Torque

by Jeremy Trylch

As a videographer, JEREMY TRYLCH has shot everything from "Real Stories of the Highway Patrol" to pieces for the Onion News Network. He regularly shoots international news for foreign news agencies in Washington, D.C. He has won two writing awards and has short work appearing in the anthology Kiss the Sky: Fiction and Poetry Starring Jimi Hendrix. He is the creator of the forthcoming web series Dirty4U. He holds a master's degree in Writing from the Johns Hopkins University and is looking for a home for his first novel.

Chapter One

Nicole shut the door as soon as Shaggy came inside. She didn’t want the neighbors to see him slipping into the house in the late evening. She spun on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and leaned against him with her head tilted back, letting his hands hold her weight as she curled one long leg around him. She gave him a Friday night kiss, mouth open, tongue moving, a handful of his hair at the back of his head. His dark Latino complexion and lazy sexy manner appealed to her. He was handy and handsome, tender, and yet rough at all the right moments.

She moved her lips away from his. "Where did you park?" she said.

"Down the street in that driveway that leads into the cornfield." His tone was soft. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. If she didn’t have so much to talk about, she’d have taken him right to her room. Then again, she thought, they had all night together, something that rarely happened. Nicole knew for sure her husband wasn’t coming home. They could talk after. No, she thought, this is too good. Talking now will make what happens later better.

She grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulled him into the living room, and sat him down on the green leather couch. He laid his arms across the top of the backrest and spread his legs apart. She knew he wanted her to treat him to one of her old routines. She ignored it.

She picked up the Detroit Free Press from the coffee table and dropped it in his lap. "See this? It’s been a while since the drought wasn’t the main headline."

The headline read, "Prototype Missing." The badge photo of her husband embarrassed Nicole. It looked like they had photocopied it. He wasn’t a great looking man, but he didn’t look that bad.

The article said GM management had reported an Impala SS prototype missing from their proving grounds in Milford, Michigan. The last known employee to have possession of the vehicle was Dennis Dailey, the man who’d designed the vehicle. GM’s statement said Dennis was a tenured, trusted twenty-four year employee—they were reluctant to suggest he’d stolen the vehicle. "Perhaps something went wrong in testing," Jon Ross was quoted. "We want to see Dennis and the vehicle safely home."

Nicole said, "Jon Ross, that’s Dennis’s boss, he actually called here asking if I’d seen or heard from Dennis. It was really weird for him to call, so I said, ‘No, is something the matter?’ He said, ‘No,’ but that was probably so I wouldn’t get upset." She put a cigarette in her mouth and took back the paper. "Jesus, Dennis really looks like shit. I’ve seen better-looking mug shots. The phone’s been ringing off the hook. I just let the machine pick up. It’s either his work or a reporter."

Nicole couldn’t wait for Shaggy to say something, so she said, "I have a plan."

"How long has he had it?" Shaggy said.

"Today is the first full day. Last night, he took it drag racing someplace in Bay City called River Road. Know where that is?"

"Runs along the river from Bay City to Saginaw. It’s famous for drag races."

"At first maybe he wanted to road test it and just see what it could do. Only he kept it." She stopped to light a Virginia Slims 120, the long ones. Her Bic had run out of fluid earlier in the day while she chain-smoked, thinking about her plan, so she’d started using Dennis’s project Zippo, the one Chevy had given him when the prototype was completed. She noticed Shaggy checking it out. The casing was silver with the jumping Impala logo inlayed in 14 karat gold. She flicked the cap open with her thumb and raked the flint on the down stroke. Shaggy’s eyes followed the Zippo from the tip of her smoke to her jeans’ pocket where it stayed snug against her hip.

Shaggy looked up at her. "So where’s the ride?"

"Let me finish." She was excited now and started talking fast, holding her cigarette limp-wristed and off to her side. "He came home all freaked out, saying he’d beat a kid in a Vette. Then he packed a bag. I said, ‘Where are you going?’ He said, ‘To the lake.’ I said, ‘I don’t want to go to the lake this weekend.’ He said, ‘Fine, don’t go.’ Do you believe that? He just disregarded me like that?"

"So it’s at the lake?"

"Have you been listening to me? I said I was disregarded by my husband."

"Of course, he doesn’t love you. I love you. So where’s the fucking car?" Shaggy leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees.

