by Greg Barth
“What?” Enola said. “She’s not with you?”
“Hi, babe,” I said. “I’m here. Lost my phone. Stupid klutz. You know me.”
“Oh, hey. You want to call your phone to see if you can hear it ringing somewhere? Let me get the number.”
Silence.
I looked at Chris and mouthed the words you bitch.
She shrugged. “She’s your girlfriend.”
Enola was back and read off the numbers. I memorized them.
“Can you text them to me as well?” Chris said.
“Okay sure. Hey, while I have you. That shit on TV about—”
“Sorry. Gotta go, hon.” I made tapping gestures with my finger in the air until Chris ended the call.
We sat there in silence until the text arrived.
“Okay. So you’re not surprised, we’re doing this one on speaker,” Chris said.
“Of course.”
She tapped again. A short ring and then a message stating that the number dialed was inactive.
“Shit,” I said.
“What now?” Chris said.
“Let me think.”
If Bucky had called in the tip, he wouldn’t have left town. He’d want to stick around for his $75,000 reward. It didn’t make sense. If he packed up everything and left, then he wasn’t planning on coming back. But where would he go? I only had one thing to go on.
“You ever been to Jacksonville?” I said.
“Florida?” Chris said. “No. Never.”
“He has a sister there. She has a weird name. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Something…something…something.”
“Last name Blake?”
“Yeah. Probably.” I put myself back in my room the day Bucky was talking about his family. Something…something…something. It was a silly sounding name. Silly…silly…silly. It came to me. “Lilly Bett. Lilly Bett!”
“Lilly Bett Blake,” Chris said. “Shouldn’t be too many of those in Jacksonville.” More tapping on the phone screen.
“You think you can find her?”
“Maybe. It’ll take most of the day to get to Jacksonville. I’ve got some time.”
I turned the car around in the parking lot and pulled out onto the narrow two-lane road. I pointed us east and put some distance between us and the most likely place any tips to the authorities would place me.
Not much traffic out. I concentrated on making distance while Chris searched online.
I didn’t get on Interstate 59 in Poplarville to go north as originally planned, continued east instead.
“Finding anything?” I said.
“Not much. There’s like Facebook profiles, pictures, that kind of thing. Instagram.”
“Any of them in Jacksonville?”
“You think Lilly Bett is her real name?”
“That’s what he called her.”
“Sounds strange though. Would you name a girl that? Let me check something.” She tapped at her phone while I kept my eyes on the road. I didn’t know what kind of creatures might be out crawling on the wooded roads of Mississippi—maybe armadillos or alligators—but I didn’t want to hit anything. With Chris being a vegan and all, I’d never hear the end of it.
“Okay. Lilly is short for Lillian.”
“I can see that,” I said.
“And I’m thinking Bett is short for Elizabeth. What do you think.”
“Lillian Elizabeth Blake.”
She tapped at her phone some more. “Jackpot, baby.”
“You got an address?”
“Not yet. But I’ve got some hits. Let’s see what I can find.”
I made a right, took a road south toward Gulfport. The car ate the miles alive. I went easy on the throttle, careful to only exceed the posted speed limit by ten miles an hour. I didn’t want to get stopped.
“So why did Enola send you to pick me up and not River?”
“I was traveling already, silly. It was easy for me to fly into New Orleans.”
“Just seems River and I would have more in common.”
“You mean drugs.” It wasn’t a question.
“You saw last night’s prime-time documentary.”
Chris sighed. “Okay. Enola thinks I could be a good influence on you.”
“Oh, Jesus. Here comes the lecture.”
“I admire your resilience, Selena. I really do. But you need some self-esteem.”
“I happen to think self-esteem is a bad thing,” I said.
“Self-worth then. Or how about self-respect even?”
I grabbed the fifth of Jack Daniels and wedged it between my thighs. I managed to hold the wheel with my weak hand while I used my thumbnail to pick at the tight plastic seal covering the bottle cap. Once I had a corner of plastic torn away, I brought the bottle up and used my teeth to peel the rest of the plastic off. I unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. I parked the bottle between my thighs and lit up a cigarette. “The thing I’m worried about most right now, Chris, is self-preservation. Let’s get that one checked off first, okay? Then you can preach to me about the others.” I took another long pull from the bottle.
Chris mumbled something about “self-control.” Whatever it was, I didn’t want to hear it. I took off my sunglasses, turned to look her in the eye, and said, “How about you shut the fuck up and find our girl on your phone there.”
Chris closed her eyes, shook her head, went back to her search.
I took the CD that Doty had given me, pushed it in the slot. When the opening guitar riff for “Highway to Hell” ripped itself free from the speakers, I put a little more weight on the throttle.
SEVEN
I WAS TOO drunk to drive by the time we reached Pensacola. Chris used her phone to find a restaurant that met her dietary standards and we went to lunch. We sat at an outside table under an umbrella on the patio. I could smell the ocean on the warm breeze.
