Just a Little Junk

by Stylo Fantome

  Jo’s laughter fell away and she stared hard at him for a second, trying to read his features. Why would he ask that? Did he think she’d done it? Did Archer really think she was capable of doing something like that?

  Do I think I’m capable of something like that?

  “My work outfit,” she started, then she had to clear her throat. “That costume I have to wear? I’ve gotta go to work tomorrow and I remembered it was in the trunk. It has to be hand washed, I wanted to get it over with and give it plenty of time to dry. Now I’m kinda wishing I’d just slept in.”

  He nodded, staring off into the distance. As she watched, he lifted his hand to the back of his neck and rubbed at it nervously.

  “Yeah. I’m kinda wishing that, too,” he mumbled, and Jo felt the waterworks getting ready to start again. Then he sighed and looked at her, his smile back in place. “But hey – let’s look at this as another crazy Archer-and-Jo-Adventure. Maybe we won’t get arrested at the end of this one!”

  Before she could argue that this was in no way like any of their previous “adventures”, he stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

  11:03 a.m.

  Day One

  Jo stared at her toilet tank, her hands on her hips. A nervous, defensive pose she assumed often. Archer stood next to her, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, his right hand rubbing the back of his neck – his own nervous tic.

  “I still can’t believe you hid it in here,” Jo grumbled. Archer leaned back and glanced out the bathroom door.

  “You sure she’s gone?” he asked, referring to her roommate Mandy.

  Jo’s full time job as a waitress at a strip club was barely enough to pay her cell phone bill, let alone cover rent. But at the ripe old age of seventeen, when it had become obvious that she wouldn’t be going to college like all the other shiny pretty girls at Burbank High School, she had decided to forge her own path.

  Apparently, that path led to a shitty part of Van Nuys. She’d met Mandy at the casting call – er, she meant, interview – for the strip club waitress job. Mandy’s uncle managed an apartment complex, said he would cut her a deal. It was still too much for the girl to afford, but splitting it with a roommate would put it just under budget.

  Jo had known instantly her and Mandy would never be besties, but she’d needed a place to live. She had to get away from home. Being from one of the poorest families in Burbank had never been a joy, but on top of that, she’d also come to the realization that if she ever wanted happiness, she’d have to go find it somewhere else.

  She’d fallen in love with Archer the first time she’d ever met him. She’d been thirteen and her older brother had just made varsity basketball. A big deal in their household. About two weeks after the announcement, he’d come home with a friend from the team – Archer Calhoun. If her family had been one of the poorest, Archer’s was probably the poorest.

  She didn’t care about any of that, though. All she saw was a great smile on top of long legs, hazel eyes under shaggy light brown hair. He was funny, and he was nice, and he always made her feel comfortable. She’d been an awkward tween, all legs and no body. Andrew Morgan, the sports star, and his gawky little sister. No one had ever really paid attention to her, until Archer.

  Sure, he’d been two years older than her, but the age difference hadn’t mattered to Jo. And as they grew older, her crush grew, as well. She used to fantasize about him coming into her room, or asking her to a dance. Being homecoming king to her queen. Dumping his current girlfriend in the crowded cafeteria by loudly proclaiming it was Jo he’d really been in love with the whole time.

  Of course, none of that ever happened. Her brother graduated with a 3.9 grade point average, and an even better average on the basketball court – he went to UCLA on a full scholarship. Archer’s playing hadn’t been half as good, and his grades had been even worse – he went on to work in his step-dad’s garage.

  Jo’s own grades had been nothing to brag about, and though she’d eventually grown out of the awkward stage and had filled out pretty nicely, nothing much else changed by the time she’d graduated. Her brother was gone, she was a disappointment to her parents, and Archer was banging some chick from the Marinello School of Beauty.

  Fuck that. Because of her birthday, she’d graduated at seventeen, so she got a fake I.D. and she looked for jobs in neighboring towns. Far enough away she wouldn’t have to see him, but close enough for her to visit home whenever she needed to borrow money from her parents.

