Dirty

by Debra Webb

  Lips shining with enough sex appeal to make Mona Lisa jealous, Donna turned to me and continued, “He’s young, handsome, and you’re attracted to him. Take him to bed and get it over with.”

  Before I could protest, Mary Jane jumped to my defense. “Have you lost your mind?” she shouted over the dryer as she rubbed her freshly washed hands furiously beneath it. “Dawson works for her? She’s his boss. They can’t...” she shuddered visibly “...do it! That’s not proper.”

  Donna peered heavenward and braced against the counter as if the whole concept made her feel faint. “Please, this is the twenty-first century. There’s nothing more dangerous to a woman’s well being than running around horny.” She shrugged her Chanel tented shoulders. “It’s like food, she’ll end up binging and waking up feeling guiltier than a priest who strayed and got caught.”

  Shari held up both hands in a gesture of stop. “Enough, ladies. Etiquette isn’t the issue here. Jackie’s feelings should be paramount.” She looked from one to the other then rested her penetrating gaze upon me. “Do you want to have sex with Dawson?”

  I almost laughed. That was like asking the Dallas Cowboys if they wanted to win the next Super Bowl. “Yes and no.” A collective ah-ha went around the room. Just then a commode flushed and since I was looking at all three of my friends (and still I instantly did a swift head count to make sure) I felt my knees go weak with my second onslaught of mortification for the day.

  The woman, thankfully someone I didn’t know, emerged from the stall, scarcely spared the four of us a glance before dashing away without even stopping to wash her hands.

  The moment the door whooshed closed behind her all gazes returned to me. The abrupt lapse into temporary insanity that had caused me to answer the question truthfully suddenly evaporated, taking any bravado I’d felt with it.

  Donna put her arm around my shoulders (I had since shaken all the dust from my navy jacket) and ushered me toward the door. “Come on, Jackie, let’s have another martini and you can tell us what you meant by that conflicting response.”

  The lunch crowd at Peggy’s Pasta Palace had dwindled but the relatively loud music still provided a sense of privacy. The only mixed drink Peggy served, martinis, (she tried really hard to shirk the redneck Texan habit of offering only beer and whiskey in its natural state) had prompted enough confidence for me to spill my guts.

  My friends now knew that I’d slept with a man whose name I failed to get...and just how badly I wanted to scale Dawson’s rock hard body and fuck his brains out. But I kept the part about the Disposable case to myself...there was still too much I didn’t know about that. Like me, both Donna and Shari had been suffocating in collapsing marriages ten years ago and Mary Jane’s husband had fallen ill shortly after that. None of us had been paying attention to the headlines.

  “All right,” Donna said as she clasped her hands, elbows propped on the linen table cloth. Peggy had gone all out in an attempt to look classy, too bad the whole palace theme just looked gaudy. “It’s clear you have issues in terms of your budding relationship with Dawson.” Donna delivered the pronouncement with the unmitigated gall only a trained psychologist who happened to be my best friend could.

  Issues. Why was it back in high school we had problems, now we have issues. Everything is an issue. Ex-boyfriends aren’t jerks, they’re emotionally unavailable. Cheating husbands are victims of midlife crises, poor things. And throwing a fit over the unfairness of it all makes a woman unstable and in need of serious medication.

  “I think you’re right.” Shari put in her two cents worth. “She should just screw him and get it over with. Then they can both move past the whole attraction game. I’m telling you, it’s only going to get worse.”

  My God, I was surrounded by traitors. “I can’t do that.” As much as I’d like to, I fully recognized the ultimate consequences. The Mercer Agency’s my bread and butter, I have to do this right.

  “Jackie’s the one who’s right,” Mary Jane interjected. “You know what bad luck she has with relationships. She’d end up losing her new investigator and the agency needs him.”

  “Gee, thanks, Mary Jane.” I dispensed the remark a bit more sharply than I intended. The hurt on her face made the vodka in my stomach roil threateningly. This discussion should have ended at least one drink ago.

