by Mark Henry
“Never mind them,” Wade said, squeezing behind the wheel and pushing open the door for her. “I didn’t peg you for an autograph collector.”
She slammed her butt into the seat beside him, cringing. “I’m not and I’d never. Not hers. Not unless you know some voodoo.”
“That’s a different branch of Catholicism and they’re not on our side when it comes to the no possession rule. They actually welcome it.”
“Never mind.”
Luce startled when knuckles rapped against her window. She looked up to see Hitch and unrolled the window a crack, trying to play it off, she could be hot, after all, they’d just run less than a quarter of a block, whatever.
“I got this, Luce,” Hitch said, turning a scowl toward the van and then darting in that direction.
Wade put the car into drive and left her high school nemesis, her lackey, and Luce’s imaginary friend in the dust. She wondered for a minute what Hitch had in mind. His last interaction with Polly had not ended pleasantly.
A slow smile spread across her mouth.
“I could use a drink,” she said, turning toward Wade. The vengeance sizzling inside her had an interesting side effect. “And some sex.”
Wade’s mouth dropped open. “Well, we know two things about Lucid Montgomery. She can kick ass and shock the shit out of me. You know how to drop bombs, woman.”
Her smile only widened.
Wade pulled the Porsche in front of the Portland Grand and handed a twenty to the valet to keep it running at the curb while they checked in. The lobby, vast, marbled, and full of people drinking cocktails and mingling overwhelmed Luce. She’d been to some swanky places before, but had never stayed in a hotel like this.
“Is this the type of place you normally stay on these little excursions?” she asked.
When Wade didn’t answer, she noticed that he had passed her by as she ogled the scale and luxury of the hotel. She skittered forward to catch up with him at the front desk only to find him pleading in an uncharacteristic tone with the hotel manager.
“Can you bill my agency?”
“I’m sorry, sir. There’s nothing we can do. Perhaps cash?”
“I just told you, I gave my last twenty to the valet.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“You know what’s unfortunate? That I can’t beat your ass. Twice.” Wade lunged over the counter, but the manager merely stepped back and chuckled.
Wade seethed. Luce crammed herself between the big man and the counter. “You’ll use mine then,” she said confidently, though the clerks snide smile didn’t change, rather ruffled his hipster-stache even further.
Luce fumbled in her purse and pulled out her wallet. Of the three cards she was paying on, only one wasn’t maxed out, but it was close. It would depend on how much the hotel would charge.
Luce slapped the card onto the ledge in front of the manager. He sighed and slipped it out of sight, scanned it, leaving Luce to glance up at a disheveled Wade. The man was clearly not used to minor slipups. His jaw had the hardened look of a teeth-grinder and his eyes were cast skyward, clearly berating himself. She wondered what the man’s inner dialogue sounded like. Was it brusque and brutal as she imagined he would be in a confrontation or was it softer, a supportive mantra to ease himself through the tough times. In the end she decided on the former, particularly after seeing the size of the fists clenched at his sides.
“Declined,” the manager said, any pretense of sympathy gone from his weasel-face. He glared directly at Luce as he handed her the card back, making her take it from between his fingers rather than laying it before her as common decency dictates.
“Asshole,” she responded, snatching it back and knocking over his pen cup. The plastic missiles scattered around them and as he knelt to begin retrieving them, Luce smiled as the marble cup rolled across the desk and pegged the jerk in the head.
Wade was already pounding feet to the door, carting both pieces of their luggage with him. Though Luce was a little embarrassed, she figured she had more experience with this kind of thing than her new partner if the rosy flush on the back of his neck was any indication. She rushed after him, catching him as he tossed the luggage into the car.
“Hey! You know what’d be fun?” she asked, punching him in the arm.
“What?” he snapped.
“If I take you out for a celebration burger. I haven’t had a second to pat myself on the back for getting a job and I like nothing more than a fat-ass self-congratulatory calorie-fest. I bet you could take down some fries.”
