Page 16 of Dirty
“Ray. Ray Sheraton.”
“Ohh, like them there hotels? You own any’a those things?Jason! Put my damn pancakes in a box! We’re leaving!”He lost half the sodden tobacco from his mouth when he pivoted toward the counter, suddenly yelling at the server, who I’d decided I now felt sorry for. Jason didn’t know which way to turn first as he hurried from one end of the diner to the other, first collecting Franz’s food from the service hatch, and then up and down as he clearly scrambled to locate a to-go box.
I paid the kid, Franz took his pancakes and a two-liter bottle of coke, and we headed over to the auto shop. I saw more than a couple of inches of Franz’s ass crack as he stooped to unlock the roller shutters. Once we were inside and Franz had opened the side door to the shop, he hiked up his pants again, hawking to clear his throat, and he pointed out into the parking lot, in the direction of my truck. “Shall we take a look at it, then?”
“Actually, I wanted to ask you a question first, if that’s okay?”
“Sure thing, Ray. Ask away.”
“Does the name Holly Shoji mean anything to you?” I watched as Franz’s expression transformed itself into something wary at first, and then something hard and unfeeling.
“I’m sorry, boss. Doesn’t ring a bell.” The lie was as obvious as the broken capillaries at the end of his nose. He wasn’t even trying to convince me he didn’t know Holly’s name. There was disgust in his eyes as he started to shuffle past me out of the garage. “I have a busy morning, too. If you want me to look at your truck, let’s get on with it. If not, I’m afraid we’re gonna have to save the chit chat for another day.”
Sidestepping, I blocked his path, preventing him from walking outside. It took all of a second to lean over to the wall and hit the switch on the wall—the switch that lowered the roller shutters back down again. Franz studied me with ice in his eyes, assessing me from head to toe.
“You sure you wasn’t in the military?” he asked, taking a step back.
“Nope. I never joined up. I thought about it, like I said, but my father had other ideas. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps.”
“And what did he do?” Franz muttered in an airy tone. It was funny how many times people did this—acted like nothing untoward was happening, when something clearlywashappening. As if, should he keep his voice free from aggression and hostility or panic, I would be held at bay, unaware that a situation was developing, and he would somehow be able to distract me while he escaped. There would be no distracting me, though. No escape, either. I watched calmly as Franz fumbled with his left hand, reaching out for a tire iron that was sitting on top of a messy workbench.
“He was a priest,” I said, glancing down lazily to inspect my fingernails.
Franz nearly tripped over his own feet as he tried to back away from me. “So you’re Catholic, then. Like me.”
“Oh, we’re nothing alike, Franz. We’re not even the same species. See, I did follow in my father’s footsteps. I studied. I became a priest, just like my father wanted me to, and I learned many things. I learned that the Catholic Church doesn’t believe in brutally raping people just because they don’t share your skin color, or your belief system.”
Franz’s eyes were wide now. His fear was plain to see, but there was something else there, too: hatred. So much anger and hatred. He didn’t agree with what I was saying. Didn’t care for it one little bit.
“If you’re a priest, then what are you doing here, Ray? Shouldn’t you be tending to your flock?”
I smirked, reaching not for the gun in the holster at my back, but for something a little more fun. Something a little sharper. Something a little more…wicked.
“Iwasa priest,” I said, flipping over the heavy, serrated combat knife I was now holding. “I was a priest for a quite a while. And then I realized something. Wanna know what I realized?”
Franz shook his head, his jowls wobbling all over the place. “No, man. No. Just go. Get the fuck out of my shop. That filthy little whore deserved everything she got. She didn’t belong here. She was taking money from the government to study. And when she finished that course, what then? She was gonna take a job that belonged to a fucking American, man! We’re just lettin’ ‘em waltz in here and take everything from us. I showed that bitch we weren’t all gonna take it lying down. Thatshewas gonna have to take something lying down, too, if—”
I tilted the blade from left to right in my hand, peering into the highly reflective surface of the weapon as if mesmerized by its beauty. “I realized I wasn’t really helping anyone by spritzing them with holy water and shoving bread into their mouths every Sunday. I realized… I didn’t believe anymore. I realized there were better ways to help save people, so I picked up this knife, and I decided to take matters into my own hands. Just like I’m about to do right now.”
