Joel and reach my arm out to hand him the phone. When I place it in his hand I notice scars all over his hand. There has to be a dozen of them at least. They are more predominating than the scar on his face. I look back at his face and examine the scar there. It goes from the top of his eyebrow down the side of his cheek and the hair is definitely missing in his beard where the scar continues. I fight back the strange urge I have to touch it, immediately turn, walk to the couch and plop down.

  I watch him slowly move across the living room, reading the texts.

  “His last name is Reynolds,” I say when I remember he had asked me the question.

  “Where does he live?”

  “He lives on the other side of town.”

  “This is all you have?”

  “Yes. Isn’t that enough to make you think something is wrong with him? Oh and he sent me some black roses too.”

  He walks toward me and tosses me my phone as he says, “Well, honestly he does come across as needy but that doesn’t really match what you’ve got going on here.”

  Reality starts to hit me that I might not have this totally figured out and I might have some psychopath really after me.

  He must notice the fear showing on my face because he immediately promises. “You’re going to be alright.”

  I half laugh. “You can’t know that.”

  “You are—” he abruptly stops and I can tell he is listening. I’m stunned when he reaches around and pulls out a gun that I never knew he had and is now aiming it toward the front door and slowly walking in that direction.

  I whisper, “What—?”

  “Shhh,” he motions his hand around, which I’m to assume, is the international signal to shut up.

  I look at the gun then the front door, then back to the gun. That’s Jessie, “That’s J—”

  The front door opens and Jessie comes in the door with his airline uniform and a hot pink feather boa wrapped around his neck. He stops and looks at Tatum holding the gun. I close my eyes and shake my head when he starts yelling in the highest pitch possible and the feather boa bounce
s around. “OH—MY—GOD— WE’RE BEING ROBBED!”

  Tatum slightly lowers the gun and looks back at me confused as I inform him, “This is Jessie, he’s my best friend.”

  “Jessie, this is Tatum Osborne and he’s here looking into all the crazy stuff I have going on.”

  “You can call me Tank,” Tatum informs both of us for the first time. Jessie has the same response I do, except, I don’t say mine out loud. Tank—what kind of name is that?

  Jessie eyes him. “Tank, what kind of name is Tank? And I’m sorry but you look straight up out of a horror movie with your long hair and long beard aiming a gun at me.” He looks at me then back toward Tatum. “Tatum Osborne, seems like I’ve heard of you somewhere.”

  Tatum’s face turns to stone he turns back to me. “Ms. Morrow, do you have any occurrences when your boyfriend is home?”

  Jessie makes a “Pffft.” noise in disbelief at his statement.

  I speak up interrupting him, “No it’s normally when I’m by myself.”

  “Alright, I will start looking into your case and I’ll start with Joel.”

  “Joel? You think Joel is behind this? He’s a total douche but he’s not smart enough to pull something like this off,” Jessie exclaims.

  “Well, I’ll be in contact with you sometime next week. If you have any more trouble you call the police and then you call me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you still have my number?” Tank asks.

  “Oh, ha ha. I guess I might need that.”

  He rolls his eyes as he walks over to the couch and picks up my phone. He hits the screen several times and hands it back. He turns to leave and says to Jessie, “Lock the door behind me would you?”

  “Sure thing, puddin’-tang.” Jessie says and turns to follow Tank.

  When he comes back in the living room he plops down in my dad’s old recliner he says, “Wow! That was a little crazy”

  “What was crazy was him thinking you were my boyfriend.”

  “Oh honey, he knows I’m not your boyfriend. That was just an excellent diversion and you fell right for it.”

  “Diversion?”

  He rolls his eyes at me. “Girl he has a past, and we’re going to find out what it is. Let me get my notepad unpacked. We’re about to Google the bitch.”

  “Can I ask you a question first?”

  “Sure, sunshine,” he says as he stands out of the recliner.

  “What’s up with the pink boa?”

  He smiles a brilliant smile and starts prancing around twirling it. “There are two of them here. One for you and one for me. Remember you said we needed disco outfits for the Relay for Life fundraiser your momma’s doing with her church group.”

  “And you think pink feathered boas are going to go with our outfits we haven’t bought yet?”

  He smirks as he starts unwinding the boas and Prima is now standing, waiting for her chance to pounce on them. “They can go with any outfit, if you have the right attitude.” He winks. And he’s right about that. He can pull off a feathered boa in any situation.

  “You want something to drink?” I ask as he walks back into the living room carrying one of his bags.

  “Yes! Let’s make some Creamcicles.”

  “I don’t think I have any pineapple-orange juice but I’ll check.”

  “I stopped on the way here, so we’re set; it’s in my carry-on bag”

  “Okay.”

  I stand from the couch, go and get the juice and take it into the kitchen; I pull the whipped vodka out of the refrigerator and start mixing the two. I hear Jessie exclaim from the other room, “Oh my God!”

  “What?”

  “Oh, my GOD!”

  “What?”

  “Get in here Kinsey.”

  I grab a drink in each hand and go back to the living room.

  “What?”

  “Girl, I know why I recognized him.”

