by Faith Gibson
This garage is full of bikes in various stages of repair and restoration. The building a few miles away where Jared conducts business is where the cars are. Since that’s where I’ll be working, I’m ready to get going and see what he has in mind for me to work on. “Thanks for the clothes.”
“Can’t have you wearing the same shit every day. We’ll go get the intake manifold, and then we’ll swing by the mall and let you pick up a few things.”
“I don’t need to shop at the fucking mall. Just take me to Walmart.” I’m not trying to make a fashion statement. I just need something to cover my ass. For now. Later, when I put my plan in motion, I will need clothes more appropriate for someone besides a mechanic, and I won’t be including Jared in those plans. He’s doing enough for me by giving me a job and a place to crash.
“Suit yourself. You ready to ride?”
“Yep. Just let me put my cup in the sink.” I swallow down the last of my coffee, and while I’m rinsing my cup, Jared locks up the garage and house. We climb into the Camaro, windows down, music blaring. Fuckin’ A. Zeus sits his big ass in the back seat, his head between us in the front. The part we’re picking up is a couple of hours out. We ride without talking, letting the rock music and hum of the engine fill the void. Jared taps his fingers along the steering wheel, and I sing every song I know. I’m glad my cousin listens to the older rock station, since I have no idea what the current music sounds like.
After we secure the part and Jared and the old man he bought it from swap a few car stories, we head to find me some clothes. Against my wishes, we end up at the mall instead of Walmart like I asked. I shouldn’t have doubted my cousin. He takes me to an outlet store in a strip mall behind the larger mall where he shops. I’m getting quality shit without the high price tag. After tossing down a couple of Benjamins, I’ve got jeans, button-ups, underwear, socks, and T-shirts to last me a while. I toss the bags into the back seat of the Camaro, telling Zeus not to eat them, and we walk down the sidewalk to a deli to grab lunch. When our guts are full, we head back toward The Hollows.
I’ve never seen Jared’s garage, the place I’m going to be working. But when he pulls in the parking lot, he continues on around to the back of the shop. I almost jizz my jeans right before I almost have a panic attack. I eyeball eight cars Jared is working on, and every one of them is a classic. Not a model newer than something that rolled off the assembly line in the seventies. Not only that, but they’re all muscle cars. When he shuts off the engine, Jared says, “I have a surprise for you.” He angles out of the driver’s side, lets Zeus out of the back, and heads inside. Eager to find out what this surprise is, I don’t hesitate to follow him. Once he’s inside and has the alarm turned off, Jared flips switches, lighting the place up. When we get to the front of the building, two more cars are in what I consider the showroom. One is a Chevy Malibu Super Sport, red with black racing stripes, and the other is a funky green Plymouth Barracuda. Both vehicles are sharp as fuck.
Jared walks around both vehicles, touting their attributes. “The ’70 Cuda has a V8 Hemi with twin carburetors, automatic tranny with a slapstick shifter. The Super Sport is a ’71 with a 454 big block. Take your pick.”
I’m floored. Like, literally glued to the goddamn concrete under my feet. “Jared, I can’t–”
“You can, and you will. After the shit you’ve been through, you deserve something good in your life, and these babies right here are good.”
I turn my back on my cousin and pretend to inspect the Cuda. I blink back the fucking tears so he won’t think I’m a pussy. But fuck me if this gesture doesn’t have me all choked up. Nobody has ever done anything this nice for me. Both cars are sharp, and it’s going to be hard to choose between the two. “Which one’s faster?”
“Not that I’ve had them side-by-side, but I’d say the Chevy has a little more torque on take-off. The Cuda could no doubt catch it in a quarter mile, but it’d be close at the finish line.”
“As much as I like the Cuda, I’m gonna have to go with the SS. I… Are you sure about this?”
“Cass, I’m sure. I’ve held on to both of these for the last five years, waiting for you to take your pick. I have a list of people ready to buy whichever one you don’t choose. The Cuda will bring in a nice chunka change.” He walks to the front and pushes a button I hadn’t noticed. Probably because my eyes have been glued to the cherry vehicles. The front glass is actually a door, and as it opens up, Jared points to the Chevy. “Take her for a spin. I’ll make the call to the man who wants the Cuda.”
