A Dangerous Affair (22 page)

"Did you ever fire a gun while you were wearing the shirt?"

"No."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. Does this mean my case gets tossed out?"

"Not exactly. But it's a win for us."

Leslie gathered Morallen's photo in her folder. She had experience with dirty clients. Dirty cops were another animal altogether. If Blanchart was somehow involved in Carter's murder, she needed more than a convicted felon's testimony and a pile of circumstantial evidence.

"So now what?" Morallen asked.

"Sit tight a little longer. Someone posted your bail this morning."

Chapter 31

Lloyd splashed cold water on his face in the restroom at Sonny's. He wiped a paper towel on his sunburned skin, grateful for the paycheck and supremely hungry for food that didn't come in a plastic carton. Burdened by the circumstances of his father's death, he yearned for an explanation from the man who lay buried beneath the earth. But the conversation would have to wait. He had his whole life ahead of him with no intention of an early exit.

Where his father failed to teach him about the ways of the world, prison filled in the gaps. From the second he'd stepped out of the transport bus, he discovered how life behind bars preached its own set of unspoken rules and consequences. Rapes, murders, and perpetual threats defined the norm in a closed society governed by those in power—and feared by those who lacked the courage to stand tall and face their troubles, real or imagined.

Some problems he left behind; others he carried with him for the long haul, unable to shake the guilty conscience that metastasized from his core beliefs and hindered his ability to carve a better life for himself. A life with dignity and purpose. A life without remorse for the savage acts of self-defense that shielded him from larger predators who broke the spirit of frightened inmates and turned weaker men into slaves. What happens in here today, defines who you are tomorrow, his cell-mate would preach.
A man with nothing to lose has nothing to fear.
A man with nothing to fear commands respect.

Outside the restroom, Lloyd pulled his time card from the rack on the wall near Sonny's office and poked his head in the customer waiting room to find the last person he expected to see.

Jamie poured coffee in a paper cup. Startled by the loud
cha-chink
from the time card machine, she bumped the coffee pot on the counter and splashed the back of her hand.

Lloyd grabbed a stack of napkins by the counter. "Did it get you?"

"I'm fine," said Jamie. Her hand throbbed from the scalding burn, but the initial pain wore off quickly, courtesy of the mild sedative in her system.

Lloyd offered the napkins. "You should run it under cold water."

"It's fine."

Lloyd fed a dollar in the drink machine and pressed the button for a twenty-ounce Dasani. He gave the cold bottle to Jamie. "Hold this on your hand. It will take the sting away."

"You keep it," said Jamie, noting Lloyd's sweat-soaked shirt. "You look like you need it more than I do."

Lloyd sniffed the air. Immune to his own fragrance after working in the sun all day, he felt nervous and euphoric at the same time, as if he jumped from an airplane naked. "I'm Lloyd," he said, his smile beaming at Jamie. "You've been here twice this week, and I still don't know your name."

"Do you know all your customers by name?"

"Only the ones that matter."

Jamie blushed. "You're the only car wash in town."

"So I hear," said Lloyd. He wiped the spilled coffee from the counter.

Jamie looked away. "How long have you worked here?"

"A couple weeks," said Lloyd. "How long have you been married?"

"That's kind of personal, don't you think?"

"Not really," said Lloyd.

Jamie twisted her wedding band on her finger. "Twelve years."

"Do you love him?"

"Of course I love him. Why would I marry someone I don't love?" She stared at Lloyd's forearm and the cross tattoo sketched in black ink. "Where did you get that?"

"That's kind of personal," said Lloyd, his radiant smile slowly melting the wall of ice in front of him. "Don't you think?"

"Not really," said Jamie, in lock-step with Lloyd's overt attempt at mockery.

Lloyd strained his imagination to think of something funny to say, anything to coax a reaction from the woman who held his undivided attention. "I got it in prison," he confessed.

"What did you do?"

"I broke the law."

Jamie sipped her coffee. Light cream. No sugar. She felt threatened and secure all at once. She'd done what her husband asked her to do and washed the car. A task she completed with no repercussions to fear, aside from a tinge of guilt for conversing with a man who spent time behind bars. A man with penetrating eyes and a stimulating aura about him. "I should check on my car," she said in an effort to disengage the conversation.

"Do you use the library?" asked Lloyd.

"Excuse me?"

"I go there to read. Thursday nights, usually. It's quiet. And private."

Jamie blushed. She toyed with her necklace, light-headed and anxious to abandon the awkward conversation.

"Your car's ready, Mrs. Blanchart," Sonny announced outside the waiting room.

Jamie dropped her cup in the trash and excused herself.

