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Part I: The Pitch
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 9, 2016
"The morning sun touched lightly on The eyes of Lucy Jordan In a white suburban bedroom In a white suburban town"
Clarissa Seep didn't get any sleep last night, or throughout the week, for that matter. She'd go to bed, lie down, stare at the ceiling, and wait. Always waiting. For what? She had given up on trying to figure that out. The answer Clarissa had settled on was to get up, go out, and return to her New Orleans apartment. The cycle would repeat. So went her life.
"And she lay there 'neath the covers Dreaming of a thousand lovers 'Til the world turned to orange And the room went spinning round"
Her alarm rang at 5 AM, rousing her out of her non-sleep. She got up, slammed it off and went to the bathroom to freshen up. In the vanity mirror stood a woman though technically young had appeared to live two lifetimes, The toll of her work, the chances never taken, working in public education—maybe one of those provided the explanation. Clarissa had given up thinking about that a long time ago.
Minutes later and a cup of coffee prepared, Clarissa entered her living room and turned on the news, carefully sipping her burning hot Folgers.
"…Smith, aged 17 was found dead last night in Lejeune Park. Another victim of a Lakewood serial killer over the last year…"
Clarissa's eyes widened at the report, her heart catching in her throat, hoping to God the boy didn't go to…
"…a George Washington High junior, Terrance Smith was heir to the Smith's…"
She exploded in anger, smashing her mug against the counter. Clarissa didn't feel the burning, stabbing pain until she looked at her arm.
"No, no, no FUCK!"
Clarissa was now running late.
***
Traffic moved at a glacial pace, as it always did. The exception today was that her hand was sloppily bandaged and stiff as redwood. It was an overcast, dreary day, which the traffic did not help at all. The slow pace allowed her to try to call the clowns who ran that school, demanding an explanation.
"So she let the phone keep ringing And she sat there softly singing Little nursery rhymes she'd memorized In her Daddy's easy chair"
No word from Kellerman. That left the other one. Clarissa cursed herself and dialed the number.
"Her husband, he's off to work And the kids are off to school And there were oh so many ways For her to spend her days"
And Teague remained silent. Clarissa knew they were there. She knew they heard their phones ringing, she knew they saw her name, she knew they ignored her.
Screw it. She'd try again. Clarissa wouldn't get off her exit for another 45 minutes. She dialed Kellerman's number, one hand on the wheel…
THUNK!
Her car crashed into the bumper of the one in front of her. With this traffic, it wasn't like she sped into it but insurance was insurance and the driver made it his quest to get of the car and knock on her window, angry as can be.
Clarissa glanced at him, weary, refusing to roll down the window for him. He knocked again. She looked at her hood. It was dented. She'd had to get that detailed.
Again, the angry driver knocked. Shouting some profanities, no doubt. But Clarissa looked on in silence, lost in her own world as the music played on the radio.
"At the age of thirty seven She realized she'd never ride Through Paris in a sports car With the warm wind in her hair"
Eventually, he relented, settling on calling her a cunt only and returned to his car. Clarissa turned off the radio, finding herself depressed as it was, and continued to work.
Traffic moved on and so did her life.
***
"I'm sorry, Mr. Edelman. I've tried…Yes, I've tried nonstop to get in touch with them but they haven't…Yes, I know this isn't the first time…Yes…Yes, I know…I know I'm expendable but…that much? I've been superintendent over this district for over a decade now. A few bad years in one school can't reduce my pay by that…I know it's out of your control. I…I'll fix this, Mr. Edelman. I'll let you know…Right. Have a good day, Mr. Edelman."
Clarissa hung up the phone on her desk, adding, "Prick." She buried her face in her hands, despite one of them still smarting, overwhelmed by her situation. Clarissa looked up at the poster she bought years ago in college. "Hang in there," it read, with a cat hanging in there.
Different time, stupider me. Clarissa brooded at her desk for the rest of the day.
***
Clarissa returned to her car, ready to go home when some kid tried to be sly, bump into her and take her wallet.
