Indigo Man

by M. J. Carlson

  He dragged himself, groaning, out of the car. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this stiff and sore,” he said. “I feel like I’m a hundred years old.”

  Sara ignored his complaints as they approached room number eight. She slipped the room card into the reader on the door and a small LED blinked green. With a twist of the knob, she gestured for Zach to enter.

  He entered and took in the room at a glance. Typical Florida motel. Deep pile, industrial carpet in patterned tan and dark green covered the floor. The single, king-sized bed sported a slick, colorful spread, splashed with irregular shapes of reds, blues, purples, and greens on a light mauve background. A large, framed beach scene hung on the wall and a wide-screen monitor sat on the dark brown, wooden dresser. The obligatory air conditioner filled the space under the picture window with a soft rattle, and he smelled almost-fresh paint, almost masking the scent of carpet cleaner.

  As he surveyed the room, holding the bags from the superstore and auto parts place, Sara stepped past him, her overnight bag in hand. She dropped the room key on the dresser as she passed it. Placing her bag on the white countertop containing the sink, she checked her forehead in the mirror.

  “Um,” Zach started. “Where am I staying?”

  She regarded him in the mirror. “Right here.”

  His mouth went dry. “And you?”

  “Right here.” She turned to face him as she shrugged off her suit jacket, revealing her black shoulder holster straps over her white blouse. “Asking for two beds would have been conspicuous. Make yourself comfortable, Zach, but not too. I’m here to protect you, not have sex with you. Dibs on the bathroom.” Without another word, she kicked off her shoes and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

  He stood as still as if cast in bronze and stared at the closed bathroom door. Then, he inhaled a breath and blew it out his nose. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Shoulda known that was too good to be true.” He peeled out of his shirt, and dropped onto the bed. A small groan escaped him when his broken rib reminded him of its continued presence. A minute later, the toilet flushed, and Sara stepped out. “Your turn.”

  Zach dragged himself off the bed again and headed for the bathroom. “I need to shower and rinse my shirt.” He grabbed the bottle of aspirin on the way.

  ***

  Zach lay face up on the bed while Sara showered. He worked at breathing, inhaling through the dull ache until he encountered the catch where his rib pain increased by orders of magnitude. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Gasp in sudden, sharp agony, wishing he had something a little stronger than aspirin. Wince and exhale. Repeat. Outside, the afternoon was giving way to a tepid Florida evening.

  He was almost asleep when she stepped out of the bathroom. One of his eyes opened to her long, taut legs flowing out from the pastel oxford shirt she wore unbuttoned to the mid chest. Her hair hung loose, cascading past her shoulders in blond waves, brushed off her face and shining. She held her shoulder holster loose in one hand as if it were merely a fashion accessory, and moved toward the bed in long, graceful strides.

  She surprised him by walking around to the side of the bed closest to the door where he lay and sitting on the edge next to him. He shifted to give her room, rolled onto his side, facing her, and waited, focusing on her face.

  “I should explain,” she said.

  “Hey, no,” he whispered. “You don’t owe me anything, especially an explanation.” He touched the back of her hand with his fingertips. “I understand.”

  She took his hand in hers. “Tell me what you understand.”

  Zach exhaled. “I’m just a guy,” he started. “I’m the kind of guy someone like you wouldn’t say ‘Hi’ to on the street. I just happened to be the lab rat you dropped a DNA sample off to.” He hesitated before telling her the rest. “And poured a thousand dollars worth of chemicals down the drain to get you to come back every day for a week so I could see you, talk to you. Joke was on me, though. Every time you did, my tongue tied itself up in knots, ’cause I’m nowhere near your league.”

  Sara blinked, but said nothing.

  “I’m a nerd. I’ve never been good with women, especially women as pretty as you. Hell, I never even had a girlfriend in high school. I worked in a bar in college and dated three girls. The thing with Kathy was a fluke. Laz practically shoved me into asking her to move in. Then, you wandered into my life. I saved your message on my voicemail asking what the holdup was so I could listen to it, again and again.”

