Kill Jill (11 page)

“That’s probably true,” he says.

“Wait here. I’ll get my car and bring it to you.”

“Are you going to ditch me?”

“No.” She flashes a warm smile. “I promise.”

A minute later her car pulls up. She helps him get in.

“You sure you don’t want to go to the emergency room?” Jill says. “You might have a concussion.”

“I’m fine. Just a little shaken up, is all.”

“I’m really sorry about that.”

“Please. It was my fault.”

She looks at the expression on his face and everything changes.
Forget the plan, forget the money
, she tells herself. Some things are more important. Like recognizing a good man when he’s an arm’s length away.
I’ve been an idiot, a fool
, she realizes.
But no more
!
From now on it’s going to be no lies, no bullshit
.

Just Jill.

What changed her mind?

This man’s a prize. He’s worth fighting for, worth trusting. He’s worth her finest effort.

She takes his hand, brings it to her lips, kisses it.

“You’re a good man,” she says.

“But not a better person than you,” he says, smiling. “Remember telling me that at the club? I still agree with you.”

She says, “If we’re being honest, you’re a much better person than I am.”

She starts the car and gasps. Looks down, trying to fathom what caused the sharp pain in her thigh. Sees Jack holding a hypodermic needle. Feels a cold rush as the liquid fills her bloodstream and makes her so groggy she can’t put the car in gear. She tries to reach down, pull the needle from her thigh, but has no control over her hand. Her eyelids grow heavy. She feels her body going slack. Works to form a single word.

Why?

But can’t.

Jill wants to explain she was planning to take him home, give him what he wanted. She was going to open her heart, take a chance on him. But even if it turned out he didn’t want her, she still fully intended to make sure he left her house happy and satisfied tonight. Because while two grand would have given her a new start, five grand gives her a new life.

And speaking of the five grand?

She remains conscious long enough to see him put the cash envelope and her Emma Wilson driver’s license in his jacket pocket.

“Where are we?” Jill says, in a voice made thick from the drug.

“Memphis,” Jack says.

“Why?”

“Think about it.”

Jill wants to scratch his eyes out, grab him by the throat, strangle him to death. But she’ll settle for grabbing the car keys and trying to make a run for it.

Except she can’t.

Her wrists are above her head, handcuffed to the headrest.

What about her feet? Maybe she can kick him till he pulls over or crashes into something. But no, her feet are bound with his belt, and hooked to something below the seat that restricts her movement.

“I need to pee,” she says.

Jack laughs. “There it is. The go-to comment.”

“What do you mean?”

“They always say that.”

“Who?”

“Women. When they’re trapped. It’s the first thing they say.”

“You’ve trapped a lot of women in your life?”

“Transported is a better word.”

“What is it you
do
, exactly, Jack?”

“I’m a bounty hunter.”

“You’re joking.”

“Dead serious, actually.”

“What does that have to do with
me
?”

Jack says nothing.

Jill says, “I really
do
need to pee.”

Jack says, “No one’s stopping you from peeing, Jill.”

“Where are we?” Jill says, coming around for the second time.

“Hour north of Jackson, Mississippi.”

“Why?”

“Think about it.”

“You’re taking me back. To La Pierre, Louisiana.”

They ride in silence a few minutes before Jill says, “How much is he paying you?”

“That’s confidential.”

“Please don’t take me back,” she says. “I’ll do anything.”

“So you say.”

“Name it, Jack. Anything you want.”

“Look at me.”

She does.

He says, “This business about you being a hooker? It’s bullshit.”

She starts to say something, changes her mind. Then says, “What tipped you off?”

“Friday night. Favors Strip Club.”

“What about it?”

“You didn’t ask me to buy you a drink.”

She thinks a minute, then says, “Is that such a big deal?”

“Big enough to set you apart from every bar hooker in the history of the world.”

“And yet I would have had sex with you. And still would, if you’ll agree to let me go.”

“That wasn’t your only mistake.”

“What else?”

“You asked me to set the price. Again, that’s a first.”

“You’ve obviously had a lot of experience with prostitutes. Your mother must be very proud.”

“My mother was a prostitute. She wouldn’t be proud, but she wouldn’t be judgmental, either. As for your other mistakes? You got mad because I didn’t make you feel special. Do I really need to tell you hookers don’t expect a special relationship? And they don’t insult potential customers. Also, you grabbed the seat beside me too quickly. It reeked of desperation.”

“That’s unique among hookers?”

“Sadly, no. But with your looks, it’s a bad move.”

“Why?”

“Of all the women in the club, you’re the prize.”

“That’s ridiculous. Most of them are little more than half my age.”

“Those girls are cute or pretty at best. You’re beautiful. Refined. Clean. And you’re not on drugs. You’re mysterious.”

“Mysterious? How?”

“Because you never let the customers see you completely naked on stage. You’re the one they’d pay big money to bang, but it has to be their idea, not yours. Friday night I could have had you for a fraction of what you’re worth.”

