Pretty Dirty Trick

by Tabatha Kiss

  Anna glances up at me from three stairs back but I turn away before she notices me looking. “I don’t know, honey,” she whispers back.

  I should do something more to put them at ease. If my heart would stop pounding, I definitely could.

  I clear my throat and pause at the top of the stairwell. “Fourth floor,” I say, flashing a smile that I hope is comforting. “Sorry, the elevator has been broken since I moved in.”

  “You live here?” Anna asks.

  I reach into my pocket for my keys. “Yeah. It’s not much, but it’s…” I chuckle. “It’s not much, let’s just say that.”

  Her lips tug involuntarily. Progress.

  I unlock my door at the end of the hall and gesture inside. “Ladies first,” I say, my eyes briefly falling to Charlotte’s still hidden face in Anna’s arms.

  Anna walks in and I do a quick scan of the empty hall before walking in and locking the door behind us.

  I flick on the light to burn as much mystique as possible. To be honest, every glance at that frightened lump on Anna’s shoulder twists my gut into knots.

  “Living room and kitchen, obviously,” I say. I point to the two doorways across the room. “Bedroom on the left. Bathroom on the right. You’re welcome to any food or drinks—”

  “We’re fine,” Anna says. She moves to the windows and slides a single finger through curtains to look outside.

  “You’ll be safe here, Detective,” I say.

  “The Quinns don’t know about this place?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Trust me, I wouldn’t still be living here if they did.”

  She nods, seemingly satisfied. “We won’t stay long.”

  “You can stay as long as you need to. I don’t mind—”

  Charlotte raises her head, stopping me cold. Her little eyes peek out from behind dark strands of her hair. Brown with spikes of blue. Just like mine. I couldn’t get a good look at them before.

  “Charlotte…” Anna slides her down to the floor and takes a knee beside her. “This is Milo. He’s a…” She hesitates, looking up me. “He’s a friend,” she says.

  I lower down, my eyes still locked on hers. She doesn’t seem as frightened as she was before. I wonder if she recognizes the same in me as I do in her. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

  “Hey, Charlotte,” I say, my voice nearly breaking. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Hello,” she says.

  My heart skips. I smile at that tiny voice. Her dimpled cheeks. That brunette hair.

  I look at Anna and she’s smiling, too.

  She drops it as soon as we make eye contact and turns her attention back to Charlotte. “Come on, honey,” she says. “Let’s take that wet jacket off…”

  I stand up. “I’ll grab a few towels for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  I retreat into the bathroom, taking wide steps to get there as fast as possible.

  As soon as I’m out of sight, the wind knocks out of me. I exhale hard, refusing to inhale again until my body jerks and forces me to.

  I just met my daughter. And she’s perfect.

  I catch my breath and gather two clean towels together before heading back into the living room.

  Anna’s eyes shift from me to my desk and I cringe. I wasn’t gone thirty seconds and she’s already spotted the stack of stolen IDs and passport books. Wonderful. Bring a detective home without tidying up first. Good call, buddy.

  “Here,” I say, holding out the towels.

  “Thanks,” she says, her voice dry and cold again. She gestures to the bedroom behind me. “Do you mind if we use…?”

  “No. Go ahead,” I say, turning out of the way.

  Anna reaches downward and Charlotte takes her hand out of instinct. “Come on, let’s go get dried off, honey.”

  I give an awkward wave as they pass around me. “I’ll just be… out here.”

  The door closes behind them. Again, my body jerks to get my attention and I force a deep breath into my lungs.

  I walk to the kitchen and open my fridge in search of the nearest shot of alcohol I can find.

  Whiskey. That’ll do.

  I take a glass from my cabinet and sit down on my sofa. I can just barely hear Anna’s voice in the other room as I fill my glass. It’s oddly soothing, though a mother’s voice usually is.

  But when she comes back out again, I don’t know if she’ll be the calm and soothing mother or the hard-ass detective looking for answers.

