Dirty Talk

by Lauren Landish

  And of course, the guy with the camera. Immediately afterward, McKayla tried to downplay it, refusing my desire to call the police. She does have a point. There’s not much they can do other than agree to keep a watch on the place since I didn’t catch the guy. I think there’s more to it, though. She’s the new girl in town and doesn’t want to cause any drama. But if this keeps up, sooner or later, the police are going to need to be involved.

  In the end, I agreed with her so she would quit arguing with me, not because she was right but because I don’t need the police to keep watch on her when I can do that myself. Besides, the cops in this town aren’t exactly the FBI. They’re more like . . . well, I don’t trust them further than I can throw most of them. Then again, maybe I’m just biased from all the side-eyes I’ve gotten.

  Either way, I can’t do it alone. I know just the person who knows everything about everyone on Main Street and who knows a lot of people around this town . . . including the people some others might not want to know about.

  Closing the hood on the van that I’ve been working on, I call out to TJ, who’s changing the tires on a Honda. “Need anything from Earl’s? Gotta go talk to him for a tick.”

  TJ raises an eyebrow at me, the question evident, but he doesn’t ask out loud. I haven’t told him much, even why I’m living above the garage full-time now. I’ve only been back home over the past two weeks to clean out my fridge, grab showers, and to check the mail.

  But he hasn’t even attempted to ask me. Fuck, maybe McKayla was right about his walking on eggshells around me. I guess I’ve always known it, of course, but I liked to pretend it was for his own good. Don’t go fucking with a grenade unless you’re willing to deal with an explosion. Now, though, I wonder . . . is all of my shit just a selfish ploy to keep myself from being vulnerable?

  TJ finally answers, shaking his head. “Nope. Tell Earl I said hi though.”

  I toss TJ a wave and leave the shop, walking down the street. There’s a part of me that notes that today is especially beautiful, with a bright blue sky, fluffy clouds that give a little bit of shade but don’t threaten rain, and a little breeze that makes me glad I grabbed my jacket instead of just walking down in a t-shirt. It’s the sort of day that shouldn’t be spent working, but out at a lake eating a turkey sandwich.

  But instead, I’m scanning left and right, up and down. Most folks who look for danger look left and right, just on their level. It didn’t take me long in the deployed zone to learn to scan in all directions, and after a particularly nasty incident where my platoon ended up short a lieutenant, I learned to look into the drainage holes cut into curbs too as they’re a perfect place to hide an IED since most folks don’t look down.

  Even with my eagle eyes, I don’t spot anything out of the ordinary, and for the most part, I enjoy the half-mile walk to Earl’s store. As I get closer, I see him out front, haggling over what looks like a load of manure with Paul Tannen, a local farmer who could probably fertilize his crops on his own with the amount of bullshit that comes out of his mouth. Earl sees me out of the corner of his eye as I get closer, and while he doesn’t stop talking to Paul, I can tell he’s keeping me in his sights too. That man’s training never went away and he’s never gotten sloppy.

  Hell, if I asked him, I bet he could tell me the threat potential for every car that’s passing us, along with a half-dozen ways to turn Paul’s load of manure into all sorts of nasty things. Then again, I can too, so maybe that’s just normal for guys like us.

  I climb on the old-fashioned ‘country store’ porch he’s got and drop down into the rocking chair, waiting for them to finish up. When Earl does, he comes over and leans against a post, not saying anything, just giving me a raised eyebrow. After a few minutes of silent rocking, I give in. “You gonna say hi like you usually do?”

  Earl leans over, hawking a gob of spit into the dusty asphalt of his parking lot before speaking. “Well, Mr. Evan, I’m thinking you came all the way down here to talk to me. You’re not the kind to just walk up the street for a social spell like I am. I like to give a man the time he needs to say his piece. So whenever you’re ready, I’m ready.”

  I smile. Earl’s a smart man. And he’s right, the last time I came to his store was to drop off a tractor attachment he’d shopped out to us. “Earl, it’s like this . . . McKayla had a little incident a week or so ago. Her car got marked up a bit—male territorial stuff, if you catch my meaning.”