Wade nodded, softening, but only slightly. “I could eat.”
A few minutes later they were scarfing down cheeseburgers and sharing a greasy bag full of fries. Wade moaned a bit as he bit into the juicy meat. “You were right,” he said. “Just the thing.”
“Food is love. I read that somewhere. And who doesn’t need a little love?”
He grunted, though the words caught in the air between them and they mutually decided to let them clear before continuing.
They sat across from each other at the picnic table, their tray a scow of fast-food trash, crumpled tin foil, bun fragments, and the ever-present french fries with the weird black spots that showed up in nearly every batch. Wade had pulled those out and discarded them immediately and now he sat watching Luce as she talked about her last job, something impermanent and dull. It was the shape of her mouth that fixed him, full and red and he imagined kissing her again, swiping the trash from the table, climbing over it and taking her.
Luce lowered her head to catch his eye. “Do you even realize you’re fingering that knothole?”
Following her glance toward the table, Wade was surprised to see his own fingers—like they were a thing, separate from him—stroking the circular dips and grooves.
“That’s weird, right?” he said, jerking his hand away.
She winced. “How do you expect the table to get off now? And it was so close.”
Wade couldn’t help but burst out laughing at Luce’s quick retort. She was so smart it was unsettling. Sister Mary-Agnes was so quick to write her off, too. Confusing crazy with stupid was a huge mistake on her part. In fact, Wade didn’t think he’d met a woman that could both confound and intrigue him to the point of blocking out every worry.
“Let’s take a walk,” he said, gripping the tray and dumping it into the can behind them.
A block away the city fell back and a riverside park took its place. Wade walked Luce along the promenade listening to her chat away and bumping arms occasionally, or more than that.
“I have a theory,” she said. “About when we almost hooked up in the alley outside Weiner’s.”
“Yeah?”
“I think you were there as a distraction. You thought maybe I could help you to take your mind off stuff. Off your partner. I think you might use sex as in a way that isn’t altogether healthy.”
Wade did a dry spit-take. “Uh. Are you my analyst?”
“I’m your friend. Your partner, right.”
He nodded, though he wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to quite yet.
“I just thought I should put it out there,” she said. “I’m not very good at keeping secrets. And I’ve been thinking about this since it happened and since we’ve gotten to know each other a little bit.”
“Well…” Wade debated on whether to validate Luce or just completely deny it and decided to take a chance. “Yeah. Yes. It’s true.”
“You have a pretty thick wall that you throw up. It’s like a partition, so you don’t really connect.” Luce slapped her hands together and rubbed them together for effect. “You just skim over the possibility of a connection.”
“Wow.”
“Honestly, if I’m completely off base, just tell me. I’m terrible at dealing with my own shit, but I’m oddly insightful into everyone else. I used to be hell on wheels in group therapy.”
Wade spotted a bench and, reaching for Luce’s hand, led her over and sank onto it. S
he was right, of course, she had seen right through his distancing of her, as well. He didn’t want to. He knew that much.
“So why were you in group therapy?” Wade asked, having a hard time imagining this woman, so irreverent and bold stationed at clock point of a circle of paper-robed mental patients.
Luce stared at him for a minute and he assumed that she was sussing out whether he was trustworthy enough to hold her secrets, but maybe that wasn’t quite right.
“Because I’m crazy. Isn’t that what you all think?”
Wade cringed. “It’s not. No.”
“Listen. You’ve got your shit. I’ve got mine.” She pointed to a couple walking past. “They’ve got theirs.”
Wade shook his head. “You know, I’m looking at you like you’re a magician here, but seriously, most men are pretty emotionally guarded. It’s kind of bred into us.”
“I don’t disagree. I’m just saying that the demonic possession of your father. The deaths that follow you. You have more reason than most to build walls…and look for distractions. I’m not saying you shouldn’t. I’m just saying, be aware of it.”
