Covert Identity (2 page)

As she reached out to take the card, she was careful not to touch his fingers again. Physical contact might pull her into his world. She wasn't that kind of girl, she really wasn't.

A part of her thought she'd probably drop his number on the floor of the car and forget about it, or throw it away. Another part knew she'd keep it as a treasure.

"I'll think about it."

He smiled and bobbed his head up and down.

"Good."

When she finally reached the safety of the driver's seat, he made a gesture for her to roll her window down. She
should
drive away, but still obeyed, in spite of the handsome moral hazard on the other side of the door.

He reached his hand in through the window.

"I'm, uh, Jimmy. Jimmy Shaw."

There was no getting away from touching and she clasped his hand. It was large and rough, and she could see traces of motor oil that probably wouldn't come out regardless of how much he scrubbed. It was also warm and alive.

How would it feel to be touched by that hand in more places?

Stop thinking like that, it'll get you nothing but trouble.

He looked very strong. How would it feel to be
held
by a man like him? Big arms, hard body...

His eyes and curious stare told her she forgot to speak, and she stuttered, "I'm Sharon."

"Give me a call, Sharon."

She backed out slowly.

The old truck was normally like a part of her; an extension of her body. She knew exactly where the hood begun and the bed ended, and she could park half an inch away from things without hitting anything. Not this time.

He might be watching, and the simple procedure seemed as impossible as building a functional computer from a ball of twine.

Driving grew easier once she had the wheels moving forward, and when she left the parking lot onto the road, she glanced into the rearview mirror.

Seeing the man on the bike not far behind made her smile from ear to ear.

What an interesting day.

*****

S
haron pulled into her yard and rolled her eyes when she saw a silver sedan in the neighbor's driveway.

The car idled, and she knew there would be two little boys in the back. They sat there every day, rain or shine. She went over to say "
hi"
to them once, and an angry young woman flew out of the house, shouting and waving a cigarette in her face. The woman was pale, had enormous pupils, and dark rings under her eyes. Her brown shorts were so short they showed most of her butt.

Poor kids. Maybe your mom would make a good fit for Jimmy. She could have stepped right out of a biker bar.

The mere thought sent a sting of jealousy through her heart. This was clearly a subject better avoided. Besides, she shouldn't be so prejudiced. She'd never been in a biker bar, and the girls in them might wear many more clothes.

During the years, she exchanged a few words with the people next door over the backyard fence and in the store. They seemed like a nice middle-age couple. She sometimes heard them argue, but most couples do from time to time and they were good neighbors. Their daily visitor with the kids didn't fit into the picture and tickled her imagination.

She pushed the thoughts aside. They weren't
her
children, and if she didn't want another confrontation with the crazy woman, she should ignore them.

Okay, so I'm a coward, no laws against that. Ugh, this bag is heavy.

After making a cup of tea, she curled up in the sofa with a fleece throw, looking at the card Jimmy gave her for about the millionth time. It wasn't exactly a card; the piece of cardboard was ripped from a book of matches. The other side said, "Grizzly's Den." She'd never heard of it, but it sounded like a bar.

"Smoker, eeeewwww."

I wonder if he tastes like tobacco. A guy like that, I should probably be happy if smoking is his worst habit. God knows what those men do.

It didn't matter either way, because she
wasn't
calling him, and she was not going to think of him anymore. She did reach out for her phone, but not to call Jimmy. This number she knew by heart, and a merry voice answered on the second ring.

"Hey, Sharon, my bestest girl! Lemme guess what you've been doing today. Charming a millionaire?"

Why did she call?

She couldn't share this craziness, not even with Mona.

The words fell out of her mouth anyway, all too honest.

"I need advice. I met this guy and..."

"So, you're calling me to talk you into it, or out of it?"

"I don't know. Eh, he probably has twenty other girls already."

When sitting alone, contacting him didn't seem all that farfetched, but now, when talking about it, it was impossible. Even thinking about it was so stupid she should knock her head against the wall.