"You better be clocked out," Sonny harped at Lloyd. "Your shift ended ten minutes ago."

Lloyd pulled his time card from the rack and held it for Sonny to read. He waved the bottled water. "Just came to get a drink."

"Where's your brother? I haven't seen him in days."

"He's sick."

"He better be on life support. No work, no pay. Comprender?"

"I'll tell him."

Sonny took the time card from Lloyd. "I have your brother on the schedule every day next week. If I catch him playing hookey, you'll both be looking for another job."

Chapter 32

Josh waited outside Sheila's trailer home, watching her car make the turn at the entrance. Cigarette butts littered the ground at his feet.

For the first time in years, he finally had his shit together. He worked a steady job, earned a steady paycheck, and found a woman to take care of him. He lived in the present. He planned for the future. He deserved a second chance. A clean start like the one his brother got when he walked out of prison.

He sent Sheila flowers. He left her messages on her phone. He stuck notes on her windshield. He sent her cards in the mail. And yet despite his best intentions, he failed to change her mind about tossing him out of her home and out of her life forever.

"Where the hell have you been?" he asked Sheila when she pulled up beside the trailer and got out.

Sheila lugged her bookbag on her shoulder. She looked haggard, her eyes sunken and dark in the absence of sleep. "What are you doing here?"

"I need my stuff."

Sheila went inside. "You've been drinking."

Josh followed her. "No, I haven't."

"I can smell it on your breath."

"So I had a couple beers to take the edge off. Big fucking deal. You're not the only one who's suffered over this." He tripped on a phone book used to prop the screen-door open. "Where's Logan?"

"Child services won't release him until the judge signs the order."

"I'm sorry," said Josh. "For everything. I never meant to hurt him. You should know I would never hurt you or Logan."

"Save it—"

"I'm serious. I'm really sorry about what happened. You have to give me a second chance. I can make this work."

"It's too late, Josh."

"No, it's not. Please... I can't lose you now. Not like this. My sponsor says I need to reconcile and make amends."

Sheila dropped her bookbag on the floor. "Sounds like a personal problem. Your stuff's on the floor in the other room."

"So that's it?"

"You're lucky it's not on the street. On fire."

Josh shook open a plastic trash bag and stuffed his clothes inside. He searched the trailer for anything else that belonged to him and found a pair of old sneakers, a broken umbrella, and a faux leather jacket he'd bought himself for Christmas. He packed what he could and rifled through the junk in the closet, snagging the loaded revolver when Sheila wasn't looking. "Where's my TV?" he asked when he noticed the empty space on the wall.

"I sold it."

"I paid two grand for that flat screen!"

"I needed the money for school."

"Then sell your own shit."

"You nearly killed my son, Josh. Now you're worried about a stupid TV?"

"I care about getting paid. You at least owe me half. I never meant to hurt Logan. What else do you want me to say?"

"I have class in an hour," said Sheila.

"If I could take back what happened, I would. But I can't. Where the hell am I supposed to go now?"

"Not my problem," said Sheila.

Josh reached for a Coke from the fridge.

"Those are mine," Sheila groaned. She lit a cigarette and blew smoke in the trailer's stuffy air.

"I bought these before I left," said Josh.

"Whatever... Just take them and the rest of your shit and get out of here."

"I need a ride to work."

"Are you serious? Take your own car."

Josh scratched his arms. He could feel his world tearing at the seams. "I'm almost out of gas."

"Then buy more."

"I'm broke."

"Then hitch a ride."

"I don't have time. I could lose my job if I'm late again."

"Again, not my problem."

"Stop saying that," Josh whined. "You keep saying that like I'm some kind of stranger to you." He clicked the ceiling fan on high. "I'm not asking to borrow your car. I just need a ride to work. I'll come back for my car when I get my paycheck. But I can't get my paycheck unless I get a ride to work."

"Sucks for you."

"What do you expect me to do?"

Sheila flicked her ash in an empty can and shrugged her shoulders. "Call a cab."

"I told you I'm tapped out."

Sheila folded her arms. "I don't have time to take you."

"You can drop me on your way to class."

Sheila scowled at Josh. Her eyebrows arched. "Tomorrow's trash day. Whatever crap you leave behind is going in the dumpster."

"Why are you being such a bitch about this? After all the money I spent on you and all the times I fixed your car—"

"Are you finished?"

"You owe me."

"Get out."

Josh lifted his bag of clothes and watched the bottom split open. "Shit!" He shook open another bag and stuffed his belongings inside.

"Hurry up," Sheila spurred him.

"The bag broke."

"Not my problem."