SIX
CONVINCE ME
SERA
I wouldn’t have known it was Fix’s truck if I hadn’t seen him get in it and drive off earlier. After sitting around in the motel lobby for hours, waiting for him to come back, I grew anxious and begged a ride into Liberty Fields off another woman who was checking out of her room and leaving. I’d hoped I might find a gift store where I could grab another wedding gift for Amy, since I’d demolished the tequila last night. Instead, I spotted Fix’s truck and asked to be dropped off in the parking lot of a very run down, sketchy looking auto shop.
The front roller shutters were down, but the side door to the building was open. Inside: Darkness. The smell of oil, grease, and unwashed male. I hovered just inside the door, trying to decide if I ought to go in or not. Sixsmith used to cart me around a lot when I was really small. He used to take me to dark, strange, unfamiliar places like this, and there would always be trouble. Someone would be drinking. Someone would be cooking meth. Someone would be fucking loudly in the back. There would be things young eyes weren’t meant to see. And, by the time we left, there would usually be blood.
I could just wait outside for Fix. There was no reason to barge into the shop and start yelling at him for taking too long, when he promised me he’d only be gone an hour or so. I could do that in the truck, once the dark-haired bastard emerged and saw me leaning against his murdered-out ride, waiting for him.
I walked over to the truck and tried the handle to the passenger seat, but it was locked. I checked my phone—another missed call from Ben, but nothing from Amy—and then slid it back into my pocket, trying not to scowl. Things were so much simpler before cell phones. If you didn’t want to be harassed by anyone, all you had to do was leave the house, walk away, and not look back. I’d gotten my first phone when I was sixteen, bought and paid for with money I’d earned waiting tables in a diner, and I’d been so excited; everyone else in school had had one for a couple of years, and I’d finally got to play catch up. Now, there were days I wished I could just throw all of my devices in the trash and never purchase another one again.
The rain had eased slightly since I’d left the motel, but it was picking up again. Heavy, fat beads of water thumped against the hood of Fix’s truck, falling from the branches of a huge live oak that loomed over the parking lot like a grim sentinel. The tree was bare of leaves, and its considerable, crooked limbs raked upward toward the overcast sky like the fingers of a twisted, grasping hand.
I raised the hood of my jacket, shivering when the already damp fabric brushed against the back of my neck. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of this town. It was dreary, cold, and far too wet. Seattle was world-renowned for it’s miserable weather and grey skies, but at least it had life to it. A lot of life. Music. Great food. Art. Culture. Business and industry. Liberty Fields was an unmarked town on the map that no one visited on purpose, and no one really cared about, apart from the three hundred worn down people who lived here.
I waited for Fix, picking at my fingernails inside my pockets, breathing deeply. He’d come out soon and drive me somewhere I could get another car, and then everything would be okay. I tried not to let my mind wander. When I did, I ended up replaying the events of last night and driving myself a little crazy. Fix must have thought I was used to sleeping with random strangers hours after I’d just met them. He had to believe that, since that’s exactly what I did with him. The truth was I’d been more than a little intimidated by him last night. His looks were enough to make my cheeks color whenever he turned his attention to me—skin golden, like he spent a good amount of time out in the sun. His face was all angular lines, sharp enough to cut. His eyes were both exquisite and frightening. It wasn’t just their color that froze me to my core. Whenever he looked at me, a very real chill skated over my body, as if his frosty expressions produced their own wintry breeze that bit at my skin. He was an enigma—closed off and secretive. He didn’t want to share with me what he did for a living, and that was fine. Annoying, but understandable. Sometimes people wanted to keep things private, or they just didn’t realize they were being rude. There’d been plenty of timesI’dforgotten the subtle nuances of social etiquette—etiquette I’d had to learn through studying other people at an early age, since my father hadn’t been too concerned with teaching me anything at all—and I’d been cold to the point of rudeness. My slashed tires proved that well enough. That traffic cop had probably seen my car parked there last night and decided to teach me a lesson in Southern manners.