"Hello, I said it’s at the fucking lake." She turned around and sucked on the cigarette. Men, she thought, Jesus Christ, they’re all the same. He sounded like Dennis sometimes. Her hands trembled. She needed to stay calm, not let his stupidity mess up the plan. Sometimes she thought he was only good for one thing.

"So, okay, which lake?" Shaggy said.

"How many times since I’ve known you have I gone to the lake?" She turned to face him again, pinching her cigarette, quick breaths escaping through her nose.

"Lots, but you always just said the lake. You never said which lake." He was talking slow now and pronouncing each word clearly. She hated that.

"I’ve told you, Port Austin. Port Austin is on Lake Huron out in the Thumb."

She watched Shaggy nod. She calmed down, smoked, and sat next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder. She could manage him. They would steal the car, the two of them, like partners.

Shaggy broke the silence. "How we going to do it?"

"I love it when you know what I’m thinking." She held his head, kissed him square on the lips, and started talking fast again. "Okay, I got a perfect plan. I’ll leave the front door unlocked. It’s always unlocked, so it’s not a big deal. You go through the foyer to the dining room on the left. Go into the kitchen. The keys will be on the counter next to the garage door. You just walk in and take it."

"Too easy," Shaggy said.

"The hard part will be getting rid of it once you’ve got it."

"Naw, what if..."

"What if Dennis hears you come in? He won’t. I’ll have him drunk and occupied." She hit her smoke and let her fingertips slip down the front of her shirt between her boobs. She rested her hand on her leg, her fingers touching her inner thigh. She knew the plan would work. She gave Shaggy a little smile. He had to believe she could handle a man.

Shaggy shook his head. "Too easy for something to go wrong."

"Like?"

"Like he’s got to take a leak and sees me pushing the car out the driveway, caps me from the bathroom window." He pointed his finger at her with his thumb up.

"Bathrooms are at the back of the house," Nicole said.

"Or if he blows his load fast and is downstairs having a drink and a smoke."

Now he was making fun of her. She got up on her feet again. "Why are you asking me how we’re going to do this?"

"It’s your idea. You’re the inside man."

"You’re supposed to be the professional," Nicole said. He shrugged and gave her a look of indifference. She hated that, too. She said, "Okay, if you’re such a great car thief, why are you driving around in a piece of shit?"

"An ‘81 El Camino? It’s a total pimp ride, a Mexican classic."

"A classic piece of shit." She wouldn’t give him any tonight if he didn’t give up this macho bullshit and help her come up with a working plan.

"First off," he said. "I ain’t gonna be driving around in the merchandise. That’s what stupid motherfuckers do. And I don’t steal fancy shit, anyway. I take things I can strip."

Her eyes narrowed, and she started tapping her foot. "So what are you saying, this is out of your league?"

"Ain’t no motherfucking league," he said and leaned back, stretching his right arm out on the back of the couch. "Just because I don’t usually have fancy shit in my shop don’t mean I can’t move it. If I can’t find an individual buyer, I think there’s some organizations might want to have a look at this ride."

"How long will it take you?" She said.

"Inside of two days. Now, you ready to answer my question?"

"What question?"

"Why you want to do him like this?" Shaggy paused. "Man saved you from the strip. I mean, you’re a nice white lady, you got your nice white house." Shaggy shrugged and laid his hands on the leather sofa. "You’re comfortable."

She froze, watching his eyes, his cold expression. She couldn’t just say for the money—the logic wouldn’t stand up. But she couldn’t tell him the truth either. Not yet. So she said, "For you."

"Bullshit."

She flicked her ash, not even aiming at the tray. "For us, then. I want to leave him, Shaggy. For me, I guess. I don’t know. Because I want to be with you. I don’t want to end up being a soccer mom. Not yet. I’m only 24, and if Dennis doesn’t start a family soon, he’ll be dead before the kids go to college."

"I can’t give you all this."

"It’s not about the stuff."

Shaggy gave her a little nod. "We do this, I might have to lay low a while."

"I’ll go with you."

Shaggy shook his head. She felt like he could see through her.

She said, "Maybe not at first, but I’ll meet up with you. Can we go back to the plan now?"

Shaggy looked down, picked at his fingernail, and looked back up at her. He wasn’t going for it. She could see it in the way he pressed his lips together with the corners of his mouth turned down.

