Buying Time

 

She had money in her pocket and a short memory. That was a dangerous combination for her health and my sanity.

And Petra had called again. As evidenced by the performance bonus, The Brothers Maldonado were happy customers. Sick puppies, but happy customers. Marilyn was as easily bruised as an overripe peach and that was a fact she couldn’t ignore. No one buys the bruised fruit in the produce aisle, and on that point, Marilyn agreed with me. A little down time would be needed before she went to work again.

“It looks worse than it is,” Marilyn tried to reassure me, but I was in charge of her safety. Petra didn’t make that happen anymore. I did, or fate did. I suppose that’s just semantics because the bottom line for me now was helping her survive this until she was ready to get out. I just hoped it was sooner rather than later. And I hoped the Maldonados would have tired of her, but she made that impossible.

Maybe Petra could fix her up with an old politician or something?

Not happening. They wanted her again, in less than 24 hours.

I decided to pay a surprise visit to Petra. There was nothing discrete or off the grid about it. If I was going to be a goddamn suspect in the disappearance of Donny Barchek, so was she.

Petra stayed on the phone as I fumed in the lobby. I was getting madder by the second. I suppose I wasn’t mad at Petra, more the situation, but who cared? Petra was the focus of the frustration and rage I was working up.

I finally decided I was done waiting. I burst open the door to her office while her secretary yelled at my back.

“I’m going to call the goddamn cops on you Lincoln, you can’t…”

Petra put her hand up to indicate she probably didn’t want the cops there either.

“Abe, are you planning to kill me?” She sat as calm as you please, not phased that I’d just ripped the door off the hinges.

“I don’t know, are you going to keep letting the Maldonados fuck Marilyn raw?” I wouldn’t hurt Petra, but I also wasn’t going to play her little respectable office games. She was too far removed from the work of the associate. That was my judgment.

“Marilyn is not being forced. I think you need to remember that, Abe.” Petra’s cool ran deep.

“Fine. I’m her security and she needs two weeks to recover.”

“Are you her security or are you her pimp? She doesn’t need a pimp, by the way; she just made over a quarter of a million dollars.”

Pimp? I don’t know why that pissed me off so bad but it did. I swept every last piece of paper and the high-tech phone off of Petra’s desk. She slid her chair back.

“Are you quite done?”

“I need you to know how serious I am about making sure Marilyn doesn’t get chewed up and spit out by the likes of you or The Brothers.”

“Tomorrow.”

“What?”

“She’s got a request for an appointment with them tomorrow.”

“I said two weeks.”

“Lincoln do you know the name, Tony Carol?”

“What?”

“Tony Carol was a waiter at the restaurant you visited the other day.”

“Yeah, so?”

 “Well, Abe, Tony Carol is another reason that I trust you a whole lot less than I used to.”

“Yeah?” I was still and quiet, and as usual, Petra was in the driver’s seat. Going nuts in her office did nothing but prove to her how unhinged I was.

“Here you go.” Petra slid a folded newspaper across her desk.

It was another clip from the Vegas paper. It was a small mention, but it turned my blood cold.

Local waiter missing, police suspect foul play

There was a tiny picture of the waiter I’d pounded, Tony Carol. He was about to take Marilyn without payment or permission, and I had done my job. The waiter was a lot less important than Donny because it was a tiny write-up by comparison.

“You are in no position to threaten me, Lincoln McCall. If you step out of line again, you’ll be arrested.” Petra was right. I had no leverage at all.

“I don’t give a damn.” I guess that was my leverage which if you think about it is a hell of a lot of leverage.

“You very much do give a damn. It will be hard to worship our little Marilyn from jail.”

She had me there. I did care, that was my problem. I now cared way too much for Marilyn.

“I did not kill Barchek or this Tony person.”

“Well, it is not going to look that way to the authorities if they ever see these.”

“I’m aware of that, and I’m working on it.”

“I don’t want to know about it.” Petra dealt in knowledge, but some things were best not to know.

