What’s on him erases anything within him.
Or awakens something else in him.
Something he’s been suppressing.
For the last half an hour.
For the last twenty years.
When the tips of her fingers, the hard acrylic edges of her nails, slither over his esophagus, he realizes it’s not so great to feel trapped, powerless.
A victim.
Which is what he is.
A victim of this stranger.
Picking him up for no reason, or some unknowable reason, leaning back to unbutton her white top, looming over him.
Like some sex scene a movie.
That he knows is all fake.
That there’s no way this woman is ever going to love him.
Or know him.
But he’s sure of one thing.
She is going to spend the rest of her life with him.
*****
Dodge is a nervous wreck by the time he gets back to the room, standing in the doorway wondering if Jaime is even in the dark room – its lights mysteriously off - comforted only by the thought that at least he called the police right away, confident that they’ll get there now to save the prostitute’s life.
Unless Chuck literally just kills her as soon as he gets her alone.
But Dodge can’t imagine that.
That he wouldn’t at least have sex with her.
Any sane man would have sex with her before killing her.
Hell, Dodge only spent two minutes with her and he wanted to have sex with her.
And he has Jaime.
Whom he hears call his name in a singsong voice from across the room.
“Da- ahdge.”
He stands in the doorway, the lights still off,
He hears the Jacuzzi kick on and start running, closes the door and steps forward, to where he can see her head poking up out of the foam, the bubble of her own face smiling at him.
Slowly, she stands and rises from the water, facing him.
With the door closed, and this magnificent vision to focus on, the neon lights pouring through the window, his eyes take her in.
At first, she is still covered enough with soap bubbles that she doesn’t even really look naked. He has never had a chance to just see her like this – every beautiful inch of her revealed.
Even though he has made love to her.
It was dark when they’d had their drunken fling; their bodies were already intertwined by the time they were peeling each other’s clothes off.
She may not have even been naked before he had sex with her.
Her clothes may have never even hit the floor.
So, now, as the water runs down her skin in tiny waterfalls, carrying the soap with it, over her stomach, around her hips, along the slope of her thighs, he worships her with his eyes.
Smiling at his gaze, Jaime takes a step out of the Jacuzzi toward him, but recognizes the drama of the moment enough to pause at the edge of the tub, to shake any remnants of bubbles off of her, to strike her Aphrodite pose.
Dodge is hypnotized already by the time she steps down to the flowered carpet, shimmies toward him, through the dancing lights of the city.
“Promise me you’ll marry me,” she begs him as she arrives in front of him.
Always one to seize the drama in any given moment.
He promises her anything she wants to hear.
“Tonight,” she insists, stretching toward him, at the tips of her toes, mere fragments of inches from him.
“Of course, Jaime,” he promises. “Tonight. Forever.”
Jaime knows what she wants.
And that she just got it.
There’s only one thing left to do.
It’s their honeymoon, after all.
*****
Tired of her hands on his throat, Chuck knocks them away from him, delighting in her surprised response - her strained attempt to fight back.
Before she can even think about what’s happening, he slams her backwards onto the bed.
“Is that how you like it?” she asks, grabbing him like she’s paid to, pulling him toward her.
She can tell already this is a twenty-minute client and a full night’s pay.
Might as well let him play it his way and get it over with.
Most of these pervs, once you start having sex with them, forget the violent act and just get on with it.
So by the time she realizes this sicko isn’t letting go of her throat, it’s too late.
That the son of a bitch in the bar set her up.
*****
Of course, it’s not hard to get married in Las Vegas.
Not hard to find a priest who’ll come to your room, even with a wedding gown to fit you.
Not hard to find a husband who will roll around in its lace and treat you like his high school girlfriend.
Not hard to find your face pressed against the window, that dress dangling off of you, staring at the fountain show of the Bellagio.
And, of course, maybe it all just feels like penance for everything you’ve messed up.
Or maybe, it just feels like your reward.
A direct deposit.
*****
So she’s out of breath.
So she gasps a little less.
She stiffens.
She still seems to tremble beneath him, still pretends to smile when she dies.
In that moment, she has nothing left of beauty to offer.
No real love.
He knows.
People make mistakes.
Mistakes make some people.
Some people are just mistakes.
This is all just a big mistake.
*****
The newlyweds rest on their flight home, exhausted from drinking, celebrating all night long.
Jaime snores away, her head collapsed upon Dodge’s ribs, sloping gently away from her as he leans against the window of the plane, absorbing every tiny turbulent bump through the unforgiving plastic of the window cover.
She can sleep, but he can’t.
Because while last night was all nuptials, honeymoon and sex for her, it was also murder for Dodge.
Or may have been.
He eyed the news that morning while Jaime was in the shower, desperate for any report of a murder, or better - murder interrupted - at the Cosmopolitan, but there was no story.
So he flies wide-eyed back to New York, wondering if he sentenced some random woman to death, or if the police showed up in time to keep him from becoming a murderer a second time.
*****
Reality sets in at home, as Dodge pulls in through the gate.
“Home sweet home,” Jaime whispers, pensively, glancing at Dodge out of the corner of her eye.
He knows it is their home now, but it’s unsettling to not think of this as his and Siobhan’s home. He loves Jaime, and knows they belong together at this point, that their futures are inseparable. But still, he knows it’s wrong to think of this as anything but his home with Siobhan.
Jaime seems sensitive to this, at least, the awkwardness undeniable, dropping her hand gently on his forearm as they pull in.
Dodge takes her hand in his, squeezes it.
It’s awkward, but they’ll get over it, he knows.
They have years together now.
Parking the car in front of the house, he looks over and smiles at her, and she smiles back.
Home sweet home.
“How about carrying your bride over the threshold?” she asks, smiling sweetly at him.
