Done Dirt Cheap

by Sarah Nicole Lemon

  “Rob was an asshole.”

  “Rob was an asshole,” Virginia agreed. Though she was sure Pete was, too.

  “Did you win?” Mom asked. “Where’s your crown?”

  “I’m done with pageants, remember?”

  “Right. I knew that.” Her mother took a long drink of the beer.

  “V! You’re home.” Her mother’s roommate came out of the apartment. Landon had moved in with them two months ago, when he’d broken up with his violent ass-hat of a boyfriend. Mom had offered because she didn’t like to be lonely, and Virginia had agreed because she didn’t like shouldering all the rent. Landon’s job as a bartender at a strip club in Lexington kept him out most nights, and he never seemed to mind coming home to find Mom sleeping on the porch. “I feel like you’re never home these days.”

  “I’m not.” She put the cigarette to her mouth and tried not to look at Landon and encourage him to keep talking.

  “Virginia needs a job.” Her mother slurred it out in a way that made perfect sense. “Got an opening?”

  “I don’t need a job. I have one,” Virginia corrected her mother just as Landon’s eyes perked up.

  “Raven’s about to go on maternity leave. I can talk to—”

  “Stop being so precious, Virginia,” her mother interrupted. “It’s just waitressing.”

  “I don’t need a job. Remember? I still work for Hazard. You got me that job.”

  Her mom frowned. “But you’re not doing pageants anymore?”

  Virginia yanked her legs off the railing. It’d been a waste of a knife, blunted by the armor that was her mom’s spaced-out drunkenness. Now it was only Virginia who felt raw and annoyed by the conversation. She stood. “I need to get to bed. It’s an early morning.” But instead of going inside, she held the cigarette up and crouched over the steps to get a closer look at the roses.

  “V.”

  She swung around.

  “Aren’t they nice?” Mom said.

  “So nice.” Virginia kept the card she’d pulled out of the roses in her palm. “Night.”

  Inside their upstairs apartment, Virginia didn’t look at the card until she was sitting on the toilet lid, waiting for the hot water to make it to the third-floor shower.

  V—I know you’re going to miss the crowns. I’ll make it up to you.

  R.H., Esq.

  The dew lay thick on the roses the next morning, still undisturbed as Virginia stepped over them and threw her bags into the truck. She’d left the card in the bathroom trash, ripped into shreds so her mother or Landon wouldn’t accidentally find it. Thick currents of clouds drifted across the mountains as she drove into the cultivated Roanoke suburbs to perform her duties as a low-level drug dealer.

  Hazard lived in one of those housing developments with “Plantation” somewhere in the name—with their manicured and landscaped yards and their expansive Jeffersonian-style houses set back from the road with baby trees planted along the driveway. She’d been there before—to drop things off or pick things up—but she usually broke down shipments at his office or warehouse. Not at his house. It was hard not to slow and look at the houses as she drove through the subdivision.

  Thunder rumbled ominously behind the trees by the time she parked the truck on the damp asphalt driveway and knocked on the back entrance.

  “The Queen. Your kingdom.” Hazard bowed affably as he opened the patio door and let her inside. He was wearing sweatpants and a Georgetown T-shirt (though she was pretty sure he’d not gone to Georgetown). “Some coffee?”

  She slid the door shut behind her and plopped her bags onto one of the bar chairs. “Yes, please.” Tumi—another one of his dealers—usually handled this chore with her, but there didn’t seem to be any sign of her in the house. This wasn’t something that made Virginia immediately uncomfortable so much as it was something she was immediately aware of.

  “And I got apple fritters. I know they’re your favorite.” He placed a plate and napkin on the marble island, following it up with a mug full of steaming black coffee.

  She swallowed, hungry for both the food and whatever unnamed thing tightened in her chest at the sight of pristine white stoneware on a veined marble countertop.

  Hazard pulled out her chair, but she didn’t sit—just perched lightly against the chair so it looked as if she were sitting. The battered backpacks she used for work looked even dingier and more torn up than usual.

