Covert Identity (8 page)

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

The voice was too close and made her jump. Spinning around, she stared into a pair of cold blue eyes. They belonged to a mountain of a man with shaved, tattooed head.

Her first instinct was to run for her life, but she wouldn't get far, especially not in these shoes. Mona would have been able to do it, but Sharon wasn't used to wearing heels and just standing in her pretty pumps made her feel about to topple over.

Her assessment might be unfair. He might not be dangerous, but the word "Hate" tattooed across his forehead made caution seem prudent.

She wanted to glance around and look for Jimmy, but taking her eyes off the giant could be dangerous.

If she could make it to Jimmy's door she'd probably be okay, but he didn't even know she was there yet. His concern for her safety made much more sense, all of a sudden.

An impossible image of Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman
popped up in her head.

Not helpful.

What would a hooker say? A
real
hooker? On TV they always said something like, "Do you want to have fun," but
she
certainly didn't want to have fun. Not that kind of fun, and not with this guy.

She forced a smile. "Hey cutie-pie."

The words didn't ring true even in her own ears, but he pulled a finger over her cleavage.

"Come with me and have a good time."

Isn't that supposed to be my line? Don't shudder. Don't show him you're afraid.

The voice of reason in her head sounded mousy, and provided less helpful advice than Julia Roberts in knee-high boots.

"I already have something to do tonight. Maybe next time."

Move towards the building. Walk away before he decides to just take what he wants. And whatever you do, don't fall.

"Who?"

When said in the giant's voice, the one innocent word sounded like a question of life or death importance. Would saying his name make things better or worse?

"Jimmy, and he's waiting."

It worked. The man took a step back. Thank heavens; she didn't want that sour breath pouring over her face one second longer.

Maybe there was something to all this brotherhood crap after all.

The man rumbled, "I'll walk you there."

Anything leading in the right direction must be a good thing. She shrugged and resisted an urge to tug at her clothes. Touching them would bring attention to their smallness, and to her feeling awkward in them.

She glanced at all the room numbers. They seemed to be on the right doors, in the right order, and he seemed to walk
to
the right door.

Now who was paranoid? If she survived this walk she'd have to apologize to Jimmy.

Sharon lifted a hand to rap her knuckles against the paint, but her unwanted companion beat her to it. He hammered a fist the size of a ham on the door, banging hard enough to wake half the neighborhood.

Her relief when Jimmy opened was almost tangible and she wanted to collapse by his feet in a shivering pile. He held a half-empty bottle of vodka in one hand, but was definitely sober enough to take in the situation.

"You're late." He pulled her inside and slammed the door in the other man's face. His arms around her were heavenly. "Are you okay? See why I worry?"

"Yes... That's one scary dude." She whispered quietly, she expected the guy outside to hear and storm in.

"He is." Jimmy pushed her away enough to be able to look at her, and lifted an eyebrow.

"What are you wearing?"

She could finally tug at the skirt without being judged.

"You told me to be a hooker. This was the best I could do."

When it came to showing off skin, the super short skirt and tight tank top had been the extent of her risqué wardrobe. Clearly a lapse into bad judgment.
Mental note: never go shopping with Mona again
.

"Don't make it a habit. I might have to kill people to keep them off you."

"You're joking, right?"

Jimmy stepped backwards, sank down in a chair, and helped himself to a drink. Then, he held the bottle up to her.

"I'm rude. Want some?"

On a night like this, why the hell not?
She took a sip and put the bottle on a table. Bending over him, she started to unbutton his shirt.

He put his hands on her shoulders. "What are you doing?"

"I didn't drive all the way here for a drink."

Her hands couldn't find a zipper.
Button fly? How quaint
.

*****

S
haron dreamed of green grass and sunshine when someone banged on the door hard enough to make it rattle.

She opened her eyes but didn't recognize the room. It didn't look right, and it didn't smell right. Jimmy's shoulder under her head was familiar, but everything else was off. It took several seconds before she remembered the previous night.

