“Feel like sharing a drink?” she asked, cocking her head again in a way that Virgil was already starting to like.
Virgil, you dumb son of a bitch, he thought to himself. You know damn well this would be a good time to march yourself out to the car and get on home.
He motioned toward the chair.
“We pretty well stomped all over your tranquility,” she said. “Sorry for that.”
“It happens,” Virgil replied. “Looks like your boyfriend picked the wrong bartender.”
“Ex-boyfriend,” she chuckled, adding: “He just can’t seem to get that through his head.”
Flashing a smile that seemed to say that the unpleasantness of a few moments ago was hereby banished, she held out her hand.
“Molly, Molly Marshall,”
“Virgil,” he replied, sensing he was already in trouble.
“Well, Virgil, a few moments ago your look said that the last thing you want tonight is to have someone unload all her woe on you, so how about we talk about the good things in life?”
“Works for me,” he said.
“What do you like to do when you’re not busy bringing the paycheck home?” she asked.
“Oh, I enjoy playing a little piano, walks in the park, picnics, reading, things like that. How ‘bout you?”
“Piano, eh? I played until I went to college, then I just kinda drifted away, I guess. These days I write a bit, easier than lugging a piano around.”
“Really,” said Virgil, “what do you write?”
“Oh, a little poetry, and a novel that never seems to get finished,” she answered.
“Expect you can find a lot to write about in Washington.”
“Yeah, if you like seedy novels,” she replied. “Oops, there I go. Sorry, just the good things.” She smiled broadly and Virgil knew for sure then that he should have gone home.
He’d avoided asking her what she does, even though he was curious, since he was hoping she wouldn’t ask him. So far, so good, he thought. But there was something bothering him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. She was just too easy to be with, like stumbling onto an empty lounge chair and a fruity rum drink on a secluded white beach surrounded by turquoise blue water You just told yourself it was OK, then sat down and enjoyed, even though you knew it shouldn’t be there.
They both started to say something, then laughed. A uncomfortable silence told them that the conversation had reached the point where it either got personal or inane going forward. He knew why he’d avoided the personal, but wondered what her reasons were, aside from the good things and all that.
“Mind if I ask you what you do?” she said, at least asking permission of sorts before going there.
“I work for the government,” he replied, hoping that would be enough but suspecting it wouldn’t. She paused for a moment.
“That’s OK,” she said, “I can take a hint. I’ll respect your privacy.”
At least she’s got class, he thought. He knew he had to have at least ten years on her and he reminded himself that no one would likely confuse him with Brad Pitt. So why are we still sitting here having this conversation? he wondered to himself. He didn’t want to admit to himself that at this point his little head had started doing more of the talking . . . and thinking.
“A silver dollar for your thoughts,” she said.
“At least you’re not cheap,” he chuckled. After pausing for a moment, he replied: “O.K. I won’t lie to you. I know I’m not too bad looking, but I’ve been around enough blocks to know I’m not exactly in your league. So I find myself wondering why we’re sitting here.” The truth or consequences moment had arrived. He didn’t know if he was ready for it.
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. I happen to think you’re very interesting or I wouldn’t have wandered over here,” she said.
O.K. so it’s the consequences moment, his big head thought to itself. But his little head wasn’t giving up. Sometimes people are just attracted to each other. It sounded hollow, but his little head was trying hard to sell it. And his big head wasn’t trying hard enough not to buy.
Noticing his turmoil, she tried to come to the rescue. “The side of me that loves poetry tells me sometimes that I shouldn’t always look for motives in everything, that my negative side tends to demean things.”
She is good, he thought to himself. Very good. But his big head had recovered slightly. Maybe the booze is wearing off. Just when he thought it had things under control, the question popped out.
“If you don’t have any plans for dinner Friday night . . . ” he began. Damn it, man, sometimes you do the dumbest things, he thought, managing to keep the smile on his face while he kicked himself.
“I would enjoy that very much,” she finished the sentence.
They chatted for several more minutes, during which time he managed not to sink any deeper into the fool’s role and actually sounded a bit suave, he thought. Finally, after a pause in the conversation he said:
“I assume your boyfriend didn’t bother leaving you the car, do you need a lift home?”
“It’s aways and I don’t want to put you out,” she replied.
“No bother,” he said, reaching for her coat.
It had turned chilly outside and he pulled his top coat together at the neck. Then he felt her take his arm. It felt good, real good, and he didn’t bother asking his big head what it thought.
As the Lincoln turned out of the parking lot and headed east, he noticed a car parked down the street with two men sitting in it. As he passed by, he glanced over; neither was her boyfriend. Molly reached over and turned on the radio; then she leaned back against the headrest and began to hum softly to the music. Her voice was sweet.
He was already starting to get used to being with her, but the air in the parking lot had been cold enough to put his little head in its place for the moment, and he was now thinking with the other one.