  Sara took a deep breath and swallowed, dropping her gaze to the floor.

  “I don’t lead an exciting life.” His voice went thick with emotion, “Except for the last forty-eight hours, anyway. Since yesterday, I’ve been chased, threatened, saved, knocked down twice—by you.” He saw the beginnings of a smile touch the corners of her mouth. “I’ve been involved in two car thefts and seen a real family care for each other. I’ve been rescued, folded in half like a ventriloquist’s dummy, and smuggled cross-country. You dragged my ass out of the lab long enough to have a life. If I’m still alive this time next week, I owe you more thanks than I can ever give you.”

  “I let your friend die.” The words floated quietly from her. Her eyes glistened.

  He squeezed her hand. “You had to choose. You told me so yourself.”

  “I knocked you down and broke your rib.”

  “You saved my life. It’s a good trade.”

  “You’re wrong, you know.” She studied the carpet. “About what you think you understand.”

  “Then tell me. I’m right here.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

  She slipped off the bed, and walked to the light switch. Hooking it with her finger, she flicked it and plunged the room into near-darkness before returning to where she’d been sitting. Pulling his arm up to the pillow, she lay down on the bed next to him, between him and the door. She moved in close to his body, forcing him to grunt his way toward the center of the bed. Then, she settled her head on his arm and wrapped it around her neck, cradling his forearm between her breasts. “My mother was right,” she whispered. “You’re not very bright, Zachary Marshall. From the first time I laid eyes on the mop you call hair, and the silly, crooked grin you give when you think you’ve been terribly clever, I wanted you, but not for just one night. I let my emotions decide for me, and your best friend died.”

  Zach reached behind him with his free arm, grabbed the bedspread, and wincing from the bruise on his chest, pulled it over them. He gently put some open space between Sara’s hips and his, slid his forearm to a more comfortable position across her chest and closed his hand lightly around her arm. His nose brushed her hair, filling him with the scent of vanilla as he tried to ignore the erection straining at his trousers. “Lazlo Thomas was the best friend I ever had, and I loved him like a brother.” Zach blinked hard. “I’m gonna miss him, miss going to his funeral and seeing him one last time, but I have to tell you, I’m glad you picked me.” He brushed his lips against her shoulder and settled in, waiting for sleep.

  CHAPTER 22

  Zach awoke the next morning, alone and on his back on the hotel bedspread. Every muscle screamed for attention, trying to drown out the dull ache from his chest. His erection was where he had left it last night, but Sara was not. Rolling his head to the right, he checked the bathroom door. It was open and the bathroom was empty. Stretching against his body’s protests, he yawned. “First, shower, then brush teeth,” he said, aloud. “Then, find Federal Agent, print earth-shattering documents, ruin presidential candidate’s career, and turn myself in to be questioned for murder and arson.” As he lay on the wrinkled bedspread and laughed, his chest reminded him who was boss. “I need a shorter to do list.”

  Half an hour later, he was brushing his teeth, waiting for the half dozen aspirin he’d taken to kick in, when the door opened. Sara stepped in, a small cardboard box containing two cups of coffee and a folded-over paper bag balanced on one hand. She wore jeans and a tee shirt. Her hair was brushed to help hide
the bruise under her carefully applied makeup.

  His mood brightened. “Donuts?”

  She placed the box on the dresser and approached him, smirking over his shoulder at his reflection. “Bagels. Nice bed head.” She reached up and tousled his hair.

  “Thanks. Good to see you, too. I thought all cops ate donuts.”

  “Federal agents eat bagels. Besides, I want to keep your arteries open for a long time.”

  He grinned at her past his toothbrush. “No problems there. Good genes.”

  She moved close behind him, ran her hands over his chest, down his stomach, and hooked fingers in the pockets of his pants. “Your jeans felt pretty good last night.” She nuzzled his shoulder. “Maybe tonight we can check the fit.” She gently bumped against him with her hips.

