Covert Identity (6 page)

Both officers wore civilian clothes, and the taller one crossed his arms over his chest. "Why? She doesn't look like a hooker."

Sharon couldn't keep it in; her blood boiled.

"Oh my God, that is so rude."

Jimmy kept a serene expression.

"She's a nice girl, leave her out of this."

The shorter officer said, "Shut up. I'm sure I can find
something
to bust you for. Play nice and I won't take her, too."

Sharon clutched her little mug.

"He didn't do anything. I don't think there are any laws against having coffee."

Jimmy sighed and got to his feet. He tucked a hand in a pocket, and both cops stiffened.

"Good grief, I'm gonna give her money for a cab home."

She mumbled, "I have money," but he didn't pay any notice to her objection. He tucked a pile of wrinkly bills into her hand and kissed the corner of her mouth.

"Don't worry, dearest, it'll be okay. I'll be back before you know it."

One of the men pulled Jimmy's hands behind his back. It looked painful.

Oh my God, they're cuffing him, can they really do that? That has got to hurt.

He took a seat in the back of the car without objecting.

"But he didn't do anything."

No one listened.

Jimmy leaned towards the window and winked as the car pulled out of the parking lot. He didn't seem worried, but maybe he just kept a brave face for her? Either way, she had to dry her eyes.

––––––––

T
he back of the police car smelled bad, but not as bad as it could have been.

Jimmy shifted his weight and pulled his hands out of the cuffs.

"Did you
have
to do that when I'm with her?"

The driver met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Yes. We need to talk to you. Something's going down and you need to be in on it. Who is she anyway?"

The man in the passenger seat glanced back.

"I thought you were gonna hit me when I called her a hooker."

"Hey Bishop, say that one more time and I'll hit you in a way you can't even imagine."

Bishop grinned and turned towards the driver.

"Neil, I think this might be it. He has fallen. Again."

"I expected another stripper."

Jimmy cleared his throat. "Angela wasn't a stripper."

They ignored him. Bishop said, "Yeah, this one isn't his type. She wears clothes."

"Soon we'll be hearing wedding bells."

"That's good. I like weddings, and he's the only one ever having them. How many has it been? Is it four or five?"

Jimmy leaned forward and tossed the handcuffs on Bishop's lap.

"What do you morons want?"

––––––––

S
haron stood outside the coffee shop and shifted her weight from foot to foot, looking at Jimmy's abandoned bike.

I can't believe they took him. I always thought the police were the good guys, but I guess I was wrong.

The way he'd been ripped away from her made her feel queasy, and for a moment she thought she might have to run behind the building and throw up.

The police picked up her boyfriend, and people didn't flock around her. No one stared or pointed fingers at her. The sky didn't fall down. Strange how such a major event in her life could go unnoticed by everyone else. To them, it was an ordinary day.

The bike beckoned to her, but she couldn't do anything about it. She wouldn't be able to move it, and he didn't expect her to. Hell, she could barely drive it
with
his help.

Leaving it still made her feel bad. What if something happened to it?

She should probably call a cab, but she hadn't done that for so long she was uncertain how. Luckily, technology could solve a minor problem like that.

"Siri, I need a taxi."

How did people live before smartphones? She remembered not having one, but it was another life. Another world.

It took forever before the cab came, but once it arrived the way home was much shorter than she wanted it to be. Without Jimmy the house was large and lonely, and she paced the rooms.

There must be someone she could call and ask for help. One of the TV lawyers, maybe?

It would take time, and if she used the phone
he
wouldn't be able to reach her if he needed her. She could Skype a lawyer, but which one?

She chewed her lip and looked around the living room. Not long ago it had been hers, just the way she wanted it, and living there alone had been normal. Now every surface echoed with memories of him. Even the damn rug.

What if he never came back?

Had he really done something, or were they just picking on him?

I didn't expect the police to be on a first name basis with him. You have to be pretty well known before people remember your name.