She was in a motel, surrounded by crazy people with tattooed foreheads.

Jimmy groaned, "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Stop making so much noise."

He sat up on the edge of the bed and buried his head in his hands.

"Fuck, we're late. I hoped to get you out of here before everyone woke up."

"What time is it? Feels like the middle of the night."

"I know. Fucking hangover from hell."

He pulled on his clothes, so she crawled out of bed and did the same. Driving the long way home on this little sleep wasn't appealing, but she would have to.

Jimmy paused just inside the door.

"I'm going to walk you to the car. Get in and drive away. Whatever you see, whatever you hear, just drive away. I'll call you, and I should be home tomorrow."

"Okay. Take care of yourself."

The mere thought of meeting Mr. Hate again was a good enough incentive for obedience.

"You, too. I'm so glad you came over."

"I am, too."

She stood on her toes and kissed him. He tasted like old booze, but being close still made her want to drop what little she wore on the floor and offer herself to him.

He pulled free and said, "I'll have to be obnoxious."

What is he talking about?

Gazing into his eyes made her forget what he said. Oh yes, surrounded by bad guys, that was it. "I'll forgive obnoxious as long as you don't let Mr. Hate grab me."

He pulled her close again and smacked a kiss on her temple. "You have a deal."

Outside was busy, filled with people, and bathed in sunshine. How could the day be so hot already? Summer had sneaked up without her noticing.

Jimmy kept an arm around her waist, holding her even tighter than usual. Good thing. There were too many men close by, staring and making obscene gestures. One licked his fingers and showed what he could do with them. God's gift to women, clearly. So talented.

Left to her own devices she would have fallen in her pretty shoes and made an easy target. Seeing things from the bright side, if she needed to run she wouldn't have to pull her skirt up. It was so short it couldn't possibly impair running.

Someone shouted, "Here, pussy, pussy, pussy, I got something for the pussy."

Jimmy ignored them. "Fuck, it's bright out here."

Mr. Hate approached with long steps.

Crap. We won't make it to the car. I might have to talk to him again.

Why would someone tattoo
hate
on their forehead? Was he happy with it?

At least the word was spelled right. Could be worse.

The large man called out, "You egotistical bastard, learn to share."

Jimmy chuckled and grabbed her tighter.

"Get your own."

"That's not very brotherly."

The other man sounded amiable. Jimmy slapped her butt. Hard.

"How much man do you think a sweet pea like this can take?"

"Surely more than you are. She needs some real dick."

Friendly banter? Were the others closing in on them? She could swear the car had been closer than this when she parked.

Key, she would need a key.

Jimmy opened the door for her, but before she had the time to get in, he grabbed her, kissed her hard and squeezed parts of her that certainly shouldn't be squeezed in public. Then, he pulled out a pile of bills from a pocket and tucked it into her cleavage.

"See you next time, babe."

Was I just paid? He paid me. Oh my God.

The man who yelled about pussy earlier was coming closer. Too close, almost within grabbing distance.

Jimmy held a hand up for him to wait and kissed her again. Then, he whispered, "Go," turned around, and punched the other man right in the face.

She bounced into the car as quickly as the tight skirt would let her, dropped the keys on the floor, and couldn't find them for what seemed like an eternity. When she looked out again, a new arrival to the brawl pushed Jimmy so hard he staggered backwards. He regained his balance and shoved back. Mr. Hate hit New Guy and Jimmy ducked when New Guy swung at him. What a mess.

Should she say something? Do something?

He had told her to go, to just go no matter what.

Maybe that would be the best thing she could do for him. Maybe the fight would recede if she were no longer there. The hotel manager would call the police, unless the poor man or woman was locked up somewhere, zip-tied in a closet.

She started the car and backed out, but had to stomp on the brake as Mr. Hate staggered out behind her. He had taken Jimmy's side in the fight, and she should avoid killing him.

