Disclaimer: I own nothing except Andrews… and Vincent's boxers…cause I stole them! (sounds of gunshots from in the distance) "LEE, GIVE THEM BACK!" Hey you might start a fad, hit men who conduct work in the nude! "GODDAMN IT LEE, I WANT THEM BACK NOW! I'll give you til ten…" Gotta go, folks, enjoy.
It was the curse that made her look up from the key she had just placed in her car door, and a few paces away stood the cause.
It was the man. He swirled around on his heels as if looking for something, something he had lost. Half turned, he caught sight of her with a jerk of familiarity and began to hurry over.
"Wait…"
Just great.
"Please…" he began jogging over to stand still on the passenger side of the car, "my cab's left me here and I need to get to the airport…"
Lara pointedly unlocked only the driver's side, "I can call you another taxi…" She offered.
The man shook his head as if such an idea were out of the question, "No time. My flight leaves in an hour. It'll take a taxi half that time just to get here. Look, I'm sorry to impose on you like this but…could you possibly give me a lift?"
Lara hesitated. She didn't even know this man and this was New York City for crying out loud. She knew the risks involved.
It seemed the man knew exactly the kind of sentiments she was focusing on because he made the decision easier for her, at least in a way that she couldn't say no, "Look, I can pay you three hundred dollars now if you can agree to help me. So…what do you say?"
Three hundred dollars was a lot…not enough to diminish her uneasiness with him, but too much to refuse. Lara felt around for the pepper spray in her coat pocket. It was her insurance, her safety blanket. No woman was fully dressed without one.
She unlocked the passenger side.
"What's your name?" She asked.
"Vincent."
Lara knew she couldn't have picked a better name for him herself.
"Well, Vincent…you've got a plane to catch. Hop in."
Flashing her a brilliant smile, the man, ducked into the car, quickly shutting the door and fitting the seat belt around him.
Lara slid in beside him and started the ignition and geared up the engine. Her foot pressed lightly on the gas and they left the lot.
"How fast can you get us there?" Vincent, how funny that he should suddenly have a name now to her, asked quickly.
"Sir…"
"Vincent." He corrected her firmly.
"Vincent…" she managed, "this is New York…but at this time of night, depending on the lights and which clubs are opening…" She shrugged her shoulders unsure, "Thirty five…forty…give or take a few minutes."
Vincent took a glance at his watch and nodded, "Perfect."
"It'll be a close shave." She warned him.
"I've had worse." He assured her.
She took a left then.
Vincent turned his head to look over his shoulder, "Other way."
Lara actually found herself smiling. She knew this city like she knew Myra would call her a bitch in Spanish the next afternoon.
"Faster way." She said simply as an explanation.
In a manner of seconds they were cruising along the Bridge.
Vincent turned to view her with an amused air, "Amazing…"
Lara felt oddly proud at this easy compliment.
"…I'll have to remember that."
"This your first time in New York?" Lara asked curious.
"No." He gave no elaboration but then she hadn't asked for one.
"You don't mind if I listen to some music, do you?" She asked, taking out a cd with one hand, her other on the wheel, her eyes never straying from the road.
"Go ahead." He allowed her.
The disk slid into the player. A moment following a woman began to hum a dark lullaby…soon replaced by the moan of a violin.
Vincent seemed to classify the music instantly, "Classical? I hadn't really pegged you for a classical type of girl, considering where you work."
"Soundtracks." Lara corrected him firmly. She didn't like just any ol' classical bit of tune. This music had to evoke a certain image in her to catch her interests, "And where I work has nothing to do with it. It's just a job to pay the rent. You know?"
"Yeah," He replied softly, "I do."
"I get work where I can, and Paint the Town was just there when I was. Fate. Destiny. Predestination. Whatever. It's just the way it happened."
Lara stopped herself. What had induced her to talk so much about her own personal life? She had never opened up this much to her family let alone to a perfect stranger. What was wrong with her?
Noting her suddenly silent mood Vincent changed the topic back to the safer conversation of music, "Are you telling me you don't like Jazz?"
