Problem Child, page 15
Once I hear him jump the last few feet to the floor below, I head down the ladder myself, whispering, “Goodbye, my favorite turbine,” into the tall space above me. I pat the ladder railing. “I’ll miss you.”
We’re back in the cacophonous buzzing of the base, so Derrick averts his eyes and silently gestures me toward the door, but I hold up one finger. I need a moment to turn in a circle and take it all in. I finally offer him a blinding smile.
“Thank you!” I shout before leading the way out.
I step out into the beginnings of dusk, then I rush down the stairs and the hill so I can turn and see the spinning blades above me against an orange sky, my robot soldier beautiful and still ferocious. Before Derrick can reach me, I take out my phone and snap a couple of pictures so I can keep this power with me forever. In the first one, I capture the top half of Derrick as he walks down the hill, but he’s holding up a hand to cover his face.
“Let’s go,” he says gruffly, all business and no charm now that he’s satiated. Which is utter bullshit.
People always call women manipulative, and I count my skills as a point of pride, but constant manipulation for sex is considered normal for men. Their behavior isn’t called manipulative, of course. Or sneaky. It’s not even twisted or deceptive or plain old lying. It’s just the way it’s supposed to be. They want sex and they’ll do anything to get it.
Sweet talk and falsehoods and affection and such pure fascinating interest in you. You’re beautiful and insightful and promising! This could be something. This could become anything: I’ll make a special visit to see you. We’ll go out. I’ll try your home cooking. This is so fun!
Until they come. Then nothing.
Then: Why is she so clingy? I just wanted sex. Why is she talking to me and making this awkward? Why can’t she just shut up and go away now? Such cruel manipulation, and it’s so constant, it’s considered regular old life. Suck it up, bitch, you knew what he wanted.
I set my jaw and follow him to the truck. He doesn’t open my door. In fact, he gets in first and starts the engine, impatient to be gone.
I lied and used him, but at least I have the goddamn courtesy to keep up the fake politeness afterward. Jesus. Fucking monster.
After I climb into his truck and close the door, he starts backing out before I even have my seat belt on. “Where to now?” I ask in a friendly chirp.
“I need to get back,” he grumbles; then he actually turns up the music to shut me down.
Oh, fuck no, Derrick. This is just outrageous.
Setting my jaw, I let him listen to his music as he reverses down the trail. I let him hold his silence for the last little while of his normal life. I even send him a small, shy smile once we’re on the side road and cruising toward the highway.
But Derrick stares straight ahead, his jaw an unforgiving line.
I just gave this guy the best work night of his gray, pitiful, endless life, and now he’s freezing me out?
I turn down the music as he accelerates onto the highway. He graciously spares me a narrow glance.
“Derrick,” I say hesitantly. I reach out to briefly touch his leg.
“Yeah?”
“I was wondering,” I start, then I exaggerate holding my breath before blurting out the rest. “Do you think we should get married?”
“What?” The truck actually jerks a little to the side, and they don’t believe in shoulders in this part of the country. Whoa, buddy. “What?” he bleats again.
“You know! After what we did! Back there! It was pretty naughty . . . really naughty . . . and I was thinking maybe we should get married to make it right.”
“What we did?” he practically shouts. “I didn’t even touch you!”
“I know, but . . . I mean, it was definitely a sin. You touched yourself, and I watched, and I even . . . you know . . . rubbed myself down there.” I widen my eyes. “And, Derrick . . . I liked it.”
His forehead is practically collapsing in on itself, trying to eat his eyebrows alive. His mouth is a marvelous writhing oval surrounding a wet, dark hollow.
I try to reach for his hand, and he jerks it away.
“You crazy bitch. I’m married! Jesus Christ! What are you talking about?”
My gasp sucks the air from the truck like a reverse scream. Derrick, you dirty, cheating dog. How could you? “No!” I cry. “You’re not married! You can’t be! You don’t even have a ring!”
“I can’t wear a ring because of safety issues!” He’s ramped up to shouting now, and sweat beads above a throbbing vein in his temple. “I have a wife and a baby, you psycho!”