The dashboard light casts a green glow across Jill’s face. Jack starts a mental ten-count. By the time he gets to three, she asks the question he knew was coming.

“How much
am
I worth?”

“You’re too high class to turn tricks. You could be a courtesan.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“Top of the line. A companion. With benefits.”

“Define high class. In terms of a hooker.”

“She’s beautiful. Smart. Classy. Sexy. She’ll fit in wherever a wealthy guy wants to take her.”

“And that’s worth how much?”

“Three grand for a night, five for a weekend, ten for a week.”

“And if I were ten years younger?”

“Twice that.”

“Is that what
you
pay high class hookers?”

He pauses a moment, then says, “Let’s talk about you.”

“What about me?”

“I knew before I met you.”

“Knew what?”

“That you never turned a trick in your life. That you only started stripping three weeks ago, and can’t even finance your buy-in because you’ve been lending money to the bouncers and dancers, trying to fit in. That’s a rookie move, by the way. They were taking advantage of you. Beyond that, you’re not a real stripper. You move well, but never go past pasties and panties.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

He nods.

“How long?”

“In the club? Couple of times. All together? A month, give or take.”

“Where?”

“Your apartment, the club, your day job, your errands, job interviews.”

“You knew I worked at the Pancake House?”

“Of course. Speaking of which, would you prefer I call you Emma Wilson?”

She ignores the question, saying, “You knew I kept flunking job interviews?”

“I knew.”

“Then you knew how desperate I was.”

“Which is why I stepped in when I did.”

“You knew I was ready to sell my body?”

“I knew you were getting close. And I didn’t want that for you.”

“You’ve been following me around for a month?”

“About that.”

“Why’d you wait so long before taking me back?”

Jack starts to reply, but she cuts him off, saying, “Wait, I know. You were building your fee. Pretending you couldn’t find me right away.”

He shrugs. She’s wrong, but does it really make a difference?

Jill drifts in and out of sleep as the effects of the drug slowly wear off. At one point she asks, “You got any kids?”

“No.”

They go silent again, until he says, “What made you ask that?”

She shrugs. “Your name’s Jack. At least that’s what you told me.”

“It’s Jack. So what?”

“We passed Jackson a while ago. Made me wonder. You know, Jack’s
son
?”

He says nothing.

Jill says, “Not a fan of word play, I take it.”

“Why’d you run off?”

She groans, rolls her eyes. “
Seriously
, Jack? You’re smart enough to track me down, but don’t know why I left?”

“Your husband, Bobby Dee. The mobster.”

“
Monster’s
a better description.”

She sees him glance at her, so she adds, “You’re wondering how bad it could have been. And I’d tell you if I thought it would change your mind.”

“Can’t hurt,” he says.

“Yeah, it can.”

“How?”

“It’ll give you more information to use against me. Fatten your fee.”

“You think I’d do that?”

“We’re here, aren’t we?”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“Calling it your job doesn’t make it right.”

“We saw what
you
were willing to do Friday night to pay the bills.”

“Yes, we did. And thanks for reminding me how you really see me.”

This is exactly why she can never let herself fall for Jack. He’ll never forget she was willing to sell her body.

“My life was literally on the line,” she says. “I knew I couldn’t stay there much longer without getting caught. I was about to be kicked out of my apartment. I was down to my last tank of gas.”

“What about the Pancake House job?”

“I’m still working off the advance they gave me.”

“So you decided to sell your body.”

“To you, Jack. To
you
. Not the next person who happened by. You think you’re the first guy who came in the bar last Friday? I chose
you
!”

“Why?”

“Same things you said about me. You’re great-looking. You’re clean. You’re a cut above. I felt if I had to trade sex for money just this once, I could live with myself if I did it with someone like you. And I’m still willing to, if you’ll let me go. Like you said, I’m not a hooker. I’ve slept with exactly five men in my entire life. But I’ll give you all I’ve got, Jack. You can do whatever you want to me, and toss me in a ditch when you’re through. I’ll still be better off. Just…
please, Jack!
”

“What?”

“Don’t take me back to Bobby!”

Jack says nothing, keeps driving, eyes straight ahead.

“If you know my husband at all, you know he’s a sick, sadistic bastard. He’s going to brutalize me for running away. He might very well kill me. And you’re delivering me to his doorstep. I thought I saw something in you, Jack. But if you take me back, you’re no better than him.”

“I don’t abuse women.”

“But you’ll willingly take me to a man who does! Bobby’s going to physically assault me in every sick and twisted way you can imagine. He’s going to rape me. Beat me. Punish me. Chain me to a wall. Deprive me of food, water, sleep. He’s going to humiliate me a hundred different ways till he breaks me down and destroys my will to live. He won’t stop till my last ounce of dignity is gone. And when he’s finally tired of abusing me, he’s going to…” her voice trails off in the air.