A little confused still, Lara was glad for something to distract her from her current train of thought about her slipping defenses, "No, I mean don't get me wrong. Jazz is nice. I'm not its biggest fan but if it's played well…then yeah I do like it."
Vincent shook his head as if he couldn't understand any reason to dislike Jazz.
"Let me guess," she attempted to volley the inquisition back in his direction, "you like Jazz."
"Love it."
"Funny, I wouldn't have pegged you for a Jazz man."
"Well then I guess both our assumptions were off."
"I guess so."
Before the silence could settle too thickly Lara pushed the question out of her, "So…what did Myra have to say?"
Vincent looked bewildered for a moment as if he didn't know who she was talking about, "Oh, very little."
"Did she say anything about the club?" She pressed him.
"Lots of things, not very complimentary, mind you. Why?"
Lara shook her head angrily that Myra might have trashed the only chance the club had ever had to get some sort of following, "A bad write up could cause Farley to lose the place…"
"Who's Farley?"
Lara furrowed her brow. Mr. Reporter didn't even know who ran the club? "The owner."
"Wait…wait…hold on. What are you talking about?" The man seemed genuinely perplexed.
A horrible suspicion happened upon her.
"You're not a reporter…are you?" She accused.
He blinked in surprise, "No. No, why would you think that?"
"Oh Christ," Lara moaned, "He's going to be so let down. He was really hoping this was his big break, you know?"
"No," he chuckled, "Not really."
Lara sighed in exasperation at how they had all been fooled by the well-to-do-suit, and blinded by the man's easy going charm, "He thought you were a reporter hired to write a review for the place. Farley's been waiting years for a shred of recognition and he just naturally assumed that you were it." She continued adding on top of that, "Stupid. But you can't really blame us. I mean, why else would you have invited an employee to join you? We were all under the impression you were asking her questions about the rundown of the club…a survey or something."
"No, no survey." The man clarified, "I'm in Real Estate. One night. Make a few stops, see a few friends, close a couple of deals. I had business with Ms. Antomosa to discuss some payments she had yet to make final."
Lara let that sink in as she navigated the streets, something she knew she could do blindfolded and drugged, "I take it you got everything sorted out, however?"
He darted a brief glance at her, "Oh, yes…everything was taken care of."
Lara nodded, signaling that was good for him. They were approaching the exit to the airport now. At last, despite the intriguing quality of the conversation, Lara found herself desperately wishing she could just load him off now by the side of the highway. It was late. She was tired, and he was looking at her in that peculiar way again. A look that seemed to symbolize that she were a five hundred piece puzzle he could solve in a minute flat.
"May I ask you something?"
Lara closed her eyes briefly, grip on the wheel tightening as her discomfort increased, "I suppose so…"
He didn't address a point for a while, causing Lara to become very anxious, enough so that she had to send him a swift sideways glance to be sure he hadn't suffered a silent heart attack. But he was alive, awake, and gazing intently on her. Her eyes swept back to the road, nervously.
"Yes?" She prodded only hoping to put an end to the silence that permeated the interior of the vehicle.
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
Lara nearly ran the car off the road, but managed to only swerve drastically to the left.
"I don't think that's really any of your business." She gasped out, incredulously, her hands clenching a strangling hold on the wheel.
"It's a simple question." He argued.
"Which I don't have to answer."
"No," He agreed, "you're not the type to answer something like that."
The claim froze Lara. She was sick and tired of hearing this from people. Myra, 'You're not the type to drive a man out of his mind and into bed like me, Punta.' Her parents, 'You're not the type sweetie, to risk your future on a dream. You'll want a solid education at a college where you can make the right choices." And now, now this stranger had the gall to use that phrase, that demandable grouping of words on her. She wanted to know why everyone seemed to class her in that file as one that was not the type.
"What is that supposed to mean?" She felt the question climb up her throat in a growl.
