Deny the Moon

by Melissa A. Graham

  Chapter 8

  July 3rd 2011 1:23 p.m.

  Three hours. That's how much sleep I managed to get. After Jackson was taken away by the paramedics, I’d stayed behind to answer a few questions and help out the staff any way I could. A lot of the customers had skipped out on their bills, and the chaos had left a bigger mess than usual.

  The police were still taking statements when Liz asked me for a ride home. She’d been shaken up a bit, but physically she was okay and cleared to go. I drove her home and stayed for a few hours while she calmed back down. In all honesty, she probably could have driven herself, but I think we were both looking for comfort after what happened. I know I was.

  I was still trying to forget the sight of Jackson's blood staining the sidewalk.

  We talked a bit about her future at The Velvet Rope, but I couldn't help but wonder if she was having second thoughts about working there. After everything, I was pretty sure Liz was scared off for good, but it was just one of those things I would have to wait and see.

  By the time I had gotten home, it was three in the morning and it took another couple of hours to fall asleep. When my eyes opened at 8:15, all I wanted to do was yank the covers over my head and shut out the world, but my body wouldn't let me sleep any longer.

  I drove up to the small yellow house and parked on the opposite side of the street. After taking a moment to pull my face together, I got out of the car and walked up the stone steps to the front door, clutching a small arrangement of yellow carnations to my chest. My finger hesitated over the doorbell for a moment, but I forced myself to push the small button, hearing the sharp buzz inside.

  A tall woman, somewhere in her mid to late-twenties, opened the door and stared out at me. Her hair was brown, straight, and gathered in a messy loop at the back of her neck. Her face, though pretty, was void of any makeup which made her eyes seem small and worn compared to the rest of her features. When I didn't greet her, the woman's brow knitted together and she cleared her throat.

  "Yes?" she said. "Can I help you?"

  "Sorry. I'm Harley. I just wanted to, uh... stop by and," I moved the flowers in my arms as I spoke, hoping to show her what I couldn't seem to verbalize.

  The woman gave me a soft but tired smile and pushed the door open wider. "Of course. Won't you, please, come in?" She held her arm out offering to let me inside.

  I gave her a tight smile and stepped in, looking around the living room as the door shut behind me. The house was warm and inviting, but the ghosts of harder times hung in the air. The woman stepped out from behind me and reached for the flowers, politeness and kindness still in her voice.

  "Let me put these in some water, I'll be right back."

  "Alright," I said, relieved to get another moment to compose myself.

  When the woman disappeared into a side room, I let myself take in the full view of the living room. I stepped over to the empty fireplace and glanced over the array of pictures arranged on the mantle. In a few different frames there were pictures of nameless people. Some were celebrating, others more demure. There were three of the woman who had let me in, but her face was brighter. Happier. One picture, in particular, made me smile.

  The brunette and Jackson were laughing hard; a candid shot. Both of their faces had a green and white mess smeared across them and their hands held plates and small pieces of cake. Jackson's scary, towering form was a lot gentler and his bald head was adorned with a green party hat. I'd never seen Jackson look so playful. He was a sweetie, and a joker, but this was downright endearing.

  "Is that my angel?" a voice called from the next room.

  I turned and walked towards the open French doors, leaning on them with a delicate cross of my arms. I smiled at the large bear propped up in the window seat and shook my head.

  "Never pictured you the type to sleep with teddies, Jackson."

  I looked over at the small couch resting against the wall. I hadn't been able to see Jackson until I stepped all the way into the room, but when I finally saw him my smile widened a bit. He looked pretty good. Surprisingly good for having been shot. The fact that he was already home and not hooked up in a hospital was miraculous. Jackson pushed his feet from the couch and sat up, still looking impossibly large on the small loveseat.

  "I prefer a pretty lady, but sometimes you take a good cuddle however you can get it."

  He was teasing me now; another sign that he was in as good of spirits as he was physically. The image of the giant snuggling an oversized bear as he slept was too much for me to even try to process. Biting back the urge to giggle, I strode over to the couch and sat on the other end.

  "You look good," I observed as I sunk back into the soft cushions. "Not that I'm complaining, but how did you get released from the hospital so quickly?"

  "Ah. Well that is the funny part. It was pretty superficial. Just a grazer."

  "But all that blood... by the time I had gotten to you there was already a puddle spreading around you," It hurt deep in my chest just to recall the sight of him lying there.

  I was curious now. Even the paramedics seemed concerned at the amount of blood he had lost. The average man has about 10 pints of blood in his body. Jackson looked to have lost about 15 pints in a matter of minutes. Of course, he was the size of three men so maybe he just had more to spare.

  His lips curled in a mischievous smirk, "Hemophiliac. Paper cuts are hell."

  He let the smirk shift into a full-blown grin, and it was incredibly infectious. I laughed a bit, even though I knew he was full of it, and patted his knee. Patting the back of my hand in return, Jackson let out a soft sigh and asked, "So, Harley, what do I owe this pleasure? I don't think I've ever seen you outside work. You look... different."