  “Let’s get past Dawson for a moment,” Donna ordered, taking charge once more. “You need to find out who this mystery man is and what that message means. I don’t like the sound of it.”

  This was one point we all agreed upon if the nodding was any indication.

  “Another drink, ladies?”

  Like synchronized swimmers, four heads went from nodding to wagging from side to side. The waitress moved on. If I had another drink I wouldn’t be driving anywhere from here. I knew my limit. I also knew the law. Not to mention that even the slightest infraction against the law would give my nemesis, Detective Dick-Head Nance, more joke fodder. My gaze narrowed instantly at the thought of the jerk—excuse me, emotionally unavailable shit. I still had to figure out a way to get even.

  By the time the girls and I parted ways I was more convinced than ever that I’d made a monumental mistake in hiring Dawson. Because no matter how deeply the conversation ventured into other territory, Dawson stayed on the fringes of my every conscious thought.

  The rapid deterioration of my defenses had started already.

  “You’re sure this is everything?”

  I’d already asked Detective Ryker the question twice and each time he’d given the same answer, “That’s it, Jackie.”

  I sat at a table in HPD’s basement level files archives and considered the enormous case file spread out before me. Ryker, a Rob-Ho detective I’d worked with numerous times and a truly nice guy, had happily pulled the file for my perusal. He hadn’t been around in those days but he’d come on board right after that and heard rumors about the case.

  The consensus was the same every where I went.

  Bad news.

  “Who is this material witness mentioned over and over?” I’d read and reread every single report. Pored over every piece of logged evidence. There were so many holes in the reports that it appeared someone had removed significant portions of documented information. And yet, the log showed that the number of pages, et cetera, was correct. Impossible. I couldn’t see how they’d even gotten the case to trial with such shoddy police work. No offense to my uncle. I’d seen his work on numerous other occasions...he was usually way better than this. It just didn’t add up.

  Ryker shuffled the reports back into the appropriate stacks. “No one knows. Either the Bureau or DEA was protecting him. Hell, the Federal contacts weren’t even mentioned by name.”

  “But you’re certain this material witness was a him?” I’d read the pronoun used over and over in the reports myself but that might not mean anything.

  The detective placed the first stack of documents back into the box. “Not really. From what I’ve been told no one in HPD was actually involved on that level.” His gaze collided with mine. “Unless it was Hank Mercer. Maybe he can answer that question for you.”

  There it was.

  I needed to talk to my uncle since his partner was staying mum on the subject. Of course it wasn’t likely he really knew anything. Judging by the reports I’d just read, my presumption that Hank’s partner hadn’t worked on the case was confirmed. I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t simply said as much rather than behaving so secretively.

  I remembered another name from my search at The Chronicle. “Have you ever heard of an Agent McElroy? DEA?”

  Ryker mulled over the name. “Can’t say that I have.” He gave a small shrug. “Once again, your uncle can probably be of more help to you.”

  I thanked Detective Ryker and drove home wondering why I kept hitting a brick wall where Disposable was concerned. It didn’t make sense. Two high profile citizens had been shot dead on the courthouse steps. Someone had to remember someth
ing.

  I parked in front of my house and wondered why the hell I didn’t remember anything about the case myself. The print headlines had been massive. Had to have been all over the television news as well. How did I miss all the hoopla?

  Oh yeah. Disillusionment. Divorce. Disaster. My whole life had been upside down at the time. Jesus Christ himself could have made an appearance at the Astrodome and I wouldn’t remember it. The only thing I recalled from that particular space in time ten years ago was a night of mind-blowing sex.

  What did that say about me? That I was human?

  There I went answering myself again.

  I wandered up the walk and considered that I’d been a good wife for as long as my buttwad of a husband had allowed me to. I had been an excellent mother, still was—if I did say so myself. And I was a damned hard worker with an excellent reputation, at least locally, for being a top notch PI. It was okay to be human too.