Whether or not Vincent acknowledged this drastic change of tone, he went on regardless, "Well…it is a bit obvious, don't you think? You're what, eighteen? Trying to work your way through the first year of college…I bet you've never got lower than an A in high school. Prim, proper, orderly…never take a risk, take a chance, take a jump…even for your own satisfaction…"
Lara's foot stepped on the gas, the airport drop off speeding forward steadily.
"…The idea of romance, of company means very little to you…impedes your judgment, slows you down, is a distraction and you've got more important things to do, don't you? Change the world? Reevaluate Einstein's Theory of Relativity? Prove him wrong?"
Lara screeched the car to a halt in a yellow lined place. If she didn't move in thirty seconds her car would most likely be towed, but she didn't care. She didn't plan on being here even that long.
"…So what do you think? Did I hit the nail on the head?"
"I think you should get out now." Lara could barely form the words she was so furious…for the most part because every little utterance from his mouth had stuck some hard core truth in her, no matter how much she denied it or rebelled such a realization. The locks popped, screaming the sound of her rage and her burning desire for him to leave, so she could forget all he had said.
He ignored her request, swiveling around to look at the gate 4B and snuck a glance at his watch, "You got us here early, good job. I have to deal with a friend's father before I leave." He reached into his pocket and retrieved a roll of bills. Lara didn't care about the money he had promised her, she didn't want it now. She just wanted him gone.
"Thanks for the ride."
"Fuck you." The coldly venomous reply shocked her own ears. She had never used that word before. "Now, get out of my car, or I swear to god," Lara threatened hand inside her coat pocket, curling around the small can, "I'll pepper spray you within an inch of your life."
He had stilled at the first word of her warning, but instead of quickening his exit, it seemed to make him linger, a half surprised - half slightly pleased smile spreading his lips to show his teeth, which seemed strangely sharp in the light that radiated from the gates. He fixed her with that gaze, "That was the first time you've used the word 'fuck', wasn't it? Does that no longer make you an oral virgin?"
That did it. She yanked the pepper spray out with a jerk and opened her mouth to let all manner of new obscenities pour forth from her, in the hope that the combined efforts would drive him from the car. And which all seemed like good ideas at the time, but proved not to be.
The man, the bastard Vincent, acted quickly and on his feet. Grabbing her wrist with one hand he pressed the four one hundred bills against the nozzle of the can, blocking it, and with the other tugged on her plaid scarf around her neck, causing her mouth to collide with his.
Lara's eyes widened to the point of popping out of her head, and then squeezed tightly shut as she fought to pry him away from her, to end his assault, but the scarf held firm.
She moved her head to one side in an effort to catch him off guard and tear away, but only succeeded in deepening the force of the kiss. Quite suddenly a tremor wracked her body. Oh, please! This was not a time for her feminine hormones to sit up and take notice.
And he noticed her body taking notice because he smiled into her mouth. She wouldn't be embarrassed like this. She wouldn't stand for it. With a powerful wrench, she pulled her head to the side, the scarf unwrapped and she fell back harshly against the door, breathing shakily, mostly from her humiliation.
He merely smiled, "I take it back. Now, you're no longer orally a virgin."
She wanted him out. She wanted him gone. And she wanted to curse again. She said the one thing that could solve all three of these problems.
"You're late, dick-head. You'll miss your plane, and if you don't leave, I'll call the cops."
"Calm down…there's no need to get excited, it was just a kiss. Besides, you're not the type I go for, so don't flatter yourself." He said, opening the door. He pointed at the money still in her grip, "Four hundred, extra hundred for making it here early. Buy yourself something nice."
He stepped and slammed the door shut, stopping only to lean down at the window, "When I sell an apartment I'll be sure to mention your Jazz spot. They need more of them in Manhattan."
He tapped the car twice and then turned and walked away.
Lara didn't know why she felt the need to watch him make that journey, and to see him disappear beyond the gate but she did. Then putting a hand to her head, she pushed her hair back from her eyes, threw the scarf in the back; hating it, and started the long drive back to the city. Her impotence with her own lack of strength overwhelmed her to the point of further confusion of her feelings about the exchange.
