CHAPTER TEN
DAWN
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “He wants us to do what?”
Max points through the windshield at the LVPD’s impound yard. The place is fenced. There’s razor wire around the top and countless cameras. It looks like a vehicular Guantanamo Bay. “Apparently, there’s a blue Camino inside we need to ‘borrow.’”
“You mean steal,” I correct.
Max nods, holding his side. “Call it what you will, but we need to get inside and get that car. There’s something in the trunk Bobby doesn’t want the cops to find, something ‘precious,’ he says.”
“My god, is there a body in that car?”
Max shrugs. “I don’t know, but what I do know is that we’ve got to get this done, and fast. I need time to prepare for the tournament.”
I’d forgotten all about that. If I could take Max’s place, I would, but the only physical fight I’ve been in in my life was with an errant hair straightener. “Do you have a plan?”
He bites his lip. “I wish. We can’t exactly storm the gates guns blazing. We’d have the whole damn police force on our tail. No, we need to be silent, stealthy.”
He shifts his finger. “There’s one guard in the box at the front there. I saw the Camino on the side over there, near the fence, but there’s a camera right above it. It will be on the guard’s feed.”
“What about the fence?”
“Bobby, bless him, had someone leave bolt-cutters in the trunk.”
I think it through. “Okay, so you cut the gate and push the car out, but what about the guard?”
He takes his shirt, pulling it on slowly. I’d prefer it off, but now’s not the time to be daydreaming about sexy times. “No idea,” he says. “Somehow, we need to distract the guard.”
It begins to fall on me exactly what he’s implying here. “You want me to distract the guard?”
Max looks down at himself. “I doubt he’s going to get off on this, is he?”
My lips pull up. “You never know.”
“If you’ve got a better suggestion, I’m all ears.”
I don’t. Any way you cut the cookie this is going to be as illegal as it gets. If we’re caught… ‘Grand Theft Auto’ is not something I want on my resumé.
Don’t think about it. Trust Max.
Trust my kidnapper?
That’s not fair and you know it.
“We can’t just push the car through the front gates?” I offer.
“That would be just well until the spikes there turned the tires into pancakes, not to mention Donut King in the box there raising the alarm.”
Gosh darn it, there’s no way around this. “Okay, I’ll do it,” I huff. “I’ll distract the guard.”
“You’ll be great. There’s not a man on earth who wouldn’t do anything for a hot piece of ass like you.”
I sit back in mock offense. “A ‘hot piece of ass’? Is that all you think I am?”
He smiles wide. “Amongst other things. Now go. Let’s get this done and get the hell out of here.”
“How are you going to start the car?”
Max drops his head to the side sarcastically. “Really? I didn’t come from the Upper East Side. I know how to hot-wire a car.”
I exhale through closed lips.
“You can do this,” Max enthuses, placing his hand on my bare thigh. It burns there like a hot iron. I want him to move it higher, run it between my legs where I’m already turning molten and wet at his touch.
I reach up and pull my hair out, shaking it free. I take hold of my boobs and attempt to lift them up a little to boost my cleavage. I’ve seen the movies. I know how these things go.
Mmhmm, remarks my inner critic.
I psyche myself up. “Let’s do this.”
I open the car door and start to step out.
“Dawn, wait!” starts Max, but it’s too late.
I’ve opened the car door right into police officer walking past.
Crrrrrrrrrrrrrap.
I stumble out of the car, helping said officer to his feet. “My god. I’m so sorry, officer.”
His glum expression turns into a smile when he sees me. “No problem, ma’am.”
It changes back when he sees Max in the car. He looks to me. “Everything alright here?” He stands, adjusting his belt.
I take a step back. “We’re just waiting for a friend.”
The officer stands there with his hands on his hips looking between Max and I.
Please don’t ask any questions. Please don’t ask any questions.
His walkie-talkie on his shoulder starts to squawk. He nods. “Alright then. You two have a good day now. Just… watch where you’re opening your door, alright?”
I nod back. “Yes, officer.”
Max pokes his head out of the car door. “Can we be a tad less inconspicuous?”
“Hey, I’m doing my best here.”
He puts his hands up. “As you were.”
I straighten myself and start to cross the road. I hear the driver’s door close and see Max heading down the side of the impound yard with a leather bag in hand. He could pass for a tradesman. As for me? What’s my excuse for being here?