  His sharp inhalation sucked toothpaste into his throat, bending him, gagging and sputtering, into the sink, where he dropped his toothbrush and alternated between coughing and groaning.

  Sara stepped to his side and slapped him on the back.

  “Ouch,” Zach said, as he sidled away from her. “That hurts. You trying to kill me?” He couldn’t help smiling at her as he said it, though.

  She stuck her lower lip out. “You were choking. I was trying to help.”

  His laugh brought another shard of pain through his ribcage. He shuffled her away from the sink, held up an index finger, and rinsed his mouth. Standing, he slipped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Thank you.”

  She circled his waist with her arms and laid her head on his chest, holding him for several long moments. “Want a bagel?”

  Lips forming a grin, he asked, “Is that what the kids are calling it now?”

  Her smile broke into a laugh, and she swatted his ass. “You’ve been hanging around Jack too much. I liked you better when you were quiet.”

  He shared her laugh. “Then you’re going to be really unhappy tonight. What kind of bagels do we have?”

  “One blueberry and one with everything.”

  He brightened. “I want the everything.”

  She sighed. “Patience, patience, young man. You’ll get everything.”

  He brushed her forehead with his lips. “No, I mean the bagel.”

  She bumped his hips with hers. “Is that what the kids’re calling it now?” She turned away from the sink, snagged one of his belt loops, and tugged him toward the coffee by his trousers.

  He sighed. “I can see starting this game with you was a mistake.” He put an arm around her shoulder.

  “You’ll just have to keep up.”

  “Or be thrown off, bruised and bleeding.”

  She raised one eyebrow at him.

  “Something Laz said.”

  She stopped and turned to Zach, a touch of sadness on her face. “I wish I’d gotten to know him.”

  “Me, too. He’d have liked you.” He sat on the foot of the bed.

  She handed him one of the coffee cups. “I brought cream and artificial sweetener.” She opened the paper bag containing the bagels and sat next to him. “I didn’t know which kind you’d want.”

  “I like both,” he said. “My preference is the everything, but I’m okay with the other.”

  She cut both bagels in half and handed him one. “Me, too. I thought we’d share both, so we could sit in the same car with each other and not gag.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “You want cream cheese?” she asked.

  “Is there any other way to eat a bagel?”

  “My mother likes to dip hers in her coffee. She says it helps to cool the coffee if it’s too hot.”

  “Nah, if it’s too hot, you just blow gently over the top.”

  Sara stopped moving. Her eyebrows inched up her forehead and color rose into her cheeks.

  “No, I didn’t mean—”

  She smirked. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  It was his turn to roll his eyes.

  Zach sipped his coffee. The hot, rich liquid warmed him. They chewed on the bagels in silence for a few minutes.

  He held up the thumbnail-sized crystal flash drive in his outstretched hand and considered it. “The interface is common enough,” he said. “We just need something manufactured within the last five years or so with a laser read-write port to access it.”

  “Well, there sure as hell isn’t one in this place for the guests,” she said. “From the looks of the front desk, they don’t even use a computer for reservations.”

  He nodded. “We’ll be harder to track if we stay away from big chains. How are we on money?”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “We can eat. If we stay on the run much longer than four or five days, I may have to think about a second job.”

  “I do have a savings and checking account.”

  She shook her head. “Too easy to track. We’re okay for now. Focus.”

  “We need a computer.” He turned the crystal drive over in his hand, thinking about the information it contained.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said. “I want this thing done.”

  He stared at Sara with narrowed eyes. “You aren’t going to try to entice me into the trunk again, are you?”

  A smirk flickered over her lips. “No. You can ride up front with the adults this time, but only if you’re a good boy and wear your shades.”

  Zach upended his cup, draining the last of his coffee, almost feeling human again.

  She stood, and walked to the dresser. “Besides, I picked up a couple of things I think will help.” She reached into a small, plastic bag on the dresser and pulled out a pair of scissors.