Worst-case scenario, he might be gone for a long time.

Years.

Maybe decades.

The thought made her wail with a pain that was almost physical.

She circled the room a couple of times, went to the kitchen, and made coffee. The dark brew reminded her too much of him, and she had to pour it out so the scent wouldn't make her weep.

She needed to act. Would Google have advice on something like this?

No, sitting by the computer would be too passive. She should go down to the police station and wait. There would be people there to ask.

She was innocent, hadn't done anything worse than speeding in her life, and they
had
to give her advice, right?

Grabbing her jacket and her keys, she headed for the door, and almost didn't hear the phone ring.

"Hey, I just wanted to let you know I'm fine."

Relief made her legs fold and she sank down on the floor, resting her back against the wall.

"I was so worried for you."

I wish I could say that in a steady voice. Can he hear that I'm crying? I'm such a wuss.

Jimmy's voice soothed her. "I know, but everything's fine. I'm gonna go get my bike, and I have some things to do. I'll be home in a couple of hours. Okay?"

No, please come home now so I can see you. He said home. Does he feel home here now? That's encouraging.

His voice was too persuading and she heard herself say, "Okay," even though she wasn't anywhere near okay.

"They take us in every now and then, but they don't have anything to hold me on."

Hold him on? What did that mean? That he had indeed done bad things and the police just lacked evidence? That he was good at getting away?

Is there something you're not telling me? Am I just suspicious, or are you lying?

So many questions and not even one answer.

Jimmy's voice shook her out of her thoughts. "I'll be home soon, I promise. I'll bring dinner."

"Please hurry."

The couple of hours he promised turned into almost four, and by the time he walked through the door her imagination had painted out a hundred scenarios where she'd never see him again. He could have been killed by the other gang members, he could be tortured by them to see if he revealed anything to the police—she wasn't sure
what
he might reveal, but there were surely secrets—or the officers might have picked him up again.

She threw herself into his arms and buried her face against his chest.

"Shh, I'm here, it's okay." His arms around her were strong and comforting, and he sounded a little amused. "Look, there are plenty of people wanting me dead, but the police aren't it."

That wasn't reassuring at all. She groaned, and he chuckled, "I'm joking."

"Not funny. You're not funny."

"I'm not used to having someone worry for me. It's been a hell of a day, but not because of the police."

Then what? Your friends giving you trouble? Maybe you should stop hanging with them?

She clenched her jaw and forced the words to stay inside her head. Starting a fight wouldn't make anything better.

Jimmy gave her a good squeeze, picked up a bag with take-out food she hadn't even noticed, and headed for the kitchen.

"Do we have any booze?"

"Probably, above the fridge. Why?"

He dropped the merry façade and allowed his shoulders to slump, but straightened up again when he found a bottle of scotch.

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

Maybe I need to know.

He filled a glass and took a sip, and his eyes pleaded with her not to ask.

"Jimmy..."

"Let's just have dinner, okay? I won't drink myself stupid, scout's honor."

"Yes, because you're such a boy scout."

The very thought made her smile. She pressed a palm against his cheek and her lips against his. He seemed surprised, but wrapped his arms around her, still holding the drink.

"It's amazing. Even after a day like this, you make me believe there's hope."

*****

W
hen Jimmy left the house the following day he had a hangover and wished he could have stayed in bed with Sharon.

Ain't no rest for the wicked. Maybe I should rephrase that; the wicked refuse to rest, so I can't either.

The neighbor's driveway held a silver sedan, quietly idling, and two blonde heads stuck up in the back seat.

Seriously? Today too? I've had enough of this shit with idiots torturing animals and small children. I have to do something about those dogs at the club.

Grumbling in his mind, he crossed the lawn with a few long steps, made sure to arrange his face into a non-threatening smile, and banged on the door. He heard voices on the other side, and forced down an instinct to rub his eyes. He leaned an arm against the doorframe instead.