“I think I’ve found her,” Chris told me. “I’ve pieced together enough from her public social media posts, connections, and pictures to narrow down which complex she’s in. She’s posted some pictures of her car. Numerous selfies. And I zoomed in on aerial photography of her apartment complex. It’s small. She shouldn’t be hard to find. Especially if she parks near her unit.”
“Anything on there about Bucky?”
“She’s not friends with him online. She has more family in South Carolina, though.”
South Carolina. Shit. If we weren’t careful we’d be chasing this guy all over the Southeast and never find him.
“If you’re okay to drive, I’ll scout around her family’s pages and see if I can find anything,” Chris said.
“I’ll be okay. I’ll lay off the whiskey a while.”
We got back on the road and followed the highway as it wound back inland. Chris worked her phone, I smoked my cigarettes. We played the AC/DC disc several times. I liked how the singer’s voice sounded scratchy. I kept expecting him to cough or clear his throat, but he just kept belting out the tracks with that coarse voice.
We’d been back on the road a couple of hours when we passed through Tallahassee. I eased up on the accelerator a bit. We were making good time, and I didn’t want a speeding ticket to slow me down.
We stopped again for gas and snacks. The diner next to the gas station didn’t look appealing.
“They like things fried in the south, don’t they?” Chris said.
“You’ve no idea,” I said.
We skipped the snacks.
It was evening by the time we hit West Jacksonville, the sunset in my rearview mirror. Chris had a phone app that spoke directions while I made the turns and changes through town. It wasn’t long before we sat in the parking lot of Lilly Bett’s apartment complex.
“What kind of car does she have?” I said.
“A little red sports car of some sort,” Chris said.
I drove through the complex. Only four main buildings—small for this area. I spotted a few cars I thought might be hers, but Chris said no to each one.
“I think she has a unit on one of the corners.”
“I’m not seeing anything. We’re going to attract attention circling around here in the dark like this.”
“I don’t think she’s home,” Chris said. “I know she works, or used to work, at a beach bar.”
I was tired of driving. Even though I felt a sense of urgency to find Bucky, I didn’t want to drive the remaining few miles to the coast.
“Let’s find a motel. Something nearby,” I said. “Get some dinner. We can find her tomorrow.”
***
Chris stepped out of the motel bathroom, her breasts and midsection covered by a white towel. Another towel wrapped her hair.
The room had two single beds. I sat at the table smoking a joint and having a plastic motel cup of Jim Beam. “So what was all that mumbling about earlier?” I said.
“What mumbling?” She sat on the corner of one of the beds. She unwrapped her hair, rubbed at it with the towel.
“About self-control.”
“Oh, that. I just mean you don’t seem to have any.”
“Elaborate,” I said.
“I admit, I don’t know you well yet. But you seem impulsive. You react to emotion, desire, things that bring pleasure.”
“No more than anybody else,” I said. “Some people are just sneaky about it. I don’t put myself through that.”
“Still. Self-control is a thing. Whether you choose to exercise it or not.”
“I’m actually controlling myself right now,” I said. “By enjoying this joint and not reacting to you.”
“That doesn’t count. Let me show you.” She stood, walked over to me. “Uncross your legs.”
I was wearing a flirty denim skirt and a loose button-up top. I did as she said. She took her hands and pushed my knees apart.
I raised an eyebrow.
“We’re playing a game,” she said. “To prove you have no self-control.”
I just looked up at her. She was warm from the shower, smelled like soap and shampoo.
“Just ignore me,” she said.
Chris removed her towel.
She was about my size in every way except her breasts. Where mine were small and hardly noticeable under my top, hers were larger, firm, perfectly round like two flesh-colored grapefruits on her chest. Her nipples were dark and erect. Her tummy was flat, giving way to angular hips and creamy thighs. An impossibly black tuft of hair right in the center of her.
She put her hands against my shoulders and pushed me back into the chair. She leaned into me, her damp hair cascaded around my face. There was a hint of coco butter.
“You can’t touch me,” she said. “Those are the rules.”
She pressed her face to within an inch of mine. I looked into her deep, black eyes. Her warm breath fell across my lips and smelled of mint toothpaste. I couldn’t help but react, my eyes closing a fraction.
One side of her pretty mouth curled just a bit. A crescent-shaped wrinkle creased her face next to the corner of her lips.
I’d never seen anyone so beautiful. I wanted to pull her face to mine, wrap my legs around her, pull her between my thighs.
“If I don’t touch you,” I said. “What do I win?”
“Bragging rights. You’ve proven you have self-control.”
“You think you’re that hot?”
“Just a game,” she said.
She stood taller and pressed her perfect breasts near my face but not touching.
“What do I get if I lose?”
“You get to touch me,” she said.
The coco butter smell from her skin was overwhelming. I sat there enjoying the sight of her, the nearness of her perfect body, longing to touch her.
She leaned close to my ear. “And I’ll touch you too,” she said.
I leaned away from her. I picked up the joint from the table.
She backed away.
I relit it and took a deep drag.
“You win,” she said and smiled. She grabbed a t-shirt and put it on.
“You can leave my bragging rights on the table.” My voice sounded funny because I was holding in my smoke.
