She raised her head, gazing at him through her chalky eyes. The white began to fade to a clear fluid, and she could see him no more. She needed more time. Just a little more time, and she would be his; she could have him forever. And he would be hers.
He gaped as her thick, luscious lips curved upward. A smile. Blissful. She leaned forward, brushed his lips with hers and kissed him. They felt cold at first, but quickly warmed. Then she began to fade, disappearing, moving inside him, into his soul like a curious traveler. Taking shelter, needing to replenish herself.
Their day would come, oh yes, and it would come soon.
Chapter Eleven
Standing behind her in line, Detective Lt. John Stiltson watched as the old hag dumped a plastic bag full of loose change onto the counter. She was dressed in a haggard blue dress, decorated in sunflowers, with mismatched socks hiked up to her knees, and open-toed sandals on her feet. Which he hated most, especially when they were worn with socks.
But he hated socks even more than sandals. If he wasn’t forced to wear them while on duty, he wouldn’t. At the end of the day, the socks went first, even before removing his coat or shoulder holster. Maybe it was the last of his hippy revolt, still hanging on inside him with a shred of nostalgia.
But more than likely it was just some kind of strange phobia he’d always had.
Watching the hag at work, he regretted stopping by Charlie’s Mart for coffee and smokes. Today he just should have skipped. But for the past ten years, he’d made it a habit to stop in. Not only did Charlie have the best coffee in town, he was a great conversationalist. Stiltson had been tempted many times to invite Charlie on a fishing trip, but was always too frightened to do so, scared of what the man might think or say. Stiltson had never been good at keeping friends. And making them was a hell of a lot harder. He enjoyed the store talks immensely and didn’t want to risk jeopardizing anything. So he’d kept their relationship nothing above casual.
He checked his watch. Only twenty minutes before he needed to be across town. He was going to be late for work. But that didn’t bother him. He’d been on the force long enough to have built up plenty of leeway. No one would notice, and if they did, he wouldn’t care.
The main reason being he wasn’t in any big hurry to see Giles this early in the morning. He’d have to gawk at him for the next twelve hours, and seeing him without coffee was asking too much. Not that Giles was a bad guy; just that he could be too much to handle without the proper preparation.
He looked beyond the cash register, noticing Charlie wasn’t the one behind it. A girl, no older than seventeen, watched as the hag sifted through a hill of change. The girl was cute. Pretty eyes, long, brown hair, and a clean complexion that wasn’t blanketed with too much makeup. She was all natural. A lot like that Corban girl. Pretty without the beauty aids you could buy at any five and dime.
Five and dime? Stiltson wondered if those even still existed.
Another fact dawned on him. If this pretty young thing was working the counter, then that meant Charlie hadn’t been here to make coffee. He doubted she knew the secret recipe. But if she did, she certainly must lack the experience needed to produce such freshly blended goodness.
At least the cigarettes are cheap.
He hoped that would be enough to make up from the crummy cup of coffee he was probably going to get.
The old hag was still at it. This gave him time to study the girl some more. Reading the nametag clamped above her left breast, he discovered her name was Carrie. The look on her face told Stiltson she was not enjoying this time spent watching the old bat. She was uncomfortable.
Had to be one of Charlie’s kids, though Stiltson thought he’d met them all. However, she could be one Charlie had never mentioned. A delinquent just home from juvey or from a previous marriage—maybe even an oopsy from a fling.
The hag, thumb pressed tightly against her index finger, began counting each coin individually. “Five, ten, fifteen, oh wait, that’s a quarter. Let me make sure it isn’t one I don’t have.” She glanced back at Stiltson through her bulky glasses that looked to take up half of her face and said, “I collect these, you know.”
“Amazing.” His response was blunt and flat.
Not noticing his sarcasm, she held the quarter high in the air to examine it better. She shook her head. “I have this one already.” Then she was back to work counting. “Forty, forty-five, fifty. That should about do it.”