"Okay, Baby," she said. "Don’t get upset. I wasn’t serious." She stabbed her cigarette into the ashtray and shoved him back on the couch.

She gave him a sleepy Friday night kiss, mouth open, a little tongue, not porno style yet, but she felt herself warming up. He laid a heavy hand on the small of her back. The other hand folded her hair away from her face. Her full weight rested on him. She felt Shaggy getting hard beneath her. She opened her eyes and pushed up from him, thinking to make it last all night. She said, "Scotch or Bourbon?"

He shrugged, "Scotch."

That’s when a beam of light flashed through a crack in the curtains. Nicole jumped up and poked her head through the crack to see who had pulled in. The car in the driveway was the shape of Dennis’s Impala SS.

The arrangements weren’t ready for Dennis and Shaggy to meet. Not like this. A confrontation here at the house could ruin everything. Shaggy wasn’t armed and even if he were, Nicole doubted he’d kill an unarmed man. Shaggy could handle Dennis, but it wasn’t the way she’d planned it.

The man getting out of the car wasn’t Dennis. This guy was in uniform. "Holy shit, it’s the cops." There was no rack of lights on top, and at first she hadn’t noticed the car was marked with the state police decal.

Shaggy leaned back on the couch when she turned around, his eyes half closed in a bored expression. He said, "Gonna get me that drink? Or I have to get it myself?"

"You have to hide," she said. "They can’t find you here. Oh shit! What do I do?"

"What’re you worried about? You ain’t done shit. Don’t let them in. They don’t have a search warrant, can’t come in unless you let them in."

She said, "The hell am I supposed to tell him? I got my fucking boyfriend in the house while my husband is missing with a stolen prototype. That’ll look nice in the headlines."

He said, "Short answers only. Don’t give them info they don’t ask for." He took a drink and looked at her. "Don’t tell them about the house on the lake. It may take them a few days to find it. We’ll be gone by then."

She said, "They won’t find it. It’s in a trust in my maiden name. Dennis said it was for privacy and protection from lawsuits. Now go downstairs."

Shaggy said, "Don’t answer if you don’t want to. Only problem with that is they’ll stake out the house and wait to see if he comes back with it."

She nodded.

She needed to slow down, take a breather to get her confidence up the way she use to before she went on stage. She found her pack of Virginia Slims on the coffee table, stuck one between her lips, and sucked in her stomach to pry the lighter out of her front pocket.

Shaggy stood up, taking the lighter from her hand. In a single motion he spun the Zippo around in his palm, catching the cap between his index finger and thumb, and struck the flint wheel with his ring finger.

Her eyes moved from his hand to his face. His lips curled back into a boyish and sexy smile.

The doorbell rang again. She turned toward it and yelled, "I’m coming, for Christ’s sake." Then she turned back to Shaggy. "Please go downstairs."

Shaggy swirled the lighter around in his hand, looking at it, slid it into his pocket, and sat down. "I’ll just sit down and drink my Scotch. Don’t let them in, and they’ll never know I’m here."

Nicole held her hand out. "What’s the problem with going downstairs?"

"Point is there’s no problem staying put. We ain’t done shit. The cops gonna ask if you’ve seen your husband. Say no and you don’t know where he is. They’ll go away."

"Fine, be a prick. Give back my lighter."

"It’s Dennis’s lighter," Shaggy said. They held each other’s gaze for a few moments. The doorbell rang. "What if I want a smoke while you’re talking to the cops?" He held the lighter out to her in his palm.

"There’s a lighter next to the furnace in the basement." She took the Zippo, pushed it into her front pocket, and started walking toward the door.

Nicole stopped to look at herself in the hallway mirror. After three years of marriage and expensive lotion, she hadn’t lost anything. She even looked better, all the sleep she’d been getting in Okemos. She could still strip. She’d never go back to the club—she’d graduated to her new career of marrying wealthy men—but she still had the body and the allure.

She stuck the cigarette in the corner of her mouth and ran her fingers through her hair, squinting to avoid getting smoke in her eyes. That’s what she needed right now—a stripper’s confidence. She adjusted her bra, blew smoke at the mirror, and turned for the door.

###

Copyright © Jeremy Trylch, 2008

Read Jeremy Trylch's interview with Scott Phillips