A man's voice drifted through the door, "No, you know we don't open. Are you begging to get shot?"

A woman's voice answered, "I saw him through the window, it's just the neighbor's guy. I don't think he's here to shoot you."

"Fine. Don't blame me when a biker gang stomps in here and rapes you."

The door flew open and a man peeked out. From the corner of his eye, Jimmy saw Sharon step out of the house, and he waved to her before flashing a smile and pointing over his shoulder.

"That car... You guys should take the kids inside."

A second woman's voice yelled, "What the fuck, they're none of your fucking business."

What a good role model. I bet you a thousand bucks your sons will end up in juvie.

The first woman's voice sounded tired.

"See, I've been telling you two the boys shouldn't sit out there. You keep them there for hours every day. Seriously, this biker-dude sees it..."

"Well I don't have a fucking babysitter now, do I?"

The women were complete contrasts. One could have stepped right out of the gang's club, and the other wore a suit and her hair in a bun, looking like she was on her way to work. Or, deeming from the weary look, maybe she just came home.

Office-woman snapped, "If you make children, you have to take care of them. That's why I don't have any."

Sharon stepped up next to him. "What's up?"

Jimmy rested a hand on her shoulder and fixed office-woman's eyes with his. He hadn't expected any support inside the house, and he needed to bond with this new ally.

He cleared his throat. "I'm just sayin' it's not good for them. They should be outside playing, running, doing stuff. Sitting still in a car for hours every day ain't natural."

It was hard to sound relaxed when it came to abused kids, but many years of practice paid off.

The young woman rolled her eyes. "Fuck. I don't have to listen to this shit. I'll be back some time this moron isn't here."

Office-woman lifted an eyebrow. "You know what? That's not necessary, you don't have to be here every day."

The man looked up at the ceiling, seemingly asking a higher power for strength.

Oh, you poor SOB. Stuck between two women, what joy.

The mother pushed her way past them, slammed the door to the car, and took off so quickly the wheels screeched. Sharon exhaled, and pressed herself a little closer to him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

He liked that she stood by his side. She clearly didn't like conflict, but she was still there.

The man seemed to make his mind up. He grabbed a wallet off a shelf, made his way past them, and into a car without a word.

To Jimmy's surprise, office-woman smiled. "Finally some peace and quiet. You two want some coffee?"

He glanced over at Sharon. She had stood in silence, watching everything with wide eyes, and now she shook her head. As much as he wanted to humor her and retreat, he needed to know more about the children.

"You know what? A cup of coffee would be awesome. Just what I need to scare this headache away. C'mon, babe."

When he stepped into the house, the woman reached out a well-manicured hand.

"I don't think we've met. I'm Helen, and it's a pleasure." She eyed his vest. "I always thought you guys would be scary, hope you don't mind me saying so."

If you only knew.

"Some are. I'm not. Sorry to mess up your day."

"My husband has a bad temper but he'll be back. He's probably relieved, he rants over her for an hour every day when she leaves, but he doesn't have the heart to say no to her face."

"Who is that girl?" Sharon sounded curious.

"They're cousins."

Helen put mugs on the table and pulled out a package of digestive crackers and cream cheese.

"I just got home, and I'm so friggin' hungry. Help yourselves."

Sharon fidgeted and Jimmy winked at her. Telling her the truth would be a relief, but at the moment verity wasn't an option. He grabbed a cracker instead, smeared cheese on it, and tucked it into her hand. She rewarded him with a smile.

Good.

When they were all seated, Helen stared at her coffee cup.

"I'm glad you knocked on the door. I feel so bad for those kids. I mean, if they sit
here
for hours, imagine what the rest of their days must be like."

"Do they have a dad?"

Helen shrugged. "Everyone has a dad. Coke-head. He shot her after the first kid, but she went right back and had another one. Evidently, almost killing the ones you love is okay if you're high."