E GOT OUT of town. As we drove she said, “Those blue cars weren’t local.”
For a moment I wondered if Garberville was small enough and the librarian was important enough that she actually knew everyone in the city. She looked over to me and asked, “You saw the plates?”
I had noticed that. I nodded, impressed that she had picked up on it.
Looking serious, she asked me, “You’re sure that it was you they were looking for?”
I nodded. I didn’t want to think about any of that now. Truth be told I was having some difficulty getting my mind to stray any useful distance away from the fact that this fucking angel who was hotter than a ten grand hooker when she wore a thick plaid skirt for fucks sake, was a virgin.
And, of course, I was eager to a point of obsession to relieve her of that burdensome distinction. In all of the most spectacular ways that I could achieve and as soon as I could possibly arrange it. Preferably in some way and in a location that would be worthy of the occasion. But in the back seat of her blue Saturn if absolutely necessary.
The commitment that she had wanted I was only too eager to give her. She was the answer to a prayer I didn’t know that I had. A goddess, ready and willing to follow me was a wonderful enough idea, but this miracle had not asked me one single question. For that alone I could have married her.
Here was a woman who had seen me at my very worst. She came upon me at work. And she hadn’t asked anything of me, not even my fucking name. Nothing at all but faithfulness. And that, I felt, was the thing I most wanted to give. I think I’d given up on finding anyone who would take the gift for all that I was worth. To give myself, to her.
With hardly a word between us, she had enough faith and trust, and love, to want to come away with me. With no idea where or what danger we would be walking into. She was ready to drop everything and come, to be by my side. And she’d come running. Literally. The picture I had of her, running at me outside the library, that’ll last me a while, I tell you. I would walk through fire for that woman.
The fact that she had the face of an angel, the eyes of a demon, and a body I wanted to eat up over and over did nothing but sweeten the deal.
If what she knew was enough for her to be mine, then I was hers to the death. And the fact that she was a virgin was, I can’t deny it, a pretty fucking juicy cherry on the top of what was already the best looking cake that I ever saw.
More than anything now I wanted to get us to somewhere we could have some private time. Some moments to be together. A place that we could hide out. To learn the wonders of each other. Nest a while. Mainly, to be truthful, I wanted to get to the wonders of her. I wasn’t expecting too many surprises from the wonders of my own body.
I was eager and anxious, bordering on obsessive, to share what wonders there were deep in her soft embrace. The scent that I’d caught of her outside Beary’s office, the warm, welcoming curves and the urgent heat that I found in the library blended into a dream that I hadn’t woken up from. I was sure it was a dream that, the deeper I sank into it, the more I would want to stay wrapped up there forever.
She was everything I wanted. And I didn’t even know her name.
I was lost watching her profile as she drove. Watching her take us over the miles, the two of us quiet, ready for the next part.
My phone rang. It could only be one person. She didn’t even look round. She made the slightest nod as she pressed her smile. Like she knew. She understood.
I said anyway, “It’s business. I should take it.”
She nodded again and her eyes flashed at me. She got that I was not asking permission, but I was asking for her complicity.
When I pressed the phone to connect, Arden said, “I’ve another matter for your attention. Where are you now?”
“Is this going to be another of the ‘quick and simple’ jobs?”
There was a pause. He said, “I heard from Jackson.”
That got my eyebrows to move. “Is this chat? Since when do we chat?”
“He said he’d had a leaky pipe. To thank you for fixing it.”
I waited. Thinking about the fact that Jackson spoke to Arden. I didn’t know they were connected. He said. “Head for DC. I’ll send you the file.”
“I’ll read it.”
“Big league terms on this one. You know what I mean.”
I knew it meant the money was better. And I knew that meant more trouble, more risk, or something worse. The blue sedans’ plates were from DC. I asked him, “Will going to DC make my predicament worse or better?”
He hesitated. “What predicament is that?”
I said, “Well, if you know there’s no point me telling you. And if you don’t it’s best we keep it that way.” And I hung up. He wouldn’t have told me. And if he did I wouldn’t have believed him. I thought about whether to believe the implication that he didn’t know.
She looked over. Her voice was warm. It was where I wanted to be. “Another…” she didn’t know what to call it.
“A piece of work,” I told her, “It is.”
Arden’s link pinged up on my phone almost right away.
The files gave details of Luther Graynge, a rug dealer in DC. She asked me, “Did you say a ‘drug dealer’?”
“Nope. Guy sells rugs. Afghan rugs. Kelims, Turkomans, mainly it says,” I looked up at her, “You know what those are?” she nodded. “He has a store in Georgetown.”
“Classy neighborhood.”
She knew stuff, my girl. I wanted to know her name, just like I wanted to tell her mine. To watch her face, hear her say it for the first time. I was feeling like a fucking schoolboy. Mannish boy, feeling it. Too big for his fucking breeches. And I fucking loved it.
For now, though, this seemed like a magical time. Both of us completely committed to each other, without either of us knowing anything about the other except their occupation. Even there she had the advantage of me. I really didn’t have much idea what librarians did.
I flicked through pictures of the target. It seemed I may have seen him before somewhere. That mustache looked familiar.
While I read about the rug business and the habits of the dealer in question, my gorgeous driver said, “Breakfast?”
On the roadside up ahead was an ice-cream colored diner.