Confused by Shadows

by Geonn Cannon

  Lance tensed. "Who said I'm running?"

  "Paying under the table, that haunted look in your eyes... I know those looks, too. Trust me. Just tell me you haven't killed anyone that didn't deserve it, and I'll keep the questions to myself."

  "I haven't killed anyone," Lance said.

  "Good enough for me. As long as you wear the coveralls, anything you wear underneath is up to you. As long as you wear something."

  Lance smiled. "Had that problem before?"

  Daphne rolled her eyes and headed back to the office. "There's one more thing. Your hair. It's too long."

  Lance reached up and touched her hair. "Too long for what?"

  "You want to get it caught in a fan belt, that's your business. But if it's my insurance paying for it, you need a haircut."

  "Oh." She'd rarely cut her hair since going on the road, and she generally only got it trimmed. The thought of cutting off a good-sized chunk was almost frightening. But she supposed that it might help change her appearance. She nodded and said, "All right. Haircut."

  When they got back into the office, Daphne returned to her stool and said, "We're closed weekends, and you can pick up your pay on Saturday. I'm going to start you on Monday." She opened a drawer and dug around for a bit. "It'll give you a chance to see what you're in for. Here." She pulled out a small oval patch. "Carmen. I knew I had one around here somewhere."

  Lance took the patch and ran her fingers over the blue thread. Another stop, another new name to get used to. "Yep. That's me," she muttered.

  Daphne nodded. "Glad to have you aboard. You got a place to stay yet?"

  "Uh, no..."

  Daphne took a business card from the pegboard behind her and held it out between two fingers. "Good guy. Tell him you're working for Daphne and he'll give you a good deal."

  "Thanks. I appreciate it."

  The door opened and Lance turned to see a woman she assumed was Calico step inside. She took off her sunglasses, looked Lance up and down, and said to Daphne, "New victim?" She smirked and went into the garage without waiting for a response. Lance watched her go, the sway of her hips and the cocky roll of her shoulders.

  Daphne said, "That's Calico. You're her back-up mechanic. You probably won't get to work with her much, but she's good at what she does. Learn from her, you'll be just fine."

  "Okay," Lance said. "I'll keep that in mind."

  #

  Daphne's friend found Lance a tiny shoebox apartment that she was just barely able to afford. The major selling point was that it came sparsely furnished, so she wouldn't have to sit on milk crates and spend nights in a sleeping bag. She unpacked her duffel bag and walked down to the supermarket to buy supplies and groceries. When she returned, she took a long shower and stood in front of a mirror examining her hair and her body.

  The bullet wound on her shoulder had healed nicely, the result of saving Sheriff Andrea Tyler from a group of men who, at the least, wanted to take turns raping her. Various scrapes and cuts inflicted by men in Oklahoma were invisible now, but she could still see where they had once been. She lifted her arm and ran her finger over the faded scars where she'd been injected with drugs for almost two weeks. Two weeks that she now considered her gateway between one life and the next.

  She sighed, ran her hands through her hair, and brought the scissors up. She winced as she made the first cut, the water-heavy strands dropping onto the sink. After that, the cuts came faster. When she finished, she looked at herself with shock. "My God, what have I done? I scalped myself."

  Lance gathered her hair in a plastic bag and pushed it down into the trash. When she looked in the mirror again, she tried different ways of combing it with her fingers. Her neck felt naked, and she already missed the feel of her hair against her back. But she decided it was better than getting it caught in an engine, if only marginally. It was an added bonus that it completely changed the shape of her face. Anything that kept a cop from giving her a second glance was a plus. No matter how much she might hate it.

  #

  The next morning, she set out to discover who Carmen Landry was. It would have been easy enough to just transfer Claire Lance's personality over to Carmen and be done with it, but she wanted to take the chance to create someone new. It was one of the things she enjoyed most about undercover work; slipping into someone else's skin, if just for a little while. Now the masks were a matter of survival.