I angle into the Chevy and find the release to push the seat back to accommodate my long legs. Turning the key already in the ignition, the badass engine rumbles to life. I thought the Camaro purred, but it has nothing on this machine. I ease the car to the edge of the road, looking both ways. When I see the coast is clear, I step on the gas pedal and let the horses run. I’m not going to go far, because I’m ready to start work. But since I’m out, I decide to do a little reconnaissance. I’m ready to put my part of the plan in motion, so it won’t hurt to check a few things out.
By the time I roll into the back parking lot, my mood is light, and my hands are itching to grab hold of a wrench and begin paying Jared back. In my haste to find out what the surprise was, I hadn’t taken the time to take in my surroundings. Now that my cousin is showing me around, I’m amazed at the size of his building. The front showroom is large enough for three cars, even though he only had two showcased. There is an office, where Zeus is currently sleeping, a breakroom, a customer waiting area, and two restrooms up front. The back consists of a four-bay garage, and behind that is a separate area that houses a paint booth. Jared has a guy who comes in to do custom paint work on an as-needed basis.
Seeing the sweetness Jared has in the shop, I look around for the shit I’ll be working on. When I don’t see anything but cherries, I ask, “Hey, Jared. What are you going to have me do?”
“There’s a Mustang on its way in that needs a total overhaul. I thought you could strip it down for me while I’m installing the intake manifold on the ’66.”
“I have no doubt I can tear shit apart.”
Jared laughs. “Tear it apart in a way I can put the bitch back together, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I agree, feeling lighter than I have in a long fucking time. The Mustang in question rolls up to the back of the shop, and Jared motions the driver into the open bay on the end. My mouth waters at the sight before me. This isn’t any Mustang. This is a Shelby GT500, just like the one from the Nic Cage movie. I love that fucking movie. I always had a thing for Angelina Jolie back in the day. Even though I preferred her as Lara Croft, I wouldn’t have tossed the blonde version out of my bed. I might have been a do-gooder, but I was still male and could appreciate a fine set of tits.
Speaking of tits, the set attached to the driver of the car I’m going to be working on are almost non-existent. Not that it matters. The woman is old enough to be my mother. I grit my teeth as she explains how she’s having the car fixed up for her son as a surprise for his twenty-fifth birthday. He’s given her two beautiful grandchildren, so it’s the least she can do. After Jared fills out the paperwork for the Shelby, I pull on a pair of coveralls and get busy trying hard not to think of my own mother. Jared cranks up the music, and it doesn’t take long for me to get into a zone.
Having taught myself control included the ability to multitask. While I’m removing the engine from the Shelby, my mind makes a list of all the people I need to contact. While I was on the inside, I made a lot of useful acquaintances. People who are more than happy to help put my plan into play. People I never thought I would give the time of day much less depend on. The kind of people I swore an oath to put behind bars. Funny how things change. How I changed. Now that Jared has given me a set of wheels, the task before me just got a whole lot easier.
Chapter 4
Lexie
Adam and I are sharing dinner. It’s a rare occurrence when we sit at the dining
room table together. With my schedule at the salon and his late hours as a detective, I usually eat alone, standing at the counter or sitting on the sofa. Adam comes home after I do and heats his plate before taking it to his office and closing the door. I don’t know why he insisted we sit at the table together. He has one eye on the news and the other on his cell phone. I understand he’s a detective, but there’s more to life than crime. Wait… no there isn’t. Not in our lives.
His cell phone rings, and he curses. “Murdock,” Adam answers, closing his eyes and letting his fork clatter against his mostly finished plate. “Text me the address,” he instructs whoever is on the other end of the line. After disconnecting, he pushes his chair back from the table, threads his arms through his shoulder holster, and heads out the kitchen door to where his car is waiting. There’s no kiss. No words goodbye. Nothing. I finish eating before taking both our plates to the kitchen. I spend the next twenty minutes going through the motions of washing the dishes and putting away the leftovers I will take to work for my lunch. Adam doesn’t eat leftovers. It’s beneath him.
I head upstairs to change out of my work clothes and into a gown. Piling my long hair on top of my head, I clean my face while staring at my reflection in the mirror, turning my face left and right. The bruise is barely visible behind the make-up I wear to work, but now… now in the glaring light of my bathroom, the evidence is edging into the ugly yellow stage. Normally, my husband doesn’t touch my face. Adam is a detective, having been on the Houston PD force for almost twenty years. He lets me know at least once a week I am nobody, and he is untouchable. I turn the light off and make my way downstairs to where a glass of wine and a cigarette are waiting. Even though he smokes, Adam hates when I do, but that and wine are the only enjoyment I get out of life now.
I leave the television on the local news channel. It’s where it stays most of the time. After pouring my wine, I lean against the side of the sofa and listen as the newscaster tells about the latest murder. This is the only way I find out what is going on in my husband’s life and career. He has never shared much about his work with me, but now he barely speaks to me at all. Most of the time, that’s a blessing. The murder being discussed isn’t the crime scene Adam is headed to. The news anchors get to the crime scenes fairly quickly, but it’s usually after Adam and the crime scene unit have had a chance to cordon off the area. I’ve learned a lot from listening to one-sided phone calls and the news reports, not from what he’s told me.
I’m betting the scene Adam is headed to is another murder. This will be the third in a string of deaths to some of the most wanted men in Texas. It doesn’t take an FBI profiler to see patterns. If two high-profile criminals have already been taken out, it only makes sense there will be more. I shouldn’t, but I watch forensic shows when I’m alone. I was never interested in police work until I met Adam. After he and I started dating, I couldn’t get enough of the way things within the system work. The first time I tried to discuss a case with him, Adam got furious with me and told me to leave the detecting to the professionals. Now, I speculate internally.
Taking my glass outside, I light up a cigarette and stare out into the back yard. It’s a fairly good-sized yard. Perfect for a child to play in or a dog to run in.
Or both.
Neither of which I have.
Neither of which I’ll ever have.
It’s one reason I’m not worried about ruining my health by smoking. I’m almost forty years old, and I don’t have a lot of fight left in me. My mother calls once a week to see how I’m doing, and it’s the same story every time – I’m fine. I made my bed a long time ago, and now I’m lying in it. Alone. It’s not that I’m not a strong woman. I think I’ve proven to myself over and over how strong I am. I live with an abusive man who gives me absolutely nothing. A lesser woman would have completely given up and found a way to take her life. I am not that woman. I’m not that selfish. I couldn’t give two shits about how it would affect Adam. But both my parents are still living, and I can’t hurt either one of them by taking my own life. Plus, I’m the eternal optimist. I keep thinking one day, things will get better somehow. Like some miracle is going to fall in my lap, transforming my misery into something I can look forward to.
The air is still humid, but having lived in South Texas my whole life, I’m used to it. I inhale the nicotine from my cigarette while life carries on around me. A dog barks a couple of houses down. A car door slams across the street. The rumble of a hot rod travels down the road, taking me back to being a teenager and riding in my father’s old Chevy. I always thought I’d get my license and he’d hand me the keys to his “baby.” Instead, he handed me keys to an old Honda that had over two hundred thousand miles on it. I had to get a job to pay for the insurance and gas, neither of which cost much. Dad told me when I could afford a hot rod of my own, I could get it. That car is still sitting in his garage. A couple of years ago, he took it to a local hotshot who rebuilds muscle cars and let him overhaul the thing. Now it runs like a dream.
I love my dad. He’s one of the good ones, and if he knew how Adam treated me, Dad would put a bullet in Adam’s skull. He loves my mother unconditionally. They have one of the marriages other couples can only dream about. As great as his love is for her, he loves me equally as much, and I have no doubt he would risk going to jail and being away from my mother to make my husband pay for taking his hands to me. It’s why he can never know. Mom can never know, because she would tell my father, having no doubt what he’d do to Adam. Yep, Mom would risk it, too. God, how’d I get so lucky with them?
