Even if he has to pay. A stranger. Just to pretend.
He wonders if she’ll take a credit card.
*****
Dodge is driving up the Thruway. Something’s eating at him. The question of what Siobhan was really doing at Dressler’s. He went to catch them in the act, to have proof they were having an affair. But it didn’t look that way, really. It looked like she wanted to leave. If they were having an affair, she wouldn’t have struggled, he wouldn’t have killed her.
Now, in the wake of her death, when all of their problems seem pretty trivial, and he thinks even of their last moments together, that they were happy.
And he can’t bear to think that she died thinking he had cheated on her - if she had really found out, as Jaime feared. And that Siobhan had died cheating on him. This just doesn’t feel right, but Dodge knows that things in life don’t always feel right. Sometimes they are all wrong.
These events might not all end with the tidy, happy ending everyone wants.
The universe isn’t fair to human consciousness.
It doesn’t need to be.
Siobhan dies while their relationship is in a bad moment, and he doesn’t know what she knew, or what she was doing. And might never.
So things ended wrong here.
He plugs along northbound, retracing her steps as he followed her in the helicopter that night, maybe like he can go back in time and change what happened.
He might not get the chance.
A trooper car slides into the lane behind him.
Damn it - he always notices cop cars. Always. Doesn’t know where this one came from, though. He’s distracted, of course.
He waits for the lights to go on, but they don’t right away.
The presence of cops – the whole threat of some arbitrary order over the natural, chaotic course of things, rubs Dodge the wrong way. He knows these highways; he knows the patterns of people when the police pull out of the U-turns.
He slows down and switches to the lane to the right of him. The car that was in front of him suddenly sees there is a cop behind it and hits the brakes. Because these aren’t cars; these are people driving cars.
It’s easy to predict what people will do.
You just might not be right.
When the driver brakes, the trooper can’t get over to the lane to follow Dodge, thanks to the slower moving car Dodge cut in front of.
He accelerates, puts some distance between him and the trooper.
He knows once the trooper puts his lights on, he can catch Dodge as soon as he wants. But if Dodge isn’t doing anything wrong, the trooper has no right. The trooper is bound by law and order.
Dodge is not.
Dodge switches back to the middle lane - the same one the trooper is in - leaving a car between them, though. He knows this will frustrate the cop - partly that his view of Dodge is now obstructed, but more that he realizes Dodge is in charge here.
He watches the traffic in the left lane, waits for it to get closer to him, and when it’s too late for the trooper to move into it, Dodge cuts over, leaving the trooper trapped in the middle lane. More cars start breaking as they notice the trooper car, and the trooper has to as well.
Dodge accelerates.
He studied the OJ car chase.
He has a sports car; he could blow this trooper away in a second now if he wants.
But he doesn’t want to speed, doesn’t want to give them a reason to pull him over.
He sees Broonzy’s squad car join in behind the trooper, catching up to them from behind. He figures the game is over now. If the trooper is waiting for back up to pull him over, this isn’t a game at all.
Maybe he should just tear out of here right now.
He could get a good jump.
But Dodge keeps it cool. He knows he can’t do anything that makes him look guilty.
Which is basically impossible.
He’s not speeding; he didn’t break any traffic laws. So they’re just harassing him. That’s worse than getting pulled over for speeding. It means they have it out for him.
The lights come on. He pulls over; he doesn’t want to add any more trouble to the mix.
“Dodge,” Broonzy says as he walks up to the window, sticks his face in, seconds after Dodge skids over the rumble strips onto the shoulder.
The trooper is standing at the back corner of the car, hand gun drawn.
“Mind keeping your hands where I can see them?” Broonzy asks.
Dodge eyes the trooper nervously, but Broonzy coldly.
“They’re on the steering wheel, Broonzy,” Dodge tells him flatly. “You can see them.”
Broonzy just grunts. Dodge can smell the eagerness on him - like a freshly oiled pistol.
“Been looking for you,” he announces to Dodge.
“Not too hard,” Dodge counters. “I’ve been at home. And it looks like the trooper didn’t have any problems finding me.”
“Oh, we figured you’d head back to the scene of the crime,” Broonzy explains.
Dodge is, in fact, heading to the scene of the crime - wonders how Broonzy knows.
But before he snaps something back, he picks up Broonzy’s choice of words, though.
“I’m not heading back to anything,” he corrects Broonzy.
“Good answer,” Broonzy acknowledges.