  I could tell by his tone that it was meant as a compliment. I did dress a bit differently when I worked, a lot more sequins and thongs. I looked down at myself and slid a hand over the pink button-up blouse, smoothing out wrinkles that didn't exist. My jeans were a deep shade of navy blue and hung loose around my calves. I looked relatively normal.

  "Well, I think I clean up nice, don't you?" It was my turn to tease him a bit.

  "Oh, definitely. I like the costumes and all, I'd have to be dead not to, but you look really good."

  "Thank you," I said with a gentle nudge of my elbow. My gaze moved to the doorway, and I listened to the movements in the other room. Looking back to Jackson, I smiled and added, "You're wife is really pretty, Jackson. Why didn't you tell me you were married?"

  Jackson let out a thunderous laugh, covering his face with his hand. That kind of exertion should've hurt someone who’d just been shot in the stomach, but then again he had said it was just a graze. I felt my brow quirk at him.

  Finally getting under control, he shook his head, laughter still glittering in his eyes. "No darlin'. A thousand times no. That's my sister, Gina."

  My eyes went wide with embarrassment, "Oh, shit. Sorry Jackson she just... I just assumed that you both lived here." I leaned over, buried my face in my hands, and groaned. Sitting back up, I sighed heavily, giving in to the embarrassment I had caused myself. "Sorry."

  "It's ok. You didn't know," he laughed and patted my knee the same way I had done to him a moment before.

  The doorbell buzzed again, making the both of us turn towards the wall at our backs like we could see right through the drywall. I turned to Jackson, whose face had gone from light and warm and full of laughter to alert, serious, and cautious. He was usually so calm and collected. I realized, for the first time, that he may have been more affected by the attack than he was letting on.

  We listened to his sister walk back to the door and open it. Her voice, as well as that of the new visitor, remained low and indiscernible, but Jackson seemed to relax a little beside me. I watched the muscles in his neck and shoulders soften, and he sat back against the arm of the loveseat, his eyes moving from the wall to the door behind my back.

  Gina walked into the office, the shadow of another perso
n looming behind her, and smiled to her brother. "Jackson, there's a detective here to talk to you." She gave him a look that almost seemed like a warning to play nice.

  A man walked out from behind Gina's slender frame, thanking her, and turned toward us on the couch. His casual demeanor stuttered a bit when he noticed me sitting next to Jackson. Maybe he hadn't thought anyone else would be in the room. Trust me, I wasn’t too keen on being there at that moment either.

  "Sorry to barge in like this, but I had a few more questions for you, Mr. Tate." A curtain was drawn over the cop's face, shifting it from blind-sided back to a pleasant professional smile. Pleasant, but practiced.

  "It's alright. Though, I have to admit, I'm a bit surprised to see you so soon. Did you guys catch the asshole that shot me?"

  "No, not yet. Actually, there are a few more questions we need to get out of the way. Some loose ends to tie up." He didn't even look the least bit worried that the guy was still on the loose.

  Why don’t you focus on the loose end running around shooting people, I thought.

  If I didn’t leave, my mouth was going to get me in trouble.

  It was beginning to feel a little crowded in that room anyway, with me, Jackson, the detective, and his badge, gun, and handcuffs. It was time for me to get out of there. I glanced over to Jackson and gave him a half-hearted smile.

  "I guess I should go. I'm running late for the gym anyway. I'll see you at work though. Take care, Jackson." I leaned over and gave him a small hug before standing.

  "Later, Harley," he said as he let me slide from his arms.

  I moved to step around the detective, let the men talk, but he held his hand out in front of me so abruptly that I nearly ran into it. I took a quick step back, my skin tightening with a flush of cold.

  "Excuse me. Sorry." He looked a little embarrassed at his sudden block and let his hand fall to his side. "Your name is Harley? You worked at the club last night during the altercation?"

  I shook my head a little. "No, I wasn't working. I was just another customer last night."

  "Okay. Do you have any extra information that might be helpful?"

  "I gave my statement last night. He hit on me and my friend and got a little handsy which was why Jackson escorted him out. I didn't see what happened outside. I was still in the club." The knot in my gut loosened a little as I repeated the statement I gave the cops last night.

  He made a face that looked tiresome. Not necessarily that he didn't believe me, but more like he was hoping to hear more than what he already read from all the statements taken. Reaching into the inside of his jacket, he pulled out a small business card. It had his name, Det. Riley Sheppard, and a couple of numbers where he could be reached.

  "Alright. If you think of anything else, get in touch with me. The fact that this creep was tossed out because of you means you need to be careful. If you hear or see anything, anything at all, call that number." He pointed at the top number directly under his name.

  I wasn't too thrilled at the fact that he was indirectly blaming me for what happened, but I nodded and tucked the card into my pocket. Besides, like it or not, if I hadn't gotten into it with the guy then Jackson wouldn't have had any reason to take him out. Not that refusing to wander off with some stranger was irrational, but it did mean I had set off a chain of events that ended with Jackson almost getting killed.

