Everyone's Dirty Little Secrets (17 page)

He knows she wants something and he’s not going to make it easy for her.

“
Chuck
,” she orders, getting right to the point.  “Give me Dodge’s passport.”

There’s not much he can say at this point, sitting here in his stupid I love Amsterdam shirt. 

She knows he has it. 

So he plays tough. 
“What if I don’t?”

“It’s a federal crime,” she
snaps, like he’s an idiot, like there’s nothing else to consider.

She has a point.

“And what if I do?”
he asks, enjoying the game.

But s
he just marches around the desk, like she owns the
place and kicks his chair back from the desk. 

Chuck feels suddenly exposed, sitting there, her towering over him, seeing the look in her eyes.

“
Chuck
,” she
commands him.
“I do
n’t have time for
your games, or
for
you
to sit there and be weird
.  And if you
want to keep your perverted eyes in your head
,
so you can ever stare at me again,
yo
u’re going to hand that
passport over right now.”

“Desk drawer,” he mumbles.

P
oint taken.

She snatches the passport out of the drawer and is out of the room in a second, the door slamming behind her.

She forge
t
s
the credit card, though
Chuck
doesn’t notice right away, preoccupying himself with the memory of her
towering over
him.
 

And the feeling he felt.

And how he wants to feel it
again.

*****

It’s Saturday evening before the police come. 
It’s Sheriff Broonzy and a
state
trooper.

Perfect.

These guys are gunning for him.

Dodge has to play this cool.

He’s
sick with the thought that Siobhan may have laid there a whole day before she was found.  He couldn’t call, though, couldn’t report a missing person, or tip off the police
he knows
his wife is dead.  It’s better to go about his normal routine - or the normal routine of a man just back from Amsterdam.

Jaime’s plan sketches him out, but it’s
hard to ignore an opportunity likes this. 

It’s either too good to be true o
r too good to be ignore
d
. 

He will find out.

Dodge is scared shitless.  He’s guilty, but then again, he’s not sure he did anything wrong - exactly.  He didn’t mean for what happened to happen.  He’s not the one who had an affair, or whatever Siobhan was doing at Dressler’s.  He doesn’t know what was going on there - why Dressler was in a kimono, or had a sword, or how Dressler ended up killing Siobhan.  He barely understands how he killed Dressler, but that is the one thing he knows for sure.  He doesn’t want
to go down for that, though.

He opens the door, trying to look
casual, tired - jetlagged
–
hung
over -
when Broonzy knocks.
  It’s not hard to look beat, frazzled as his nerves are.

“Dodge,” Broonzy announces as the door opens.

“Yeah?” Dodge asks, looking surprised that Broonzy is at the door.

The trooper doesn’t speak,
just hovers slightly behind the sheriff, looking very stoic.

This is Broonzy’s gig.

“Mind telling me where you were last night?” he asks.

“
On a red-eye home
,” Dodge answers, sounding baffled.  “Why?”

Dodge figures they must know this already - they would have checked on his whereabouts.  He contemplates, again, just telling the truth, and taking his chances with the law.  He doesn’t believe he did anything wrong.  But Jaime’s convinced they’ll railroad him, considering his poison
ous relationship with Broonzy
.  And Dodge has to admit she’s probably right.

So she brings him the passport this morning, tells him about
Chuck
, tells him he has an alibi.  Tells him he needs to use it.  She doesn’t believe in fate, or put much
stock in pure, blind luck, but you have to know when yo
u’re staring a gift in the face, she says.

Dodge doesn’t buy into that stuff either, but he believes in series of coincidences.  He believes that series of coincidences that can lead to fortuitous circumstances.  He believes in recognizing those opportunities and acting on them. 

Some people call it luck. 

Dodge calls it action
.

“You know where your wife is?” Broonzy asks, not bothering to answer Dodge’s question.

“Ahh,” Dodge pauses.  “She’s out of town, I’m guessing - I haven’t seen her since I got back.”

He makes sure to look disoriented, skeptical.

“You’re guessing?” Broonzy asks, smelling blood.  “You don’t know where your wife is?”

“Shit, Broonzy,” Dodge snaps.  “We’ve had some problems lately, alright?  Why don’t you tell me where she is?”

Broonzy stares hard into his eyes.  “What kinds of problems?”

Dodge looks incredulous. 

“Normal problems.  Jobs.  Money.  You know I don’t have a job, Broonzy.  How would you feel about that if you were married to me?”

The sheriff brushes off Dodge’s questions.  “Any fights lately?”

Dodge just stares him back in the eye.  “We don’t fight.  We just stop talking
to each other
.  What’s this all about, Broonzy?  What’s going on?”

There’s worry in his tone – sincere worry, which Dodge doesn’t mind that he can’t hide.  Being calm would betray him even more.

B
roonzy doesn’t acknowledge hi
s questions.  “What were you doing in Amsterdam?   Why the red eye?”

“You know what I write a
bout, Broonzy,” he says flatly.  “I went to
Mo
ntreal a few days
.
  Then Amsterdam.
  What do you think I’m writing about?”

Broonzy takes the bait this time.  “Sounds like an excuse to jet set around, spend your wife’s money and get high.”

Dodge holds his gaze for a minute, before just nodding his head slightly.  “So maybe now you know why Siobhan isn’t so happy with me.”

Broonzy just nods.

Dodge knows he’s hit the bull’s eye. 

Admitting he’s a worthless slacker plays right into Broonzy’s image of him – makes him believable.

But Broonzy doesn’t give up quite yet.  “So why the red eye?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

Dodge just gives him a smirk.  “I wasn’t about to fall asleep anyway
- and I c
ouldn’t exactly keep doing what
I was doing
much longer
if I wanted to live to write about it.”

Dodge watches the trooper fidgeting behind Broonzy.  He can tell he’s answered their questions.  They know he wasn’t around last night - but they want to know why.  He’s got plausibility on his side.
  He’s pulling the act off.

“So what the hell is going on here, Broonzy?” he snaps.

Broonzy doesn’t speak, just stares at Dodge out of the corner of his eye, but the trooper is getting restless
.  He let Broonzy play his game, but now he can’t sit quiet.

“Mr. Dodge,” he says hesitantly.  “I’m really sorry, but your wife’s dead.  She was
kill
ed last night.”

This is their last chance to get him, but it’s not going to happen.  Dodge’s charade crumbles, and he lets himself collapse into the shock and sadness he’s been holding back.  He doesn’t need to fake this; it’s sincere - and hearing someone say it - someone say Siobhan is dead - crushes him
, just
like
if
he didn’t know already.

But he pulls himself together to ask
what happened.

Dressler’s.  Rod Dressler’s they tell him.
  Stabbed.

Broonzy watches Dodge closely at the news, with a certain relish almost.

Broonzy
has n
o love lost for Dressler either, obviously.

Dressler was under investigation for drug running by Broonzy when Dressler hired Siobhan to manage his public relations, to make sure the number of good stories in the
paper outnumbered the bad ones – to keep the family name out of the mud.

That was the legitimate service.

The
more lurid part was drumming up the dirt on Broonzy to blackmail him to back off.

Which is where Dodge came in, of course.

Turns out, the sheriff has some issues abusing his power with younger female violators of the law.