Interesting.
“Have you ever seen a dead body?” He asks, his voice louder now.
I shake my head, then waffle. “In prison.”
He nods, understanding. I think.
I’ve seen more dead bodies than a normal person should.
I’ve watched as they were killed. I’ve held them as they died.
It’s hard to escape death in prison.
“The first dead body I saw stayed with me for weeks. I had nightmares, swore I smelled death every time I turned my head. There's a scent that never goes away, no matter how many times you wash.” Spikes says.
I'm not sure where he's going with this. What is he trying to say? What message am I missing?
“Seeing a photo of a decomposed body, it's horrific, but nothing compared to being there in person as it's exposed.” He pulls out a print out and every single amount of liquid in my stomach rolls into a slow boil until I'm second away from upchucking. I look away, breathe in deep, swallow and force my throat to open wide enough to stop this from happening.
Small bone fragments reach through soil my fingers had touched. Two eye sockets, filled with nests of worms and other bugs, call out to me. A swatch of red fabric covered in dirt draws my attention and I swear I can feel the fabric beneath my fingers, see things moving in the oozing...
I bend over, my face falling toward the floor when the small garbage pail beneath the table is pushed my way. I throw up and I swear I can smell the rotten carcass even now.
“This was the first body we found.” Spikes tells me as I raise myself up and take the napkin, he's holding out to wipe my mouth.
He pours water from the jug into my glass and I drink half of it before I can't taste my vomit anymore.
“The slime is what gets me every time,” he continues and I wish he'd shut up. “You can't get it out of your clothing once it's there.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Better to be informed, don't you think?”
This is information I don't need, thank-you-very-much.
“Why are you here? With me? You should be spending your time with Alexius, nailing the evidence to her ass, instead of squatting here, unless you're doing it to make her sweat?”
Spikes tilts his head to the side and I'm pretty sure he's measuring my words, if they’re worth the breath it takes to answer.
I pass muster because he leans toward me, his shoulders push back, chest out, palms cupping the edge of the table.
“Starla, we have enough with the five bodies as evidence right now that ties Soil and Springs to the murders. What I need is to tie everything together. That's where you come in.”
I feel like he wants me to be the glue on the envelope that seals all of this up tight, help them tie their knots, fill in the blanks, get that mark of approval for doing a great job.
I'm not sure who he thinks I am, but that person isn't me.
When it comes to assigning roles for this crime, my part is insignificant.
“You know more than you're letting on,” Spikes says. “We'll sit here all night and then some if we have to.”
I'm not sure if that is a warning or a promise.
I pull the notepad closer, pick up the pen, look at the city map laid to the side and begin to think. He wants to know locations important to Alexius, but he's only focused on Bervie Springs.
That's a mistake.
12
The Most Important Person In His World
TWELVE MONTHS AGO
My life was a fairy-tale. I just needed the glass slippers; the shimmering ball gown and I'd almost believe it wasn't a dream.
Almost.
Two days after agreeing to take the job, Dixon met me at the bakery and handed me a set of keys. Mom’s jaw dropped as he told me he found an apartment, rent free for the first three months.
“Who do I have to sleep with?” I asked. “Is there a roommate? What’s the catch?”
“Starla,” Mom's tone felt like a slap on the hand.
Donald Dixon laughed, raised his coffee and took a long sip.
“I think you and I will get along just fine, Starla Bishop.” Donald set his cup down with a clink. “The apartment is yours, free and clear. Fully furnished as well. The last person to live in the apartment died, but the rent was paid in full for a year. If you don’t like the place, feel free to look around.”
I wasn’t sure what I thought of the idea, I mean, who wants to sleep in a dead person’s bed, live in their house, use their stuff as if their ghost didn’t linger?
Every free gift comes with a cost. Every. Single. Time.
“No catches?” Doubt filled my voice as well as my gaze.
Dixon looked up and I could see him work through something.
“How about this…” he stopped as someone approached our table.
The man was of medium built, a bit round in the stomach area and waddled as he walked. He was bald with an overgrown beard and if he wore overalls, I’d swear he was a red neck.
“Dixon, how you are? Been meaning to come by the lot so we could have that chat about your Dixon Deals.”
“Hey Jack, good to see you. Let me introduce Starla Bishop, she’s going to be helping Alexius and I out at the Shed.”
Mom and I gave each other a quick look. The Shed?
“Yeah? Business that good huh? Surprised she’s not a piece of skirt for your lot though,” he coughed that last word out before bending over to rub his knee. “Sorry, that was rude.”
“Damn right it was. We’re better than that here.” Dixon's look said something like what can you do. Did he think I’d be offended?
“Wasn’t thinking, Dixon. That’s all.” Jack’s voice rumbled before he cleared it.
“Come on by later this afternoon,” Dixon said. “I’ll be at the dealership around three. We’ll see what we can do for you then, that work?”
Jack gave his watch a glance, his shoulders heaved in a long sigh.
To watch the dynamic between the two, Dixon had the upper hand and Jack knew it.
“What kind of deals do you give?” Mom waited for Jack to leave before she asked.
“You looking for a newer truck?” He twisted in his seat and looked over Mom’s vehicle. “I could give you a decent trade in value.”
“I’ve a few years left on this one but would love to have no payments, if that’s something you could do.”
Dixon’s brows dropped until his eyebrows became one straight line.
“Tell you what, before you leave, come by the lot. I’ll take your VIN, give it a good look over and then get in touch when I have an offer, sound good?”
Mom nodded, but I could see the smile in her eyes.
“Don’t you worry, you are part of the family too,” he told her.
I leaned back and crossed my arms. Something just didn’t sit right with me, not when it came to Donald Dixon.
“Family? First you were my fairy god-father and now we’re family? This sounds like a con job to me.” I knew con artists, I was a con artist, and I refused to be pulled in by another. I'd made myself a promise I fully intend to keep. If it means bolstering myself with steel walls so I don't misstep again, then that's what I'll do.