The closer I get to the box, the hotter the sun seems to get and the more I sweat. I haven’t thought this through at all.
I’m so close now I can make out the guard. He’s middle-aged, balding, more gut than man. There’s a tiny fan on the side of the desk, but all it looks to be doing is blowing the last two strands of hair on his head around.
I approach the window. He hasn’t noticed me yet, too busy watching the monitors and snacking on—what is that?—jerky?
Max should be at the fence by now.
I stand up on my tippy toes, cleavage out so much it’s almost kissing the window, and tap.
The guard—Dave, going off his name tag—snaps to, focusing on me, or on my chest, rather, and pulls the window across.
So far, so good.
I put on the biggest smile I can muster. Think sexy. “Well, hi there, sir. I was hoping you could help me?”
Why the hell do you sound like Dolly Parton!
The accent just happened. I’ve got to stick with it no matter now ridiculous it sounds. Thankfully, Dave doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seems kind of spellbound by my boobs.
He smiles back. “What can I help you with, ma’am?”
I stick my head in a little and look around. There are six small monitors. One of them is showing a baseball game, but the others are all focused on different parts of the yard. On the bottom right-most monitor I see the grainy figure of Max cutting the fence with the bolt-cutters and pulling it wide.
Oh, hell.
The announcers on the baseball game give a start. Dave goes to look.
“A car,” I shout.
Dave looks to me. “Sorry?”
Compose yourself! “I’m looking for a car.”
Dave sits back and strokes his head. “Well, we ain’t a dealership here, ma’am. This here is the city impound yard.”
“I know,” I smile. “I’m looking for a friend’s car?”
He nods, rocking forward, straining with the effort. “Now, that I may be able to help you with. Name?”
Crapola. Think of something generic. “Brad.” My Dolly Parton drawl almost slips.
Dave rummages through papers on a clipboard. “Brad…?”
“Pitt,” I blurt.
Dave pauses and looks up to me, pausing on my cleavage first, dwelling a little longer than is courteous. “You’re looking for Brad Pitt’s car?”
“Pit,” I stammer. “One T.” Quickly, I scramble to make it sound plausible. “I think. I don’t really know… I mean, we just met.”
Keep it together, Dawn.
Dave checks the paperwork again. “Nope. I can’t see anything here… but there is a vehicle registered to a Brad Pope. That your boy?”
I nod, thankful. “Yes, sir.” I see Max get into the Camino on the monitor, duck low in the driver’s seat. Come on.
Dave studies the paperwork. “Let’s see. Brad Pope, Brad Pope… Ah,” he says, finding him. “Twenty-two-year-old white male goes by the name ‘Reaper.’”
I gulp. “Yep, that’s him.”
Dave glances up, studying me before returning to the papers. “Nineteen-ninety-nine Lamborghini Diablo with a custom gold paintjob, right?”
The heck? I nod. “Yes, sir.”
He leans back and licks his lips. The fan blows rancid air out of the box. It’s like a sauna in there. “What’s your business with Reaper and his Lamborghini, may I ask?”
“Oh, you know,” I stumble. “I was just helping him out, checking if it was here and all, being a good neighbor.” I almost lose the drawl again.
Dave’s eyeing me suspiciously now. I’m losing him.
Someone hits a homer in the baseball game. Dave goes to turn, but I reach in and place my hand on his. It’s like touching some sort of sea sponge, but he’s smiling again when he turns back to me.
“Is the car here?” I ask, letting my hand lift.
“Right,” he says, eyes running down the paperwork. “Yep. Your neighbor’s car is here alright, but I’m afraid it won’t be going anywhere soon. It’s part of an ongoing investigation.”
“Oh?”
I check the monitors out the corner of my eye. Max is still in the driver’s seat of the Camino fiddling away. What the hell is taking him so long?
Damn Dave is all business. “Is there anything else I can do for you, ma’am?”
I’m running out of talking points here. I had a brain, but it seems to have departed.
I lean forward until my boobs are practically spilling out of my top, fanning myself with my free hand and trying to act as sultry as possible. “Dang, it is hot out today, wouldn’t you agree?”
It’s a good thing I don’t flirt for a living.