  With my luck? The latter times a thousand. Maybe it won’t be as bad if I’m half drunk.

  I take a drink and wait.

  Nineteen

  Anna

  I pull the blanket up and lay it just beneath Charlotte’s chin. “You comfortable?” I ask.

  Charlotte nods.

  I smile as wide as possible. If I show her how I’m really feeling, she’ll sense there’s something wrong. Kids aren’t stupid. They’re more perceptive than most adults.

  I lean over to kiss her forehead. “Go to sleep, okay?”

  “Can you leave the light on?”

  “Sure, honey. But only if you go to sleep.”

  She closes her eyes and I let my smile drop a little. I sit still for a few minutes, watching her little chest rise up and down until it’s safe to move. I ease the stethoscope out of her hand and set it down on the bedside table.

  Milo Murray’s bedroom. It’s simple, minimalistic. Black sheets and discount furniture. It doesn’t feel like a home. It feels like a hostel, just somewhere he’s crashing until he moves on to the next place.

  I look at the door. Once again, I have questions for Milo Murray.

  I step out and ease the door closed, careful not to make a sound.

  “How is she?”

  I take a deep breath before turning around to Milo on the couch. “She’s confused,” I answer. “But doing okay, all things considered.”

  “Good,” he says. “I’m really sorry if I scared her earlier. I didn’t mean to.”

  “It’s okay. I’m sure she’ll forget all about it. Never stays scared for too long.”

  “Tough kid.”

  “It’s how I know she’s mine,” I joke. I eye the booze in his hand. “Got more of that?”

  He smirks. “Grab a glass. Cabinet left of the fridge.”

  I walk into the kitchen and open the cabinet to find a line of glasses inside, all different shapes and sizes. I grab the largest one and make my way over to him.

  Milo holds out the bottle and I take it.

  “Thank you,” I answer as I pour a large amount into the glass. I chug down at least half of it before coming back up for air and finding him staring up at me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing.”

  I wipe my lips and turn around to pace around his living room. “So, remember that thing you said about not coming into my life and messing it up?” I ask.

  He holds up his hands. “I swear, I meant every word of it at the time.”

  I laugh, feeling the burn of alcohol in my throat. “Well, thank you,” I say. “Life is good and messed up now, but we’re alive, so…”

  He nods. “You’re welcome.”

  “I do have some questions, though.”

  “I figured you would.” He leans back. “Fire away.”

  “If you don’t work for the mob, then how did you know they were coming to my house to kill me?”

  Milo squints. “Because… I work for the mob and they told me they were coming to your house to kill you.”

  I frown. “Did you kill Martin Wells?”

  “No!”

  “Keep your voice down. She’s sleeping.”

  He presses his lips together. “No,” he whispers. “I really didn’t kill him. I just run a taco truck. They pass drugs and money through it. They pay me for the convenience. That’s it.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  I belie
ve him. Fuck me.

  I gesture to the desk. “What’s with the passports?”

  He hesitates, bouncing his ankle off the floor. “I still dabble in a little identity theft.”

  I scoff. “A little identity theft?”

  “It’s just a hobby. A nostalgic reminder of a simpler time. Like a security blanket.”

  “That’s an ironic way to look at it.”

  “It is not lost on me, no.”

  I tilt my head. “You realize I’m a cop, right?”

  “And I’m hoping saving your life gets me a free pass.” He raises his thumbs and smiles to lighten the mood.

  I down the rest of my glass. “I’ll think about it,” I say, slightly swaying.

  “I’ll take it for now.”

  I move back toward the couch and plop down on the opposite side away from him. He grabs the bottle and holds it out for me to take. I snatch it to refill my glass.

  “So…” He twists in my direction. “I have something I want to ask you.”

  I take a sip. “Me?”

  “It’s kinda personal, so feel free to tell me to piss off, if you want.”

  I hesitate while I lick the alcohol off my lips. “Okay. Fire away,” I quote him.