  “Did you get the flowers?” Hazard put a fork down beside her and leaned against the counter. “I never know if things make it to you.”

  Virginia nodded, carefully cutting through the fritter with the edge of the heavy silver fork. “I got them. You didn’t have to do that.”

  He waved his hand. “I know you’re worried about what’s going to happen next. I just wanted to show you I appreciate all the work you’ve done and how hard you hustle. Everything’s going to be fine.” His hand dropped to her shoulder, rubbing it casually, as if an afterthought or a punctuation on his assurances.

  The touch didn’t bother her. Not technically. Just intensified her awareness. The smell of the house—empty and clean. The gentle sound of the central air. The way the ridges of his hand caught on the back of her arm. Why wasn’t she at the office? Had he just wanted to get her out of the office to show her his appreciation? The food and coffee and flowers? Virginia stayed relaxed, putting another bite of the fritter into her mouth and pretending she did not even notice his touch.

  After a few more seconds, his fingers brushed her neck as he moved away. It seemed like an accident and she bit down on her shiver.

  The house seemed quieter.

  “Tumi coming today?” she asked casually.

  “Nope. She called in sick. It’s all you.”

  Her stomach twisted and she hid behind a swallow of coffee.

  “If you want to hang out afterward, there won’t be anyone here. You can watch TV. I have some new movies; my daughter dropped them off last time.” He shrugged. “I don’t have time.”

  “Oh . . . ,” Virginia said softly, poking at the apple fritter. She wasn’t hungry anymore, but felt she should eat it.

  He topped off her coffee. “I have a golfing appointment, so I’ll be out all afternoon. You’re free to make yourself at home. Fridge is full.”

  She ducked her head and forced another bite. “Thanks,” she said over the fritter. It gummed up in her throat and she swallowed great gulps of the bitter coffee to pull it down.

  This time Hazard patted-slash-rubbed the middle of her back. As if she were his daughter. He did have a daughter a little older than Virginia. In law school. She gripped hard to the idea that this was the episode in which the story line focused on his relationship with his daughter and how paternal he felt in the emptiness of the big suburban house. He’d never truly given her a reason to believe it was something else.

  “No problem at all. I got your back, V.” He moved away, swallowed the rest of his cup, and placed it in the sink. “I’m just going to go shower. Everything’s set up in the office. Upstairs and to your left. You’ll see it.”

  She waited until he’d left and dumped the rest of the fritter in the trash. Maybe she’d just gotten so used to men reacting to her in a certain way that she didn’t know what normal interaction was anymore. Hazard had been her boss for four years, and while he’d always appreciated her looks, it was never in a way that crossed a line. This was just a transition from pageant appreciation of new dress and good hair to appreciating her “hustle.” There was no need to panic. She grabbed her bags and went upstairs.

  The shower was running. The master bedroom door was open, but not all the way. It wasn’t weird. It wasn’t weird. It wasn’t weird. She repeated this over and over, trying to tell her pulse and the stiffness in her spine what was true.

  She shook it off and walked through the open double doors into Hazard’s home office. He’d cleared the desk and set up her stuff there. The room was bright even though the clouds outside had only
thickened. It smelled of books and coffee, and when she sank into the leather chair, her toes hit the heavy bag he’d left underneath the desk.

  Relief flooded her. This was normal. Nice, even. Everything was fine. She unzipped the black bag and began pulling out the pills, the taped-up pound of weed, and her things for repackaging. Hazard kept the scales, and bags, and even the marker she used to mark the bags just in case someone needed help remembering the difference between Oxy and Vicodin. Never underestimate stupid had been one of Virginia’s first lessons. Never trust your employees had been one of Hazard’s.

  She got it all laid out and began to work. It would take an hour or so—dumping out the pills and separating them. Pulling apart the weed and weighing it out. She did her own clients first. Then moved on to Tumi’s and Danylynn’s lists. She knew them all by memory; starting the ritual in the quiet house, insulated from the storm, melted away the last of her tension. There were extras this time and after double-checking, she pulled them to the side and began packaging the rest. Maybe Hazard would let her do this here every time. She’d always choose coffee and fritters and a nice study over a law office on the weekend and gas station coffee.