Dave nods, eyes glued to the space between my bad boys. “Yes, ma’am. It’s a scorcher. Now, is there something else I can do for you?”
Stupid Dave and his damn professionalism. “Um…” I’m stalling.
I look around hopelessly, notice Playboy tucked under the desk. “You’re a Playboy fan?”
Dave loosens his collar, blushing. “Well, I like to read the articles, see.”
So said every guy busted with a Playboy ever.
“I was in it,” I say, matter-of-factly.
You what now? But it gets his attention.
“You were?” he questions, genuinely curious.
“Miss… July,” I fumble.
He shifts in his chair. “That’s quite something, Miss…?”
“Fonda. Miss Jane Fonda.”
Jane freakin’ Fonda? What. The. Hell. Dawn?! Why don’t you just tell him you’re Angelina Jolie and be done with it?
Thank all the heavens he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, smiling and nodding enthusiastically. “Wow. That’s something.”
I check the monitor again. The damn car is still there. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this act going short of jumping Dave’s bones here, and that is definitely not an option.
“I’ll bring you by a signed copy,” I continue, playing with a strand of my hair like it’s taffy, puckering and un-puckering my lips like some strange Amazonian fish.
Sexy, I scold myself. Act sexy!
I lick my lips and lift my eyebrows. I look insane, but Dave just smiles back dreamily.
The baseball announcers suddenly explode. ‘And Slade’s going for it. The bases are loaded…’
This time I can’t stop him. He’s turning in his chair, halfway to the monitors already.
Do something!
So I do the only thing that comes to mind.
I reach into that box with both hands and take hold of that potato head, turning it towards me and planting my lips on that puffer-fish face. It’s like kissing a sweaty ball-sack.
I keep it going, watching the monitor with one eye as the Camino starts to move. Come on. Come on.
Dave goes to break away. I kiss him harder, holding his head tight.
And then comes the tongue, like a slimy, day-old sausage, working its way between my lips and exploring my mouth—sloppy, reptilian. I’m sixteen again in Timothy Ford’s dad’s car.
Just when I think I can’t possibly take any more, when I can barely breathe, I see the Camino disappear from the monitor. Max leaps out to roll the fence back into place.
I break free, the mixed taste of salt and stale jerky in my mouth. “Thanks!” I chime, suppressing the urge to gag and running away as fast as I can, while calls of “Wait! Ma’am!” follow me.
Max pulls up in the Camino, leaning across and popping the passenger door open. “Get in.”
Dave’s out of his box, trying to hobble over probably already imagining our future life together, the tubby little kids we’d turn out.
Max takes off and turns the corner. I rake at my tongue with my fingers. “Ew. Ew. Ew.”
“What happened?”
I shoot him a look that could kill, trying once more to stop myself painting his dash with vomit. “Let’s just say I had to resort to desperate measures.”
Max smiles. “Holy shit. You kissed him, didn’t you?”
“I had no choice—do or die and all that.”
Max starts to crack up, thumping the wheel. I should kill him, but this is the first time I’ve seen him so genuinely happy. He’s almost in tears. “Oh, man. The money I would have paid to see that. Was it good? Was he a master lover? Was there tongue?” He looks across to my stony face. “Shit. There was, wasn’t there?”
“You better shut up real soon. What took you so long, anyhow?” I jiggle in my seat. “I thought you were from the hood, hot-wiring cars and hitting bitches and all that?”
Another fit of laughter overcomes him. “So I’m out of practice. Sue me. How about your guard friend back there? I bet he knew what he was doing, am I right?” The wink is too much.
“Har-de-har-har,” I slur sarcastically. “What about the rental car?”
“Bobby will have one of his goons pick it up.” He shakes his head, returning back to the topic of choice. “I can’t believe you kissed him. I said distract him, not start a relationship.”
“You’re about one word away from my foot up you’re a-hole.”
He puckers his lips. “Can I have a kiss first?”
I cross my arms, still trying to rid my mouth of the horrid jerky-coffee combo. “Not funny. Not funny at all.”
I see a gas station ahead. “Pull in.”
Max checks the dash. “We’ve got plenty of gas.”
“Just do it.”
“Why, what do you need?”
I look at him deadpan. “Mouthwash. All the mouthwash.”