“Oh! Oh!” My compromised soul wails the words in anguish. “Then why did you do that with me? Oh my God!” I drop my face into my hands and start to cry. “Derrick! Derrick!”
“I didn’t . . . I . . . This was a mistake. I made a mistake. That’s all.”
“I’ve sinned. Oh, my sweet Lord, I’ve sinned and I’m going to hell. And so are you. You especially! Your poor, sweet wife. How will she ever get over this?”
“She won’t know! I won’t tell her! Nobody will!”
“You asked me to dinner. You said we’d hang out. I thought we were dating, Derrick! And you have a wife and a tiny perfect baby?” I keen with grief and betrayal, then increase the volume when he tries to speak. I keep it up for a while, but ever so slowly my sobs begin to subside.
“I’m sorry,” he says desperately. “I’m sorry. I’ve never done anything like this. And I did like you. I swear. If I weren’t married . . . I just got carried away, that’s all.”
I sniff as if I’m crying real tears, but I’m just no good at summoning them. I never have been. I pretend to wipe my face on my sleeve to compose myself. “You knew I’d assume you weren’t married. You knew that, Derrick.”
“No, I didn’t think of it, I swear to God.”
Another sin to add to the rest? Tsk-tsk. “The Lord is always watching. Why would you debase yourself like that and betray your sacred vows? If I’d let you, we would have had sex!”
“I just . . . I’m sorry. I swear I am. My wife’s always so tired. The baby’s only three months old. We haven’t . . . It’s been a long time. And you were just . . .”
Right there?
“Nice,” he finishes weakly.
“I am nice!” I slump down, pouting. “Are you still going to call me?”
“What?”
“Will you call me so we can talk sometimes?”
“I . . . Sure. Yeah. Just write down your number. I’ll call you.”
I slide a clipboard off the dash and jot down some numbers. “You promise?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good. Thank you. We’ll figure this out. We will.”
He makes a muted noise like he’s swallowing his tongue. I just smile toward the twinkling lights of the town as we finally reach the outskirts.
Derrick pulls into the big gravel lot and parks far away from the other trucks. He shuts off the engine and we sit in the ticking silence for a few seconds. This could be the moment he decides to strangle me to eliminate this problem I’ve created before it can fly away from his hold. He can try, anyway. I’ll go right for the eyes, and I have a good quarter inch of thumbnail. Then there’s the knife in my purse.
“I’d better get back,” he says instead of lunging toward me.
“Okay. Call me tonight?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I sure will.”
“Bye, Derrick!” I open my door and start to slide down to the ground. “Oh, hey,” I say at the last minute, my feet perched on the chrome step. “What’s the name of that new rental company?”
“Excuse me?”
“The one you rented the crane from.”
“Uh. I think it’s Dayson’s?”
“Cool.” If nothing else pans out, I can always get in touch with them.
I walk jauntily to my rental car. I didn’t really have a dinner, but I’m too sleepy for a night out, so I think I’ll pick up something delicious and take it back to my room. Dinner in my underwear with a good book. What a treat.
I’ve got my eyes peeled for decent options as I pull out, but my gaze is drawn to a figure walking through the dark toward the lounge. I roll down my window as I pass. “Bye, Derrick! Don’t worry, I won’t post those pictures online!” He slides right out of my vision when he stops dead in his tracks, remembering my phone raised to snap a few photos.
Derrick won’t pick up any strange women again, and this is going to be good for his life in the long term, especially if his career continues to take him on the road. Honestly, it was a lesson he needed to learn. I glance into the rearview mirror and wave again.
But what did I learn tonight? Well, I found out more about Roy Morris, for sure, and that would’ve made this whole excursion worth it, even without any other benefits. But I also learned something deep and important about myself, I’d say. I can never be good or honest, but maybe I can actually be faithful? As long as that definition is . . . slightly looser than normal. So the bigger question is: Does this mean I want to keep trying?