I always thought I’d have my own children to raise exactly how my parents raised me. That’ll never happen. Even if Adam could and was willing to give me a child, I’m pushing forty, and that’s past the point a woman needs to get pregnant. Doesn’t make the yearning any less. I think if I could’ve had a child to raise, dealing with Adam’s abuse would have been much more tolerable, and I wouldn’t hate him so much. Then again, if he abuses me, what’s to say he wouldn’t abuse our child? No, it’s better this way, because like my dad, I wouldn’t tolerate my husband putting his hands to my child and let him live.
As I’m snuffing out the cigarette in the ashtray I keep outside, the rumble of the big motor travels back up the street. I wonder if someone has moved into the area or if it’s someone who’s lost. Either way, I’d love to get a look at the car and see if it’s as nice as Dad’s. It’s been a while since I’ve visited my parents. Once my bruises heal, I think I’ll make the short trip over to Beaumont and get my dad to take me for a spin.
Cass
When I came to live with Jared, I made him a deal that as long as he cooked, I would clean up the kitchen, which I’ve just finished doing. He’s heading out to work on a bike, and I tell him I’m going to take the SS for a spin. What I omit from our conversation is where I’m going to drive to. Part of my plan is to find out schedules. Patterns. Who is going where and with whom. Who is staying home. What time they go to bed. Things like that. I need to get inside, and I need to do it without the occupants there to get in my way.
This is the part of the plan that will take the longest. Once the recon work is done, everything else will fall into place. I’m keeping everything close to the vest until it’s time to call in favors. I won’t do that until I know without a doubt each piece of the puzzle is ready. I won’t include Jared. He’s doing enough for me with giving me a place to crash and now a set of wheels. I won’t ever be able to repay him, and I’m not going to start by implicating him if I were to get caught.
The first house I go to is in a nice neighborhood. Much nicer than a cop, even a detective, should be able to afford. Fucker. My SS is conspicuous, so I can’t linger. On my second pass by, a hot brunette comes out of the house across the street and gets in her car. I slow down and keep my eye on her. When she pulls onto the street going the other way, I turn around to follow. She stops at a convenience store to get gas. Her living across the street from one of the
houses I need to keep an eye on is perfect, so I pull into the gas pump next to her. If I can get in with this bitch, I’ll be able to keep an eye on the Murdock residence without having to sneak around. When I get out of the car and straighten to my full height, the brunette turns her attention from appreciating the car to me. By the look in her eyes, she likes what she sees.
“Nice wheels,” she says and gives me a wink as I walk past her to go pay cash. When I come back out, she’s tearing her receipt off the printer. I notice the logo on the shirt she’s wearing. Jack’s Place. No fucking way. This chance meeting couldn’t have worked out better if I’d planned it. Now I need to make sure she’s the type of woman who can slide into the part I need her to play.
Since she left her house, I assume she’s going to work, so I decide to follow her. She smiles at me before she gets back in her car and drives away. Once my gas tank is full, I ease into the driver’s seat and pull out my phone to find out exactly where Jack’s Place is. I’ve heard of the bar in detail, but I’ve not had the opportunity to visit. Seeing how this woman basically fell into my lap, I decide I’m in the mood for a beer.
Even though I’ve never sat my ass on a bar stool, I feel right at home as soon as I walk in the door. The men stare to size me up. I’m okay with that, because there’s not a motherfucker alive who scares me. Some of the women stare because I’m fresh meat. Some because I’m tall and give off the bad-boy vibe. If I didn’t look like a mountain man, I’d be considered handsome. Not bragging, just a fact. I only have eyes for one woman, though. Just as I’m about to take a seat at a high top, the woman I’m stalking comes out from the back wearing an apron. I go ahead and sit down so I don’t lose the table. Even if she isn’t my waitress, I can observe her from my vantage point. Wearing a pair of shorts that barely cover her ass, I appreciate her long legs as they bring her to my table.