And he knows, however fragile it is, that they are, indeed, home at last.
*****
Dodge risks a drive to Jason’s.
He has no word about Chuck getting arrested in Vegas, about Chuck being linked to the murders of Dressler and Siobhan.
The pieces should be falling into place by now; Dodge should be looking forward to the future with his new wife.
The marriage looks suspicious, is sure to cast new sc
rutiny on him.
It’s critical that Chuck get caught soon, before any truths come to light.
He doesn’t dare look for news stories on his computer, or on any public computer where he might be recorded, or remembered, sitting.
Nothing to tie him to Las Vegas.
He makes his way up the Thruway, careful to follow the speed limit.
Always on the lookout for cops, he sees Bronzy pull in behind him.
Then the trooper.
Then the kid cop.
This can’t be good.
He calls Jason on his Bluetooth.
“Yo,” Jason answers his phone. “Whatever it is, I can’t help you.”
Really not good.
“Just tell me what’s going on,” Dodge pleads. “I got an army of five-oh on my tail.”
Jason sighs, pounds on some keys at his computer. “Dude, it’s not good,” he tells him.
“Just tell me what is going on,” Dodge snaps.
“Hooker,” Jason announces. “Dead in a hotel room in Vegas. Registered under your name. Cops think it’s one in a series of murders.”
“What about DNA?” Dodge asks, nearly shouting. “Do they have any DNA from the scene?”
“No DNA,” Jason tells him.
Dodge had that prostitute killed for nothing.
No DNA.
No cyber trail.
No frame job.
Just a dead woman. In a hotel room in his name.
And three cops on his tail.
The whole world collapsing.
The universe imploding on itself.
He switches lanes, darts around a car suddenly - dramatically increasing the distance between him and the police. He watches them scramble to catch up in his rearview mirror. Their sirens aren’t on yet, but he knows it’s only a matter of time.
Until then, he’ll create as much chaos as they can create order.
Every minute he spends free now might be his last free minute.
It frightens him – the idea that he has an evil twin.
That the police cannot distinguish from him.
That his evil twin is only a slightly worse version of himself.
Not a polar opposite.
Just a slightly worse version.
Another quick lane change leaves the cops even further in the dust.
Dodge could do this all day.
He knows the patterns.
Knows the order traffic forms when there are no police; knows how it reacts when the cops do show up.
He knows that the police trying to understand everything that happened won’t work.
That they don’t have any idea what really went down.
Yeah, he killed Dressler.
But that man was either fucking his wife, or fucking with his wife.
And the reality is, Dressler deserved his fate in that moment, no matter what the law says.
Deserved to be hacked into two with a samurai sword.
And Dodge’s infidelity.
It’s just nature’s way.
Nature designed Jaime, literally, to lure him into bed.
As much as nature abhors a vacuum, what it really despises is anyone ignoring it.
So, yeah, he screwed Jaime.
And yes, he murdered Dressler.
And broke every rule.
Every rule that makes sense.
Don’t cheat.
Don’t kill.
Don’t lie.
But somewhere, deep down in his soul, Dodge knows.
He can’t deny nature.
His nature.
Viewed through this lens, life becomes a lot simpler.
Not unlike navigating traffic on the Thruway.
Drive as fast as you want.
Use any lane you want.
Change lanes.
Let them try to predict your actions.
Or even dictate them.
And think that they are somehow closer to God than you.
Even now, chasing him up the highway.
When they put him away, for crimes he didn’t commit, the real killer will go free.
And all of their desire for order will only create more chaos.
This would have resolved itself.
The human race will go on.
Jaime seduces Dodge.
Dressler kills Siobhan.
Dodge kills Dressler.
Jaime gets Dodge.
Chuck should have gotten caught eventually. He’s not that smart.
Dodge should have never have tried to make anything happen.
No one else would have died.
It sounds brutal.
But it’s just the history of the human race - more stories for the Bible.
And now, even as the agents of order descend on him, evil triumphs.
Chuck will go free, will go on killing.
When it’s Dodge who should be free.
For now, though, all he can do is evade the police.
Even as their sirens finally turn on, he feels himself pulling away from them, weaving wildly through traffic, defying reason, defying order - surfing some random wave that will only occur this once in the constant pushing and pulling of all of the organisms in the universe.
Of which this is only some small, insignificant part.
One small, insignificant part Dodge failed to play.
And now, it will just clear him out of the way.
Like the traffic clears, and closes, behind him.
A fish in the sea.
Alligators in the rivers.
The primordial waters.
The bottom of the food chain.
The end of the line.
More cop cars swarm around him.
This is the end of the line.
*****
Jaime collapses into the chair by the side of the pool, letting her cocktail spill on her bare stomach - her bikini, of course, not big enough to land even the idea of a drink on.
But without Dodge here to see it, the bikini feels useless.
The booze.
Useless.
Wondering if she can even feel anything again, she slurps on her cocktail, stares at the empty pool, watches the waves spill over the edge.
Of her pool.
On her deck.
By herself.
At her mansion.
She’s about a bottle deep when she sees Dodge suddenly walk onto the pool deck.
Then, of course, realizes it’s not Dodge.
He’s probably on his way to jail by now.
Not that she wants him to be.
He just is.
But at least they got married first.
No, it’s not Dodge.
It’s Chuck.
Grinning like some stupid idiot at her, like she deserves it.
While she drinks her guilt away.
Like there’s no tomorrow, on a deck she’s owned for only a day.
So, there she is.
Nine tenths of the way to oblivion.
Waiting only for the last tenth.
And there he is, showing up, panting like a dog.
Thinking he can wrestle with her and hold her down and tickle her and grope her.
Everyone's Dirty Little Secrets Page 13