  Hazard came rushing in, only half dressed.

  She jerked straight in her chair and quickly looked back to her work.

  “Sorry. I’m running late and left my watch in here.” He started looking through a drawer at her elbow. He smelled like the shower and it was hard to avoid the intimacy of the moment.

  She shifted on one arm of the chair, trying to put distance between them without making him aware of it. “I’ve got extras?”

  “Right. Smart girl,” he said affectionately, still sorting through the drawer.

  Had it been a test? She frowned and the tension in her spine ratcheted higher. She’d passed, though. It was fine.

  He pulled out the watch and closed the drawer, looping it around his wrist to latch it. “Package them up all together. I’ve got a new staff member.”

  “Restructuring?”

  “That’s right.” His big hand went to her hair, patting through it. “So sharp.”

  She held very still, stifling the urge to jump.

  His fingers dropped to the side of her face, gently pulling her toward him.

  Her stomach dropped.

  This wasn’t his paternal longing. This was something else. She still sat in the chair, motionless, as he presided over her.

  The room shimmered with dropping pressure. The edges fell away. She forced herself to keep breathing. This was simple and yet it was the same as the Wardens. Stop being so precious, Virginia. But she didn’t move.

  He looked at her impassively. He didn’t need to force her. The fact was, they both knew he could, alone in this big house with its marble countertops and her long-standing reputation as wild and wandering. With her fritter, half eaten in the trash. There was no way for her to win. And if she said no now, it wouldn’t mean anything. He was the one who would decide.

  She swallowed. Tried not to flinch. Or close her eyes. Stiffening, she arched her back and neck just a fraction, to tug against the pull of his fingers. To pull away in this silent and immobile stalemate.

  His eyes narrowed.

  She forced herself not to cower.

  A car door slammed.

  They jerked apart, turning to the window.

  A middle-aged man in a polo shirt and khakis got out of a sedan and opened the door to the backseat, pulling out golf clubs even as he looked to the churning sky.

  “Shit, I’m late,” Hazard said, fumbling with the watch again.

  Was he pretending to redo his watch? She couldn’t tell. He seemed suddenly awkward. Confusing.

  She sat frozen in the office chair. Barely breathing.

  “Finish and lock up when you leave. If I find it unlocked, I’m docking your pay,” he said curtly as he turned away. “And I better hear something about your new friends this afternoon. Text me. I’ll be waiting.”

  Virginia stared out the window. Watching the man in the driveway. The black Impala. It was a cop car, she realized a full ten seconds later than she would normally have. This was the home of Robert Hazard, Esquire. This was the ruse. She narrowed her eyes as the man checked his cell phone, smoothed his hair, and jingled his keys while he waited. It looked like it was about to pour. Were they actually going golfing? Suddenly, she thought of her mother, sleeping at home. Happy. Warm. Drunk. Mom had nothing but good things to say about the lawyer who’d helped her out of a tough spot. The charming lawyer who understood these situations. Whatever the situation might be.

  What if she opened the window and rained weed and pills onto the cop’s head? Would he care? Probably not. Probably Hazard had done the cop’s bankruptcy, and the cop felt Hazard had taken care of him through a vulnerable time. Probably the cop would have sold his daughter for this security if they didn’t take Hazard’s fee straight out of the bankruptcy settlement. Hazard would continue to foster that feeling of benevolence—golfing, dinners, legal advice that seemed to be free.

  Hazard came out, apologetic and charming, shaking hands and laughing. They looked at the sky and shrugged. Beer in the clubhouse was always an option.

  She didn’t turn away from the window until she watched Hazard load their clubs and drive away. Texting Tourmaline, she rushed to finish her work.

  It was unquestionable now. If she didn’t find a way to distract the Wardens, her way, she would ultimately have to do it his way or face the consequences. And she wasn’t sure she could survive his revenge.