If it was like this at seven in the morning, what would it be like at night? Didn't these people ever sleep?

She drove and kept an eye on the rear view mirror, but no one followed.

She was about half way home when Jimmy called.

"Hey, just checking you got out of there okay."

"I'm fine. Are you?"

"Of course. Just another day in paradise."

*****

J
immy kept his promise and came home the next day.

Besides some bruises he seemed fine, and she pretended she hadn't been waiting. He knew anyway, of course. He said, "You weren't worried, right?"

"Of course not."

"You're so cute when you're lying." He grinned and seemed content both with her worrying for him and with her making an effort to hide it.

Sharon expected him to disappear the following weekend, too. After seeing some of his friends, being alone scared her less than meeting them again. She still didn't look forward to going to bed alone and waking up alone, but she wouldn't bug him about it.

On Thursday night he sank down on the sofa, opened a beer, and stretched his long legs out. "So, wha'cha wanna do this weekend?"

The question made her want to weep with relief.

She couldn't show him
that.

"Mona's coming over for a bit tomorrow. After that, I don't know."

He nodded and she curled up with her head resting against his shoulder.

"Want my beer?" He sounded like he smiled, but even if he was joking he would probably give it up if she claimed it.

"No, but thank you."

"Are you okay?

What a fine looking question. "Yes, but that stuff in Sebring was weird."

"You wanted to see something of my other life. Now you know."

There wasn't much she could say about
that.
She had wished for information, and she had it. He had been right all along: she hated it.

Hopefully, she'd never have to experience it again. Why he stayed with them was beyond her, but maybe the problem would solve itself given some time.

Jimmy brushed a finger over her cheek. "I think Doug fell for you. He asked for your number."

"Doug?"

"You called him Mr. Hate."

The mere thought of Jimmy's friend made her want to hide somewhere.
Were
they friends? Could she ask?

She should probably leave it alone.

The next day, Mona came over when Jimmy was still out. She brought wine and snacks, and wanted whiskey. It was still early when she left in a taxi, so Sharon helped herself to another drink and turned on the stereo.

"Aaah, the 1980s, what music."

No one was there to answer her, but Communards sang "Don't Leave Me This Way" and she joined them.

When Jimmy came home she pulled him close and kissed him, hands wandering down to his firm behind. He pushed her away after just a few moments, holding her at arm's length.

"What's wrong?"

His eyes were warm and kind, but his words still confused her.

"I don't take advantage of drunk women."

I'm not drunk. Hmm, that might not be entirely true.

"But we are... I mean..."

What were they? Was she his girlfriend? The word sounded childish, but there wasn't a better term. It didn't matter; she was afraid to voice the question. Few things scared men away faster than talking about relationships.

Jimmy smiled. "I know we are, but you should know you're always safe with me, no matter what. Now, if you sit down right here, I'll make you dinner."

The situation seemed backwards to her, but she still obeyed.

She fell asleep on the sofa that night, resting against him, and woke from him saying, "Time for bed, young lady."

He hauled her up and carried her to the bedroom, and she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"You're strong."

"That I am."

He tucked her in and it only took a few seconds before she slept again. The next morning, he woke her with orange juice and coffee.

––––––––

J
immy pulled up to the club and turned off the engine.

The sun burned hot enough to create dazzling mirages over the asphalt, and the large and drab building couldn't look less inviting.

This would be a great day for a barbecue in Sharon's back yard. Sit in the shade, have a couple of beers, invite her crazy friend with the shotgun.

He drew a deep breath, flexed his hands, and entered through a side door. Even the corridor smelled of despair, and the door at the other end opened to a dark and filthy room.

Why did it have to be dogs?

People had a choice. The men around him had reached this place and time through a long row of bad decisions. They chose to walk down a road that might be lined with a certain degree of friendship and belonging, but also with violence, danger, and crime.