Wade nodded slowly and slipped his hand under her wrist, settling in around her delicate fingers.
She looked down, startled but grinning. “Does this mean we’re not going to keep it strictly professional?”
“Nah. We’ll do that, as much as possible. It just means I’m okay with you punching a few bricks out of my wall and taking a peek. You’re quite unusual, Lucid Montgomery.”
He took a drag off his straw, delicious strawberry milkshake rolling over his tongue.
“More than you know.” She glanced off in the distance as though looking for someone and then hooked her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Now let’s get a room, stud.”
And with that, the sidewalk took an even coating of pink milk as Wade sprayed. “Uh.” He gurgled. “What?”
“Because we don’t have one, obviously. Not because I’m going to jump your bones. Jesus. And I bet your paperwork says I’m the schizophrenic.”
Wade shuddered with laughter. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard. When he stopped, he managed to bring the conversation to some appropriate boss-employee closure. “We’re going to keep that kind of psychological assessment to a minimum, right?”
Luce nodded. “Absolutely, let’s keep what we have very shallow and insincere.”
“That sounds awesome.”
“So, listen,” Luce said, nodding her agreement. “I may not have Portland Grand kind of credit, but I can get us into a motel for the night. We might need to share a room, though.”
Wade’s brow creased suspiciously.
“Don’t worry.” Luce threw her hands up in surrender. “I’m only going to molest you a little bit. I don’t want to go back to prison or anything. They have horrible fries in the joint.”
Wade stared out the front window as he talked. “You’re good at this,” he said.
“Good at what?” she asked, munching.
“You know how to calm me down.”
“I got your back,” she said.
He locked eyes on hers and nodded. “I think you just might.”
…
Having greased their systems sufficiently, Luce thumbed through her phone and found them a place on the eastside of town, a grungy establishment that smelled of patchouli and crushed dreams called the Brink of Sanity Inn.
No more than a strip motel with a bad roof and a desk clerk with a nasty case of meth-mouth, the Inn was nevertheless in Luce’s price range, which is to say, the same as most prostitute’s. But destitution had its perks, including, as they soon found out arriving at the room and flouncing onto the queen-size bed. Twenty-five cent vibra-action!
“Massage bed, y’all!” Luce cried, slipping a quarter into the slot and bouncing around violently. She couldn’t say that the vibra-action was soothing exactly, more like the bed had broken free of the room and was racing over a pothole-laden road but when she was finally bucked free, she did feel a bit looser in her joints.
“Reminded me of an exorcism,” Wade said, smiling.
Luce grinned. “So glad, you were able to bounce back from that bs earlier. Everyone makes mistakes, Wade. It just means you’re human…also forgetful.” She thought again. “And kind of a hotel snob. You never heard of a Holiday Inn? Jesus.”
“I like to stay in nice places.” Wade shrugged. “It’s like a reprieve from the hellholes that we end up in chasing the possessed. You’ll find that out soon enough.”
“What, the Tiger Lounge doesn’t sound classy?”
“Nope. But we’ll know for sure, soon. I figure we figure out the sleeping arrangements and then go case the place. Formulate a plan.”
“Sounds good.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
They stood staring at the bed and then each other, then back at the bed. Luce waiting for Wade to suggest she take it while he curled up on the floor. But then she looked at the floor and could have sworn she saw a parade of ants carrying away fingernail clippings and decided to speak up first.
“I think the only fair thing to do about the bed is to construct a friend wall.”
“Friend wall?”
“Yeah, we roll up the bedspread and lay it down the center. In a place like this, the covers are rarely washed, so even in our sleep we’ll be reticent to touch it. I mean, I saw a news special where they sprayed one of these bad boys with luminal and I’m pretty sure there were crabs carting around fertilized eggs all over it. They’re dangerous.”
“I sleep in the nude,” Wade said, humorlessly. “Is that going to be a problem?”