I pass a gas station with a Popeyes franchise inside and decide to go for it. It’s hard to find red beans and rice in Minneapolis. Fifteen minutes later I’m back in my room and digging into dinner. Fifteen minutes after that, I’m idly flipping through the TV channels. I should have grabbed more cookies on the way in. The last one from yesterday is hard now.
I feel strange and restless, on some sort of precipice, and I’m wondering if I should get dressed again and go out. Maybe I could go back to the truck stop, ask more questions about Kayla, and throw in a few about Roy Morris.
Kayla could be in real danger from this guy. That soccer coach was pushed into some kind of corner. It wasn’t just a friendly transaction for sex. That’s also not the kind of deal that would send a youth pastor running for another state.
If Little Dog and Kayla were shaking men down, that would’ve been a dangerous move with a man like Roy Morris. His brother’s fortune and political career would be put at risk, and girls have been killed for far less than that in this world. Hell, even I could be in danger from a guy like Morris, but I like that. Bring it on, asshole.
I’m considering getting up and putting on my shoes, but a call comes through from Luke. “Hey,” I say.
“Hey yourself, beautiful. Did you solve any mysteries today?”
I grin because he knows I like being called beautiful. “Not really, but I’m getting closer. I think Kayla is a sex worker and that may be the crux of it. I’m trying to track down her pimp.”
“Holy crap. Really? That’s so sad. The girl is just a baby.”
“Yeah,” I agree, though I doubt she’s been allowed to be a kid for years. She had to learn to survive. To protect herself. To hurt people to stop them from hurting her. We’re from the same damn family, after all.
“Be careful,” Luke says softly. “It sounds like she was mixed up with some dangerous people. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
“Because you love me?” I ask.
“Yes. I do love you.”
“What if I told you I flirted with another man tonight?” This strange mood is making me lash out. I want to stir the pot and force a reaction out of him.
“I’d think maybe you’re telling me that to make me jealous because you want some attention.”
Well, damn. “You shut up!” I cry, giggling now.
“Is it true?”
“Shut up,” I repeat, but then I add, “Maybe. Did it work?”
“A little. What else did you do?”
“I didn’t touch him, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No? Did you want to?”
“Eh. Only a little.”
“Did he want to touch you?”
“Very much so.”
“Yeah, I bet.” I can hear him smiling through the phone, and it makes me smile too. “Remember when I ran into you last year?” he asks. “Here in the city? You were the hottest thing I’d ever seen. So sure of yourself. You scared the hell out of me, and I couldn’t get enough of you.”
Now I’m positively preening, stretching out in the bed, pointing my toes, arching my back. “Is that right?”
“It’s one hundred percent right. So yes, I’m jealous. But no, I’m not surprised. You’re like a panther, Jane. Wild and gorgeous. And I definitely don’t want you touching other men, but I can’t imagine you being some contented housewife either. That’s not what I’m asking of you. Do you know that?”
“Not really.” I’m slightly irritated that he’s not more jealous, but I’m also thrilled that he knows so much about me . . . and he still wants more. “You’d let me cheat?”
“Would you let me cheat?”
A vision of Luke pumping into some weak replacement flashes through my mind and fills me with murderous rage. He’s mine. He’s really mine, and all my imaginings of letting him go are nonsense. “No.”
“Then no, I wouldn’t let you cheat. Keep it in your pants, Jane.” I snicker that he’s so close to the truth. “But you’re a sexual being. Like, a really sexual being.” He distracts himself with that for a moment and mutters a curse that makes me laugh. “You like it rough sometimes,” he mutters.
“I really do.”
“So when you get home, you tell me what you did, and I’ll make sure you get in big trouble. Will that work?”
I’m grinning so hard now that my cheeks hurt and my whole body aches with immediate arousal. “Is that a promise?”
“Yes. And be careful. It may be more anger than you actually want.”
“That’s impossible, you idiot.”
“You make me feel crazy sometimes. But we’ll think of a safe word.”
“I won’t need it,” I promise. “God, this is so hot.”