“Now about Marilyn’s next appointment I came to tell you she needs time.”

“I will concede that point to you.”

“Good. Two weeks then.”

“No. But I will put off her next job for five days. I will err on the side of caution with her and allow more downtime as we proceed with her career. Friday she has an appointment with The Brothers, and you’ll stay out of it, or your money and your freedom will be gone. Good day.”

The meeting was over, and maybe my small victory was five days. But it mostly felt like Petra had won and I kept losing. Did she mean to turn me in?

I needed to stay away from Marilyn and Petra for a few days. I needed to find out where Donny and now this Tony person were. I had beaten the shit out of both of them, but I hadn’t killed either of them. At least, there was no video of me and the waiter, no grainy security video.

Even if I didn’t beat anyone else on the Marilyn job, I still had two potentially dead bodies connected to my fists. I needed to find out where those two were and who wanted to pin it on me.

I wasn’t sure where to go next when it came to tracking Barchek or now this Tony kid, but my cell vibrated with an incoming text and my priorities for the next two days shifted.

“Can you call me?” It was Marilyn, and I did as she asked.

“Are you okay?”

“Is that your greeting? Not hello?”

“Well?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good, what do you need?”

“I want to go to visit my dad and wondered if you could drive me?”

“What, $350,000 isn’t enough to get a car? I’d say a Ford Focus if you’re pinching pennies.”

“I am pinching pennies, Lincoln. You know I am. I’m not where I need to be. And I’ve also never bought a car on my own. I’m worried about haggling. Maybe down the road, I’ll get a sick truck, better than yours.” She let her country girl accent through on the taunt.

“That’s cute. Impossible, but cute. Fine. I’ll drive you. Where are we headed?

“Lovelock, Nevada.”

“That’s a six-hour drive away, you’re aware?”

“I am aware. I have a 10:30 a.m. visiting hour with my dad.”

“So you want to leave at 2 a.m.?”

“Or tonight? I don’t have any jobs, uh assignments, until Friday.” The fucking Maldonados again, booked already. At least, Petra was good as her word on giving her a few days.

“I’ll get you at six. Find a place for us to bunk in Lovelock.”

“Sure, and Lincoln?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t wear blue because...”

“I know why. See you at six.”

The inmates wore blue work clothes and jeans in Nevada. Not the popular orange. They wouldn’t let you in with blue lest you make a switch or get things confused for the guards.

I had a few hours before I drove Marilyn to visit her dad who was in the clink for killing her uncle. Somehow, a six-hour car ride to prison was looking to be the best part of my next few days.

I hung up with Marilyn and got gas and water. Only an idiot would drive through the Nevada desert with no provisions. My truck wasn’t going to break down, but it wasn’t that hard to die in the desert if it did. And maybe the drive would help me puzzle out who wanted Donny, and now Tony, dead. Who other than me?

I showed up at Marilyn’s place and Marilyn was looking more like Leslie than I’d ever seen her. Her bombshell gowns were replaced with white jeans rolled up at the cuffs, converse tennis shoes, a t-shirt, and sweater. It was a glimpse of her I’d not had before. She was so goddamn beautiful, and I had to say this look on her was better than any plunging neckline. This was a person and not a character. This person could gather the eggs and cook them. This person had a small menagerie in her tiny apartment. This person needed my wheels.

“Hi Lincoln, I’m all set. Packed one tiny little bag even.” She came over and kissed me on the cheek.

“So who takes care of your zoo when you leave?”

“Well, Retta’s older boy is seven. I’m paying him ten dollars.”

“A gold mine.”

I checked her place to make sure it was all locked up, and we head out to the truck.

“SO much easier to get in without a dress! See?” Marilyn bounded up like she belonged in my passenger seat. I secured her bag in the back and climbed into the driver’s seat.

In that space of time, the air had shifted. Marilyn was focused on my cell phone and had a look of concern on her babydoll face.

“What’s this about, Lincoln?”

She handed me my phone, which had been sitting in the cup holder.