Luce struggled to find the words. Could he be serious? Because Wade certainly appeared to be serious. “Um…” She began, her eyes drifting around his head rather than looking him directly in the eye.
She thought back to her initial reaction to him, of that fleeting fantasy of going further with him, their brutal, aggressive lovemaking. But even then she hadn’t imagined him naked, except for the crotchal area.
“Um…”
Wade cracked a smile.
“Oh! I see, you’re messing with me!”
“Actually, no. I do sleep commando, but I won’t tonight. Not now that you’ve torn back the veil, exposing motel-bedspread horrors. I won’t be crossing the demilitarized zone.”
“I’ll just sleep on the floor. It’s really not a problem.” Wade pulled a ratty blanket from the closet shelf, and folding it in half lengthwise, whipped it out across the grungy floor with a single flick. “When I was at the monastery, I slept on cots thinner than the carpet in this place.”
Luce’s mouth fell open. “Hold up. Wait. Monastery? You can’t just say something like that and just move on.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Well, either way, you could ignite Thorn Birds fantasies. It’s like throwing a sex grenade into a knitting circle.”
Wade shook his head. The girl definitely had a knack for words, whether he understood them or not. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It’s the whole defrocked-priest thing; it’s like crack for lonely single women…or not single. All women.”
Wade shrugged off the comment and attempted to take the pillow from his side of the bed, but Luce bounded atop the mattress and snatched it out of his hands.
“No way.” She swiped the blanket up off the floor and rolled it into a bolster, which she laid out from headboard to foot. “See? We each get a side. I’ll sleep over here and you can be closest to the bathroom so I don’t have to watch you sneak your morning boner around the bed when you wake up. That’s always awkward.”
If Wade had been drinking, that would have been a spit-take moment. Instead he let the laughter come. There wasn’t anything else to do. Luce had made up her mind and Wade didn’t see any point at arguing it. “All right. If you’re sure.”
“I am.” Luce pulled a tee out of her bag and strode past him
to the bathroom door. “This would be a good time to figure out your sleeping attire. In case you were wondering?” She began to close the door between them and stopped. “But don’t for a second think you’re off the hook for that monastery story.”
The door shut and Wade stared at it for a moment. The situation had become a bit precarious and his initial instinct was to sleep with his clothes on, which would beg an argument, particularly from someone as outspoken as Luce. In the end, he opted for comfort. He could rely on his willpower to keep something from happening between them. He shook his head. He was being presumptuous. Luce hadn’t given the impression that she’d ever have anything to do with him again…sexually. The banter was one thing, the hand holding another. And he wasn’t sure he wanted it to progress anyway.
Who was he kidding?
He wanted it then, the next morning and on several occasions since and now. But he needed to lock that shit down.
Be smooth about it. Not obvious.
Wade unbuckled his belt and pushed down his jeans. Boxers would be fine, he figured. They were just like shorts. It’s not like he wore the tight-fitting kind. He had some, but those were for dates, which didn’t really explain why there were two pair in his duffel. On the other hand—Luce’s warning about his morning pee-hard echoing—boxers didn’t bind him in like the boxer briefs would.
He rushed across to his bag and dug out a pair. Red. Wade stared at the underwear, grimacing.
No, he thought, cramming them back into the bag. Definitely not.
The next pair was a slightly more conservative gray. He held them out and nodded decisively. Bingo. Adequate coverage and the TV-static color was decent camouflage, he supposed. Wade wasn’t about to parade around for the woman, but if certain biological necessities were to occur, precautions would be in place, barriers…for her safety, of course.
He could hear her scrambling with her clothes behind the door.
Wade hunched over quickly and pushed his jeans and boxers to his ankles, just as the door opened behind him. Stunned, he froze, crack in the air gawping at the grin exploding onto his partner’s face.
Luce couldn’t believe her eyes, or more accurately, she could. She’d known it all along. Since the moment in the lobby of The Parts Department when she’d caught him publicly bonered.