The Lady And The Tiger 3

Harleen didn’t come out of her shock when Jason maneuvered her into his car, when he started the engine, when he got on the highway and drove, drove, drove. It was only when the streetlamps were on, painting a steady staccato over the speeding car, that she came back to herself.

It was like seeing someone wake up from being awake. One minute she was sitting there in the passenger seat, vaguely trembling, staring out at the road in front of them like it was a college lecture. The next, she was feeling all around her, touching the car and her clothes and even Jason’s face to refamiliarize herself with just where she was.

“Where am I?”

Jason gave her the number of the state highway.

“Where?” Harleen repeated, vaguely panicked.

“I thought we should put some hills between us and the bodies.” He looked up at a passing road sign and got into the right lane. “You wanna drink?”

“What?”

“You were in shock. Not really swallowing or anything. Gives people a dry mouth, in my experience. Might help if you got some fluids.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Open the glove compartment,” Jason told her, as he angled them down the off-ramp.

Harleen opened it up. Inside was the bottle Jason had bought.

“Malt liquor?” she asked him.

“They didn’t have Dasani.”

Harleen picked up the bottle, popped it between her thighs, and got to work on the cap. The sight of the big cylinder resting against her crotch, having her gyrate against it as she tried to uncork it, was about the only thing that could do more for Jason than what she was already wearing.

He worked to keep his eyes on the road.

“Look, I appreciate the help. I really appreciate the help,” Harleen said. “And the Colt .45. But you’re, uh… you… where are you taking me, anyway?”

“Dildopolis.”

Harleen could only blink. “Beg pardon?”

“It’s a sex shop. Good selection, reasonable service, next door to a place that cashes checks. I figure… well, I figure you knew those guys were after you. You thought you’d trawl through some dive bars until you found a guy that looked like he could handle himself, hoping that dangling some pussy in his face would get him to defend you. How’m I doing so far?”

“That… that’s an oversimplification,” Harleen began.

Jason finished: “I defended. And not that the cops in this burg could catch a cold, but now I’ve got a murder rap in my rear-view. For you. So I figure it’s time for you to make good on your part of the deal.”

Harleen’s expression curdled. “You want to fuck me?”

“Harley, look at you.” Jason pulled down the sun visor so she could see herself in the little mirror it had. “Every guy wants to fuck you. I’m just going to.”

“Okay, that’s… that’s…”

“We’re here,” Jason said, pulling into the parking lot.

He slammed them into a space, offed the engine, and got out. Harleen didn’t. In a heartbeat, he was on her side of the car. Opening the door to a gust of winter air so frigid it made Harleen clasp her coat around her bare legs.

“You coming?” Jason picked up the damned fey cloth shopping bag an ex-girlfriend had convinced him was doing his part for the environment. “Car’s a bit drafty for this time of year.”

Harleen’s face was a mask of confusion. She shook it, for lack of any other motion to put it through. “Why a sex shop? You need condoms…?”

“I’ve got condoms. Out. Leave the bottle.”

Harleen stuck one leg out of the car. He reached in to pull her the rest of the way out and onto that one shoe she’d set down. The door slammed shut behind her and he marched her towards the blacked-out windows of Dildopolis.

“Most sex, guy’s gotta pussyfoot around,” Jason said philosophically. “Waste time with a lot of romance. Flowers, wine, what have you. But I figure this is a sure thing, so we can skip straight to the interesting stuff. I mean, why beat around the bush with a bunch of drippy little hints when you’re already obligated?”

Harleen ripped her hand out of his. “Hey! Buster! I’m not some hooker, okay? I have a Ph.D! I am not obligated to do anything! Unless you’re going to rape me, and if you did, you didn’t pick a very good spot for it!”

“What’re you going to do?” Jason asked her. “Run into that laundromat?”

“I might!” Harleen said fiercely, eyes flashing, shoving herself up against him in what Jason thought was a paradoxical gesture for someone asserting her right to get away from him.

“Okay. You might. More importantly, what are you going to do when whoever sent the goon squad in the first place sends someone else?”