"Hey!" She took him by the arm and tugged him over. Clarissa saw the wallet in plain sight. "Give me that!" She snatched it back. "What's wrong with you?"
"Guy's gotta make a living," the boy muttered, barely a cent of shame on his face.
"Really? By stealing?" Clarissa scoffed. "Your parents ever tell you stealing's wrong?"
"Fuck you! You're not my mom!"
"Well, fuck you, too, you little runt!"
That shut the boy up handily.
"Do you realize some people have to work for their money?" Clarissa took one step forward, prompting the kid to take one back, and so on and so forth. "I've worked for twelve years to get what I have in this sad piece of leather and it can barely pay my rent. Imagine that? 37, and I don't even own my own place. You, though. You're young and stupid. The only things you care about a-are orange soda and video games and jerking off. You don't have any problems to worry about. Not now. But get ready. Once you drag your pea-brain out of community college, you're gonna wish you learned how to put up and shut up like I did. Get working, stop fucking around and quit wasting my time because when that shitstorm comes, you'll be so up to your neck in feces that you're gonna wish I was your mom so I would have knocked some sense into your insolent ass. AM I CLEAR?!"
The kid ran away, intimidated beyond belief. Clarissa realized she hadn't checked to see if he had taken anything from her wallet. Just her Rite Aid Rewards card. Just when she'd run low on paper plates and Advil. Great.
She turned to her car, her fender badly damaged. Clarissa sighed, getting behind the wheel and starting her way to the closest mechanic.
***
Clarissa pulled her Corolla into Benny's, but no one came to attend to her. Peering out her window, she called to the group of men working on what looked like a vintage Benz.
"Hey, I was in a small accident," she called out, trying to get their attention. "Can one of you, um, assess the damage?"
She wasn't sure how this worked. She was a safe driver all her life, so she never had to go to one of these places.
Safe all her life, yet look where she was.
So went Clarissa Seep's life.
It was a tall, broad-shouldered roughneck who answered her request, not with words, not at first, but with a low chuckle, a sort of throaty rumble in the back of his throat.
"Assess it?" sharp brown eyes studied her beneath thin black brows. His face was oily, a thin layer of scruff on his cheeks, the same deep inky black as the perfectly gelled sweep of his hair...as perfectly oily as if it had been sculpted of the grease and filth of the whole bodyshop.
"I can assess like nobody's business," his lips parted in a thin, cocky smirk. Some of the other men laughed coarsely. One, older, gave him a dirty look.
"Lay off, Greco," an accent thick and brutal as New Orleans air, "The lady don't want your help."
"I've got my stripes."
"She...don't...want...your...help."
The older man turned to her, "Don't mind him, lady. Punk kids, yanno? Got no manners."
"She ain't looking for manners..."
"And she ain't looking for trouble," he fixed the younger man with a piercing eye, "Neither should you."
Clarissa rolled her eyes at the show these oafs were putting for her. "Look, I just want to be in and out. How long is it going to take to buff this out?"
The young man's eyes glinted, that wolfish smile spreading across his face, "If you want in and out, this guy's got you covered."
"Greco!" the older man advanced, "You don't watch your..."
"If you want your damage buffed out..." he shrugged, "Lady, you've come to the right place."
Clarissa blinked at the young man, too exhausted to even reprimand him (she'd already done her share for the day). Quietly, she turned away, gazing off into space, wondering how she got here.
TWO HOURS LATER
Clarissa slammed Greco into her dresser, never unlocking her lips from his. His shirt was already off, so she did him the favor of taking off her top, throwing it aside, uncharacteristically violating her rule of keeping a tidy space.
Grabbing him by the shoulders, Clarissa threw him on the queen bed she spent so many a lonely night and promptly followed him, propping herself over him on her knees. She took a breath, looking down at Greco, spending a mere second to consider what she was doing only dismiss it in that same instant.
Clarissa leaned forward and continued to kiss Greco, whatever concern for consequences now wholly dashed.
He groaned as he laughed, tearing his own shirt off over his head, tossing it with abandon, fingers tangling roughly in her hair.
