The Crossroads Duet

by Rachel Blaufeld

  My car purred to life as I revved the engine and tore out of the decrepit neighborhood before I did something stupid like jump out and climb the fire escape to rescue the girl. I was savvy enough about women to know Alyson was bound to be pissed if I tried to rescue her. And why would I want to do that anyway? She was a stuck-up, do-gooder lawyer who toyed with me in jail, but then she was this nice woman who smiled at me at Roman’s place. Her split personality, going from ornery to demure and back again, was giving me whiplash.

  Why did I keep running into her? And why did I even care? I was a free man since Camper was gone. My gyms were booming and I was making lots of dough. So, what the hell was stopping me?

  Guilt, anxiety, and grief rattled through me like the gearshift grinding beneath my palm as I shifted into fourth. I pushed my speed as I sped out of downtown, across the bridge to the north side of Pittsburgh where I lived along the river.

  If I didn’t already have beer in my belly, I’d go back to the gym and lift. After all, pushing my body had been my way of dealing with my emotions for the last two decades. First there was Little League with my dad. Then the Pony Leagues, Amateur Athletic Union baseball, and college ball became my coping mechanisms, a way I could not only feel close to my dad after he was gone, but also a way to take out all my aggression. Lifting and training had been my saviors since I was sent to my grandparents as a little boy. Back then, I’d known what I had done, and to deal with it I would tire my body with endless push-ups and sit-ups, and running suicides. Because tiring my body would quiet my overactive brain riddled with guilt.

  I was well aware that Lane knew too. We didn’t have that identical-twin brainwaves shit they portrayed in the movies, but I could see equal parts pity and anger every time he looked at me since we were ten years old and living in our grandparents’ attic.

  That’s why I’d fucked women—screwing hard and long helped stop the pain, and took the edge off my anxiety. Sex and working out was the only combination I knew that worked for me. When I got older, I’d turned that focus into a business, building the gyms and filling them with a constant stream of willing women.

  And now I found myself obsessing over a lawyer—a public defender, of all people. Even if she liked me, once she learned what I’d done she would probably throw me back into the same jail where we met.

  I hit the button for my garage and watched the door climb, then pulled my BMW inside and parked it next to the Hummer. As I walked between the two vehicles, I stopped to kick the front tire of my truck in defeat. Here I stood in a garage full of expensive foreign cars worth more than several years of Alyson’s rent, yet she lived in a tenement. I needed to get her out of that place to somewhere safe. Not my arms, because those definitely weren’t safe, but at the very least, I could make sure she moved.

  After punching in my alarm code, I went straight to the fridge and grabbed a light beer before walking out onto my deck. Murky river water lapped underneath me as I tipped my head back and took a long slug, taking in the star-filled sky that loomed overhead. This had been my city since I was ten, but I’d never really belonged. I deserved to be an outcast, but not Alyson. Ever since she stepped into that interrogation room, there was something about her . . . I just didn’t know what.

  Now I did. The whole tough, lady-lawyer thing was an act, a facade she hid behind that felt comfortable and secure. But inside she was lost, a young girl still trying to find her way. All you had to do was see her away from the justice system, like outside her apartment or out at a restaurant, and the real Alyson was revealed.

  How the fuck did I know this? As sure as the moon was shining down on me, I knew it because we were one and the same. The only difference was I was a little boy stuck in a man’s body. I might not even be able to help myself or get over the shit I did, but I sure as hell could help Alyson Road.

  With renewed vigor, I stepped back inside my townhouse, then dropped and did a set of push-ups, followed by a ridiculous number of sit-ups. As my body worked, my mind cleared and worked out a plan.

  I woke up a new man with a purpose. My phone buzzed while I was downing a smoothie and getting ready for the gym. I snatched my phone from the kitchen counter and grimaced when I saw Lane’s name on the screen.

  “What happened to you last night?” he said, without even saying hello.