Harleen’s face fell. Fear rushed in so quickly that Jason actually felt a little bad. It wasn’t like he’d meant to put the fear of God into her.

If he’d wanted that, he could’ve just pulled a gun.

“Look, let’s get inside at least? Whether you get fucked or not, you don’t want to be fucked with a cold.”

Harleen’s expression set. It was pure, potent anger now—reddening her face so much that Jason just about took a step back. “You… you… Scarpetta!”

There was a phone booth holding down the corner of the sidewalk. Harleen went to it. She forced open the bifold door, stepped inside, and shut it behind her—both times like she was daring it to resist her.

“You got a quarter?”

Jason tossed one to her.

“Thanks.”

She pounded the quarter into its slot, ripped the handset off the hanger, and visibly held herself still before she went to work on the keypad. Even the beeps sounded angry to Jason, as he leaned against the side of the booth. Blowing on his hands and rubbing them together to keep warm.

From outside, Jason could just hear a muffled voice on the other end of the line, then the beep of an answering machine. It hit Harleen like the bell at a boxing match.

“Scarpetta, you piece of shit! You total lousy, rotten, gutless motherfucker! I bring you in to the opportunity of a lifetime and this is how you repay me!? With two of your bastard fucking goons up my ass! You should fucking rot in jail for that shit, you jerk-off son of a bitch, you should go to hell and you should die and you should go fuck yourself! I wanted to make you a rich man, get you in on the ground floor, write your name on the annals of history, and you do this to me? You chickenshit faggot cocksucker! I’m going to tell everyone about this, you evil stupid bastard! Your whole family, all your friends, everyone who watches CN-fucking-N! They’re all going to know that you could’ve been a visionary but instead you chose to be a pussy-ass mobbed up fuckhead piece of fuck—asshole! Fuck you and fuck your mother!”

She started to hang up, but slapped the handset around the hook switch instead, until a tinny, plasticized kinda voice emerged. “Thank you for using AT&T Voicemail. If you are satisfied with this message, press 4 to save. Press 2 to hear your recording. Press 8 to rerecord.”

Harleen stopped thrusting the phone at its cradle. She abruptly pressed 8, taking a deep breath before launching her lips into a smile so fake that Jason stopped leaning on the booth.

“Lester,” she said softly. “Lester, Les, Les, I think there’s been a big misunderstanding. Huge. I’m going to be honest, I don’t think you handled it too well. I’m not satisfied with your decision-making or how things progressed from there. I talked to two of your representatives and things got pretty out of hand. I don’t want to get into that, it’s in the past, it’s done with, old news. Maybe we can talk about it more at the Ballismore. You remember the Ballismore? Oh, such fun. I haven’t been there in so long. The drinks probably cost an arm and a leg now, ha! This economy… Anyway, I don’t want to belittle your concern for your money, I know you’re a very savvy investor, you don’t want to send good money after bad. I get it. I do. That is why I will be over there very soon, with your money, you don’t have to send people, you know, these people… they’re not original thinkers. They can’t handle the subtleties that come up… There’s no need. I’ll be there soon, we’ll hash it all out over drinks, maybe have some cigars. For now, just make yourself pretty, put on that cologne I like, and take a nap now, because I think we’re going to be working late on this one. Yeah, I think this is gonna be one of those ‘they’re carrying us home’ situations. Okay, hugs and kisses, sorry I couldn’t reach you, I promise I’ll call again as soon as I know anything. Byyye.”

She jammed 4 on the keypad and hung up. “Fucking cockpuppet asshole! I should sue.”

“You should,” Jason agreed, walking in the sex shop.

Harleen trailed after him.

It wasn’t that Jason wanted to get involved. But all this struck him as prelude to a proxy war. Scarpetta would send button-man after button-man after Harleen, bleeding his own army dry, not realizing who Jason was or what he was doing until it was too late.

Jason could play the hero. He’d been good at that, once. And while he did, he’d use Harleen like a Judas Goat. Until there was nothing left between him and Scarpetta but the sights on his gun.