  She triple-checked the locks before getting in the truck and speeding out of the neighborhood of mini plantations.

  Tourmaline woke, leaving behind hazy dreams of the conscript to blink in the face of a stone-cold-sober reality and a shrilly ringing phone.

  Anna May.

  “What?” she croaked.

  “I thought you were coming to church. We were going to do lunch afterward,” Anna May said, sounding disgustingly chipper and faintly irritated.

  Tourmaline dropped back into her pillow.

  “Remember, we made plans last night?”

  She tried to think, but couldn’t remember anything except that Alvarez was back, Wayne was after her, and she liked a man her dad was going to kill. She might as well have woken up without a driver’s license and with her algebra homework undone for all the ways she felt fourteen again. “I have a migraine,” she managed. At least it was true.

  “Oh-kay,” Anna May said.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow?”

  “Fine.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tourmaline said, but Anna May had already hung up.

  Rain fell in sheets outside the window. She crawled out of bed and went into the hall, calling through the house as she stumbled toward the kitchen. But all stayed silent. Shadowed. Had Dad even come home? When did he start considering her old enough to be left alone?

  Putting her hand over her face, she tried to think beyond the building waves of pain in her head. She was eighteen. He trusted her to be at home and be okay with it. He was probably at Jason’s. She was eighteen. She was in control. The sound of the rain pricked her as if it were hitting under her skin, and she dropped her hand, squinting in the dim light to start a pot of coffee and retrieve her phone.

  She found her father’s text. He hadn’t come home. He said he was at Jason’s. She tried to believe him, not to think of the blonde.

  Rain drummed a steady beat on the roof, dripping thin rivulets down the glass door. She didn’t wait for the coffee to finish brewing before pouring herself a mug and popping a Tylenol. Sitting cross-legged at the table, she dropped her face into the steam coming off her coffee, basking in the warmth as she looked at the texts from Anna May asking where she’d gone the night before and whether she needed anything.

  Erasing all the messages, she closed her eyes. Wayne. Alvarez. Mom. The conscript. All of it too big and too much to contain as it drilled out through her temple.

  A low
rumble of thunder echoed in the empty kitchen, and the sound sent a new wave of pain cutting through her brain so profoundly that she didn’t hear the knock on the door until it had faded. Frowning, Tourmaline looked up from the blinking cursor and stared at the door.

  Whoever it was knocked again.

  A wild hope that it was the conscript shot through her body. That he’d be standing outside on her step in the rain in that black T-shirt, looking down on her, gaze flickering between her mouth and her eyes. For a moment the thought almost expunged the pain of her headache. But it couldn’t be him. That would be insane.

  Drawing a deep breath to calm her skittering heartbeat and quell the hope, Tourmaline dropped the phone and ran for the door.

  A man stood on the step, tucking himself under the eaves to stay out of the rain. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and his face was slick with a thin sheen of rain. He wasn’t familiar.

  She had wanted it to be the conscript, but she hadn’t known just how much until he wasn’t there. Frowning, she spoke behind the mostly closed door. “Sorry, my dad’s not home right now.”

  “Tourmaline Harris?”

  She narrowed her eyes. The only people who came looking for her made her want to never be found.

  “Do you have a minute?”

  “What do you want?”

  He looked surprised at her tone, but his expression smoothed instantly. “We can talk out here. It’ll just take a second.”

  She opened the screen door and slid outside. Wary. The throbbing in her head faded behind razor-edge alertness. Who was this? What did he want?

  The concrete step was damp under her bare feet, and she kept one hand resting on the edge of the doorframe, prepared at a moment’s notice to hop back into the house and lock the door.

  “I’m Special Agent Tom Mitchell, FBI.” He held out his hand. She noticed the badge on his belt.

  Her blood went to ice. A federal agent? She swallowed. Stared. The air had been all sucked out of the rainy summer morning. After Mom, it was hard enough to see the security guard at school. And with Alvarez back . . . This couldn’t be a coincidence. Could it?