His choked laugh sounds edged with pain. “I don’t want to lose you, Jane. I want to keep you. That’s what I’m trying to do. There’s no one else like you out there.”
“That’s true,” I say.
“So are we all made up? Everything’s better?”
“Maybe, but please shut up, Luke. I don’t want to talk about feelings right now.”
“No?”
“No. I want to have sex.”
Always the magic words. And abracadabra, they work.
CHAPTER 16
I wake up at 5:00 a.m. because I fell right to sleep after my intimate talk with Luke. I guess I was worn out from all the excitement.
There are voices and footsteps outside, and I glance out the window to see the atrium teeming with men leaving their rooms. Wow. These people don’t mess around with waiting for sunrise. Now I realize why the breakfast buffet starts before dawn.
But I don’t want thick biscuits and gluey gravy, so I take a quick shower before getting dressed and pulling on my boots. When I check my phone, I find that Little Dog still hasn’t written back, and, frankly, I’m starting to get irritated. That shithead had better be dead somewhere.
Figuring I have all the time in the world, I head out to grab a good breakfast at Sonic, and then I cruise out of town in a line of petroleum workers eager to get to their fracking sites. My little sedan in a parade of big trucks. It makes me feel like a princess.
The sky ahead of me is purplish pink. The sun rises behind the smokestack cloud like I’m entering some sort of futuristic dawn hellscape. I glare at the tower and keep driving toward the small prison town beyond.
Instead of bothering to sneak up on the boys, I pull right up to Little Dog’s mansion on the hill. Assuming a group of twenty-something stoners doesn’t have the common sense to use a lock, I walk straight to the front door. Voilà. It opens on quiet hinges, letting me in to do anything I want.
For a moment I take in the house in darkness, the dank, lingering stench of weed and sickly-sweet hops. The ticking of a grandfather clock in the dining room. The heavy air that tells me they haven’t cracked a window in weeks.
Once my eyes adjust, I move deeper into the house. One guy is passed out on the couch amid a hailstorm of crumpled beer cans, but he’s not the person I’m looking for, so I keep walking. At the first bedroom I crack open the door, but it’s another guy in there and he’s actually managed to score some female companionship. Not Kayla, though. This girl has dark-brown skin and black twists of hair.
I shut that door and continue on through the open doors of the master bedroom, pulling them closed behind me. It’s too dark for me to see well, so I shove aside the curtains that cover a sliding glass door to let some of the rising sun in. When I turn, I find Nate sprawled across the king-size bed in sweatpants and a sleeveless T-shirt. Little Dog still isn’t home, it seems, but Nate doesn’t seem worried. He’s content as an innocent babe and snoring slightly with each breath.
I sit down on the bed with him and grab his phone from its resting place on the mattress near his arm. Hoping he has a fingerprint lock on his passcode so I can use his hand for entrance, I wake up his screen. Lo and behold, this guy has no lock whatsoever. He really is an innocent babe. You don’t often find such trust in a pothead.
Upon opening his texts, I find a thread from “LD,” and, sure enough, Nate texted him the first time I dropped by.
Where you at? Some lady just came by. You still alive?
He sent that text as soon as I left, but it looks like Little Dog didn’t respond for hours. But he did respond.
Still alive & kickin. What lady?
“Well, well, well,” I whisper. If it ain’t Lazarus Pimp himself, back from the dark beyond.
Dunno, Nate responded. She was looking for Kayla.
Was she alone?
That seems like an odd question. Not Was she a cop? or What did she say? but Was she alone? Hmmm.
His friends already said that someone came by and beat the crap out of Little Dog about a week after Kayla went missing. It seems like he’s on the run from that bald guy as opposed to fleeing from something he might have done to my niece.
Nate reassured him that I had come alone, then asked if everything was cool.
Jus layin low man. Hope we can head back soon.
We! “A clue, a clue,” I sing softly before scrolling back through previous texts. Little Dog has indeed been pretty quiet this month. The last text before this round was two weeks earlier, when he asked Nate to bring him clothing and some cash he had stashed in the crawl space.