  She wandered through a mall, trying to decide what Carmen would wear under her coveralls. She bought a few vintage T-shirts with pop culture references printed on them, saw a movie starring people she had never heard of, and browsed a music store full of artists she only vaguely recognized. All her favorites were in the oldies bin, which gave her a moment of shock at how long she'd been out of the world.

  She looked through a discount bin full of uncategorized cassette tapes. The Mustang still had a cassette player, so she was always on the lookout for something new. Cassettes were a dying breed, and she was running out of tapes. Near the bottom of the bin, she discovered the buried treasure—Dash Warren tapes. She bought three of them, since her copies were getting a little beaten up, and carried the bag of her new purchases out to the Mustang.

  Lance put one of the tapes in the machine to play as she changed into Carmen Landry. Jacket, Shoulder Ripped began to play as Lance shed her white T-shirt, exchanging it for a tight green shirt with a picture of a shattered Rubik's Cube. She added her new watch, and exchanged her cowboy boots for a pair of sneakers. When she was done, she looked in the rearview mirror and feathered her hair over her forehead.

  The transformation complete, Lance turned her attention to the other people in the mall parking lot. She was envious at how at-ease they were. She could have had that. She did have that, until it was taken away from her. She could only hope that she could have it again. She started the car and headed home.

  That night, she ordered Chinese food and watched some lame sitcom on TV. She rested her feet on the coffee table and looked out the window as sounds filtered in from her neighbors' apartments. This was real life? This was what everybody did every day? It was less than appealing, but she knew she was missing the key ingredient. Real life was hardly a life if you didn't have anyone to share it with.

  She put the leftovers of her dinner into the fridge and turned out the kitchen light. She undressed in the bedroom, stretched out on top of the blankets, and turned to look at Elaine's picture on her night stand. "Night, Elaine." She turned off the lamp and Elaine's picture disappeared into the darkness.

  #

  Lance arrived bright and early Monday morning, arriving just as Daphne was unlocking the office door. Daphne placed a woven bag onto the desk and unloaded some knitting and books of crossword puzzles. "I thought I'd give you a second trial by fire. Monday morning, all on your lonesome. All the people who broke down on Sunday are going to be coming in. My other mechanic is going to come in this afternoon to take up the slack. That work for you?"

  "Absolutely," Lance said. "I don't mind working with a safety net."

  Daphne nodded and gestured out the door. Lance turned and saw a car waiting outside the closed garage doors. "Looks like your day is starting already. Time and assholes wait for no woman. Nice job on the hair, by the way."

  Lance went out and raised the garage door, waving the car in.

  For the rest of the morning, the cars continued to arrive at a steady pace. Lance never got overwhelmed by the work, but she also never had much of a chance to relax. Daphne waited until noon before she walked out to the garage and stood to one side as Lance changed a fuel filter on a Chevy Malibu. Lance, flat on her back under the car, didn't realize Daphne was there until she spoke. "You doing all right?"

  "Doing fine," Lance said. She grabbed the edge of the car and pulled herself out from underneath. Daphne offered her a hand and hauled Lance up with surprising strength.

  "I noticed you spent a lot of time fixing that Caravan's taillight."

  "Not really," Lance said
. "I was just showing the driver how to do it herself for free. It's easy enough, no reason to pay us to do it." She hesitated. "If that was—"

  Daphne shook her head. "No, I ain't in the business of cheating people. The fact you took the time means she'll be more likely to come back to us if something really goes wrong. Good job, Landry. Don't get too comfortable though. It's going to be picking up after lunch." She looked out at the empty lot and said, "Looks like now's the time if you want to get yourself something to eat before the real rush arrives. Go ahead. I'll take care of things here."

  "Thanks, Daphne." She headed inside to wash the grease from her face and hands. As she wiped her hands on a paper towel, she looked at herself in the mirror. The woman she was looking at, that was Carmen Landry. Carmen Landry, after an honest morning's work, on her way to lunch. It was like looking at a stranger who bore a passing resemblance to her, features she recognized surrounded by a million things she didn't. Her hair, the grease on her face, the open collar of her coveralls.