  Once inside I inhaled the comforting scent of home and locked the door. I entered the alarm code since I likely wouldn’t go out again, then noticed there were two messages on my machine. I stabbed the play button, dropped my purse on the floor near the sofa and proceeded to disrobe as I made my way to my bedroom. I felt tired...and alone. A long hot bath might help, but I doubted it. More likely I needed a couple more drinks of something stiffer than a sissy martini.

  Hobbs’ voice followed me down the hall. “Since you haven’t come back to the office, Dawson and I are calling it a day. See you tomorrow...I hope.”

  The message ended and I forced away the guilt. Hobbs didn’t like it when I avoided sharing things with him. He’d probably go home and spend the evening with Ben and Jerry (and I don’t mean the ice cream guys). Dawson, well he’d get over it. He didn’t know me well enough to know I’d been selfish all day, including my refusal to discuss the case that was intensely personal to me.

  “Jackie, it’s Donna.”

  I paused at the door to my bedroom and listened to the second message. There was something about my friend’s voice that set me on edge...spelled trouble and I knew instantly I wasn’t going to like what came next.

  “We’ve made a command decision.”

  Terror seized me by the throat and I did an about face and stalked, partially disrobed, back into the living room so I didn’t miss a single word.

  “You’re too tense. Too caught up in this intimate case. Especially right on the heels of your latest love life disaster.”

  “Thank you for the reminder,” I muttered as I blocked thoughts of Willis.

  “The three of us have come up with a solution to the tension. You need a man, honey, and I don’t mean your pretty boy Dawson since you want to keep him off limits. You need a man you can feel uninhibited with. Shari knows just the guy, he’s a real pro at making women happy. So we’ve set up a blind date for you for Friday night. Sorry we couldn’t get it any sooner, but he’s out of town. Mary Jane has kindly offered the use of her favorite dildo until then if you need it. Call me when you get this message.”

  I had to play the message again to hear the rest of what she said after the phrase: blind date. Nothing else had registered beyond the shock of those two terrifying words. The impulse to grab a cross and a handful of garlic was nearly overwhelming.

  A blind date fell only slightly above a pelvic exam on my list of the things I hated most. The latter was in many ways far more desirable to my way of thinking than the former.

  I reached for the telephone but then stopped myself. I had to calm down before I called Donna and said too much. The entire day...the past two days in fact...had taken a toll on my emotions. I needed some distance, needed to relax. I didn’t want to find myself saying something I would regret.

  Since sex was out of the question, no offense to Mary Jane’s favorite dildo but I preferred the old fashioned method of sexual satiation, a bath would have to suffice.

  I twisted the faucet to the on position and set the temperature at the hottest I could tolerate and finished peeling off my clothes. I stuck a toe in to check the water. Hmmm. Perfect.

  When I would have climbed in I realized I needed a real drink to complete my escape. I wrapped a towel around my nude body and hurried back to the living room. I didn’t bother with a Coke or even a glass. Just the bottle of Jack Daniels.

  I sat the fifth on the floor, shed the towel and slipped into the always dependable hot water. A hot bath, like work, never let me down. It would fully relax my muscles without all the emotional baggage that sometimes went with sex.

  And, I picked up the fifth by its neck, there was always JD. I screwed off the cap and took a long sip. The liquor burned all the way down but I knew the discomfort would be well worth it.

  A scarce few minutes later and I was feeling damned good. Maybe too good. I screwed the cap back on the bottle and pushed it out of reach.

  I might be a jerk magnet but I was no lush.

  Or so I thought.

  It was dark when I awoke.

  My senses slowly came to life. I blinked to focus. Shuddered. It was cold as hell. Abruptly I realized the it making my body temperature plummet was water. I’d fallen asleep in the tub!