  “What do you have in mind with those? Zach asked.

  She stepped past his knees to one of the two chairs flanking the room’s picture window and patted the back. “Time to change your look.”

  “You’re joking.”

  The wicked grin spread over her face. “I’ve always wanted to try this.”

  Zach shook his head. “Come on. This isn’t a vid. It’ll never work.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Come here. What do you have to lose?”

  “My hair?” He suppressed the urge to throw his hands over his head and run out of the room.

  She opened and closed the jaws of the scissors a couple of times. “You have plenty.”

  “I won’t after you get done.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I strongly suspect it.” He backed up a step. “And that’s the most a scientist gets a lot of the time, so I’m good with it as a working theory.”

  She held the scissors up and crooked a finger at him. “Consider it an experiment.”

  “What’s the hypothesis?”

  “That I can cut hair.” She grabbed his hand, pulled him toward the window.

  “A proper hypothesis is supposed to be stated as a null hypothesis.”

  She cocked her head at him.

  He blew out a breath. “A null hypothesis is a statement about one thing being unrelated to another.”

  “Okay, then,” she said, frowning. “My lack of ability to cut hair will be unrelated to how it looks in the end. Have it your way, but I prefer to be positive about things.”

  “That’ll be easy enough to disprove. Just tell me what you have in mind.”

  “Hmm… Maybe a reverse Mohawk.” She shrugged, twisting the scissors in her hand, letting the light from the window glint on them.

  Zach’s eyes widened. He cocked his head to the side. “A what?”

  “I’m kidding. Come on, take your shirt off and sit down.” Sara turned away from Zach and patted one of the chairs at the small, round table next to the bed. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get on the road.”

  He hesitated for a moment, then stripped off his shirt and slouched over to sit on the chair she had indicated. She wrapped a bathroom towel around his shoulders and set to work, pinching his hair between her fingers and snipping with the scissors while Zach sat, eyes closed and motionless.

  After w
hat seemed to Zach like an eternity, she stopped snipping and brushed her fingers through his hair. She stepped around and eyed him carefully. “One of your ears is lower than the other.”

  “Everybody has one ear lower than the other.”

  “Well, it wasn’t before we started.” She smirked as he reflexively reached up and touched his ears.

  Zach snorted at her, then ran a hand over his scalp. “It doesn’t feel that different. What’d you do?” He stood and stepped around the bed to check out his reflection in the mirror. “Hey. It’s spiked.”

  “It seemed like the easiest thing to do with your hair.” She turned to the bag that had held the bagels and scissors. “Besides, it’s so unlike you, it’s perfect. Especially with this.” She reached in and pulled a small tube and a pair of plastic gloves from the bag.

  “What’s that?”

  She turned to face him and held the tube out for him to see. “Hair dye.”

  Zach took the tube. “It’s black,” he said in confusion.

  “Very good, Zachary. Do you know all your colors?”

  “But my hair is already black.”

  She grabbed his hand, hauling him from the chair and carefully taking the towel from his shoulders. “No, your hair is dark brown.” she took the dye from his hand and tugged him toward the sink. “This is black. Punk rock black, goth black, coal black.”

  His gaze shifted from the sink to Sara. “Are you sure about this?”

  “With your hair spiked, this color, your mother wouldn’t recognize you.” She started the hot water running and pulled the gloves on. “This’ll be fun.”

  ***

  A stranger’s reflection stared back at Zach from the mirror. He turned his head slowly from side to side, trying to get used to his hair. He had to admit, she was right, though. With his hair like this, two days worth of stubble on his cheeks and chin, and the mirrored shades she’d bought, he wouldn’t recognize himself in a crowd.

  “Can I shower before we get on the road? I have hair all over me.”

  “Yes. You should. Wash your hair a couple of times to rinse the excess dye out.”

  He stood and headed for the shower. “Okay. Give me twenty minutes.”