  It had been good, at first. Spreading her wings and whatnot. Her job was shit – at least the strippers had the stage between them and the seedy guys who frequented the club. It mostly paid the rent, though, and she made pretty good friends with some of the dancers and other servers. She even met a guy at a Chili’s one night and went on to date him for almost her whole first year away from home.

  Everything changed after that, though. Her brother came home for the summer, and he and Archer visited her over her birthday weekend. Andy had always been a sort of do-gooder, so it was Archer and Jo who wound up shutting down the bar. He slept on her couch, then the next morning a big group of them all went to breakfast.

  That was it. She could feel the change coming before it even happened. Van Nuys neighborhood was only about twenty or thirty minutes away from Burbank. He started driving over on the weekends to party with her and her friends. She dumped her boyfriend. Though she still had a crush on Archer, it wasn’t as bad as it had been in high school. It was easier being around him. Fun, even.

  About two months after her birthday, the apartment at the end of her hall came up for rent. She casually mentioned it to him one day. A couple weeks later, he was all moved in, using the excuse that the rent was good and that Andy had asked him to keep an eye on Jo.

  Pffft. If anything, Archer was a bad influence on her. Her jealousy made her competitive, so it was often a pissing contest between them. Who could drink more, who could get more numbers during a night out, who could bag the best looking person in the room.

  … who could make who jealous at a night club and then get black out wasted and then possibly kill a man and dump him in their trunk …

  Archer fucking Calhoun. Since he’d moved into the building, he’d been slowly driving her insane. And now that she found herself staring at her own toilet for a solid five minutes, she wondered if he’d finally pushed her over the edge into irreversibly crazy.

  “Okay,” she took a deep breath. “We can do this. I mean, remember our trip to Vegas? You sold all that weed to pay for the weekend.”

  “Selling some dirt pot to a tourist is a little different from trying to unload an ounce of coke, Jo,” Archer warned her. She threw up her hands.

  “Like you would know how hard it is to sell coke. We need money, Archer.”

  “This is a bad idea.”

  “You’re totally right – but my car is almost empty. We can’t take your bike. I have negative two dollars in my bank account, and it’s the middle of the month, you haven’t gotten paid yet,” she said, though she looked at him hopefully, as if maybe he’d magically gotten his paycheck early. He frowned and looked away from her.

  “Yeah, pretty much broke.”

  “So that means we either start selling our clothes for a couple bucks, or we get rid of this fucking coke,” she stated.

  “Right. Okay, you’re right,” he agreed. “I know some guys, we could unload it quick. Plus, we should get it out of here, just in case the police do get involved.”

  “Sounds good,” Jo nodded, and as she turned to walk out of the bathroom, Archer leaned over the toilet tank. They’d removed the lid and just inside there had been a plastic baggy floating. He plucked it out of the water and shook it off as he trailed behind her.

  While he sat on the couch and made a phone call, Jo scoured the house for loose change. Stole a couple bucks from Mandy’s piggy bank, then grabbed a couple pairs of her jeans, as well. To sell in case they couldn’t unload the drugs
and needed more money later.

  When she went back into the kitchen, Archer was talking animatedly to someone, using ridiculous code words. She felt like she was going to burst apart at the seams, or break down into tears, so she had to keep busy. She fried up a bunch of bacon, then ate so much she started to feel sick. She used the rest to make them sandwiches. A little snack to bring along on their “adventure”.

  “Are you planning on having a picnic?” Archer asked, walking up as she shoved four sandwiches and a bunch of diet cokes into a plastic bag.

  “I’m saving us money. What did you find out?” she replied.

  “There’s some daytime rave happening today, out near the airport. I can find a buyer there,” he said.

  “Awesome. We can get rid of the drugs. You haven’t hidden anything else around here, have you?” she checked. He held up his hands.

  “Promise.”

  “Good. Okay. Okay … maybe we should make a list?” she suggested. He nodded his head.

  “A list is good,” he agreed, and he walked over and grabbed a magnetized pad off her fridge.