“Doesn’t prove anything,” she said. “Maybe you don’t like girls.” She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, unplugged the charging cord. “I’m going to call River.”
I held up the rest of the joint. “I’ll take this outside. Give you some privacy.”
I got up, went out the door, followed the sidewalk along the parking lot and around the wing of rooms to the pool in back. The red-brick sun deck was dimly lit. The pool had lights inside that made the water shimmer.
I selected a lounge chair and reclined in it. I lit up the joint, took a long drag until my lungs were full, and stared up at the fat moon while I held the smoke. The night was sticky hot. I unbuttoned most of the buttons on my white, sleeveless blouse, keeping only the one between my breasts fastened, and pulled my short skirt up just a bit.
There was the smell of water and chlorine from the pool but also another natural aquatic smell from the lake nearby.
Part of me wanted to call Enola.
Another part of me didn’t want to.
I thought about Chris. How annoying she could be but also how beautiful she was. How her warm breath felt on my face…
My lungs burned and I released my smoke.
Insects buzzed by me in the humid night air. Nothing was biting me, though.
I took another draw on the joint.
The faint sound of footsteps drew my attention. I smoothed my skirt out and checked the button on my shirt. A guy approached. A kid, maybe seventeen. Short blonde hair, white t-shirt with a surfer print, khaki shorts. He looked up from the phone display glowing in his hand at me. He stared at me as he neared the pool. His head turned to watch me as he walked by.
I blew out my smoke and stuck my tongue out at him.
He flipped his middle finger at me.
I cracked a smile.
He grinned, shook his head, and walked on.
I finished the joint. Felt more relaxed. I had a good buzz going, rubbed my hands against my bare arms. The sensation was exquisite. I thought I might have some X in my purse. The bed beckoned. So did the pink vibrator but I wouldn’t be able to use it. Not with Chris in the bed next to mine.
***
I woke to the sound of soft footsteps. The room was dark but for faint light from the parking lot spilling around the drapes. It was the middle of the night.
I rolled over. It was Chris. Probably going to the bathroom.
Her knee pressed on my mattress; then she was on top of me, straddling my waist.
“Chris?”
She leaned in close. Her voice was breathless. “I can’t stand it.”
Her hair spilled across my face. She pressed her lips to mine.
I pulled back. “I’m not sure I can,” I said.
“What? Why not?”
“You’re kinda like the annoying little sister I never had.”
“The game’s over, all right? You won. You won!”
She leaned in and kissed me again, pressed her body against mine, then I couldn’t stand it any longer either.
I slipped my hand down to her crotch. She wasn’t wearing panties. My slick fingers told me everything I needed to know about self-control.
EIGHT
WE CRUISED THE parking lot of Lilly Bett’s apartment complex. Red sports cars, but not the one we were looking for.
“This isn’t good,” I said.
“I don’t get it,” Chris said. “This is the kind of girl that would say something online if she got a new car or changed apartments.”
“We’re losing too much time. Bucky has a day on us already, and every minute we waste is a minute he’s stretching that lead by.”
“He doesn’t have a day on us. We left right after he did.”
“Assuming this was the direction he traveled in.”
“Maybe we try to find him in South Carolina?”
&
nbsp; I considered it. It would take a few hours to get there. Then we’d actually have to locate him or his family. “Not yet. This is the most solid thing we have to go on, and we’re already here. Let’s make sure before we move on.”
“We can try the beach bar where she works. If she spent the night somewhere else, like a boyfriend’s, she’d have to show up at the job sooner or later.”
“If she’s scheduled to work today.”
“Have you been out of circulation that long?” Chris said. “It’s Friday. Everybody works the bar on Fridays.”
She was right. “It’s early. If we’re going to kill time at the beach, we need bikinis and sunscreen.”
***
“Shit. It’s hot as balls out here,” I said.
“We can take a boat ride,” Chris said. She looked silly in her wide-brim floppy hat and shades. She wore more on her head and face than on the rest of her body. Her skimpy white bikini accentuated her black hair.
“No way I’m going out in that.” My god the ocean was big and deep and just went on forever. I was content with walking the beach along the wet sand where the waves washed over my feet. It was a weekday and the beach wasn’t crowded. The feel of the wet sand crunching under my bare feet and the rush of the warm water through my toes felt heavenly.
I fished a joint out of my bag, lit it, passed it to her.
“You trying to get me hooked on that shit?”
“You have to try it a few times before you know whether you like it. Besides, your girlfriend’s a drug dealer.”
“But I don’t partake.” She said it with her breath held, but I understand that language.
“It’s vegan weed.”
She stifled a chuckle.
“Besides, alcohol is the worst for you. This stuff isn’t so hard on the body.”
“You sound just like River.”
“So tell me about this cool setup River has with her business.”
“We have a small niche, but it’s growing. And most of all it’s safe.”
“Safe? You keep saying that. This isn’t a safe business.”
“Local law.”
“Wow.”
“No shit. We’ve totally got the sheriff wrapped around our little pinkies.”