“Thank you,” Carrie said, a fake smile large and shiny. “And here’s your paper.”
A bullshit smile that’s almost as good as mine. He was impressed.
The hag snatched the paper off the counter as if worried Stiltson might make a grab for it. Rolling it up, she tucked it under her left arm. She looked back, smiled at him with brown teeth, adjusted her hair curlers, and walked away.
As he stepped up to the counter, he caught the lingering stench of mothballs and Ben-Gay. A sudden feeling of dismay hit him in the chest. Was he going to be like her in a few years? He already was to an extent.
The bells above the door clanged when the hag exited.
Carrie sighed. Relieved. “Sorry you had to wait.”
“No harm,” Stiltson lied. “You handled it very well though. You get an A for effort on that one.”
“Thanks,” she said. Hunching over, squinting one eye shut, Carrie reproduced a dead-on impersonation of the hag. “Let me make sure I don’t have this one. I collect these, you know…”
“Bravo!” He clapped, smiling ear to ear.
Carrie blushed, lowered her head, and shrugged. “Thanks.”
“That was good. Ever thought of being in show business?”
“Think I should take this act on TV?”
“I don’t know, might be kind of slow for TV.” He laughed at his own joke. Carrie didn’t get the humor. She stared at him blankly. “You know, cause she’s slow. It’d be a slow act. Because it took her forever to count the change…”
Mulling over the basis of his joke, she seemed to finally get it. “Ah. That’s funny.” If she really thought it was, she didn’t laugh.
Stiltson cleared his throat. “Well, I guess I’ll get my stuff and get out of your hair.”
“Whatcha need?”
“A cup of coffee and a pack of American Spirit Ultra Lights.”
“Do we have those?” She scanned the rack above the register.
“Yeah, Charlie’s actually one of the few that stocks them.”
“I’m sure I’ll find them.”
“They’re above the Salems, I think.”
“Good call,” she said, bringing down the pack. “Just one pack?”
“Yeah, that should do me just fine.”
She tossed the pack on the counter; it slid and circled around to face Stiltson. Perfectly executed.
“Wow,” he said. “That’s talent.”
Laughing, she walked around the edge of the counter, crossing over the corner that led to an ice cream case. Stiltson had never tried the ice cream in all these years, but he would one day.
“Think so?” she asked. “Maybe I should take that on TV, because that sure isn’t slow.”
He laughed. “You’re right about that.”
She stepped behind the ice cream buffet. He could see her waist through the glass. A small band of skin showed between her pants and shirt. Her downy skin was slightly tanned, even in the winter.
At the end of the glass display sat a table with two coffee makers on top. Three stacks of Styrofoam cups were piled like towers in front of them. The pot on the left was nearly empty, but the other was freshly brewed. Stiltson could see the rich steam rising from the pot.
“You know,” began Carrie, “I really don’t think anyone would pay money to watch me spin cigarette packs and act like old ladies.”
“Hell with them. What do they know?”
The corner of her mouth bent upward, a bashful smile forming that she tried to
hide. Then she laughed.
He realized he was really starting to enjoy that laugh a lot. Sounded like a raspy snicker—natural and not forced. Her head bobbled, her long, brownish-blonde hair falling into her face.
“So, not that I mind chatting with you instead, but I was wondering where Charlie snuck off to.”
“Vacation.”
“What?” He was shocked. In the ten years he’d known the man, he’d never once taken a full day off. At times, he’d let his wife or the kids who were old enough tend to the store while he ran errands. But he never missed a full day. Christmas being the only exception, and that was just because the store was closed.
“I know, can you believe it?” She grabbed a cup. “How do you like it?”
He felt his neck getting hot, resisting the urge to say something slick and dirty that would just make him come off as a pervert. “Like my women.”
“Tall, black, and nasty?”
He blushed. “Close. Tanned and sweet as sugar.”
It was her turn to blush. She nibbled at her bottom lip while pouring the coffee. Oddly enough, Stiltson was beginning to suspect she was a bit smitten by him. Though he had no clue as to why.