  He nods. “Been keeping my eye on our pretty little hairstylist too. But I ain’t seen nothing that I could do anything about.”

  For some reason, I’m touched that Earl would be looking out for McKayla too, so I continue. “And I caught a guy snapping pictures over at McKayla’s a couple of days ago. Early in the morning, pitch black outside still, and he was wearing all black including a balaclava so I didn’t get a good look at him. Tall, lean, but muscled judging by the feel of him, but that’s all I got.”

  Earl hums and comes over, settling his weight on an old powerline spindle that’s been turned on its side to act as a sort of table. “What’d the police say? They know of anyone to look out for?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. I heard the camera, wrestled with him, but he got away from me. He knocked McKayla down in the process, so I helped her and he disappeared. We didn’t call the cops.”

  Earl grunts, then gives me a knowing smirk. “Got away from you? Must’ve been a slippery little fucker then. Okay, Mr. Evan . . . I’s got two questions for you. One, what’re you doing with Miss McKayla? And two, who do you think this cameraman was?”

  His eyes squint a little, and while to a casual observer we just look like two blue collar guys sitting out front having a jaw before going inside to sip at an RC Cola . . . I swear he’s looking into my damn soul.

  “Well, for the first, I don’t fucking know. And two, I don’t fucking know. How’s that?”

  Earl bursts out into laughter, his big belly jiggling below his overalls as he stomps his foot and slaps at his knee. Leaning back, he looks up at the sky like he’s talking to the clouds or something. “He don’t fucking know . . . that’s damn sure what he said, he don’t fucking know.”

  Right about now, I’m thinking maybe Earl is a little crazier than I’ve ever thought and this might’ve been a bad idea. Maybe he tried a few too many pharmaceuticals during his time back in ‘Nam or something.

  But before I can get up, he sobers, turning back to me. “All right, one thing at a time. I don’t rightly know who your cameraman is either. But I’ll keep an eye out. You know I will. And between the two of us, we’ll keep Miss McKayla safe. I done noticed that you’re living above the garage full-time now yourself. Now, on to more important matters . . .”

  I interrupt Earl before he can start going on about the Elk Lodge or the price of manure or whatever. “Earl, a fucking stalker taking pictures is the important matter.”

  He glares at me. “And on to more important matters . . . you and Miss McKayla. You got something going with her?”

  I dip my chin once. Earl doesn’t need details. “Is it mutual?”

  I nod again. He grins, and this time it’s a genuine smile. “Well, there you go. Congratulations, Mr. Evan.”

  I look at him, hovering somewhere between anger and confusion. “Congratulations on what? It’s not like we’re dating, we’re just . . .”

  He laughs a little and pats his belly like it’s his dog or something. “You’re just what, sleeping together? I might be old, but I remember that game too. The whole ‘stay pure until married’ shit went right out the door with my generation.”

  I’m not one to kiss and tell, but I need some damn help here, so I just stare back, willing him to see my answer in my eyes. Earl gets the point. “Mmmhmm, that’s what I thought. I gotta hand it to you, Mr. Evan. Back in my youth, not too many of my peers would have been able to avoid bragging about getting with a girl like that. You got yourself some class, so congrats there too. I’ve seen you out riding with her
behind you on the motorcycle and I know you ain’t never done that before with any woman. You eat dinner with her, talk to her?”

  I start to nod and realize something. “Actually, no. We’ve never been out to dinner, but yeah, we talk, and she brought me cookies, so I guess we ate those.”

  My mind flashes back to her licking the sugar off her lips. And then something else, and my cock stirs in my jeans. Thankfully, not too much.

  Earl sighs and looks at me like I’m the biggest fool in the world. “Boy, I said my generation ditched purity, not manners. You got to take a woman out to eat before you sleep with her. Rule number one, my daddy told me, and it’s the damned honest truth. Feed her, show some damn respect, Son. Now, you can’t go back in time and change that, but you can do better from here on out.”

  I shrug, thinking that maybe going out to dinner with McKayla wouldn’t be too bad of an idea. That is, as long as I don’t have to dress up. Earl notices and nods sagely. “So, where was we? Oh yeah, you talk. Tell me, you talk to her about your demons? Your time in the military, the dreams and whatnot?”