"Oh c'mon, you don't need to plan your entire future with him, you just need some company. Get laid, it'll do you good."

The happy tone of voice was contagious and she couldn't help but laugh. Mona had seemed the epitome of motherhood and traditional standards until she packed up one day. She left her husband, house, and two kids to go "
find herself"
in Germany. When she came back a year later, she declared she was now a lesbian with a crush on Mila Kunis. Since the star wasn't available, she chose to live alone.

I guess talk me into it. You're the only one I know who'd say straying out of the ordinary is okay.

"It might do me good, or end me up kidnapped, gang raped, and sacrificed to some ancient Norse devil. You have a wild side, don't you?"

"Who, me?"

The answer came a little too quickly, and sounded too innocent.

Jimmy used the same expression. Damn, I'm thinking about him again.

She must have been quiet for a lot longer than she realized. Mona hollered, "Sharon? Sharon, are you there? Don't zone out on me. Tell me all about this mystery man."

"Not much to say. Big biker dude, followed me to Wal-Mart."

"He followed you?"

She sounded incredulous and Sharon smirked. Finally, a normal reaction.

"Yeah, I kinda tried to outrun him, he was so freakin' loud, and I guess he got curious."

Her mind painted an image of Mona shaking her head so her bouncy curls danced around her face.

"So, how does it feel? Do you like him? I guess you like him or we wouldn't be talking about him?"

The straightforward questions made her voice mousy.

"Yes."

"What are you hesitating for? Live a little."

"But he's a biker."

Mona sighed.

When did phones become good enough to hear things like this?

"Well, is he a good biker or a bad biker? Ninety-nine percent of them have desk jobs and drive food to retirement homes. They save animals and take care of little kids. I'm not kidding, ninety-nine percent."

It was easy to imagine her little house invaded by twenty big and dirty men doing drugs, throwing empty beer cans everywhere, hiding corpses under her porch, and maybe keeping a baby or two chained in the back for human sacrifices.

I'm assuming too much, and I've watched too much TV.

"Bad."

She whispered the name from his vest. "Devil's Spawns." Saying it out loud might call down a horde of bearded men with sawed-off shotguns. They probably had those things street fighters put around their knuckles, too. And chains. Yes, with guys like these, there would definitely be beatings and stranglings with thick chains.

"Oh." Just for once, Mona sounded disconcerted, but she found her footing quickly. "Well, you know, they're not
all
bad. I'm sure they have members who aren't crazy. If you think he's a nice guy, go for it."

"But..."

"You watch too much TV. Even if he's not a nice guy in the eyes of society, he might still be good to you."

Sharon didn't answer, and her friend sounded too cheery.

"I'll tell you what, if you want to try this out, I'll come over to your place and wait for you. If you don't come home and don't call me, I'll get the police. If he follows you home and doesn't want to leave, I'll shoot him with Big Pink. If you don't want
him
to leave, I'll sneak out the back. How's that sound?"

Big Pink was Mona's Mossberg pump shotgun, a pink model 500 made for women. She also had a pink AK47, and a pink Glock. Come to think of it, her friend was quite a walking armory, girl style.

"I love you."

Mona giggled. "I love you too, but not in that way. Imma run out a quickie now, but just lemme know and I'll be right there."

––––––––

S
haron fingered Jimmy's card, put it back on the table, and lifted it up again.

She took her phone and pretended she just wanted to program the digits into it, to see if
he
would call her. Which was stupid, because he didn't have her number.

He
would
have her number if she called him.

Maybe she could call and hang up, and maybe he'd call back?

No, that was a dumb idea. If nothing else, acting like a child would cost her self-respect, and self-respect was important. She could text him. That would be better than hanging up. Or just forget all about it.

Forgetting about him would be the prudent thing to do, the
safe
thing to do, but she had the number entered, and all she would have to do was to press
call.