The ominous text message read, “You know where the money goes, Lincoln McCall. $250,000 or this email goes to the cops.” There was a link attached to the message.

I had a strong suspicion about what I’d see on that link attached to the message.

“Are you going to open it?”

I clicked on it and sure enough, there I was, in the restaurant storage room, pounding on now-missing waiter Tony Carol. Who’d taken it? I could see The Brothers and Marilyn in the frame.

Someone else had decided this was a good bit of violence to record. Just like the security video of Barchek.

“Jesus Lincoln, who’s blackmailing you?”

“Whoever took this video is a safe bet.”

“Do not treat me like an idiot.”

“You’re right. I don’t know. But I’m going to have to stop at Western Union on the way out of here.”

“Do you have that kind of money?”

“I have it. I won’t continue to have it, however, if Petra keeps you with this current class of clients.”

“Can I give you some?” She was offering to help me, even though she’d just started making dough. It was pretty sweet, even though I’d never take it from anyone, especially her. Not once I’d seen who she had to do to get it.

“You cannot. Like I said, I have it. The problem will be is if this does go to the police.”

“But can’t you explain what...” She stopped, realizing the situation would be tough to legally get away with. Beating up a man in connection with your job as security for a high-priced call girl is not exactly a sympathetic story.

“Plus, Donny Barchek and this waiter guy are missing.” I laid out my cards.

“Missing? Like missing missing?”

I nodded.

“You sure you feel safe driving with me? I could have killed both of them.”

“Lincoln, you’re the only one I feel safe with even if you DID kill both of them.”

This time, I didn’t hold back. I put my hand on her soft cheek. She said the right things to me every time.

She leaned into my rough hand and kissed it. I wanted her then, right there, in the truck. Her lips on my hand set the rest of me on fire. But we had too many issues between us right now. Too many obstacles in our way, so I allowed myself one indulgence, I caressed her cheek with my knuckles and then pulled back my hand. It had to be back to business if I was going to get out of this jam.

“Thanks, doll. I gotta get this money to whoever this is. It will buy me some time to figure it out.”

“Lincoln, you don’t need to stay with me. You don’t need to drive me to visit Daddy. You need to run away. Get out of here or retire or whatever. I can handle the Maldonados or whoever else.”

“You absolutely can’t.”

“Petra has other security. Garrity, and even Chic or Terry. They’d be fine.”

“Do you want them to be your security?”

“No. But I don’t want to be the reason you get thrown in jail either. I am already the reason with my dad.”

“Your uncle is the reason your dad’s in jail. And I didn’t kill anyone. So you aren’t the reason I’m in trouble. Stop blaming yourself for the world’s problems.”

“I don’t care about the world’s problems. I care about your problems.”

“So are you ready to run away. Quit today?” Her assignments were the only reason I was sticking around.

“No. You know I’m not. I’m sorry.” She looked down like she’d done something wrong. She was sorry but also stubborn. She was going to earn the money she needed just like I did.

“I’ll be around to pick up the pieces whether Petra pays me to do it or not. I care about keeping you safe. That’s pretty much all I care about.” She didn’t lift her head.

So I leaned in and kissed her. I didn’t want her down, sad, distressed, any of it. The need to see her happy was like my drug. Her lips were soft and I was careful. It was a slow kiss on her lovely lips. I wanted more; she maybe did too. But I stopped. She looked up and gave me a smile.

“There’s my girl. I’ll figure it out. Now let’s get this money out of here and then we’re on our way.”

I wired the cash and was now out a half-a-million bucks and working for free. In a few short weeks, this had happened. I was so close to being out and on my ranch. Now I was so far away from it that it may as well be on another planet, and the worst part was I didn’t care.

I cared only that I was going to drive Marilyn to her visit and that for maybe two days I didn’t have to worry about watching her earn her money.

We didn’t talk after our kiss. We just drove into the Nevada night to the prison her daddy called home.

After a time, she asked about my story, my little coming-of-age tale of blood, muscles, too many brothers, and a junkie mom.