  His eyes flick toward the bedroom. “How was she…?” He pauses to think. “You know…”

  I wait for him to finish, bobbing my neck forward as the seconds tick by. “How was she… what?”

  “Conceived,” he finally says.

  “How?” I repeat.

  “I mean, I know how stuff works naturally, but not-so-much when it comes from a donor,” he says quickly. “The last time I saw her, she was in a plastic cup.”

  “Oh…” I pause, feeling a rush of blood to my cheeks. “You want to know how she went from… the cup to…” I point at my stomach.

  “I said it was personal,” he says, raising his hands. “You don’t have to answer. I’m just curious.”

  “No, no. It’s fine.” I scratch behind my ear. “It’s a perfectly normal medical procedure. Women do it every day.”

  “Was there like… a turkey baster involved at some point or how does that work?”

  I laugh awkwardly. “Uh, no. No turkey baster. A needleless syringe, actually.”

  He squints, picturing it. “A syringe?”

  “Yeah, it’s a little thing.” I hold up my thumb and index finger and extend the distance between them. “Not like little, but… you know, long enough.”

  “Okay…” He nods. “So, you’re in a doctor’s office, feet up in the stirrups, and they fill the syringe with… well, me… and then…”

  He mimics pushing the needle’s plunger with his thumb.

  “That’s one way to do it, yeah,” I say.

  He furrows his brow. “But that’s not the way you did it?”

  I take another gulp from my drink. “Not exactly. I mean, the steps are the same, but I did it myself. At home. Alone.”

  “They let you do that?” he asks.

  “Oh, yeah. It’s common. Just have to follow the instructions for thawing it to the letter, which was easy enough. Then, you just fill the syringe, lay down somewhere comfortable…” I raise my glass. “Down about half a bottle of wine…”

  He laughs. “I hear that’s how most kids are made anyway.”

  “The actual… insertion was by far the hardest part,” I say, feeling my tongue loosen. “You can’t just squirt and go, you have to do it slowly or else it might spill out and you don’t want that. Shit’s expensive.”

  His eyes slip downward for a brief second before he forces them back up. “Makes sense,” he says.

  “Then, you just…” I bite down, stopping myself.

  He leans forward. “Then, what?”

  I wave my hand. “No, never mind. That’s it. Voilà. Baby in the oven. Set timer to nine months.”

  He taps my thigh. “No, go on. What were you gonna say?”

  I deflate. “Okay. They recommend that you…” My lips twitch. I shift on the cushion. My cheeks burn. “Shit, okay. You need to get your cervix to suck up the sperm so it… you know, gets in, and the best way to do that is through… orgasm.”

  “Okay, wait.” He empties his glass and sets it down again. “You masturbated… with my sperm inside of you?”

  I hold my breath. “… Yes.”

  “Well, that’s…” His throat clears. “A perfectly normal medical procedure.”

  “Right.”

  “Women do that every day.”

  “We do, yeah.”

  He stares forward at the far wall with wide-open eyes.

  I sit still, feeling my muscles burn from being flexed and stiff. “Milo?”

  “You want a drink?” he asks.

  I look at the one in my hand. “I have one—”

  “I’m gonna get a drink.”

  “You have one, too.”

  He picks up his glass, along with the bottle on the table in front of us. “Refill?” he asks, his voice an octave higher than usual.

  “Yes, please.”

  He takes my glass and I watch his hard expression trying not to laugh as he attempts to fill the glasses. Once he’s done, he hands mine back and I nod.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  We both take another drink. I close my eyes as the rush of alcohol goes a little deeper into my head.

  Milo sits back and we look at each other again. Somehow, we’ve moved closer on the couch. I’m not sure how or when that happened but I make no move to correct it.

  He presses his lips together. “And you didn’t want to do it the old-fashioned way?” he asks.

  “No. Well…” I shrug. “It certainly would have been nice, don’t get me wrong. But me and the old-fashioned way weren’t getting along too well for a while.”

