Page 11 of Dirty Ex-Mas
He sighs. “A picture of David Tremblay from college.”
“So, you decided I was right?”
“You’re usually right, you know that. But also, research and records ID’d the sketch as him.”
“Shit. Sorry, man.”
“I won’t assume the worst, not yet. I mean, I grew up with this guy. He’s my best friend. I’m the best man in his wedding; the engagement party is in less than a week for fuck’s sake.”
“I get it, I’d be the same way.”
“But Murph, if it turns out he’s involved in a sex trafficking ring, there won’t be anyone to convict because I’ll fucking kill him myself.”
“I’ll help you.”
* * *
“Burger?” I ask Reed as I start the engine.
“May as well. I’m getting a beer too; I don’t care what you say.”
“Wow, a rule breaker and a risk taker, I like it.” I backhand him along the biceps, he makes an “oof” sound in response.
Sometimes Reed can be a real pussy.
I head across town toward Dirty Dar’s, a bar that also makes the best burgers around. I’m a huge fan of good burgers and I’ll drive the extra mile, literally, to get one. It just so happens my ex, Daria, owns the place, which doesn’t always make for a good lunchtime experience.
She broke my heart—fucking shattered it—I’m not even close to being over it. Still, I drag Reed here at least once a week for lunch, partly to enjoy the burger, partly to torture myself being so close to what I can’t have. I still love her, but at the same time, I fucking hate her for leaving me.
The closer we get to Daria’s, the faster my heart pounds at the prospect of seeing her. And it’s like this every fucking time. We were together for just over a year before she broke it off. I wasthis closeto proposing. And she’s stillitfor me. No one else has ever compared and I can’t believe anyone ever will. That was nine months ago now and I’m no closer to being over it or getting her back.
Daria is a contract killer, for lack of a better word. A lethal vigilante. Hired assassin. A total fucking badass by my standards. But I didn’t know that in the beginning. Just like she didn’t know I was a Fed. I’d told her I was in security, she let me believe all she did was to own a bar. It was only by accident that I found out.
I’d come back half a day early from a trip and thought I would surprise her. Since it was just past two in the morning, I stopped at the bar first, figuring that’s where she’d be. Just in time to see her get into a small and silent hybrid car idling at the curb and leave. Thinking she was seeing someone else—but hoping that wasn’t the case—I followed. Tailed the car she was in, parked when they did, shadowed her into the building, watched her pick the lock to the apartment, heard the muffled shots from just inside, stayed back as she retraced her steps, then let her carry on as normal.
I watched her every night we didn’t spend together, let her believe I was out of town when I wasn’t just so I could continue to follow her. At first, I couldn’t wrap my head around what she was doing. She was good at it, that was for sure, clean and organized without ever leaving a trace.
Once she’d made her second kill, I started backtracking who she was taking out based on addresses and working from there. It didn’t take me long to realize they were all straight-up shitty guys. I let four, that I knew of, go by before I said anything. And even then, I didn’t want to.
I took her out to a nice dinner, all romantic and shit with the dim lights and piano music, private little booth in the back. We had a bet that I couldn’t get her off with my fingers between the salad and the main course. She lost. So, while she was still all loose, pliant, and orgasm-drunk, I leaned in and whispered in her ear, “How long have you been assassinating low-life criminals, beautiful?”
A myriad of emotions had played across her face. Outrage, denial, anger, acceptance. Then she surprised us both by telling me the whole story, after which I told her mine. She said we couldn’t see each other any longer. I argued that I’d thought about marrying her. Looking back, maybe it would have been better if I’d proposed, but I didn’t. I just said I’d thought about it.
She left me at the restaurant that night and has refused to be with me since. At first, I thought it was retaliation over being caught. But damn if some of her points about me being a Fed weren’t solid as hell. If she’s ever caught, I’ll be in deep shit, regardless. So, I make it my priority to always make sure that doesn’t happen. And not just for me, but also because I can’t imagine only seeing her dressed in an orange jumpsuit from here on out while she’s cuffed to a cold metal table during prison visiting hours.
It doesn’t stop me from feeding her information on creeps we know are guilty but can’t get enough evidence on to prosecute. Sure as shit, the guys drop off our radar after a short amount of time. I don’t ask questions and she doesn’t offer any other information. It works well. ‘Course, it could work way fucking better if she were in my bed every night.
Neither of us will see other people. For me, there’s not another woman out there who would measure up. I’ve been with enough to know. And I have a feeling she feels the same way. Add to that, I come around the bar to see her as often as I can, like a fucking sap, and you have our current predicament. One of these days maybe I’ll come up with the right words to convince us both that I’m capable of deciding about my career, and any impact her actions may have on it.
Until then, I eat a lot of burgers and make sure my partner stays in the dark about the whole thing.
4
Daria
“It looks good on you,” I tell Quinn about the Dirty Dar’s tank top she just changed into. “I wish I had your boobs.”
“Oh no,” she says, holding up her index finger and wagging it back and forth as if to scold me. “I only get to have great boobs because I have to be short and curvy. You are already tall and modelesque. If you had great boobs too, it would be even more grossly unfair. In fact, I wouldn’t be able to be your friend. I’d have to find other friends who are less attractive than me. The only reason I can tolerate being your friend is because you have no boobs.”