“So what do you want to do after this, Lincoln?”

“I want to ranch. Live on some land I have.”

“Can I raise the chickens?” She was teasing me, but in my head, I didn’t want her to go there. I didn’t want to admit to myself that all I really hoped for was for her to go with me to Montana and raise chickens. It was impossible, immature, and her teasing about it pissed me off. She had no idea and I was trying desperately not to let these thoughts loose in my head. So I didn’t answer her, and I know I stiffened up.

“Go to sleep doll. I’ll wake you when we get to, what was it?”

“Cadillac Motor Court.”

“Of course, it is.”

We had about two hours to go. It was ten at night and the road was fairly empty. I had too much on my mind: Barchek, getting Marilyn out of this line of work, my own ranch. All of it rolled around in there.

The answer, I hoped, as to who was taping and blackmailing me would come. I was no investigator. That also played into my thoughts. Did I have a person I could hire to help? A few names came up if I needed a P.I. Jesus, this shit was getting messier by the mile.

Eventually, we pulled into the Cadillac, and I was glad we had the rooms. I was tired. We’d stay the night, get up early, and she’d have the morning with her dad. Then we’d drive back.

The Cadillac Motor Court was a one-story, 1950s-era motel. Though it looked old, it was still in decent repair. Someone took good care of it.

Make that one room. She’d booked us one room. I offered to sleep in the truck, but she was pretty pragmatic about it. It was official. This dame was trying to kill me, one way or another.

“I need to save money. And don’t worry, I won’t ruin your reputation and tell anyone. You’ve seen me naked. I think you can see me in my jammies.” I stiffened at the thought of her “jammies”. What hell was this going to bring?

She changed in the bathroom and came out sporting a huge white t-shirt that came practically to her knees. It had a black “Dunder Mifflin” logo on it. I was expecting some gorgeous Marilyn temptation, and instead, it was a giant t-shirt from The Office.

She caught what must have been my perplexed expression, “I loved that show! This is my favorite night shirt from it. What?”

I had decided not to tempt fate and took off my shirt but kept on the jeans. I needed a barrier on the small bed, even if she seemed oblivious to the torture that being this close to her in this situation was going to be for me, for any man. She was supposed to be recovering, not romping around.

I decided to lie on top of the covers, too.

“Do you want to watch t.v.?” she asked.

“Up to you. I don’t really watch t.v.”

“I love it. How about some Nick at Night?” She plopped herself on the end of the bed and found her channel. Some old t.v. show was playing, and she said it was perfect.

I closed my eyes and blocked her out, blocked out the damn show, and tried to get a little shut-eye. I fell asleep to the sounds of a laugh track and to little bed bounces she produced as she giggled along with the old sitcom.

I dreamed of her, how her legs would feel wrapped around me, how I would give her the tenderness I’d seen no one display toward her since we’d met. And then my dream of her turned from sweet to hot. I dreamt of her magnificent breast in my mouth, of sinking into her. It was beautiful.

And then it wasn’t a dream. I awoke and looked down. The television was still on quietly, and it provided a soft illumination in the room. Marilyn was no longer watching. she’d dozed off, and draped herself over me. She had curled one leg into mine. Her shirt had ridden up around her waist, revealing that round ass in the modest white cotton underwear. Sexier than any of the thongs I’d seen.

She had found a spot and rested her head perfectly in the juncture of my neck and shoulder. Her breasts pressed softly through the t-shirt onto my chest. She was peacefully asleep and fit with me like no one I’d ever been with.

I pulled her closer, one hand resting just inside those cotton panties, just barely. I wouldn’t go further. She moaned in her sleep and snuggled closer in. She nuzzled her lips on my chest and goddamn it then she kissed me. Though she was asleep, she maybe had the same dream.

“Hmmm. Lincoln.” She murmured my name in her sleep. If that 1950s sitcom actor could see through the decades to right now, through the television screen, he would have seen a contented smile on my face as I too returned to dreamland, wrapped up in her.