  I glanced over to Jackson, who was giving me a sympathetic look, and gave a wave of fingers before showing myself out of the house.

  I walked out to my car a little shaken, a little irritated, but no worse for the wear. I stared at the unmarked police car with its not-so-hidden lights in the back window and crossed the street to my Toyota. Even after all this time, the authorities made me squirmy.

  Last night was easier to handle because I was wrapped up in Jackson's condition and the chaos around the bar. It hadn't even occurred to me that I could be recognized for my less-than-exemplary past. Now that I knew Jackson was safe, I moved my concern to my own skin.

  I’d kept my nose clean since I left Frank—not so much as a traffic ticket—but that didn't mean shit. Not really. I was still a marked woman in my mind. I could stop the rap sheet from getting any thicker, but it didn't erase what was already tucked away inside.

  I opened the driver's side door and slid in, ready to put as much distance between me and the badge as I could. What I had told Jackson was true. I was going to head to the gym, but I was grateful for the opportunity to leave the detective behind me. Letting out a long, slow breath, I pulled out onto the road and drove towards McKinley's.

  McKinley’s Gym sat in the heart of downtown Houston. Andre insisted, upon my hiring, that I join up with a local gym to keep in shape. Now, it wasn't as sexist as it sounded. Truthfully, it was a requirement of all his employees.

  Most of the women from the club went to the YMCA across the street and did the whole cardio/yoga/Pilates thing. It was great for working off calories and keeping lean muscle. However, after three days of the whole girly thing, I had been making my way to my car and noticed McKinley’s. Jackson and some of the other guys had mentioned it in passing, and I knew the male half of the club preferred it to the Y. I could hardly blame them.

  After watching the inside of the gym from the safety of the sidewalk, I caught sight of something really interesting. Two men were sparring on the large ring in the middle of the floor. Their movements were hypnotic. Watching them, I knew what it was I needed and it wasn’t sitting on a yoga mat or finding my Chi.

  I’d been a regular at McKinley's for about eight months and so far only one other female has ever joined. She didn’t come in often, but I heard the men talking about her. It was pretty typical talk coming from a bunch of sweaty, muscled, no-necks, and I managed to block out the sexist banter for the most part.

  What I wasn’t able to block out I simply ignored.

  What else was I going to do? Get up in their faces about it? I didn’t know her; she didn’t know me. I could only assume they talked the same about me when I was out of the room. I just preferred ignorant bliss at this point. The only one that had managed to not get the ‘let’s try and guess the chick’s cup size’ memo was Marcellus, my trainer.

  I hit the mat with brutal force, bouncing off of it once before landing fully. It knocked the air out of my lungs and sent a sharp shooting pain up my spine. Fuck, Marcellus was fast. Of course, I hadn’t expected him to be anything other than perfect. This month, we were touching base with some Jiu-Jitsu throws. I'd made some progress, but Marcellus’ experience still intimidated me to the point of hesitation. Hesitation is not an ally in self-defense.

  I laid sprawled on the red mat, my knees bent and my eyes staring up into the hanging light above us, trying to catch my breath before it ran away from me in the form of rapid, shallow panting. The mat felt so cool against my back. I seriously considered just staying there for the rest of my life, but the bright yellow light above was eclipsed by a round silhouette. Marcellus stared down at me, beads of sweat dotting his forehead, mouth stretched in a satisfied grin.

  "You’re getting better, but you leave too many openings."

  "That's what he said?"

  A soft chuckle followed a shake of his head. "Out of the gutter and onto your feet. You’re getting close, but you won’t get it done lying on the ground in defeat."

  "I like it down here. It’s cooler. Less... flippy."

  "You can get up yourself, or I can make you get up. Your choice."

  I closed my eyes, an exhausted smile pulling at my lips, and made no attempt to move from my newfound safe haven.

  "Alright," he said. I thought, maybe, he accepted that I was just done.

  Good. Mr. Bossypants can take a hint. I’d get up eventually, but it would be on my own time, dammit. The blinding light returned forcing my eyes to clench tighter, and I knew he had moved away.

  After a few moments, I opened one eye, risking a glance to see where he had gone. I shouldn’t have done that. The m
oment my eye found him, I was doused by a bottle of cold water. I jumped to my feet, coughing and sputtering, my sinuses burning from the water rushing up my nose.

  I swiped the water from my face, shaking my hands and spreading droplets all over the mat.

  "What the fuck, Marcellus!" I screamed, stopping the gathering of bodybuilders in the room mid-rep.

  "You wanted to cool off, right? Thought I would help you out a bit. Now let’s go."

  His tone changed from playful to commanding, but not in a threatening way. It was more of a teacher and student type of thing. Still, now I was agitated. I stared up at him through my eyelashes, my brow creased in the middle, water dripping from my chin and hair.

  "Yeah. Let’s go."