  Instead of driving, Lance walked down the street to a Quiznos restaurant. She bought a sandwich and chips and got back to the garage inside of five minutes. She stayed outside to eat, since the summer afternoon was actually cooler than she expected. The joy of spending August in the Pacific Northwest, she guessed. She sat on the trunk of an old junker as she ate, craning her neck so she could see around the apartment buildings to admire the skyline of Shepherd, Washington.

  The buildings, impressive as they were, paled in comparison to the mountains that served as a backdrop to the east of town. The mountains seemed almost surreal; as if she could drive toward them and discover they were merely paintings on canvas. In the week she'd lived there, Washington itself sometimes felt like a dream. But now that dream was starting to take on the taint of reality; a regular day to day job, gathering acquaintances, getting junk mail. If she was going to become a boring, normal person and fade into the scenery, she couldn't have picked more beautiful scenery to fade into.

  She downed the last swallow of her soda, crushed the can, and carried it inside. Daphne was behind the counter in the office. The heater was blasting inside the small office even though the day was warm, and Lance wondered how Daphne could stand it. A man in a Seahawks jersey was fanning himself with a magazine and watched her cross to the desk. Lance tossed the can into a recycling tub and said, "I'm going back to work. What's on the plate?"

  "Green Chevrolet out there, transmission shift cable came loose. Can you do that on your own?"

  "I'll give a shout if I need a hand."

  "Calico will be here any second. She'll hold your hand if need be."

  Lance nodded and went back to work. The driver had apparently decided to play MacGyver; electrical tape was wrapped around the cable and then he'd used a shoelace to hold it in place. She untied the shoelace and stuck it into the pocket of her coveralls to return to the driver when she was done. She put on a pair of work gloves so the wires wouldn't cut her and went to work.

  She was nearly done when she heard the rumble of a motorcycle's engine. She straightened and pulled her gloves off, tossing them back onto the bench where she'd found them. Outside, she saw the motorcycle come to a stop in front of the garage. Both the driver and passenger rocked forward slightly when the bike came to a stop. The woman on the back leapt off to reveal she was wearing a coveralls identical to the one Lance was wearing. The sleek helmet she wore made her look like an astronaut from some sixties B-movie.

  The passenger yanked off her helmet and dark hair fell into her eyes. She thrust the helmet at the driver and said, "Fuck you, Tania, all right? Just go fuck yourself."

  Tania lifted one gloved hand and flipped her off . She then gripped the handlebars, revved the engine, and laid down some rubber as she raced away.

  The passenger kicked up a spray of gravel at the retreating bike, balled her hands into fists and gave a double salute to Tania's retreating bike. She growled, spun on her heel and stormed into the garage. When she got close enough, Lance saw that her eyes were red, but the tears had either been wiped away or already dried. The blue cursive writing in the white oval on her chest revealed she was the same mechanic she'd glimpsed the day she got hired.

  Lance said, "Did you have a good lunch, Calico?"

  "You can go fuck yourself, too," Calico snapped without breaking stride.

  Lance watched her yank open the office door, and then slam it shut behind her. Lance shook her head and focused on the car engine.

  That was her first conversation with Jodie Curran.

  #

  Calico returned from the office a few minutes later. Her eyes were still red, but she seemed to have calmed down a bit. She wiped the back of her hand over her cheeks, and Lance could see a ring of moisture around her collar. She had obviously splashed her face in the bathroom in an effort to cool down. Lance had finished replacing the transmission cable, so she didn't have anything to occupy her time.

  Calico went to her station and began arranging her tools, picking up the gloves Lance had borrowed and shoving them into the back pocket of her coveralls. Lance approached cautiously. "Hey. Look, sorry if I—"

  "No, it's cool," Calico said. She turned and managed a smile. "Sorry. I shouldn't have bit your head off just because I have bad taste in women." She took a deep breath, sighed and looked Lance up and down. "You're the new mechanic. Right?"

  "Yeah, started today."

  Calico extended a hand. "Jodie Curran. You can call me Calico or Jodie, it doesn't matter to me either way."

  Lance held up her hand to reveal it was covered with grease. "Carmen Landry."

  Jodie grabbed Lance's hand and squeezed, despite the grease. "Nice to meet you. Can't worry about getting dirty around here."

  Lance smiled and pumped Jodie's hand once before releasing it. A black smear transferred from Lance's palm to Jodie's, but Jodie just wiped it against the thigh of her coveralls. "I guess I'm supposed to show you the ropes around here."

  "I think I'm doing all right, but I'd appreciate any info you can provide. Sorry about, uh, your situation." She gestured out the doors.

  "Hey, no tears on my account," Jodie said. "Good riddance to bad rubbish."

  "That's the spirit," Lance said.

  "Tell you what, I'll take the next car that comes through. Make up for my bad first impression."

  Lance shook her head. "Oh, I don't know. It seems like a pretty decent first impression to me. Things can only go uphill from you telling me to go fuck myself, right?"

  "So you hope," Jodie said. She grinned evilly as a car pulled into the lot. Jodie waved it in and Lance stepped out of the way so the car could get into the garage. She leaned against the wall and watched as the driver explained to Jodie what the problem was. Jodie nodded and told the driver to pop the hood and then asked her to wait inside in the office.

  Lance watched her work, admiring the way she seemed to simply dive into the engine and get her hands dirty. It was a hard quality to find in a lot of women. And the jocular attitude Jodie had with her, that was just frosting on the cake. She got the idea she was going to enjoy working with Jodie "Calico" Curran.

  #

  At the end of her first day at Atlas Garage, Lance drove the last car of the day out to the pick-up lot. She sat behind the wheel for a long moment with one hand draped over the wheel as she stared through the windshield. A narrow alley ran behind the garage, littered with trash bags, broken beer bottles and empty plastic bags. She saw an empty plastic bag get lifted by a gust of wind and watched it until it was blown out of sight. Three months earlier, she was living with Kelsey Quinn and Andrea Tyler on a ranch in Montana. The time with them had been wonderful, but it had also been a wake up call. It showed her the difference between living and surviving.

  She was so caught up in her thoughts that she jumped when someone knocked on the window. Lance turned to see Jodie standing next to the car. She rolled down the window. "Yeah?"

  Jodie pointed at the keys. "Can I tell Mrs.
Williamson that she can have her car back, or are you looking to make a trade?"

  "Oh. Sorry." Lance took the keys from the ignition and handed them to Jodie. She got out of the car, lifted up the towel they used to keep from getting grease on the seats, and followed Jodie back into the garage. She had left Kelsey and Tyler with the intention of finding a real life, settling down if only for a little bit. She knew she most likely wouldn't stay in Shepherd forever, but it was definitely a nice feeling to be at least somewhat settled.

  She went into the office and said, "Finished on the Williamson car. Jodie has the keys. Am I free to go?"

  "Free and clear," Daphne said without looking up from her records. "Looks like you survived your first day intact, huh?"

  "I'll let you know when I wake up in the morning," Lance said. "I don't know how many hours I spent standing today, but—"

  "When you sit down, you won't want to get up. Fight the urge to be a sloth and you'll be fine."

  Lance laughed and waved over her shoulder. "See you tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow it is," Daphne said. "Good work today."

  Lance went out through the garage and rolled her shoulders. Her back was tight, and her legs felt like they wanted to fold and drop her right there. She was halfway across the gravel lot, her hand in her pocket to grip her car keys, when she heard Jodie calling her name. "Yo, new girl. Landry."

  Lance stopped and let Jodie catch up with her. "What's up?"

  Jodie pushed her hair out of her face and said, "I was thinking about going out to grab a beer. If you don't mind waiting a few minutes while I wash up, maybe we could go together."

  "Thanks," Lance said. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm kind of beat. I need all the brain cells I can spare just to figure out a way to sit down without breaking both knees."