  “What should we do first?” she asked, chewing on her thumb nail.

  “It’s like what, ten o’clock? I say let’s go back to the club, start at the beginning,” he suggested, scribbling it all down as he said it.

  “Ug, that’s all the way back downtown,” she groaned. He glanced at her.

  “Would you rather the police do it?”

  “Right, downtown first.”

  “We’ll ask around, see if anyone there saw us last night. Did you know the guy’s name?” Archer asked, watching her carefully. She frowned.

  “I don’t know. Terry? Tom? Something?”

  “You were gonna bang the dude and you didn’t even know his name?”

  “Hey! You are not one to judge, and you know it.”

  “Whatever, ho-bag,” he chuckled, then went back to writing. “We just need to ask the right questions. Look around. Google some shit. Something will turn up.”

  “You sound so confident,” she sighed, staring down at his handwriting.

  “Because I am. It’ll be okay. We’ll get to the bottom of this,” he assured her.

  “What happens if we get to the bottom of this and I’m not innocent?” she asked. He stopped writing and looked up again. She hadn’t realized how close they were to each other and she was startled to see his eyes had taken on a mossy green hue, with brown flecks around his pupils.

  You have a dead body in your trunk, stop thinking about how hot Archer is.

  “You’re innocent, Jo. And even if you weren’t …” he let his voice trail off and it took her a second to realize he was staring at her mouth. She took a shaky breath.

  “If I’m not?” she urged him.

  “Then we’ll deal with it,” he replied, his gaze sliding away from her.

  “You would do that for me? Bury a body?” she checked.

  “Jo, if you haven’t figured out yet that I’d do just about anything for you, then you’re even stupider than you look,” he snorted at her, then he turned away with a laugh. She was still reeling from his words as he headed towards the door, so she scrambled to grab the bag with their food and rushed after him.

  *

  Jodi was generally a good driver – obeyed speed limits, braked for yellow lights, never cut anyone off. But with a body in the trunk, she’d turned into a Sunday driver. An old one, possibly with gout. She was gripping the steering wheel so hard at ten and two, her hands ached. She was doing eight miles under the speed limit and sweat was breaking out along her hair line.

  “I am not cut out for this,” she panted. Archer snorted and she glanced over at him. He was sunk low in his seat, gnawing at one of his thumb nails.

  “Not even a little. Just chill out and we’ll be downtown in no time,” he assured her. She grimaced and glanced in her rear view mirror.

  “See, moments like this are why you should own a real car,” she suggested, and he burst out laughing.

  “So I should trade in my motorcycle – a.k.a. the pussy magnet – for some four door sedan, just in case you wind up with another body in your trunk,” he double checked.

  “Well, ‘magnet’ is being a bit generous, but otherwise, yeah.”

  “You’re a laugh, Jojo. A goddamn riot. And why’d you take the 170 to 101 south?” he questioned her navigating.

  “Because it’s faster,” she replied, grinding her teeth together.

  “Traffic is shit right now.”

  “I just like this way better, okay?”

  “Should’ve taken the 405,” he said, tapping at his phone for a moment before holding up a picture of a map. “Could’ve saved us five minutes.”

  “Just stop,” she snapped loudly, startling him.

  “What?”

  “I know what you’re doing,” she stated. “You think busting my balls will distract me. Well, it won’t, it’s just annoying me and making me even more paranoid.”

  “Hey, I’m just trying to help with the directions, that’s all,” he replied, dropping his phone and holding up his hands.

  “Sure. Fine. Whatever. I’m good on directions,” she said through clenched teeth. He was silent for all of four seconds.

  “But really, you also should’ve stayed on 134 east.”

  She let out an angry shriek and suddenly yanked the car out of its lane. The vehicle behind them honked, but she ignored it and came to a stop on the shoulder. She put on the emergency lights before turning in her seat to face Archer.

