Wrong Number, Right Guy

by Elle Casey

  My phone beeps as we pull into a space.

  Sis: Hey cutie. Feel like having a glass of wine? Got the buttheads to bed finally.

  I stare at the screen for a really long time. The rumble of the truck’s engine kind of puts me in a trance as I try to figure out what the hell is wrong with my sister. Does she have a split personality now? Has the stress of being a single mother finally cracked her brain? Should I call her Sybil? Why is her phone showing the name “Sis” now? Did the number transfer over finally?

  “What’s the matter?” he asks. “Get some bad news?”

  “Why would you say that?” I tear my gaze away from the phone to look at him.

  “Because your face looks like it’s melting, you’re frowning so hard.”

  I go back to staring at the screen. “It’s nothing. Just my sister losing her damn mind.” Or me losing mine. None of this makes sense. I think all the stress of being shot at has made my brain go offline. I can’t think straight. What the hell is happening here?

  Felix climbs out of my bag enough to reach up and lick my chin.

  “Thanks, buddy.” I sigh. “Come on. Let’s go.” I place my hand on the door and feel around for the handle. I guess I’m not fast enough, because the mountain man reaches over both of us and opens the door for me.

  I jump in surprise, thinking for a split second that he’s going to whack me. Then, as soon as I realize he was just being polite, I expect to be repulsed by his closeness, but instead I find myself inhaling deeply, bringing the scent of his cologne deep into my brain. Wow. That was yummy.

  This makes no sense at all, of course. He looks like a Duck Dynasty nut ball prepper off the range for a good long while now, but he smells like a metrosexual about to go clubbing. What?

  Something is seriously going on with this guy, but I’m not interested enough to find out what it is. I just want to get over to my sister’s house and collapse on her couch. Once I figure out what the hell happened, I’ll decide whether I’m going to yell at her for a solid ten minutes for almost getting me killed.

  “Thanks,” I say, sliding down off the seat to the parking lot below, dragging Felix and my purse with me.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  I slam the door shut behind me and hitch Felix up higher on my shoulder. The passenger window rolls down with an electric whine. When I look inside the truck, all I can see is darkness.

  “Take a cab home. Don’t go back for your car until tomorrow.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so, that’s why.”

  I snort again. Tonight I am part human, part pig, apparently. “Whatever. Have a nice life.” I walk away, headed for the brightly lit diner that I can see has pies on display just inside the front door.

  My rescuer says nothing. His truck peels out in a cloud of dust and gravel, and I’m left alone in the lot with Felix once again barking his tiny head off.

  “Come on, Fee. Let’s go get some pie and then we’ll get the car.” My feet crunch over the graveled asphalt. I should probably call the police and report everything that just happened, but I know they’re already there at the bar. I heard the sirens. Besides, I can tell them everything in the morning, right? After all I’ve been through, sitting in a police station all night is the very last thing I want to do. I know how the system works. After I was mugged, I was ignored, tied up for hours in interviews and reports, and in the end they never found the guy. It was a complete waste of time.

  No. No cops. Not now anyway. I need to go see my sister. I need to talk to her and figure everything out in my head before I even try to explain it to a detective.

  My conscience nags me about my plan, the grizzly man’s words echoing around in my brain telling me not to go to my car. “That guy’s not the boss of me,” I say in a whisper as we approach the doors. I can get my car whenever I want; I don’t have to wait until tomorrow. That’s way too inconvenient.

  Felix lets out a bark of understanding. I take it as his agreement that we should get our car and go home. Forget what that guy said.

  “That’s right, Fee. I’m a grown woman. You’re a grown half-Chihuahua. We can take care of ourselves. We don’t need some weirdo Wookie telling us what to do and when to do it, right?” Any bad people who were at Frankie’s will be long gone by the time we’re done with our pie. Shooters don’t stick around after the fact, right? That would be suicide, and from what I’ve noticed of the world, bad people live forever.

  Felix whines and disappears inside my bag.

  “Punk.” So much for loyalty from man’s best friend. I step inside the diner and inhale the scent of recently fried bacon. “Mmmm, you smell that, Felix? That’s bacon. Too bad you can’t have any, on account of your digestion problems.” I smile at my vengeful thoughts. That’ll teach the little turd to not have my back.

  I can feel him digging around in my bag.

  My voice lowers to a growling whisper. “Felix, if you pee in my bag, you are a dead dog, you hear me?”

  He growls. And then he pees. I can hear it hitting the little pee pad I keep in there for that eventuality.

  So much for pie and bacon. I take five minutes to use the bathroom and then step outside the front doors, whipping out my phone and dialing Information. Before I can finish asking for a number for a taxi service, a cab pulls up to the curb behind me. I’m kind of stunned over the weird coincidence until the driver gets out and shouts over the roof of his car. “You the lady with the dog who needs a ride home?”

  Okay, so my heart warms a little bit at the idea that my rescuer actually did a pretty good job of rescuing me and Felix. He could have just driven away and left us hanging out to dry, but he didn’t. He called us a cab. Another surprise from the grizzly man who smells like a dream.

  What? Did I just think that? Whoa.

  “Yes, that’s me.” I make my way down the sidewalk and stop at the back door, pausing to put my bag inside before I climb in myself.

  The driver gets in too and puts his seatbelt on. “Address?”

  “Frankie’s Bar,” I say, “just a mile or two that way.” I wave in the general direction I remember coming from.

  “Sorry, lady, no can do. I was told to take you home, not bring you to the bar.”

  My ears start a slow burn. This taxi guy probably thinks I’m a drunk who’s been cut off by her sponsor. Dammit. I wait a few precious seconds before speaking, to be sure I’m not about to let fly a few choice cuss words.

  “I don’t care what that Neanderthal said to you . . . I need to get my car, and it’s at Frankie’s. Take me to Frankie’s.”

  The driver scratches at his head nervously. “He was real specific, though.”

  “I don’t care how specific he was. If you want my fare, you’ll go to Frankie’s.”

  “He already paid the fare. Added a tip in too.” The guy grins in the rearview mirror at me.

  “How could he have paid the fare if he doesn’t know where I live?”

  The guy laughs, staring out the windshield again. “He figured it was somewhere uptown, based on how you were dressed. Gave me the fare to cover an entire round trip up and back.” He turns around to face me. “Was he wrong?”

  I roll my eyes, so pissed I’m that easy to read. I feel like maybe I should move downtown just to keep things interesting. Then I get pissed at myself for caring even one bit what a stupid grizzly beard thinks about my life.

  “No, he wasn’t wrong. But if you think I’m letting you keep that fare for not doing what I ask you to do, you’d better think again. Either take me to Frankie’s or forfeit the fare. That’s the deal.” I glare at him.

  The cabbie smiles. “He warned me you might give me trouble.”

  “How could he possibly have done that?!” I’m yelling, but I don’t care. “He doesn’t know jack poop about me!”

  The guy has the nerve to chuckle. “You sure about that?” He turns back around and shifts the car into drive. “You gonna give me the address or what?” He’s looki
ng at me in the rearview mirror again.

  I want to reach into the front seat and break it off, but instead, I decide to play dirty. Desperate times call for desperate measures. He’s forced me into this. I have no other choice. It’s time for the waterworks.

  Great big blubbering sobs well up from deep inside me as my shoulders shake and my chest heaves. I’m fake-crying like I just watched the Titanic go down in person. I think of every sad thought or feeling I’ve ever had and own them completely. I could so win an Oscar right now if they gave them out for performances in the back seats of cabs.

  “Ah, no, don’t cry!” He sounds as distressed as I’m pretending to be. I have to battle not to smile with triumphant glee. “I hate when ladies cry! Come on, just relax, would ya? It’s for your own good. He said that place ain’t safe for you right now.”

  “But I need my car for work!” I sob. “I’m going to lose my job, and then I’ll have to move, and I have nowhere to go, and no one will help me, and I’m down to my last twenty bucks, so I can’t get a cab back in the morning, and my dog is sick, and he’s probably going to have an accident in my purse because he ate some bacon, and bacon doesn’t agree with him, and—”

  “Hey! Hey! It’s okay! I’m going to take you to your car, okay? And then I’ll just . . . I’ll just follow you home or whatever, and make sure you get there, okay? That’ll work, right?” He twists around and drapes his arm over the back of the front seat. “Okay? That’ll work for me. I can do that.”

  I nod, letting out a few more sobs so he doesn’t suspect I’m not completely devastated over the idea of my dog pooping in my purse. Yes, it would be a tragedy, but not one I’d cry over. I have other bags. Besides, Felix’s poops are about the size of Ikea pencils.

  We pull out of the diner’s parking lot, and I make a big show of wiping my tears away and sniffling. I don’t stop until we get to Frankie’s bar. There are cop cars parked at the curb, but no uniforms outside that I can see.

  “Thanks,” I say, patting the taxi driver on the shoulder as I slide across the seat to get out. “No need to follow me home. I’m sure I’ll be fine. See?” I point out the window. “Cops are here.”

  “Yeah, okay. See you later.” He sounds stressed. I’m not sure if it’s because of my Oscar-worthy performance or the fact that he’s not doing what he was paid to do, but I don’t care; I’ve got my car back and I’m going home.

  I shut the door behind me and open my purse so I can find my keys. The distinct odor of doggy pee hits me in the face.

  “Oh, for chrissake, Felix. Did you have to?”

  He licks my hand.

  I sigh, wrapping my fingers around my keys. “I am so going to kill Jen when I see her.” Glass of wine, my butt. I’m going to drive over there and give her a knuckle sandwich.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I’m halfway to my sister’s place before I take a sharp right and head over to my house instead. I’m tired, Felix stinks, and I have a big family coming in tomorrow for portraits and my studio isn’t set up for them yet. I need to get to bed early. This is the only job I have booked for the entire month, so I can’t flake out and be a no-show.

  My mind wanders as I make my way through the neighborhood streets. Those texts I got from Jenny make no sense. How could she have gone from being completely off the range to saying, “Come have a glass of wine with me”? It’s like she’s two different people today. Or someone hijacked her phone.

  Then it hits me. Yes! A hijacking! That’s the only explanation that makes any sense. My sister’s not a crazy alcoholic. She never endangers her kids, and she wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like Frankie’s. Someone else must have her phone, or the lines got crossed when she got that new one today.

  I’m so happy I could cry. This is so much better than having her committed and taking her kids away from her.

  Speak of the devil . . . my phone beeps again. I tilt the screen toward me as it rests on the console by my radio.

  Jen: I told you to leave your car in the lot.

  A split second after reading those words, it’s like there are fireworks going off in my brain, explosions of light and sound, a jumble of thoughts and words and images. Nothing makes any sense. This message has to be from The Beard, but how is he using my sister’s new phone to text me?

  Then it hits me.

  He’s not using my sister’s new phone to text me.

  He’s using his phone.

  He’s always been using his phone.

  Oh my god. Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. It can’t . . . it didn’t . . . it . . . oh my.

  Wrong number! Wrong number catastrophe! Ack!

  The tires on my car screech to a halt as I pull over in a hurry. Grabbing my phone, I quickly scroll through the texts from start to finish. Understanding dawns clearly for the first time all day.

  “Holy crud, Felix.” I look over at my little buddy, who’s staring at me from the passenger seat with his head tilted. He’s as confused as I am, apparently. “I think I’ve been texting a complete stranger this entire time.”

  I’m almost relieved. This makes waaaay more sense than my sister taking her kids to a biker bar. It doesn’t, however, make my situation any better.

  As it is, I didn’t escape unscathed. Glancing in the mirror confirms it; I have cuts on my face that are going to make me look like I was attacked by a herd of very small cats. I’m going to have to come up with a hell of an excuse for these clients tomorrow. My reflection in the rearview mirror tells me that no amount of foundation is going to erase my brush with death.

  Lights fill the interior of my car, interrupting my thoughts. I frown in my mirror, trying to see what’s going on behind me. I’m in the middle of a quiet neighborhood, but maybe I’m blocking someone’s driveway or something.