  “How long?”

  “How long?” I repeat.

  “How long has it been since you’ve done it the old-fashioned way?” he asks slowly, casually peeking out at me with those deep, colorful eyes.

  “Uh…” I think hard as his fingertips brush my thigh. “Like a year or so…”

  “That’s not too bad.”

  “Before Charlotte was born.”

  He winces. “Ouch.”

  “So, yeah, I haven’t really…” a chuckle slips out, “old-fashioned in a while.”

  I turn to him again, feeling as if I could sway off-balance at any moment. His warm breath slides along my cheek and I swallow a bit of the saliva building under my tongue.

  “Detective,” he whispers.

  His hand moves up my side.

  “Yeah?”

  Our lips graze as I speak but neither of us moves. We sit still, silently staring at each other from an inch apart. His mouth opens, words building on the tip of his tongue, and I beg inside for him to say it. My ears twitch pleasantly as they wait to hear his voice again.

  Say it. Whatever it is. Just say it.

  “Mommy?”

  I turn away from him to look at Charlotte standing in the open doorway behind the couch.

  “Hey, honey…” I slide out of his arm and onto the floor. I quickly right myself and push up to stand. “Are you okay?”

  “I can’t sleep,” she says.

  I take a wide step around the couch toward her and — more importantly — away from Milo. If I don’t, the heat on my skin may ignite and burn this whole building down.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I tell her, bending over. “You want some water?”

  “I got it,” Milo says, standing up. He bolts into the kitchen, his eyes down and away from mine.

  “Come on.” I take Charlotte’s hand. “Let’s go back to bed.”

  I lead her into the room and she climbs back up under the covers. She leaves an edge open for me to get in and looks up at me with those frightened, multicolored eyes. The same eyes I was just gazing into with his hands on me…

  “Okay…” I sigh, feeling instantly sober.

  “Are you leaving again?” she asks.

 
; “No, honey. I’m staying right here.” I glance up and swallow as I see Milo lingering in the doorway. “I’m going to go grab your water. I’ll be right here, okay?”

  Charlotte watches with unblinking eyes as I stand back up and walk to the doorway.

  Milo holds out the water glass. “Here.”

  I take hold of it, accidentally swiping his fingers and feeling a shot of warmth up to my elbow. “Thanks.” My eyes fall to his mouth as disappointment churns my insides. “I’m gonna…” I point behind me, “stay with her. She’s still a little freaked out, I think.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He casually waves. “Go ahead. I’ll take the couch.”

  “You don’t mind?” I ask.

  “Not at all. Be my guest.”

  I look down into the glass, focusing on the dim lights as they refract along the water, distorting the images on the other side. “Goodnight, then,” I say, turning away.

  “Anna.”

  “Yeah?”

  Milo grabs my arm and spins me toward him, locking his lips with mine before I even know what’s happening. My entire body goes numb but I feel every single move of his lips as they embrace mine. One hand cups my cheek, keeping the pressure on the back of my head, and I feel my mouth moving on its own to kiss him back.

  We pull away to breathe and he looks down at the floor.

  “Sorry,” he says, letting go of me. “I wasn’t gonna be able to sleep either if I didn’t do that.”

  I force some air into my lungs. I realize, as his fingers release me, that his other hand was wrapped around mine, locking the glass in place to keep me from dropping it. A necessary gesture for sure, as I probably would have.

  “Yeah, me neither.” I lick my lips, tasting a bit of him still lingering within the crevices. “Goodnight,” I say.

  He nods. “Goodnight, Detective.”

  I take one last look into his eyes and smile in gratitude before stepping into the bedroom.

  I hold my breath until the door is closed. Then, I let it out slowly, but hard. I lay my fingertips along my trembling lips, closing my eyes as the memory crashes through me.

  I take a drink from the water glass, washing away the alcohol on my breath, and when I open my eyes again, I look over at my daughter lying in Milo’s bed.