A beautiful woman just happens into a bar where I seldom drink, she and her boyfriend have an argument and she ends up alone and at my table being very, very friendly. Coincidence? Perhaps, but the liquor had worn off and something didn’t feel right.
“Where you from, Molly?” he tried to ask casually. She seemed to sense that the mood had changed but didn’t want to go in that direction.
“Boston,” she replied sweetly.
He laughed. “You do sound like Boston,” he said, trying to continue to be disarming.
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” she said. “How about you?”
“I was born in Minnesota, but we moved around a lot, so it’s hard to call anyplace home.”
A glance in the rearview told him that the parked car had pulled out and was now a block and a half or so behind them. He decided to do a little wandering. After cornering a few times, she asked:
“Scenic route?”
“Not exactly. Probably my imagination, but I was curious about a car that’s staying a block behind us. Comes from my days in the military, I guess. You know, watch your six ‘n’ all.” He turned his head toward her, looking for any reaction, any reaction at all. She looked straight ahead. Funny, he thought. Most people would turn around.
“Not curious?” he said matter-of-factly.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean most people would turn around to see who’s following.”
“Guess I’m not that curious,” she said.
That’s not very convincing, he thought. Not nearly as convincing as you’ve been all evening.
Suddenly he pulled over and stopped. Then he looked in his rearview. This time she turned around to see the other car pull over about a couple of blocks behind them.
“Who are they?” he said.
“I have no idea,” came the reply.
“Who are they?” he said, this time louder, turning and looking straight at her.
She looked at him like he‘d suddenly lost his mind. He was starting to wonder if he had just blown a fortunate enc
ounter, but it was a little late to think of that now.
“I told you I don’t know and I meant it,” she said quietly but tensely. He desperately wanted to believe that this beautiful woman had really taken a shine to him and those two guys following them were pure coincidence, but he hadn’t made it through combat and a national election by being stupid.
“Don’t lie to me,” he said menacingly. He shoved the shifter into gear and the big car shot forward, it’s tires squealing.
“I want to get out,” she said. There was no reply.
“I said, let me out! Damn it.” He pulled over to the curb.
“In case you haven’t noticed,” he turned to her. “We’re in, what shall I call it . . . an unwelcoming area. Perhaps you could hitch a ride home with one of those pimps or crack dealers over there. I’m sure they’d love to help a pretty woman like yourself.” She glanced out the side where a set of gleaming gold teeth framed by a disgusting smile greeted her.
“What do you want?” she said.
“I want to know who you’re working for,” he said. She thought about it for awhile.
“Look, I don’t know who those men are and I’m not working for anyone. I took you for a sympathetic soul and I leaned on your shoulder, that’s all.”
“Save it,” he spat out. “It worked for awhile; actually you were quite good. But it’s over. Make a choice, level with me or face the consequences.”
“What consequences?”
“Think it over. You know who I am. If we tool over to DCPD and I tell them you’re a hooker who tried to roll me, who do you think they’re going to believe? I’d bet this month’s salary that if they run you, they’ll come up a list of priors.” He was winging it here, he knew, but he was banking on her being out of her territory and out of her depth.
“You’re full of shit,” she said angrily.”
“How much are they paying you?” he said, more gently now. She thought for awhile, but said nothing. “O.K. Play it that way. He did a tire-squealing huey and burned rubber back the way they’d come, surprising the hell out of the two men who had been following them. As he passed their car, he did his best imitation of a Roger Moore hello wave. He also thought to himself that somehow they didn’t look like they were from Boston.
Where are we going?” she asked.
“DCPD, I told you.”
“I want to speak to my lawyer,” she said.
“I’m sure they’ll allow you to do that,” he replied.
“Look, can’t we come to some sort of an accommodation?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I swear I don’t know who those men were. I was just supposed to take you home and have a little fun.”
He made a quick right turn and then a left and another right until he thought he’d lost their tail. You dumb son of a bitch, I told you, you aren’t that irresistible. It was bad enough that his quiet evening had practically turned into a car chase, but he’d made a fool of himself, too. So much for swearing off women.
Once they’d cleared drug central, he found a spot to pull over and turned off the engine.
“I guess this is where we come to the part about friends,” he said.
“What do you mean?” she replied.
“Once your friends find out you’ve blown the assignment, I’m guessing they won’t be very happy. Somehow, I’m also thinking they probably aren’t really your friends, you know, like people who go out of their way to help you when they have nothing to gain. And I’d be willing to wager my next month’s paycheck that if they had to bail you out of jail, it would be sayonara, or maybe something worse. Am I right?” Her look said yes.
“I’ve got a pretty good idea how it was that we came to meet tonight. And in case you’re interested, it has to do with a lot of innocent deaths and some people who couldn’t give a damn.”
“So tell me,” he continued. “We were supposed to go back to your place, and at the most inopportune moment, a couple of thugs barge in and start taking pictures. Am I right?”
“Something like that,” she said. “Only without the thugs.”
He thought for a moment. “Did they think I’d just parade around naked for you while you clicked your cell phone a few times?”