Beginning to feel guilty about her age compared to his, he decided to ask some more questions to determine the exact number of years that was between them. After all, what kind of detective would he be if he didn’t ask questions?
“So, do you work for Charlie part time?”
“Not really. I work at my dad’s store mostly. He owns Pap’s Hot Spot in Shelby. Ever been there?”
“I haven’t.”
“Ah, well, Pap is my dad. And he’s also Charlie’s younger brother.” She set the pot on the burner and grabbed the container of sugar. With a small spoon, she scooped in three dabs. Then she took a thin, red straw and stirred.
“So, Charlie’s your uncle.”
“Nothing gets by you, does it?” She winked and put a lid on the cup. Walking back the way she’d come, she smirked, not coldly, but cutely.
He cut across the front, beating her to the counter. “Nope, as a matter of fact nothing gets by me. That’s why I’m a detective.”
“Whatever.” She joined him at the front, but on her side of the counter.
“Sadly, I am.” Reaching into his pocket to retrieve his badge and prove it to her, she caught a glimpse of his shoulder harness. The dim light from the fluorescents glowed on the stainless steel. The sight of the gun seemed to make her uncomfortable, so he pressed his coat over it with his elbow. Then he showed her his badge. “See?”
“Yep…”
“I’m not gonna stick you up. I’m just an old beatnick.”
“Fuzz?”
“Yeah, fuzz. But, you can call me John.”
“Well, John Fuzz, I’m Carrie.”
“I know. Read it on your name tag.”
“You are quite the detective, Mr. John Fuzz. Will there be anything else I can do for you?”
“I think that’ll do me.” He took his wallet out of his back pocket. “So, when does Charlie come back from vacation?”
“At the end of the week. I’m here helping out while on break.” She half-smiled.
He read that look as her having regretted giving him some hint of her age. “Oh? Are you from the university?”
“Yes.”
Liar. Probably just a senior in high school.
But, as if sensing his disbelief, she produced her school ID, showing him the picture matched the name. And she’d been telling him the truth.
“See, Mr. John Fuzz, you’re not the only with a badge.”
He blushed even harder.
“So, if you come in here a lot this week, you’ll be sure to find me, until five at least. That’s when my mom comes in and takes over.”
Stiltson smiled. “We’ll see. Depends on how good this coffee is. As good as Charlie’s?”
“Better.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
She punched in some buttons on the register. “That’ll be $4.99. The coffee’s on the house.”
“No, don’t do that, let me pay for it.”
“I insist. The only payment I ask is for you to come back in here again.”
“Maybe I can swing something…”
“Good enough.”
He handed her a five and said, “Keep the change.”
“You got it.”
He grabbed the smokes, tucking them in the inner pocket of his trench coat. Grabbing the coffee, he offered her another smile that she traded for one of her own.
She sure is gorgeous, he thought. But dangerous. What the hell am I thinking?
He walked to the door, pushed against it, and stepped outside. The heavy, freezing wind pounded against him, throwing his coat into the air. He heard Carrie saying something over the roar of the wind. “What’d you say?”
Louder, “I said it was nice meeting you, John Fuzz.”
“You too.”
“I hope to see you again very soon.”
“Likewise.” He let the wind take the door out of his hand and close it. Then he turned around, clutched the coffee close, and hiked back to his car.
Driving to the station, he sipped the coffee. Carrie was a damn liar. It wasn’t just better than Charlie’s, it was the best goddamn coffee he’d ever tasted. Smooth, creamy, making his taste buds pop and sing.
He set the coffee in the cup holder, flipped open the top of his cigarette pack, and patted one out. Plopping it in his mouth, he considered the idea of going to see her again on his lunch break. Couldn’t do that, Giles would be with him. He probably wouldn’t mind, but Stiltson just didn’t feel like explaining himself.