  Thinking fast, I answered, “I ran into an old friend. Sorry, I should’ve texted you.” I crossed the kitchen while tucking the phone in my neck, grabbed my wallet and keys, and headed to the door.

  Lane continued bitching in my ear. “I wasn’t worried. Figured something caught your dick’s attention.”

  “Stop baiting me, Lane. I’m doing fine. You saw yourself, I’m making progress. Tell Bess, and kiss the baby. Maybe I’ll pop up for a night in the next few weeks. I could use some country air, but not when James is there. He’s way too much woman for me.”

  Lane laughed into the phone. “Got you, buddy, but you know I can’t forget how good he is to Bess. Speaking of my lady, I’m on my way back home, but I’ll be back in town soon. The hotel CEO wants my software, so don’t miss me too much. Also, I texted Jax, the foreman who rushed the job on my house. He’s used to large projects, so he’s going to call you to see what he can do for yours. It’s up to you, but I think you should get rid of the current guys and put Jax on this.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Current dudes have gotta go,” I muttered.

  “And Jake, I’m here for you.”

  I swiped my finger across the screen, ending the call before it got mushy.

  That was exactly what I needed to avoid. Lane had been covering my ass since we learned how to talk, and I needed to cut the cord. When we were little, Lane would take the fall for spilled milk and messes in the yard. In college, he played along with my duplicitous games of bait-and-switch, pretending to be me with the ladies, and he’d rescued my stupid ass way too many times as an adult. Money here, negotiations there. It was enough.

  I might never be able to repay him for his ultimate sacrifice and cover-up, but as of today, I was on my own. It was time to stand on my own two feet and do some good, something to absolve my soul of the blackness I felt there.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to keep the good vibes going when I finally arrived at my gym. As soon as I walked out of the locker room, I spotted Camper on the treadmill, her big bushy ponytail flapping around as she ran at a grueling pace. I made a quick detour at the café for a bottle of water, then crossed the gym at the front to get to the weights area without walking past her. I guess we never discussed her giving up her complimentary gym membership, which was a big mistake on my part.

  Starting with some pull-ups, I let my mind relax. Breathing in, puffing out, I let my brain go still as the veins bulged and popped in my arms. This was my happy space, when my breath came out ragged, my pulse twitched, and a slight pang of pain coursed through my taut body.

  Working out and sex were the only two ways I found relief. As I pushed my reps, my flaccid cock brought to mind how long it had been since the latter. A good week or two . . . or more?

  Since I’d cracked the guy’s skull on Christmas Eve, Camper had been letting me hit it pretty regularly, at least up until the day she quit. I thought it was guilt or some shit like that, but I guess she wanted more. Commitment was the one thing I didn’t do. Not ever. Who the hell would want a fuckup like me?

  I’d just moved over to the stack of free weights and grabbed the heaviest ones I could find when I heard her.

  “Hey, Jake!”

  There she was, pretending to be coy, twirling her finger around a damp ringlet that had fallen free from her ponytail, chewing on her sugar-free gum, her tits practically popping out of her sports bra.

  Ugh. She disgusted me, and I’d been sleeping with her for a long while, which showed how little I thought of myself.

  “Hey, Camp, how you doing?” I asked as if we hadn’t run our tongues all over each other.

  “Good! Hope it’s okay if
I still come in and work out?” She ran her tongue over her upper lip, catching little beads of sweat.

  “Of course,” I said. Sadly, I didn’t mean it, but the girl had been there for me, worked hard for the gym, and I was being a better man and all. “You worked here for almost two years, built the brand out in the burbs.”

  “So, what are you up to this weekend?”

  I grabbed a dumbbell and did a few arm curls while we chatted; I needed to feel the burn, needed the distraction. Otherwise, I was going to let her talk me into what she wanted. For me, it would only be a good, hard fuck. For her, it would be me conceding to more. Even I was smart enough to recognize that.

  “Lane was here yesterday, and I need to make some decisions with the third location. I’m actually gonna do some work this weekend, maybe even take a ride up to see Bess and the baby tomorrow,” I lied.

  “Bess. It’s always Bess.”

  “I don’t know what crawled up your ass with Bess. She was your best friend in college, and then when she and Lane were apart, the two of you were taking girls’ trips and all that shit. Now you fucking despise her?” I switched the weight to my other hand and repeated the curls on the other side.

  “She always gets her way,” she hissed through a fake smile. “Now she landed the rich guy and has a baby, and I’ve been waiting a long time for you to take us seriously.”

  “Camp, babe, all this jealousy isn’t becoming on you. You had to know I was never gonna get serious. I can’t. It’s not in the cards for me. Let’s not rehash this, okay? You’re a good girl and you deserve a nice guy. Just not me.”

  Not sure I believed that last part, but I needed to get rid of her. This whole jealousy thing was tiring. I had to admit, though, she was right. Bess was living the dream. But that was never going to happen with me.

  “Have a good weekend, Jake. Hope you find peace one day, asshole,” Camper muttered and then she stalked off, leaving me to my workout.

  I breathed a long sigh of relief and searched for heavier weights.

  Aly

  “Morning,” I called out to the receptionist as I wound my way to my tiny office in the back of the county justice building.

  My mom’s rapid decline currently filled my heart with a strange combination of sorrow and peace as I walked into work on Monday. Perhaps this nightmare would be over soon. As sad as that sounded, she deserved better than to rot away in some state-funded nursing home.

  I’d called Kathy on my way to work, the lovely nurse I paid on the side to spend a few extra hours with my mom each day. As long as I needed Kathy, I’d have to stay in my lousy apartment, unable to afford better. A chill of shame swept over me as I remembered Jake dropping me off in front of the run-down building.

  Why did I even care? I’d been embarrassed about my home my whole life. I’d never really been able to have people over or enjoy company, and it wasn’t as if I was going to start now.

  Opening my door with one hand while balancing my bag and coffee mug in the other, I found an enormous hydrangea plant on my desk. Its big blue puffballs brightened the room, their smell pungent, their beauty sensational. It was the type of plant the ladies my mom cleaned for would gasp over and then tell my mom to take care of it.

  I dropped my pile of stuff into my chair and before taking off my coat, reached for the card tucked into the holder stuck jauntily in the pot.

  Ms. Road (A-L-Y-S-O-N) –

  I never officially thanked you for your kindness at Christmas time, so these are for you. Hope they brighten your week.

  J-A-K-E (J-A-S-O-N) Wrigley

  That was it. Nothing more or less said. He never officially thanked me for my kindness. I wasn’t sure I would have called it kindness, but he did and I wondered why. Had no one ever been kind to him before? I didn’t really do anything. In fact, I’d tested the limits with him, playing with his emotions and assuaging my own nerves about not pressing charges on someone who may have really deserved to be punished.

  A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. “Want to go over the case?” my immediate supervisor asked as he popped his head in around the door.

  “Sure, Barry, I’ll be right down.” I stood in front of the plant, trying to conceal the evidence of my inappropriate client interactions. Shit, I wondered who received them and put them on my desk. Did they peek at the card? I slipped the plant under my desk, hiding it from view, and went to meet with Barry.

  “This is going to be a big case, Alyson,” Barry said as I entered his office. “Super big. Lots of press. Are you ready for the spotlight?”

  I nodded, afraid to speak. He was right; this was definitely a high-profile case. I gave myself a quick mental pep talk, telling myself I was ready for what it would mean for my career and my personal goals, as well as for the department.

  “It’s in the paper today, right here.” He folded the paper into quarters and pointed at the right corner above the fold on the first page.

  Taking the paper from him, I stood in front of his desk as I scanned the article. The headline read ANOTHER BIG BREAK IN RACIALLY FUELED VIOLENT GANG CRIME, and the article started off with recent arraignments made thanks to evidence recovered earlier in the year. The story was vague, thanks to very few leaks about what the police department had on the gang in question. It did state the police got a “lucky break” on this case, “serendipitously discovering key evidence when investigating a separate unrelated crime.”

  When I glanced back at Barry, he said, “Well, we knew the press was going to be following the case closely. Luckily, the judge from the arraignment—Fern Baker—appears to be following the rules and not revealing anything of importance to the media, which will go a long way in not affecting public opinion and tainting the jury pool. But I don’t think this ends pretty for our guy. Crap, we’ve got to think on this one.”

  I sat down in one of the worn leather chairs across from Barry. He looked his usual disheveled self, his shirt rumpled and hair tousled, but not in a sexy mussed way, and I detected the remnants of cigarette smoke that always clung to him. If he put forth a little effort, he’d be half decent-looking, with his tanned skin and dirty-blond hair, but Barry was driven, dedicated. He was married to his job, defending criminals, and I couldn’t blame him for that—apparently, so was I.

  But this case? I didn’t want it. It was the first case I’d ever tried to pass on, but I’d been overruled and couldn’t dwell on that now. The case was mine, whether I wanted it or not, so I needed to prove myself. And I would.

  “I’m going to try to meet Judge Baker for a drink,” Barry said, interrupting my thoughts. “Make our wishes known, keep as many details out of the paper as possible.”

  “Sounds good.” I sat back in the chair, resigning myself to digging into this case.

  “In the meantime, what did Cameron say when you spoke with him last week?” Barry asked with one eyebrow raised, his pencil at the ready to take notes.

  “He was vague, but still maintained his innocence. He said he didn’t like Jews, and that was his right. He agreed he could be a bit outspoken about it, but continued to argue that he wasn’t violent.”

  “And?” Barry waited for more, testing my competence. And patience.

  “I asked who he thought may be involved, who was violent enough to perpetrate the hate crimes pictured on his walls, and why he had the pictures if he didn’t do it. He said he didn’t know who was violent enough, claimed he wasn’t close to many people. He maintained the only thing he’s guilty of is being a fan of the handiwork because he believes in their racial cause . . . which is why he kept the photos and taped them up in his living room. My gut churned the whole time I met with him, Bar. Something is so off here. I hate the taste of this case.”

  I took a long breath. “Oh, I also asked if he was in a relationship, and he said he had an on-again/off-again thing going. When I asked if I could question her and politely asked for her name, he clammed up. Said he was done for the day.”

  “So, nobody? No
other leads in his defense?”

  “He made out like he was a loner, other than hanging in bars and sleeping around with this part-time mystery woman. I don’t know . . . something doesn’t add up. If he didn’t do it, he’s covering for someone.”

  “Who do men cover for?” Barry asked, looking up from his notes.

  “Women, but he’s not budging about sharing.”

  “Power of pussy,” Barry said with a smirk.

  My gaze glued to my notes, I abruptly changed the subject. “Now, what do we need to do this week?”

  We spent the next twenty minutes strategizing, going over the rest of my notes from visiting our client in jail. I’d spent some time chatting with the guards and learning what our client had been up to on the inside, and that too had left me feeling irked. I was told he’d gotten in tight with some of the other white supremacists in the jail population, and I didn’t like how much swagger he seemed to have developed since then. I needed to spend some time later in the week investigating what was going on with that.

  “Pretty sure he’s going to post bail,” Barry said. “The judge didn’t deny it, and I think his neighbors started a defense fund for him, which is crazy since he’s relying on public defense. You’re probably wondering why wouldn’t they pay for some hot-shot attorney instead? Believe me, I’ve seen it all—”

  “Unless he has some other grand plan?” I interrupted him, anxious to get the whole case wrapped up and finished.

  Wishful thinking.

  “No, I don’t think so, just thinking aloud. He did live in the crappy apartment and had no job, so he really may not be able to afford anything else. I don’t think anyone wants to take it on pro bono. They know the police must have some tight evidence. But still, the whole thing reeks of something foul, but we’ll do what we’re paid to. Provide a fair defense.”