So much confusion in fact, it did not register in her that the man had been without luggage.
Lara entered the club the next afternoon worn but determined. She had slept very little, having spent most of the night going over what had been said in the car.
He had been right.
She wasn't the type.
But she would be. She would prove him wrong and herself even if she died trying.
She was the first one to open the place along with Farley that evening, and the polluted sky let some small dwindling light patches of the setting sun through, enough to bathe the polished tables into reflecting the shine onto the walls. As they straightened up and prepared for the night ahead, more people started to trickle in to help in the kitchens or to start a sound check on the small side stage.
"Anyone seen Myra? She's two hours late." Farley grumbled, checking to see if the beer was well stocked.
"Surprise, surprise. She's probably sleeping off the after effects of last night." Lara mumbled, cleaning out a tall glass.
"She left with the reviewer?"
Lara slammed the glass down suddenly, bristling at the mere mention of he man, Vincent. She picked up another heavy glass and began to brutally scrub it out.
"No, I did."
"You?" Farley nearly dropped a crate of his best coolers.
"Yeah. He wasn't a reporter, Farley." Lara exposed the truth sadly, sorry to see him so diminished by the news, "He was into Real Estate if you can believe it."
"What?"
"But he said…" Many things, he had said many things but good ol' hopeful Farley only had to know about one of them, "…he said he'd tell his customers abou…"
She was cut off from her telling of the events when one of the blonds screamed from somewhere in the back of the club, where the restrooms were.
"Jesus Christ. Can you see what that was all about, Lara? I can't handle all this today. Not today." Farley muttered.
Lara nodded, wiping her hands and making her way to the back. There were only so many things girls could scream about: Boys, a sale at Tiffany's, and more Boys. She better not find anyone bunking in the stalls again.
She stood outside the Ladies door and knocked lightly, there was no answer but a muffled soft, erratic sound.
"Brenda?" It didn't sound like Brenda. She tried again, "Juli? Is that you?"
The unclear sound grew louder and Lara placed it as sniffles. Juli was the only person she knew who sniffled so loudly. But why was she crying?
"Juli? You all right in there?" She pushed open the swinging door, not sure whether or not a makeup kit would hurtle at her like had happened countless times before when she had accidentally entered the loos while the girls were applying their lip gloss.
The restroom was vacant and as empty as a tomb if only for a shadow huddled behind the door of the last stall.
"Juli?" Lara called out gently again.
The shadow let out a choked sob.
Some asshole had probably broken up with her and she wanted to be left alone. Lara turned to go to give the girl the privacy she deserved. But the terrified whisper stopped her in her tracks.
"Lara?"
That was the first clue that something was severely wrong. Juli, who had never been a great friend of hers, had just called her by her first name; something practically unheard of, it almost always was Andrews. The second clue was the tone…the desperation.
Lara's footsteps quickened as she made for the last stall door. Bursting through she found Juli huddled in one corner, knees drawn up against her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. She looked a mess. Mascara streamed down her cheeks and she rocked slightly on her heels.
"Juli?" Lara approached her hesitantly afraid to startle the girl, "Are you sick?"
The girl was sweating profusely, something Lara noticed with faint alarm, and turned to pull a few sheets of toilet paper out o the dispenser to wipe her brow.
Lara didn't scream. Her reflexes were better than that and her hand had already blocked the shout by the time her eyes took in what she was seeing, the rest she had to swallow back into her throat dryly.
Slowly, little by little, her hand dropped from her mouth until she was sure she wouldn't cry out again.
Myra's body lay a few feet from both of them. She was dead, that much was certain, as was evident by the bullet wounds in her head and chest. Blood was splattered against the walls, framing her like a grisly masterpiece.
Somehow Lara managed to get her vocal cords working, although the own sound of her voice seemed distant to her.
"Juli, tell Farley to call the police."
She heard the girl scramble to her feet and flee from the murder scene.
Because that was what this was. This was murder.