Maybe he should wait until next week before going back to Charlie’s again. Give her plenty of time to be long gone. But just the sheer thought of that depressed him. He took a drag off his cigarette, exhaled, and rolled the window down a crack to filter out the smoke. He thought of Carrie again. They’d made a solid connection today. Rarely did that happen to Stiltson, and this one had been stronger than any he could remember.
The way he felt about her so quickly, he knew it would be impossible to stay away from her.
He already wanted to talk to her again.
Chapter Twelve
David snapped open his eyes to the imperative sound of his phone ringing. He was still on the couch. Looked as if he hadn’t budged all night. Vaguely, he could remember the events of the previous night. The details were fuzzy, but one thing he knew for certain was he’d seen her. Natasha. She had been there.
He sat up, groaning. His body was stiff and sore. Even more than it had been yesterday. He curled his fingers. Looking down at his hands, he saw they were stained with some kind of brown, sticky residue.
Then he remembered the slime. She had been coated in it. Her whole body was a sultry mess. But even under the gook, she was beautiful. Nothing could tarnish her allure.
He missed her. Though he knew she was there, he couldn’t feel or see her. She had to be somewhere nearby.
The phone rang again. He wanted to scream. The annoying, pulsing sound of the ringer was driving him ballistic. Who was calling so damn much? It had been ringing all night; he dimly heard it in the fogginess of his dream. It all had been a dream, hadn’t it?
What had been, exactly? When had he dreamed? He wasn’t sure, it was all such a frenetic blur. Natasha coming to him. Him helping her, but then what happened? There was a blank area between points A and C. What the hell was B? Why couldn’t he remember B?
The angel board sat on the table like any ordinary keepsake. Nothing about it seemed spectacular. It looked to be nothing more than a prop. Something for people to look at when they came by.
The phone finally shut up as he stood. His back popped and strained. It felt good to be standing. His muscles expanded, tingled. He stretched, arched his feet, and put all the pressure on his toes. The blood seemed to be circulatin
g regularly now. He felt much better.
And he was hungry. Starving. He remembered that he never ate yesterday, which was dumb on his part. He liked to eat, and a lot. To go a full day without any kind of food was something he never did. Well, he was paying for it now.
He walked to the kitchen and took the pack of bacon he’d bought over the weekend out of the fridge. He wanted all of it. Then he walked to the counter and set the soon to be delicious meal on the counter. There was a pack of cigarettes already sitting there. He grabbed the pack, staring at the orange and white box. He should be really craving one of these right about now. Today would make day two without any kind of nicotine, so he should be close to hysterics. But he wasn’t. In fact, he didn’t want one at all.
Looking over his shoulder, he eyed the trashcan in the corner.
He walked over and dropped the unopened pack inside. Then he returned to the counter with a knife and sliced the bacon open. The aroma wafted up to his nose. He took a big whiff and held it in, savoring the smell. He couldn’t wait to eat this.
At the stove, he turned the dial to medium-high. He reached into the drawer underneath and took out a pan. He set it on top of the warming burner.
Then the phone rang again.
“Fucking mother-bitch,” he muttered.
He walked to the phone and seized it from the base. Checking the caller ID, he read the number across the screen.
Mom. Great.
Just what he needed right now. But he knew if he didn’t answer, get this conversation out of the way, then she’d just keeping calling until he finally did. Might as well get it over with.
“Hello?”
“David?”
Who else would it be? “Yeah.”
“Where on earth have you been? I’ve been calling, Amber’s been calling, and even Sam’s been calling. I was about to send the police over there.” Her distorted voice was shaky, raspy, frantic with worry, but now, in David’s ear it was rising to anger. He wondered if she’d been to sleep yet.
“I’ve been here.”
“Then why aren’t you answering your calls?”
“Because…” What could he tell her really? Not the truth. By all means not the truth, but he didn’t want to lie to his mother either. Possibly say he was spending the night with someone, that would not be a total lie. But if he said that, then she’d want to know who she was, her occupation, and the name of her parents so she could call and introduce herself.
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