  I was out of the water and shivering like a wet Chihuahua in two seconds flat. I dried my skin as fast as I could and wrapped a clean towel around me. It didn’t help. My teeth chattered and nothing short of a five-alarm fire was going to stop it anytime soon.

  If I’d ever done anything so stupid, that didn’t involve sex, my mind had blocked the memory. I grabbed the fifth and went in search of some proper nourishment.

  I flipped on the hall light as I made my way to the living room. Along with the cold that had invaded my bones, I was suddenly starving. I needed food. The pasta I’d had for lunch was long gone. I put the fifth under the kitchen sink and considered the probability of finding anything I wanted in my fridge. Slim to none, I’d wager. The only shopping I’d done last weekend had been for that black mini I’d purchased for my big (and last) date with a felon whose name I refused to allow back into my thoughts.

  On the off chance that I could be wrong I pulled open the fridge door and peered inside.

  A cup of yogurt. Bunch of grapes. If I just had some cheese I might actually scrape up a meal.

  The crash of breaking glass sent me flattening against the closest wall. Instinct told me to take cover, but there was none handy. The door of the fridge slowly closed, then sealed with a vacuuming hiss.

  The wail of the alarm jerked my hesitant limbs back into motion.

  In a low crouch I moved cautiously into my living room. The crash, breaking glass and a distinct thud, had come from there. Behind my sofa I found my Birkin and fished out Shorty. The .38 in hand, I surveyed the dark room and saw nothing except the flashing red light that indicated the alarm had been triggered...like the whole neighborhood couldn’t hear it.

  The cops would be here any minute.

  I crept toward the nearest lamp. Needed some light on the situation. The only one I’d flipped on after waking up was in the hall and it hardly provided any illumination this far away. A twist of the table lamp’s switch sent a pool of golden light over my sofa. I blinked once, twice, three times before I recognized the cause of the ruckus. A rock about the size of a sub sandwich roll lay on the floor near my coffee table. Broken glass spread around it like strewn condiments.

  The thud of the door bursting open had me lunging to my feet and twisting simultaneously to meet the threat head on.

  My aim leveled on the first thing that moved.

  Dawson.

  Son of a...

  My attention abruptly shifted downward at the same instant I felt the towel settle across my bare feet.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  There comes a time in every woman’s life when she has to stand back and consider what’s truly important. As I sat on the floor behind my desk, where no one could see me, I allowed the vivid images from last evening to flash one after the other through my mind.

 
I cringed and resisted the urge to curl into the fetal position. My head throbbed like a bomb about to implode.

  Dawson had seen me naked.

  Oh God.

  I jerked open the bottom drawer on my left and grabbed the two-pound bag of pure courage I kept stashed there for moments just like this.

  With a handful of crunchy chocolate M&M’s in my mouth I forced my brain to analyze the moment. Had to face it sooner or later. I had gotten to the office before anyone else this morning, even Hobbs. After closing my door in the universal do-not-disturb manner, I tried, really tried, to get on with my day. But I couldn’t get past that moment when I realized Dawson was the one kicking down my front door...and then the fucking towel had dropped.

  I laughed disdainfully. What were the odds?

  How many times had I walked around the house in nothing but a towel? Not once had it fallen loose. Then again, I didn’t generally do the whole crouch, rush, rise, twist and adopt the firing pose routine while wearing one either.

  I told myself over and over that it didn’t matter. We were both adults. But I just couldn’t get the look on his face out of my head. I had tried to last night, but a few more shots from that fifth of JD had knocked me unconscious before the memory was fully evicted.

  I stared at the bag in my hand and wondered why women were predisposed to move from one compulsion to another when under stress. If alcohol didn’t do the trick, surely chocolate would. I had probably added three pounds to my ever-widening ass in the past twelve hours alone.

  I shoved the vile bag back into the drawer and slammed it shut. Okay, so I drank myself into oblivion last night and now I sat, hidden behind my desk, with a wad of M&M’s dissolving in my mouth in an attempt to make myself feel better.