I stare at myself in the mirror. I've spent the last few days in a motel room with Drew, as I've come to call Stewart, meticulously going over my new identity and studying the case files on the Death Dealers, while the Lieutenant spread the rumor that he had found me unfit for duty and fired me. Now, the time has come.
Earlier this morning I went to the Goodwill and picked out some clothes for my new persona. As I study my reflection, I'm struck by how much I look like my mother. This is how she always dressed, while I was more of a tomboy.
I hear the door open, and I walk out of the bathroom to see Drew. He looks shocked at my appearance. I smile, and heat rushes to my cheeks. There have been times in the last three days when there was a something in the air between us, a tension, but one of us always pulled back, cognizant of the position we're in.
"You look…different, Beth," he says. He's been calling me Beth, my fake name, so that I get used to answering to it.
"That's the idea, I guess," I reply, twining my arms awkwardly behind my back, though that only makes my breasts pop out more.
"I got you a car. It's a real piece of shit, but that's all I figured Beth could afford. And I paid cash, so it can't be traced," he tells me, and tosses me the keys. "You ready?" he asks as I walk toward him.
"Ready as I'll ever be."
"Full name?" he quizzes me.
"Elizabeth Dana Harlow. Beth for short."
"Age?"
"Nineteen."
"Horoscope sign?"
"Cancer."
"Where'd you grow up?"
I smile, and lay my hand on his arm. "Drew. I've got this," I assure him with more confidence than I really feel." He falls silent, staring at me, and for a moment I wonder if he's going to kiss me, but he turns away.
"Yesterday I arrested one of the cocktail waitresses at the Devil's Keep, a bar frequented by the Death Dealers. She was running a check fraud scheme, but I was waiting for the right time to bust her. Now there's a job opening, and you can conveniently drop by looking for a position."
"Smart," I say.
"I like to think so. Here's a burner," he says, handing me an old flip phone. "This is only for contacting me, and only for emergencies."
"Got it," I say.
"And if you ever…if it's ever too…"
"Drew. I'll stay safe. I promise."
"It might not be up to you."
I know he's right, but I'm not going back now. "I better get going before someone else drops by and snags the job."
"Right. I'll see you," he replies. He reaches up and rests his hand on my shoulder for a moment, gives it a squeeze, then lets his arm drop.
"Bye," I say, grabbing my purse and heading out the motel door. As it shuts behind me, I feel my stomach drop, but I keep walking. I glance at the keys and then look around the parking lot for a Honda. There it is, an old, black Honda Civic with rust forming above the tires. Drew was right. It's exactly the kind of car Beth would drive. I would drive.
I open the car door and drop my purse into the passenger seat. The engine turns over with a disturbing rumble, and I head out toward the highway. Paradise Falls is about fifteen minutes down the highway, and the Death Dealer's compound lies on the edge of it.
I open the windows and let the wind carry out the moldy smell of the car seats. When I first came here earlier this week, I thought I'd be settling into my patrol by now, maybe making friends with some of the other cops, getting drinks after work at a local bar. My life has never seemed to work out according to plan, though.
Soon I'm taking the exit for Paradise Falls and girding myself for what I'm going to find. I glance around as small ranch houses start popping up. The town is a little smaller than Fort Brynard, and Drew says that the Death Dealers have a vise-like grip over it. The crime here actually isn't high at all because the Death Dealers like to keep their own backyard clean. The problem is all the ripples of violence they're sending across the state.
I spot the street that Devil's Keep is on and turn right. There's a parking spot directly across from it and I parallel park as the Civic's rusted gears squeal in protest. As I get out, I'm pleasantly surprised by the look of the street. Granted, it's the middle of the day, but there are some families out on a little park at the end of it, and a diner with people sitting by the front.
I head across the street and stop in front of the Devil's Keep. The windows at the front are all blacked out so I can't see inside, but the door is slightly ajar. I shoulder my purse, and push it open.
"We're not open yet!" a woman's voice comes from behind the bar. I walk toward it, not seeing anyone.
"I know," I reply, glancing around. There are a couple of large, mounted TVs, a mix of cocktail tables and couches, and a pool table in the back corner. It's definitely a dive, but looks pretty clean. "I was just wondering if you might be hiring." A pretty, tall, blonde stands up from behind the bar with a bright smile.
"Oh my gosh, yes! I'm Candice, one of the servers. Steph, that's one of the other servers, she got fucking arrested and now I'm all alone for tonight and it's a Saturday! I told her she should quit all that bullshit she was up to but she wouldn't listen to me."
"Thank goodness. I mean, that's terrible for your friend, but I could really use a job," I tell her with a relieved smile.
"Hey, Ricky! Ricky!" Candice yells, turning toward the back of the bar.
"What?" a man's voice replies.
"There's a girl here looking for a job! She's hot, too!" she adds, turning to me and wiggling her eyebrows. "That'll get him off his fat ass," she whispers to me. Sure enough, there's a groan and a door to a back office opens and a portly man in his sixties comes lumbering out. He glances over me for a moment, then nods.
"Alright, come on back," he says, waving me toward him.
"Thanks," I murmur to Candice, and she gives me a wink. Ricky holds his office door open for me, then shuts it as I sit down across from his messy desk.
"You have experience cocktail waitressing?" he asks.
"Yes," I reply. It's only a small lie. I supported myself for years by waitressing, but only in diners and restaurants, never a bar.
"We need someone who can pop behind the bar and make drinks if it gets busy. What's in an Old Fashioned?"
"Rum," I guess, trying to sound confident, but from the way his eyebrow raises, I know I'm wrong. Shit. I know Old Fashioneds are brown… "I meant whiskey." From the doubt in his eyes, I can tell that I'm losing him. I lean forward, purposefully letting my breasts spill out of the top of my low-cut shirt. "Sorry, I'm just nervous," I purr, trying to look vulnerable. "I just moved to town from Washington, and I'm trying to make a fresh start."
"Mhm," he mutters, eyes on my breasts.
"I know I'm a little green, but I'm a fast learner. I'll work so hard for you, Ricky, I promise."
"Well, I don't want to turn you out on the street…" he grumbles.
"Oh, thank you so much," I exclaim, reaching forward to rest my hand on his knee and seal the deal. "I really appreciate it."
He clears his throat. "Candice will show you around," he says, wiggling in his seat. I can tell from a cursory glance that he's trying to hide his erection. I'm certainly not in the Academy anymore. I stand up. "Shut the door behind you," he calls after me as I leave his office.
"No problem!" I call out cheerily, though I'm wouldn't be entirely surprised if he's about to jerk off in there.
"Well?" Candice asks as she wipes down the bar with a wet rag.
"I got it!"
"Yay! I have a good feeling about you. Steph was kind of a bitch, to be honest with you."
"Now I just have to find a place to live."
Candice gasps dramatically. "I have a place! Steph and I were roommates, and now she's locked up for however long. She tried to get me to pay her bail when she owes me three months back rent!"
"I have a little money saved-up, so I can pay my first month now."
She clasps her hands together excitedly. "I think you were sent by my guardian angel."
I laugh. "Could be!"
"Let's have a drink to celebrate." As she turns away to grab two pint glasses, my face grows serious. Getting a job and a place to live was the easy part. Now I have to come into contact with the Death Dealers themselves.