Everyone's Dirty Little Secrets (10 page)

Broonzy tails Dodge for blocks after that, forcing him to keep it slow, play it cool.

That’s not Dodge’s nature.

He knows he needs to move fast.  He needs to be ahead of things.

Because s
ituations do not remain still.

Everything changes.

But
at least
there are no
more
lines in the road.

*****

Siobhan is gone when Dodge gets there, but Jaime has a folder she left for him.

Dodge really only glances at Jaime once.  Their eyes lock for a second, but there’s no change in their expressions.

That creepy Mr.
Chuck
is watching.

Dodge scans through the folder.

Siobhan is sending him out of town. 

“Montreal,” Jaime tells him.
 
“
To cover an expo for a client unveiling a new product.  Photos, article, press release.
”
 

Not his typical kind of assignment. 

This is a legitimate job.

Kind of dull, actually.

He
wonders that the catch is. 

He’s got to go.  He’s got to go tonight.  The event is tomorrow.

“Wow, pretty boring,” he mutters looking in the folder, wondering if there is some other instruction in there.

Who he’s supposed to burn this time.

“You want some company?” Jaime offers, her eyes smiling.

Dodge glances nervously toward Siobhan’s office, even though she’s gone, and that’s enough said.

Three days.

Siobhan is sending him away for three days.

She is nowhere to be found when he stops by the house to pack his clothes and grab his passport.

He can’t bring himself to listen to her message.
  Even if it might be telling him what his real job is.  In a way, going to just cover a product la
unch is a relief, even if not all that exciting
.

Maybe the time away is a good thing.

He leaves her a note. 

In Montreal, baby - wish you were there.

Nothing has changed, he tells himself.

Nothing has changed.

*****

Hands tapping the st
eering wheel,
Dodge races south on the Northway.  It’s time to get back.  He’s been gone three days.  He hasn’t spoken with Siobhan.  It’s eating at him. 
He’s just a bundle of nerves, driving way too fast. 
He d
id his job in Montreal, though.  He did what she asked, though she’s never sent him on a normal, simple assignment before.

This isn’t ab
out the job in Montreal,
he knows. 

Something deeper is wrong. 

Jaime.

Rod Dressler.

He wonders where Siobhan has been for the last three days.

His leg tw
itches constantly.  He thinks
his cell phone
is
vibrating. 
He is trying to learn to ignore it,
despite
the automatic response.  It’s just his leg twitching.  It only feels like a cell phone vibrating. 
He digs it out of his pocket.  The
re are no new calls.  There is the
message from Siobhan.  The one she left before she sent him to Montreal.  He can’t get himself to listen to it.  The message is from when he didn’t show up at the office; from the day he was in the park, Jaime
sprawled
on his lap when he was supposed to meet Siobhan
.

He stares at the message icon, unable even to keep his eyes on the road.  The Northway, between Montreal and Lake George is perfectly straight.  There are no curves.  There are no stops.  Th
ere are no other cars.  There are no cops
.  It is a lawless strip of highway.  Speed limits hardly matter.  Further south, cars from Quebec are always
still
flying past everybody else.  It doesn’t occur to them that
they’re not still on the lonesome, lawless strip that introduc
es
them to New York.  No one knows the difference between miles and kilometers
, no one knows what the signs mean anymore.

The landscape doesn’t change much crossing from New York into Canada.  But pass one little, artificial line, and people speak a different language.  Follow a different leader.  Sell drugs cheaper.  Rarely fight wars.  Let you touch strippers. Provide care to all of its citizens.

Hypnotizing ours
elves in our own little worlds -
believing in fate, pre-destiny, God, law and order,
history books -
it’s easy to believe this is the way o
ur world is designed, by intelligence, not the way we made
it
, just a tangle of individual
motivations competing against each other
. 
Sure, there’s an order
.  Not a divine one, not one in synergy with anything around it. 
Cross one little line, though,
and you can see how contrived that order is.  And how fragile.

One little line
t
hat we made ourselves.

Dodge stomps on the gas pedal.  He can’t get home quick
ly
enough.  He doesn’t want to get home at all.
A sense of danger fuels him - t
errifies him. 

He can fracture that metaphorical line, in a fraction of a second. 

It takes five
hours to drive a straight line home.

We like straight lines.  They’re easier to follow.

Dodge feels his phone, now buried once more in his pocket, pressed against the hard, twitching muscle of his thigh, vibrate again.  He kn
ows this is the same old trick -
that he shouldn’t bother to pull it out again, doesn’t want to stare at a reminder that the only person to have called him is Siobhan, days ago.  And that he hasn’t called her back, hasn’t even listened to her message.

But he pulls the phone out anyway.  Maybe because it only vibrated once.
  Nor
mally, it feels like it’s constantly buzzing in his pocket
.  This time, it
was just once
.

For real.

A t
ext message.

From Jaime.

Boss in NYC.  
Bringing friend 2 ur pool.

This is not good.  He gets excited, despite himself, has a hard time typing even a simple response.

No.

He hits the send button.

He knows the protest
will hardly work.  He assumes nothing will.

Maybe he hopes.
 
Maybe
he fears.

His phone, still gripped in the flesh of his palm, vibrates again.

Picture message.

Dodge groans.

It sounds like the wrong kind of groan, even to him.

This will only get worse.

He opens
the message.

When r u
getting
back?

There is a photo.  A close-up of Jaime’s bare back, the
smooth, silk curtain of her skin
interrupted only a tight bikini string, cutting i
ts way into her soft flesh. She is being clever. 

He gets the message.

All he can think abo
ut is getting back.  She
’s
flashing
her best smile over her shoulder, that
patented
Jaime glint in her eye. 

The devil may care. 

Jaime does not.

Dodge knows she is capable of anything.  That she will do anything.

He understands how a man can live in both hope and fear.

He has to get back before Siobhan does.

*****

Chuck
knows how transient luck is. 

If it dares pass you on the road, follow it.

There is no way he would have missed Jaime in a bikini top,
in a convertible
.  When she passes him, it is easy to follow her.  Hell, it almost feels innocent.  But
Chuck
is honest.  He knows right away he is going to follow h
er -
is absolutely intoxicated at the prospect, even.