  “I’m goddamn serious,” she said, pointing a finger in his face. “This is serious. There’s a fucking dead guy in my trunk! A dead guy. What does it take for you to be serious, just for like five fucking minutes!?”

  “Chill, Jo. I didn’t mean -”

  “I appreciate your help, Archer, I really do. But if I hear your mouth one more time before we get down there, I swear to christ, I will punch you in the nuts until you piss blood.”

  “Damn, dude,” he mumbled. They stared hard at each for a second, and she thought that just maybe she had gotten through to him. Then he took a deep breath and smiled. “But you have to admit, it’s totally working – you’re not freaking out about going to jail anymore.”

  “Because at this point, jail would be a blessing. It would mean I’d be getting away from you,” she told him.

  “Such a sweet talker, Jo. It was probably your mouth that led to him being dead in your trunk,” he chuckled, and she gasped.

  “Jesus, Archer! Too soon!” she yelled, slapping him upside the head.

  “No such thing,” he argued through his laughter, smacking her hands away as she continued slapping him.

  “You are the worst. The absolute worst. I’m gonna turn this car around and figure this out on my own, because at this rate, there will be two dead bodies back there!”

  “Ouch. Too soon,” he mocked her.

  “That’s it, I -”

  They both turned into statues as a car slowly rolled up behind them. Normally, she would figure it was just a concerned motorist, stopping to offer assistance. This time, however, the flashing red and blue lights made her think it might be a different kind of motorist.

  “Oh shit!” she hissed, ducking in her seat. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!”

  “Calm,” Archer insisted, peeking between his headrest and the seat, trying to look out the back of the car. “He’s just getting out, he’s talking into his radio. We need to think of something.”

  “Like what? Donate to the policemens foundation!?” she snapped.

  “Shit, he’s looking at the trunk,” he mumbled, and Jo felt all the color drain out of her face.

  “Oh god. I’m gonna go to jail,” she breathed.

  “No wait, I think he’s looking at … a tail light? Goddammit, Jo, is your fucking tail light out?” Archer growled. She chomped on her bottom lip.

  “Um … I don’t know?” she offered. She honestly couldn’t remember. She’d changed it a
couple months ago, she was pretty sure.

  “Christ, he’s walking up here. He’s gonna ask why we’re stopped in the emergency lane. Just go with me, okay? We’ll be fine,” he assured her, his hand landing heavily on her shoulder. She turned in her seat, twisting so she was facing him again.

  “Alright. What are you going to say?” she asked. He grimaced at her.

  “It’s not so much what I’m going to say …”

  “Huh?”

  Jo let out a yelp as the hand on her shoulder abruptly jerked her forward. She didn’t have time to think as his lips covered hers, couldn’t even process what was happening when his tongue slid into her mouth. She was yanked out of her seat and she halfway fell onto him, her butt resting against the gear shift at an awkward angle.

  “How is this a plan!?” she gasped when he moved to kiss along her jawline. All the times she’d fantasized about kissing Archer, and none of them had ever involved the police.

  “Just go with it. Act like you like this,” he insisted, and she let out another yelp when his free hand cupped her breast.

  “What the fu -”

  He wasn’t screwing around with the next kiss. The hand on her shoulder moved to the back of her head, curling into her hair and pulling at the strands. His tongue felt like it was everywhere, memorizing the interior of her mouth, all while his other hand moved to slide under her shirt. Just as she was about to pass out from oxygen deprivation, he pulled away enough to whisper in her ear.

  “Touch me,” his voice was barely above a breath. “Five minutes, Jo. Pretend you want me for just five minutes.”

  Uh, sold.

  She dove into the next kiss, her tongue going to war with his as her hands scratched their way up his chest. She managed to turn onto her hip so she was fully sitting in his lap.

  She was all but giving him a lap dance, her hands in fists and clutching his t-shirt, when there was an abrupt knock on the roof of the car. She was startled out of their “act” and jumped, pulling away to look outside.

  “Cut it out!” a state trooper barked, leaning into the open window. Jo went to wiggle out of Archer’s lap, but he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist.