by A. J. Downey
It was right there, and I knew they wouldn’t let me anywhere near my car in the impound yard without paying up first. At least, not if they were anything like the cops back in Washington. That’d been a nightmare the one and only time I’d managed to get towed, and I had done more than a few things I wasn’t proud of to get my car out before the fees got so high I couldn’t.
The officer helping me now swore, spit on the ground in his fury and stalked back over to me, and I felt my heart sink.
“Thanks for trying,” I said faintly, defeated.
“Come on, I’m going to take you to a shelter for tonight,” he said and gently took my elbow. His partner was standing in the street directing traffic and he called out to him.
His partner turned and I was numb and indifferent as he told him he was taking me to some homeless shelter on Third Avenue and that he’d come back to get him. His partner nodded and waved a random car through the intersection. It was busier on this street than it had been on Cody’s. God, just the thought of his name sent a bitterness roiling in my mouth enough I wanted to spit.
He opened the back door of his patrol car for me and I got in. I was so angry at life literally kicking me in the balls once again, my eyes were growing misty with hot tears. I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, and I wanted to rage for all the good it would do – but I couldn’t. It wasn’t seemly. That and I didn’t want to be admitted on a psych hold for being crazy when I wasn’t.
He closed the door behind me and I was grateful for the fact that the hard plastic seat felt heated. Likely as a byproduct of being over the car’s exhaust system, but I would take it. It was a brisk fall evening heading into winter out there and the only good thing was the sky was clear. I would take dry cold over wet cold any day of the week. Washington had always been a wet sort of cold that had seeped in around your edges until you were frozen to your very soul.
In other words, not very pleasant.
“Okay,” he said, getting into the driver’s seat with an exhaled groan. “Away we go.”
“Thanks,” I said dully.
“For? I’m afraid I couldn’t do much back there.”
“You tried,” I said honestly. “That’s a lot more than I can say about most people when it comes to me.”
“Tough life, I take it,” he said.
“Kind of,” I agreed. “Mostly went downhill after fifteen.”
“How old are you now?” he asked.
“Old enough to know that it could suck worse,” I said and sighed.
“It could always be worse no matter how hard it sucks,” he said. “Don’t discount the fact that what happened to you tonight was beyond a shitty situation.”
“Trust me, I don’t,” I said. “Still, there’s nothing I can really do about it. I just need to let it go and figure out where to go from here.”
“I see,” he said and we lapsed into a silence. I was okay with that. I didn’t want to talk anyway. In fact, I was actually kind of grateful he hadn’t pried about my past. I was a firm believer everyone had one and that in a lot of cases it should stay right behind them where it belonged. The journey was about the road ahead, not the one you’d already traveled.
“Out of everything in your car,” he said suddenly, snapping me out of my inner monologue, “name three things you can’t live without.”
“My guitar in the back seat, my backpack on the front passenger floorboard, and the small carryon suitcase in the back seat under the guitar, in that order – why?”
“Just curious,” he said and blew out a breath, pulling up to the curb in front of an odd little building.
It looked like an old roadside motel, except it’d been modified to an extent and really wasn’t that big. The bottom floor was all solid garage doors, three of them in a row, and the second floor had a staircase leading up from one side of the building along an open-air walkway with a spindly metal railing bent in some places. There were three doors that faced the street, but it looked like the doors went around all four sides of the building.
“Come on, we’re here.”
“This doesn’t look like a homeless shelter,” I said and he got out of the car.
He opened up the back door to let me out and said, “That’s because it’s not. I just told the rest of them that to keep me out of trouble.”
“Trouble?” I asked curiously. “Where are we?”
“Someplace safe,” he said, shutting the door behind me as I stood in front of the building gazing up at the cracked and flaking blue-white paint between and above the garage doors.
“Follow me,” he said and I fell in to step just behind him as he went around the side of the building, along a narrow alley to the stairs leading up to that second floor.
“This isn’t a homeless shelter,” I said nervously and he sighed and paused midway up the steps. He looked over the railing down at me and I bit my bottom lip and looked up. Though the neighborhood was rundown and poor, the streetlights were intact and the moon hung low in the sky illuminating things quite well. I stared up into a sincere pair of green eyes the color of new spring and he stared back searching my face.
“This is my place,” he said finally. “And I could get into a lot of trouble for even considering this, but I can tell you’ve been through a lot and I just really want you to be safe tonight.”
“You brought me to your apartment?” I asked and blinked one long slow blink of an amalgamation of shock, confusion, and yeah – even a little fear.
“Hey, whoa, nothing like that, I promise you. I really am one of the good guys. If you want to go to the shelter, I completely understand I mean – shit… I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, kinda,” I said a little hollowly. “First things first, um, what is your name?”
“Oh, shit – are you serious? I didn’t tell you?” He looked like he’d sucked on a lemon and I laughed lightly.
“You might have,” I said, coming around to the bottom of the stairs and starting my way up. “I honestly can’t remember everything. Is that weird?”
“Shock,” he said. “It’s not weird. Look, I’ve never done anything like this in my life, and it’s all up to you on what you want to do but my name is Jeremy. Jeremy Poe, but everyone just calls me Poe.”
“Hi, Poe. I’m Saylor.”
“Saylor Grace, yeah. I know. I read it on your license.”
I nodded faintly and sighed, leaning a hip against the metal rail, suddenly feeling like I had a thousand pound boulder sitting between my shoulder blades, weighing me down.
“Look, I can let you in. You can take a hot shower, scrounge through my drawers, find something, and sleep for the rest of my shift. When I get home in a few hours, we can figure out what to do from there… what do you say?”
I bit my bottom lip and honestly, I was out of ideas and I really didn’t want to crash in a shelter tonight. This wasn’t like back home. I didn’t know anybody here and so far? Indigo City had not been kind… except for this man.
I rolled the dice and took the risk.
“I’ll stay.”
“You’re sure? Because I mean it, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
“I’ll stay,” I said, my voice a little stronger. “Thank you, Poe.”
He gave a nod, his expression thoughtful as he turned and led me the rest of the way up the staircase and to the middle apartment door in the front of the building overlooking the street. He keyed open the lock on the front door, both the deadbolt and the doorknob and opened it.
“I’d say ladies first, but I don’t want to creep you out any more than I probably already have,” he said and went inside before me. He flipped a light switch just inside the door and stood aside for me to come in.
It was a cozy little studio. The kitchen straight ahead as you came in the front door, the bed and rest of the tiny apartment to the left with the bed taking up the majority of the main room. The kitchen was open on the side facing the room with a gap between the top cupboards and th
e countertop giving you a view of the bed.
He had a low dresser with a television on top of it beneath the kitchen counter, and the bed was a queen. I swallowed hard. I hadn’t known what to expect, but a studio hadn’t been it. I mean, I had at least expected a couch or something.
“I mean it. Make yourself at home. There’s coffee and tea, maybe even some hot cocoa in the kitchen. Fresh towels are in the closet and everything in the dresser is clean. Help yourself to whatever you need.”
“Thank you,” I murmured not really knowing what to do with myself.
“I have three hours left on my shift. Maybe four with some extras. I’ll be back probably no later than midnight but seriously – don’t wait up. Get some rest.”
“I will,” I said gently and he nodded, searching my face.
“Come lock this door behind me,” he said.
“You can trust me,” I said. “I mean, I’m trusting you but you can trust me too. I won’t rob you or narc you out. I’m not like that.”
His shoulders lost some of their tightness and eased down slightly.
“I’m not going to get inappropriate with you,” he vowed, “and I’m going to try and get you some of your stuff out of your car. Your guitar, backpack, and the carryon suitcase, right?”
“Yeah, but don’t get yourself in trouble – please? You’ve already done way too much with this.” I waved my hand around me by way of emphasis.
“Make you a deal,” he said. “I won’t worry about you if you don’t worry about me.” He gave me a wink and he was out the door, shutting it firmly behind him. I swallowed hard and went to it, turning the locks like he had asked.
I turned back to the room and watched his muted shadow pass along the closed blinds as he went between the window and the brightly illuminated streetlight outside. A few heartbeats later, the police cruiser started up and pulled away and I was alone in his home.
“Universe, you’re giving me whiplash with my luck tonight,” I murmured then belatedly added, “Thanks for this.”
Of course, there wasn’t any answer. There never was.
The first thing I noticed about Jeremy Poe was that he was extremely neat and orderly. His kitchen clean and barely used, everything in his main room which was also his bedroom was in its place. The only sign of remote disorder was the fact the bed wasn’t made, but God did it look inviting.
I was telling the truth when I said I wouldn’t rip him off, but that didn’t stop me from being a horrible snoop – opening drawers and touching fabrics, peeking in cupboards and checking behind the little space’s two doors. One was the closet with shelves in the back and neatly pressed uniforms hanging in their dry-cleaning plastic. I pulled down a towel, thought about it and eying the stack, pulled down a second one.
The bathroom was spotless, and I intended to keep it that way. I still did my due diligence and looked through the medicine cabinet, though. You could tell a lot about a person depending on the meds in their cabinet.
Jeremy Poe only had a couple of bottles of cold and flu medicine; one daytime formula, and one nighttime formula – a bottle of ibuprofen, a bottle of opioid painkillers that was over a year old and still had a majority of the ten prescribed tablets in its little orange cylinder. That was a relief. He definitely wasn’t an addict. At least not to painkillers.
The rest of his medicine cabinet held tooth care and shaving needs. All in all, so far, Poe was ordinary and a little boring and that I could most definitely handle.
I didn’t want or need any more excitement in my life at the moment, I’d had quite enough tonight alone, thank you very much.
I set my two pilfered towels down on the closed lid of the toilet and opened the glass shower door. It was just a shower, no bathtub, which I had to take a second and pout about. There was honestly nothing I loved more than to take a long hot soak, but a shower would have to do.
I locked the bathroom door and hung my denim jacket on the peg on the back, setting the rest of my clothes on the closed lid of the small stacked washer, peeking in the dryer above it. It was empty, and with a peek under the washer lid, I discovered that it was empty too. I decided that after almost a week of driving and sleeping in my car? I deserved this shower and clean clothes would be a mighty fine bonus. After all, this was just for tonight – who knew when I would have the opportunity to have either of those things again.
I emptied my pockets, shoved everything into the washer, and unlocking the bathroom door, darted across the ‘hall’ and fetched down some of the laundry pods off the shelf.
I didn’t start the washing machine until I was out of the shower, grateful that wherever the water heater was, it was up to the job and apparently wasn’t micro-sized like the rest of this place was. I nicked one of Jeremy Poe’s white wifebeater tank tops out of their drawer and a pair of his boxers out of another and made do with them until my clothes were out of the wash.
I settled cross-legged on his bed and breathed out, intending to stay awake until my laundry was out of the dryer. I made it all the way through the wash cycle. Got them into the dryer and started, but I was so tired by that point that I don’t even remember crawling into his bed and stretching out. I certainly don’t remember falling asleep all cozy in his underwear.
3
Poe…
“Hey, Benny.”
“Poe. How you doin’ man? What brings you out my way?”
I stopped at the gatehouse to the impound lot and huddled in my leather jacket. Benny was a stone’s throw from retirement and manned the gate at impound on his way out. He was getting too old to be pounding the pavement with us young bucks and hadn’t been shy about telling me so when I was a rookie.
Albert Benny had been my field training officer and he was old-school. Something I was counting on, because while he wasn’t crooked by any shape of the imagination, he was old-school and wouldn’t have hesitated to give Saylor some of her essentials out of her car back at the scene.
Somehow, in the right applications, Benny had maintained his compassion and humanity even after thirty-five years of service.
He was the kind of cop I hoped to be at the end of my long bid.
“I wish it was a social call Benny, but there was a situation earlier tonight. Something I was hoping you could help me with.”
“Aw, yeah? What’s up, man? What happened?”
I explained Saylor’s situation and Benny heard me out, sucking his teeth every once in a while, looking thoughtful. When I was through, he looked up at me and reached into the guard shack and flipped the switch to the cameras.
“Aw, damn. Not again! That’s the third time this week,” he declared and made a sweeping gesture with his hand to proceed.
“They really oughtta fix this old system,” I declared, slipping around the arm leading in and out of the gate and hustling my way through the yard.
“Southwest corner!” he called after me and I waved over my shoulder.
I got all three items – backpack, guitar, and small suitcase – and took stock of the rest of the interior of the car by what I could see in the darkened corner of the lot. She had trash bags of clothes and blankets in the back seat, and boxes in the rear cargo area.
Her whole life was in this car and visually, it didn’t amount to a whole lot. Especially when you boiled it down even further to just these three items.
I was hella tempted to snoop through them, but I resisted – just barely.
I got the hell out of the impound yard with a nod and some thanks to Benny on the way out. Back at my bike, I had to figure out how to strap and pack this shit on to get it back to my place.
It wasn’t pretty, but I managed to make it happen. I was glad it was late. Getting on toward midnight on a weeknight meant that there weren’t many people out. It meant there wasn’t much traffic on the streets. I made it home, glancing up to the light glowing from around the blinds in my window as I waited for the garage door down here to open. I pulled in and parked. Turning out my headlamp plung
ed the rows of water heaters against the back wall into darkness. They all sat squat and hunched back there reminding me of a line of soldiers in the dark.
I took my time getting my spoils off the bike, coiling the paracord I’d used to tie everything down to the back of my seat and the back of me to get it home around one hand. I stashed it back in the compartment under my seat and stretched.
I was beat, but like the old poem said – I had miles to go before I could sleep. Not physically, but figuratively. Right now, I had a strange girl chillin’ upstairs in my place and I had to talk to her and figure sleeping arrangements out. Likely, I would be making up a pallet on my floor on the side of my own bed and surprisingly? The thought didn’t bother me one bit.
I let myself in my front door and set her suitcase just inside the door so I could transfer her guitar case into my other hand. She was lying on her stomach in my bed, out cold. I knew she’d been exhausted. There wasn’t any way around it. I had also known once the adrenaline had worn off, she would need a safe space to decompress and there wasn’t any place safer than completely alone behind locked doors.
I set her guitar on the floor and leaned it up against the kitchen counter but the damn thing slid and hit the floor with a bang.
I cursed, but damage done. I heard her suck in a breath and push herself up from her prone position.
I fought not to smirk, thinking to myself that even though it was out of pocket to think so, Saylor Grace Dresden looked damn good in my underwear.
“Oh, God,” she groaned, hauling blankets to her chest to cover the stiff peaks of her nipples beneath the thin material of the undershirt she’d borrowed out of my drawer. “I meant to stay up and get dressed. My clothes are in your dryer. I hope you don’t mind…”
“Nope. I told you to help yourself. I’m glad you did.”
“Oh, my God! Is that my guitar?” She scrambled off the end of the bed, smoothing back her wild mane of just-past chin-length hair, hanging it up on her cute little ears as she forgot all about the fact she was wearing just my underwear in her excitement to get to the instrument.