  Suddenly, I see it. He’s been baby-stepping me there, but I get it now. I slump back in the rocker with a jolt. “Some. Not much, but some. Probably more than I’ve said about it to anyone else since I got back.”

  Earl chuckles and leans forward, heaving himself to his feet. “Whew, that was fun to watch. You listen here, Mr. Evan. You been walking around like a damn zombie for years, keeping that poison locked up tight inside your soul. And Miss McKayla, she’s doing something right, whatever it is, because you’re coming back to life.”

  I nod because I know he’s right. She is doing something to me. I can feel it deep inside. Those shadows are maybe a shade lighter, the anger coiled just a little looser, more situational than the constant anger I’ve lived with for years. It’s not healthy, but it’s a damn bit better for me.

  But that’s just it.

  “Earl, I get it. She is helping me. I hate to admit it, but she is. But at what cost? You say I’ve got poison locked in my soul, but if I let it out, let it go, she’s gonna take the brunt of that. She might help me, but I’m gonna ruin her. And she doesn’t deserve that. Nobody does, but especially not her. I tried to scare her off right before the camera guy thing. Tried to get her to see how fucked up I am, make her give up and run.”

  Earl squares his shoulders, pointing at me with steel in his voice. “Mr. Evan, did you hurt Miss McKayla?”

  I’ve never been scared of Earl before, knowing I’ve got him beat in age, size, and skills, but in that moment, I see the stone-cold soldier he once was and know that he could do some damage if he had half a mind to do so.

  “What? No, I didn’t hurt her. I meant more . . . verbally. We got a little rough, but it was . . . uh . . . she was into it. I felt bad. I tried to scare her that way, but she just rolled with it.” I watch Earl visibly lighten and I’m enthralled by the way he can turn it on and off like that, let his demons out and then poof . . . gone.

  “Well hell, Son, making the bedframe shake a little bit ain’t no thang. I’ve been meaning for years to tell you about this sweet little half-French, half-Vietnamese girl I knew in Saigon. She and I got up to thangs too. Now, I done married three times, and I’ll admit that in each of them, there’s always been someone else in my mind. Probably what ended it, too.”

  I’m surprised. I’ve never heard about this part of Earl’s past. “You never looked for her?”

  “She died in a VC suicide bombing,” Earl says softly, shaking his head. “Ah well, we all carry our ghosts. As for your girl, it sounds to me like she passed your little test. She’s helping you and doesn’t seem traumatized by the whole thing. I told you that eventually, you’d have to stop running away and turn and fight. You’ve never struck me as a coward, just more of a tactical man. Well, it’s time, Son. Let her in, let her keep your six while you finally turn around and fight those demons into submission. It sure enough ain’t an easy thing, but if a man has the right motivation, it’s a miracle what he can do.”

  Having said his piece, Earl sticks his hand out and offers a handshake. I stand up and shake with him. “I’ll see what I can do. Thank you, Earl, for agreeing to keep an eye on McKayla.”

  Earl shakes while waving off my thanks with his other hand. “Ain’t no thang but a chicken wing, like we used to say. You’ll do the right thing when the time’s right. But make sure you’re ready so you don’t hurt that girl. And I’ll keep a watch out for anything hinky. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to talk with my son about how to keep our biggest fertilizer customer happy.”

  He walks inside, but I don’t move. Instead, I sink back into the rocker, considering his words. I sit and think, think and sit, rocking on Earl’s porch chair while the fluffy clouds creep across the sky.

  Chapter 21

  McKayla

  “Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!” Brad chirps, opening my bedroom door like there’s nothing wrong with a man barging into a woman’s bedroom when she’s sleeping. Then again, Brad is a guy I could prance around the room half naked with and not be worried about him getting inappropriate. He’s stayed over the last two nights, helping me not freak out about the camera guy, and it’s helped.

  Still, I was up late and slept like shit. “Fuck off, Brad!”