“There’s a camera in my purse,” she said. “All I have to do is make sure it’s got a good view of the bed and press a gadget in my pocket. The camera does the rest, I don’t even have to take it out of my purse; there’s a little peephole.”
“So what about the guys in the car?” he asked.
“I don’t know anything about them. There wasn’t supposed to be any violence. Tomorrow I’m supposed to meet my contact for lunch and give him the purse, that’s all. He hands me another five grand and the return ticket to Boston, that’s all.”
“Who’s the contact?” he asked.
“Some guy who’s well-connected, I don’t even know his real name. Look, if they find out I blew it, they’re gonna want more than their down payment back. When I said these guys are well-connected, I meant it. Nobody I know has ever made them mad, at least nobody who’s still around.”
Virgil thought for awhile.
“All right,” he said. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” He started the car after checking his mirror and pulled out into the street.
“We’re going to go back to my place and make them think everything’s going according to plan. Only tomorrow when you meet your contact, you’re going to tell him I got drunk and fell asleep with my clothes on. You’re gonna tell him that I fell head over heels for you” – not far from the truth, he thought uncomfortably – “and not to worry, we’re going to have dinner tomorrow and then go back to my place again to finish the job.”
“So what happens when they figure out I blew them off? You know, after you’ve used me and don’t give a shit anymore?”
“Your going to have to trust me,” he said, looking at her square in the eye.
“Oh yeah, first I try to make dirty movies with you and destroy your career, and now I’m supposed to trust you. Do I really look that stupid?”
“You better just face it, Molly. Your plan’s already blown and your friends are going to find out when you can’t deliver the product. You can either go back to them on your hands and knees and hope for the best, or you’re gonna have to trust me. I’m pretty well connected too, at least in this town. I’ve got friends who are quite capable of persuading your buddies in Boston that it would be in their best interest to forgive and forget when it comes to you. And I can get you a job, a real job, the kind without car chases and secret videos. How ‘bout it, Molly. Ready for a change?”
“Doesn’t sound like I have a choice,” she spat out. “Not much of a fucking choice.”
******
On the way home, Virgil found himself looking up at the rearview mirror. He wasn’t sure if Molly had leveled with him, but something told him she had. But that left the two men who had been following them. That someone might want to dig up some dirt would hardly be surprising, given the waves he’d been making in the Senate lately. There were any number of possible candidates when it came to who was behind this. The DNC, any one of several Super Pacs, those members of the press who routinely carry the Democrats’ water, his ex . . .
Molly had been staring straight ahead, having not uttered a word since he’d confronted her. He wasn’t entirely certain she’d decided to cross the line between her current employer and what he was offering her. They played hardball in Boston; he knew that. She had to be very scared now.
Twenty minutes later they turned into his drive. As he locked the car, he glanced up and down the empty street. Once inside, he rearmed the alarm system and took her coat.
“The guest room is upstairs on the left. If you need anything, I’ll be down here for awhile.” She didn’t even look up at him, just turning and trudging up the stairs. A part of him liked it better when she was playing him, at least it felt good. But the thought of having a lew
d film, in which he was the star, circulating in the press and online made him shudder. He forced himself to focus on what he had to get done before tomorrow noon.
22
‘Greasy spoon’ would be a compliment, thought Molly as she watched Chuck eat a hamburger that was dripping grease onto his plate. His fries glistened with whatever oily substance they had been cooked in. She figured that was the reason Chuck had insisted on meeting here, because it was just the sort of place she detested, and he knew it. Ever since she had rebuffed his clumsy advance, he’d done his best to be obnoxious.
“Did ya get it?” he asked, as he squeezed the plastic catsup bottle, its sputtering sound the perfect counterpoint to his disgusting persona.
“No,” she replied, relishing another opportunity to piss him off.
“What da ya mean?” he asked angrily, a greasy piece of burger tumbling out of his mouth.
“I mean no,” she answered, looking directly into his eyes. “He got drunk and passed out.”
“So what the fuck!” Chuck said. “I don’t give a shit if you screw his corpse, as long as you get it on tape.”
“Is that what you like to do, Chuckie, screw dead bodies?” she retorted, enjoying her taunt.
“Look, you fucking bitch,” he said, spraying spittle on the table. “I might just arrange to screw yours if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
“Relax, perv. He fell for me and I’m going to spend the night with him. You’ll get your sleazy little video.”
“When?” he asked.
“Tomorrow,” she replied.
“Yeah, well it better be tomorrow,” he said, wiping a gob of catsup off his mouth with a cheap paper napkin.
The disgusting spectacle made Clifford glad he’d decided to skip breakfast. He’d had his hands full this morning anyway just getting ready for the job he’d only found out about last night. He played back the sound; everything was crystal clear, same with the video. Virgil’s lady friend is a handful, he thought to himself as he watched her turn her back defiantly on the dirt bag from Boston. The thug just glared at her back as she walked away, the toothpick twitching between his lips.
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