“It’s not illegal to visit a crime scene,” Dodge says. “I want to know what happened to my wife. And I don’t trust you to figure it out. So what’s this about?”
“Got a call from Interpol this morning,” Broonzy says, his tone accusing.
Dodge is not expecting this. He looks quizzically at Broonzy, letting him go on.
“Know anything about two dead girls in Amsterdam?” Broonzy asks, smug, taking joy in this.
“No,” Dodge snaps. “Jesus Christ, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Hotel room, under your credit card, two dead girls,” Broonzy explains.
“What are you saying, Broonzy?” Dodge barks. “I killed two girls in a hotel room in Amsterdam and just left them there, with my name on it?”
Broonzy snorts. “They ain’t killed,” he tells Dodge.
“What?” Dodge asks confused.
“Looks like they overdosed,” Broonzy lets on. “Bad dope.”
Dodge almost breathes a sigh of relief, but he doesn’t want to show that much.
“So what do you want with me?” Dodge asks.
“Well, we got to figure this one out some still,” Broonzy said. “If you knew those two girls were dying and didn’t do nothing. Or if you knew they died and didn’t say nothing.”
Dodge sits quietly, thinking hard. He wishes Jaime were here, to tell him what to say. She always knows what to say.
“Did you know they was dead?” Broonzy asks.
Dodge sighs. He knows to deny everything, and say no more. “No,” he tells Broonzy. “I don’t know anything about this at all.”
It’s the truth, so he thinks he sounds convincing.
Maybe Broonzy senses that. He relents for now.
“Should I call my lawyer?” Dodge asks.
Broonzy’s quiet for a second. “Not yet,” he says. “But don’t leave town.”
At this point, Dodge just wants to lock himself inside his home.
He’s not going anywhere.
*****
Jaime’s growing used to checking her rear view mirror. Not because she thinks she’s being followed. It just seems appropriate, paranoid behavior.
She knows she’s mostly in the clear here - she didn’t kill anyone, plan for, or want, anyone to be killed. That’s a pretty major relief for her. But the fact that she may have catalyzed the whole thing eats at her a bit.
More than a bit, obviously.
She can’t go back and change what’s happened, and there’s no way she’s opening up about what she did.
Hey, I’m the little bitch who tricked you into thinking your wife was cheating on you, which led to her and an
innocent man getting killed.
Hell no.
At this point, the only thing she can do is just keep Dodge out of trouble. She owes him that much. Which is why she didn’t sleep with him the other day. She can’t make it look like he’s having an affair with his wife’s assistant. That’s just idiotic at this point.
Yes, she wants to be with him, and she wants him to want her, but she has to strike a balance between seducing him and making it look like he had a reason to off his wife.
A smoking hot reason in her early twenties.
To get everything she wants, though, means playing it cool.
And keeping an eye on everything.
Including the rearview mirror.
Which means she notices the cop as soon as he notices her.
She knows this cop. Local, fresh out of the academy.
He pulls her over sometimes, never gets around to giving her a ticket - sometimes when she’s done nothing wrong. She knows what he’s up to. Probably happy just to get the cleavage shot, not man enough to own up to what he’s really doing.
In other words, he’s chum to a girl like Jaime.
She will eat him up and spit him out.
And make an anniversary out of it.
So she’s ready when he flips his lights on and pulls her over, walks with schoolboy trepidation up to her car.
She’s ready for him by the time he arrives, and his wandering eyes. “Do you need anything, officer?” she asks, feigning innocence.
He stutters something, but she doesn’t give him a chance to get an intelligent syllable out.
She doesn’t have all day.
“License?” she asks. “Registration?”
“No,” he finally stammers out.
“Something else?” she asks.
“Yes,” he practically gasps, before composing himself.
She arches an eyebrow at him.
“Um, Miss Tu,” he tries to start over. He looks at her like he’s asking permission for something, but is too afraid to just come out with it.
She invites him with a look.
“Look, um,” he starts. “I’m supposed to be watching you.”
She lifts her eyebrow even further, turns more toward him.
“Well, you do a good job of staring,” she chides him.
He swallows. “Look,” he gulps. “I’m trying to help you. Mr. Dodge is in more trouble. Something about girls in Amsterdam. I don’t know much, though.”
Jaime leans toward him. “What are you talking about?”
“Jaime,” he says, his voice stronger now. “I really don’t know what’s going on - Mrs. Dodge, dead girls in Amsterdam, or any of it. I’m telling you the truth about that. But I know everyone thinks you’re mixed up in it. And I got assigned to follow you.”