  He slips in, eyes covered with one hand but with his fingers so wide apart I can easily see the blue of his eyes. “You decent, bitch? Well, other than the obvious that you’re totally indecent, but you got your girly bits covered? I do not want to see your meow-meow this morning. Or ever.”

  I laugh a bit. I can’t help it. He’s so weird, and it’s exactly what I need to lighten this fog that’s surrounding me. His other hand carries a steaming cup of coffee and he offers it to me with a smirk. Instead of throwing my pillow at him, I sit up and take the cup. “How is it?” I nod at the steaming cup.

  “Just the way you like it . . . sweet as candy and as dark as your soul,” Brad says, handing it over to me. I sip the dark brew, moaning my appreciation that he fixed it just the way I like. “Damn, last time I made someone moan like that, I was naked and covered in sweat. So was he.”

  “Yeah, well . . . the coffee’s worth a moan,” I reply, setting my cup aside long enough to stretch. “Fuck, I’m gonna need about another five of those today with the way I feel.”

  Brad yanks my blanket away from my legs without warning, making me squeal as he shakes his head. “Don’t matter how bad you slept, girl. We’ve got a busy day today so chop, chop . . . up and at ‘em and all that jazz. Basically, get that jiggly ass of yours out of bed and do it now.”

  I flop back to the pillows, careful not to spill my precious coffee. “Just for calling my ass jiggly . . . I don’t wanna. I’m just gonna stay here, curled up in bed, safe and sound and watch trashy TV. I heard they were doing a rerun marathon of Matchmaker. So you and your overly bony ass can do my appointments.”

  Brad reaches out and takes the coffee from my hands, setting it gently down on the nightstand. Not sure what he’s doing, I’m surprised when he grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “I. Don’t. Do. Hair!” he mock growls before giving me a sparkling grin. “And you damn well know it. We’ve got a VIP coming in today and it’s all hands on deck. In case you didn’t get the corporate memo, all hands is me and you. We haven’t hired our new assistant yet, you know.”

  I perk up a bit. This is news to me. “A VIP? Who’s coming in?”

  Brad gives me a grin and sits down on the edge of my bed. “Well, I got a call yesterday. Remember my old friend Roxy I’ve told you about?”

  Yeah, the famous rock star you supposedly know but suspiciously haven’t introduced me to?” I point out. “What about her?”

  “What can I say, she’s a busy girl. Anyway, you met her sister, Mindy, when we did Emily’s wedding. Anyway, not important. Back to the VIP. Their grandmother is coming in to see the great-grandkids for a birthday party. Picturesque, no?”

  “Cute as a bunc
h of toddlers going apeshit all over a Chuck E. Cheese’s,” I reply, even though the idea of having a toddler doesn’t seem that bad to me recently.

  “Yeah, well, this grandma, she’s a bit . . . hell, that lady’s way over the top. And when Mindy called me about this, she said they want to treat her to a bit of a spa getaway, give everyone some breathing room.”

  I get the feeling grandma’s a ‘small doses’ kinda broad, but most people see me as that kind too. “Okay, I get it. So what’s the deal?”

  “She’s coming in at ten for the works—scalp massage, shampoo, deep conditioner, cut, color, and curl for you, and facial, brows, mani, pedi, and makeup for me. She’s the only client we have all day since I moved the other appointments we had for this one. Trust me, they made it well worth clearing house for this lady.”

  Going along with Brad, I get out of bed, taking my sweet damn time showering and washing some wakefulness into my eyes before heading downstairs to a granola bar at nine thirty, just early enough to get my station ready. Right at ten, the door dings and I see Mindy holding the door open for an older lady who seems to still have plenty of spunk in her.

  “At least you chose a good place to ditch me!” she says as she spies the historical committee plaque. “John Wayne, huh? Let me tell you, back in the day, I’d have given good money to give ol’ Duke a ride!”

  Brad comes forward, giving both women a huge grin. “Hi, Mindy. And Ivy Jo, it’s been too long!”

  Mindy, who obviously has had enough of her grandmother for the next few moments, is glad for the distraction. She gives Brad a hug, patting his back. “Brad, you’re looking fabulous, as usual.”