That word sat ill on Lara. Myra had been murdered…right here. Where had everyone else been at the time? Why had no one heard a shot…or a scream for that matter? If Lara hadn't been blasting her music and talking to that man, would she have heard something…been able to do something?
Myra had never been a friend, had never been close, but she was still a human life…snuffed out for no reason.
It was senseless, is what it was. Senseless and stupid.
Lara backed out slowly until she found herself in front of a frantic Farley.
"What is it?"
"I found Myra…" She replied dully, trying to wipe the images from her mind, as she grabbed the phone from him.
9-1-1.
Lara couldn't help thinking as she waited for the call to connect that some…at least a part of this was her fault, and she couldn't pin point the reason for such a feeling. Maybe if Myra had been the one to leave with the man last night she would still be alive.
The girls were beginning to huddle close to the restroom entryway.
"Get away from that door now!" Lara barked, causing the girls to jump at the hard order.
"Lara…Lara, for god's sake, tell me what's happened!" Farley begged her. She saw the other girls once frightened away from the door congregated around Juli, in the hopes of hearing the details about what had upset her; but the girl just shook her head violently from side to side, hands over her ears.
"Lara…" Farley tried again.
"Emergency services…" Answered a nameless voice over the phone.
"Yes. Yes, I'd like to report a murder."
She knew the words were coming out, but she didn't know how. Surely she wasn't in control of her actions now. Everything was being done by instinct. Lara herself wasn't there. She wasn't there when Farley ran to the restrooms to see for himself. She wasn't there as the officer on the other line spoke the instructions for this kind of situation, but she answered for that girl.
"Yes…I'll hold."
(Interlude: Vincent)
Business class suited him. There really was no other way to fly. Secluded. Private.
It had been some night. He had barely made time; the damn cabbie had taken off right after the third hit at the Jazz club. How the man had gotten out of the bindings was still a mystery. Thankfully the girl had still been there.
His lips curled a bit at the corners in remembrance. The girl.
That had been an interesting distraction. She had been fairly attractive, but she wasn't his type. There were certain things he had gladly taken careful note of, however; her figure for instance. Physically she hadn't been too shabby, but she was too cautious, too careful, too smart…a girl like that was hard to control, and Vincent liked to be in charge of all situations.
She had provided some amusement in any case. It was nice to know he could still rip away all masks and pretences. People were so predictable, so easy to read…it almost wasn't fun to try anymore.
But the results it yielded were still pleasurable.
The look on her face:
'Do you have a boyfriend?'
Priceless.
She had been a game he'd played before, in many different ways, in many different cities.
Vincent's brow darkened.
And then something had set her off. He couldn't name what it had been but…
'Thanks for the ride.'
'Fuck you…'
And at the moment he had been sorely tempted to, but he had been short on time.
As it was he had just enough time to execute the cabbie's father, who worked as a janitor in the airport, and board the plane, let alone change that little waitress's world in that car.
It had been some night, but he still managed to be right on time.
'You're late dick-head…you'll miss your plane…'
She was wrong, had proved herself wrong by proving him right. No matter where you went, people were just as easy to break as the place before.
He disliked New York, not as much of course as he hated other places like L.A., but he still couldn't stand going there.
He shrugged his shoulders blithely. Most likely he'd never see her again. A light gone in a blink, one star, one mortal flame snuffed out in an instant. Wayfaring strangers passing once on a side road.
That was them.
That was the whole human race.
And he was the only one who could see it for what it was.
A big fucking Cosmic Joke. The punch line of the fucking galaxy.
What was done, what was said…
What did it matter?
The girl would be something in a few years.
Myra's death went unsolved for four years and while Lara's mind often drifted to the exchange with the stranger that had altered her life, she never once connected the two. Not once.
Thanks for all the reviews. A mega thanks to milady SpadesJade: I have never received such a review as yours. I cannot express efficiently how much those words meant to me. All I can say is thank you, and hope that we can both sustain each other in times when we happen upon a Collateral Draught of Inspiration.