  When the headlights that were lighting up my car’s interior go out, I can see a car parked a half a block behind me. I wait, but no one gets out. I know the car is occupied because there’s the silhouette of a person inside. It looks like a man, based on his size.

  “Huh.” I shrug, almost convinced I’m imagining something sinister about the situation. “Oh well. Not my neighborhood. I don’t have to be concerned about weirdos hanging out in parked cars, right?” Talking out loud to Felix makes me feel better, like I have nothing at all to worry about. I’m just a normal girl, driving around in a dark neighborhood with her purse puppy for fun. Nothing to see here, people—move along.

  I put the car into first gear and ease back onto the road. I assume all is well until a glance in my rearview mirror has my heart stopping in fear. The car behind me has moved out too, but the driver doesn’t put his headlights back on.

  Whoa. It literally hurts, the way my heart muscle is spasming right now. It thumps really hard a few times and then picks up its pace. My ears are burning with the fear that’s taking over. Should I call the police? What will I say? That there’s a person maybe following me in a car? They’ll probably just hang up on me. The New Orleans police department has murders and robberies to deal with on a daily basis, and they’re going to get worried about a woman who’s paranoid as she drives home from a bar she should have never gone to? Yeah, right. I’m not going to waste my time or theirs. I can handle this non-event. I’m just going to drive and stop thinking that everyone is out to get me. Just because one guy took a few shots at someone standing next to me, it doesn’t mean I’m a target, now, right?

  I try to calm myself down by talking to Felix. “There’s no way anyone would follow me anywhere, Fee. Don’t be silly.” At least, I’m pretty sure that’s the case. Let’s face it: I’m nobody to ninety-nine point nine percent of the world. Totally not stalker worthy. The most valuable thing about me is my Canon Rebel, which I don’t even have with me tonight.

  My calming efforts are having little effect. Paranoia goes into overdrive, and I quickly become convinced that I am, in fact, being stalked. I can tell the car tailing me isn’t that big truck I got a ride in earlier, so it’s not Mister Gri
zzly Pants here to berate me for not listening to his orders. And who else would it be if not him?

  No one.

  I blow out a long breath, letting some of my stress go with it. Of course, it’s no one. Ha-ha, this is so crazy! I’m just a photographer with a Chihuahua-mix riding shotgun in a pee-purse. Why would anyone want to follow me, right? I mean, all my ex-boyfriends are happily dating other women, and no stalker-type has made himself known to me before this. The entire idea is absurd. I am completely safe riding around in my cherry-red Chevy Sonic.

  I continue on my way, my eyeballs sharing time between the road and my mirror. Instead of going straight to my address, though, I turn left four blocks away. Just in case. It doesn’t hurt to be cautious, right? Even though I have nothing at all to worry about. My life is boring. Car chases only happen in the movies. Assassins go after presidents and drug cartel kingpins, and I’m about as far from being one of those as a girl can be.

  The car behind me flicks its lights on and takes the turn as well.

  A weird shiver moves up my entire body from my feet to the top of my head, making my hair stand up at the nape of my neck. Then I start sweating all over. I shiver with the sudden change in temperature that I’m pretty sure I’m imagining. I resist the urge to turn on the heater.

  “Felix, I’m afraid we’re being followed. Is that paranoid enough for ya?” I try to laugh it off, but Felix is not laughing with me. He jumps into the back seat and up onto the platform over the hatchback’s trunk. Several sharp barks tell me he agrees that something is up with this guy behind us.

  “There’s only one way to find out for sure.” Feeling ridiculous, like I’m playacting in a really bad spy movie, I make a hard right onto a street that I know ends in a cul-de-sac.

  My palms are sweaty and I’m having a hard time gripping the steering wheel. I wipe one hand off on my pants and then the other. It really doesn’t help much. I can see the end of the street coming, and I feel like I’m going to vomit. This idea seemed great when I took the turn, but now it looks like a trap of my own making. How stupid can I possibly get tonight?