“Tell me everything you know,” she orders.
He is putty to her at this point – willing to break all the rules to share this with her.
“Look,” he sighs. “All I know is, some serious stuff is going on, but I know that you wouldn’t be wrapped up in it. I know you’re not like that, that you’re a good person.”
She smiles at him.
It is not a good person smile.
But he doesn’t know.
“What am I supposed to do?” she asks, allowing the slightest tremble to her voice.
It’s not fake.
She’s not afraid of him. But she’s afraid of what’s going on, of what she doesn’t know about.
He seems to plead with her with his eyes. “Look, just stay away from Dodge.”
She just looks at him expectantly.
“He’s in trouble, and you don’t want to be a part of it.”
“You got to help me,” she just spits out. “If you find any more out, you have to let me know.”
He nods.
He knows he is doing something wrong, but he’s willing to risk everything for her.
Which is perfect.
That’s Jaime’s kind of man.
*****
They agree to meet in a public place, Chuck letting her suggest the spot to make sure she is comfortable.
When he walks into Checkpoint Chili’s, he’s a nervous wreck, suddenly not knowing what he’s doing, or why he’s doing it. He calms down pretty quickly, though, as he takes in his surroundings. This place is worse than a dive, it’s just a pit. The walls look damp, and it feels like he’s in a basement even though it’s above ground. A putrid odor of beer so stale it smells more like vomit mingles with the smell of actual puke, and urine, wafting out of the bathrooms.
Nobody picks this place for a rendezvous if they’re looking for romance. Nobody would pick this place if they had hope for anything.
Chuck wonders what he’s gotten himself into, but isn’t exactly scared though. He’s seeking a woman who resembles Jaime, but he guesses pretty quickly he’s not going to find someone who looks like that here.
So she lied online.
So did he.
The question is now only who is in for the bigger surprise.
The first surprise is Chuck’s. Everybody here looks so down on their luck that he doesn’t think the girl from Craigslist is here at all. Not that advertising yourself on Craigslist isn’t down on your luck. But the people in this room don’t seem the type who would be able to get online and advertise anything, even if it’s themselves.
So when a woman whose hair is clean enough to know she’s a blonde walks in, Chuck knows it’s Melanie right away, even before he sees her glancing around for her date.
She’s no Jaime, of course.
But this girl does have pretty blonde hair. She’s heavier than Jaime. Her Craigslist picture hides that well.
Her face isn’t totally busted.
Chuck tingles with excitement, waits for her eyes to land on him, to be sure. She smiles when she sees him. Bingo.
“Dodge?” she asks, arriving at the booth he slouches in, hitting its padded vinyl before he answers.
A waitress, all orange-toothed and track-marked, arrives to take an order.
“Vodka and cranberry,” she orders, looking at Chuck. “Do you mind? You’re buying, right?”
“Sure,” Chuck says, glad he still has Dodge’s credit card.
He hopes she’s not a prostitute, because he really doesn’t have any cash.
“Make it a double, then,” she sighs at the waitress, impatient, but taking the time to smile at Chuck as she pulls her long, straight, blonde hair back from her face. “Wow, you’re cuter than a lot of the weirdoes online. So you must be crazy or have something wrong with you.”
“What do you mean?” he asks, trying to sound innocent. Her comfort level pleases him, though - she’s been through this before. He only needs to play along and see where it takes him.
“I don’t know,” she says, showing some exasperation. “I date a lot of guys I meet online, but there’s usually a reason they can’t meet someone in person. So if they’re not ugly, they’re weird. It’s that simple. You’re a decent looking guy. So I figure you’re messed up.”
“What’s that make you, then?” he asks, summoning his inner Dodge to keep it cool. She thinks he’s handsome, which gives him some confidence, helps him play out his fantasy of being someone else. That she’s someone else. “You’re a pretty girl.”
She smiles. “That’s sweet, Dodge.”
She’s sincere.
“You looked very lovely when I saw your face online,” he tells her, guessing she’s more used to a negative reaction when her blind dates meet her.
“Well, aren’t you a charmer?” she asks, warming up to him, even blushing a little.
He is actually charming her, he can tell, wondering how crazy the people she usually meets are if he qualifies as charming. She must be leading a lonely life.
He can help her end that tonight.
“So why do you do this? If you just meet crazies,” he asks.
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