She placed the phone on the table, straightened it so it aligned with the edge, and went to make more tea. The water showed no sign of boiling.

"I was happy. You just
had
to show up and ruin my inner peace, didn't you?"

If she was to step out of her comfort zone like this, she should hurry before she changed her mind again. She snatched the phone, pressed the big green button, and suffered a whirlpool of panic in her stomach at the first ring.

Why did I do that? Exhale. He's not going to bite you, at least not over the phone.

Seconds ticked by and no one answered. Maybe all the angst had been for nothing; he wasn't going to pick up, and that could be a good thing. She could leave a voicemail and throw the ball back to his side.

After that she'd have to wait for
him
to call, of course, and the waiting would probably be in vain.

Waiting sucks. Oh, who am I kidding? He doesn't even remember me.

"Hello."

This was an awful idea. Should she hang up? No, it was too late. She
should
have ended the call earlier, during the dozen rings before he answered when she could have done so without seeming crazy or losing self-esteem. Now it would seem weird.

She forced her mouth to speak.

"Hey, it's Sharon. We met at the store earlier today."

"Sharon, hang on, just a sec."

He sounded honestly happy. What a relief.

Wandering over to look out the window, she heard men's voices around him. It sounded like a party. Maybe that was normal for him for a Sunday afternoon... Then, there was the clatter of a door closing. "Not right now, man, I'm busy."

He spoke quietly in the phone.

"Hey, I'm so happy you called. I didn't think you would."

"I didn't think I would either."

"Well I'm glad you did. What's up?"

The question threw her off; she fretted so much over calling or not calling she hadn't thought of what to say.

C'mon, I'm smart. How hard can it be to say something?

"Eh, nothing. Talking to you."

Brilliant. Way to go sounding like an idiot.

Jimmy laughed. "That you are. Hey, I know I said I'd come over and take you for a ride, but I'm drinking right now, and you don't want a drunk driver, right? How 'bout tomorrow?"

Seriously? Do I really want to be involved with a guy drunk at five on a Sunday afternoon?

The devil on her other shoulder must be quite an electrician. He disconnected the warning bells and controlled her mouth.

"Sure. I work from home, but I do have to work, so afternoonish sometime."

"What do you work with, Sharon?"

This, she could answer without stuttering.

"I'm a web designer."

Male voices called for him and Sharon eyed the clock on the wall.

We've talked for almost forty minutes?

"Hey, I have to go, but I'll see you tomorrow."

"I look forward to it."

"So do I."

She looked at the phone for a long moment before placing it on the table. She shouldn't get her hopes up. Odds were he'd forget all about her, the time, her number, and the address before morning.

*****

S
haron normally kept a tight schedule. Surviving as an independent contractor required discipline.

She was good at her job, enjoyed it, and made a fair living out of it. Monday morning, she took a seat by her desk with a mug of coffee and turned her computers on. Her e-mail held a list of things to update as well as a couple of new assignments, but staring at the monitors gave no inspiration.

Maybe some toast would do it. Cinnamon toast with a dab of butter both smelled and tasted good.

Okay, now I'm going to perform work. I wonder if Jimmy has a job. Probably not. Those guys probably make a living out of trading weapons or selling drugs or something. Gosh, Mona is right, I watch too much TV. He might work in a store, or even have a desk job.

She opened the backend of a client's website, and stared at the code. Normally, she was fluent in a number of computer programming languages, but this morning, even the simple HTML code that made up the webpage seemed to come from another world.

Her eyes fell on her hands resting on the keyboard.

Why can't I have pretty nails like normal people?

And, where did that come from? I've never cared about my nails before.

Trying to work was clearly futile. She went into the bathroom and stuck her tongue out at her reflection.

"Why am I such an idiot?"

She spent most of the morning fixing her hair, trying on clothes, and tearing them off again. Luckily, Mona came over early.

"You're climbing the walls, aren't you? I brought lunch. Hey, those kids are sitting in the car again."