  “Would you quit with the theatrics and tell me what it is?”

  “You remember about three years ago when we were at Missy’s house and she wore that God awful string bikini and we were making fun of it?”

  “You were making fun of it, but what does he have to do with Missy?”

  “You lost sight of her strings under her belly roll,” he explains like I wouldn’t remember that sight.

  “Seriously Jessie, what the hell?!”

  “Okay, okay. Remember when we heard all those sirens and there was big to-do about a cop’s wife getting killed?”

  “I remember something about that but, oh, is that where the woman was putting her kid in the car seat and somebody hit her with a car and left her to die?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you telling me that Tatum was her husband?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did they ever find out who did it?”

  “No, there’s an article by the Skeeter News published two months ago, marking the anniversary and in bold print it says ‘unsolved’.”

  “Whatever happened to the child?”

  He quietly states, “She died too.”

  “Was she—?”

  He nods his head and I instantly feel sick. I didn’t even know them but for anyone to die that way is terrible.

  “Holy shit,” I mumble out.

  “You got that right.”

  “How old were they?”

  “Um, it says here, thirty-two and eighteen months.”

  We sit in silence a long time, sipping our drinks, both lost in thought.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were hiring a private detective?” Jessie asks.

  “Holy crap, you don’t know anything. I forgot I haven’t told you anything yet. You’re going to have to find a way to keep your phone on you at all times. I’m sick of not being able to tell you what is going on!!! I’ve had so much happen to me over the last week.” I proceed tell him about the police station and how someone was messing around the house.

  “We’re going tomorrow and buy you a gun.”

  “I don’t need a gun. What I need is to be left alone”

  “If you’re spending the night at your parents so you can sleep, you need something to make you feel safer.”

  “That’s true. I can’t stay another night at my parent’s. My mother informed me I can’t friend date you forever”

  “Ha! That June. She is something else.”

  “She’s ready to be a grandmother.”

  “Well you know… we’ll make beautiful babies.”

  “Would you even know how to do it with a woman?”

  “It can’t be that hard. I’m sure I’d figure it out.”

  “How romantic, but it’s nice to know I have a back-up plan.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Marijuana

  Monday morning I sent off a quick email to my boss asking to have a quick chat with him, when his voice almost immediately comes over the voice speaker at my desk. I’m shocked. “Ms. Morrow, could you come to my office please?”

  Wow that was quick; I guess he does handle things accordingly and quickly. I walk into his office. He doesn’t bother to look up. He immediately starts spouting off different tasks I need to take care of because he has a family emergency and will be leaving to go out of town this afternoon for the remainder of the week. I start to panic trying to remember everything he’s saying, and on the tenth task I have to finally speak up, “Mr. Samford.” His blue eyes cut up quickly toward me and I stammer, “I—I—thought you had called me in here because of my email. I didn’t come prepared; can you give me a second to grab a pen and notepad, please?”

  He furrows his brows and glances at his computer screen. He stares at it a long minute before annoyance flitters across his face. He lets out a light sigh and I get the feeling he is counting to ten, which makes me feel an inch tall. “Of course, Ms. Morrow, what did you need to speak with me about?”

  “First, I would like to apologize. My personal life has crossed over to my professional life and I promise after our convers
ation today it won’t happen again. I just wanted to let you know that Mr. Osborne stopped by my house last night and I’ve decided to let him look into my problem.”

  He presses his lips together and then picks up a pen and writes something on a piece of paper. “You’ll need to speak to Mrs. Hatter. She handles all the payables and receivable for my companies. I have already told her to expect an invoice for your initial meeting that I would be paying for that and that you’d be setting up a payment plan for any services rendered by Mr. Osborne after that.” I reach out and take the paper from his hand and bite my tongue so I won’t ask him what other companies he owns. I’ve already pushed my limits this morning not coming in his office prepared. I slip the paper into my slacks pocket and then pick up his notepad and pen off his desk and began asking questions about his previous instructions. After I have all of my notes down and questions answered I turn to walk out of his office. I look back over my shoulder when he speaks quietly, “At one time Tank had it all. He suffered a great loss but I’m sure of one thing, whomever it is that’s causing you trouble, he’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  I give a small smile. “Thanks for all your help; I will get right on this list.” When I make it to my desk I sag into my chair, several different emotions run through my body, and I find it odd to hear him call Tatum, Tank. It’s so informal which is something I’ve never heard my boss be but I do find his reassurances hopeful, I really just want my life back.

  It’s a slow week at work with Mr. Samford out of town. I find myself dusting the file cabinets and taking a Q-tip and running it between the numbers on the phone pad to clean it and I really hate cleaning. Thoughts of calling Tank have crossed my mind about one hundred times. But if he had found anything about Joel or whatever or whomever it is messing with my stuff he would have contacted me, right? And I haven’t had any more incidents lately, maybe it was Joel like I thought all along and he scared him enough to leave me alone. My thoughts are interrupted when the phone at my desk rings and I can’t contain my smile when I hear Jessie’s voice, “Class ended early and I’m on my way home.”

  “That’s great. What do you want to do tonight?”