"You've got a bite on you," he breathed into her ear, "Never thought that shit about cougars was true."
"Never thought that shit about sex-crazy Guidos was true, either," Clarissa replied, undoing her bra. "Consider tonight a learning experience." She kissed, going lower, lower, lower and finally, at long last she...
ONE HOUR LATER
Clarissa figured Greco was fast asleep by now, so she leaned against her window overlooking the shining lights of New Orleans, taking in lengthy draws from her cigarette. For a one night stand, it was good. She was more into getting done than he was. That was probably why she hadn't had sex since...college. Maybe before she bought that inspirational poster. Jesus fucking Christ.
She screwed some grease-monkey tonight at some poor attempt to get over her immensely shitty day. Fuck it, those hicks down in Lakewood were likely doing the same or worse. Backwater shit-hole with three massacres in a little over a year, no doubt there was some illegitimate crap going on there to mourn that kid. Terry Smith or whoever the fuck he was.
No, Clarissa felt no shame. She'd lost the capacity to.
Dom raised his head onto his hand, "Don't feel bad," he told her, "Italian Stallion rides hard and fast."
Clarissa turned around slightly to find her new friend awake. "Emphasis on fast," she took another drag on the cigarette and looked back out the window. "Still, pretty good for a kid." Stunned by the words that just escaped her mouth, Clarissa thought out loud, "You're a kid. I just fucked a kid." She exhaled a soft plume of smoke. "And I don't feel the least bit bad about it."
"Do I look like a kid, angel?" he asked, from the bed, "I'm 19."
He shrugged, "What're you, 40? Always wanted to bang a 40-something."
Clarissa exhaled a humorless laugh when he admitted his age. "Yeah, that makes it better." She bit her lip when he guessed her age wrong. "37, actually. Sorry to disappoint." Looking back at the window, Clarissa picked at the bandages on what was her red right hand so many hours before. "Still, I screwed a youngster. I've been getting along well with kids all day today. Guess that means I chose the right career path."
"What, you a teacher, or something?" he asked, "Never thought I'd fuck a teacher. But most of my teachers looked like my Zia Prosperina on Xanax, so..."
He paused, "I'm Dominic. The boys call me Dom."
Bending over the side of the bed, he began filching around on the floor, "Can I get a light? My lighter's in my pants if I can fuckin' find them..."
Clarissa glanced back at her new friend Dom, a faint semblance of a smile on her face. She picked up her lighter from the window sill and tossed it to him, leaning against the wall now, half hidden in shadow. "No, I'm not a teacher. I'm the person teachers join unions to protest against." She took a long drag on her smoke, the orange light of the tip being the only thing visible in the darkness. "Superintendent Clarissa Seep. The stick in the mud for sticks in the mud." Clarissa let out a beleaguered sigh, side-eyeing the window. "If only I got paid like it." She smiled, despite herself. "But I'm saying that to a grease-monkey who fixes cars for a living. Unless you're swimming in cash. Then I really, really chose the wrong career path."
"I dropped out of school when I was 16," Dom shrugged, "Wasn't working out for me. I've got more in the bank from grease monkeying than any of the boys who graduated when I would've."
He smirked, "And no fuckin' student loans," he sat up in the bed, lighting a smoke, "Plus, I don't got to worry about being cut up by some psycho bastard in a mask, so I'd say I made a smart life decision."
"Psycho bastard," Clarissa repeated. "Lemme guess. George Washington High." She scoffed. "Nothing but idiots there. You're a genius, alright. You escaped." Another sigh. "Smarter than me, that's for sure." She was quiet for a while. "They call me superintendent but I don't control a fucking thing there or anywhere. That shit happens and I'm supposed to deal with it. At least a killer isn't slashing me. At least I'm not dead."
A long, long, long drag. "But sometimes I wonder."
"Go Lancers!" Dom chuckled, taking a drag, "I drive down to Lakewood time to time. One of my boys plays ball for them. District champs."
He tipped ashes onto the immaculately scrubbed nightstand.
"So, you can, like...fire people, right?" he chuckled, "Maybe a...crazy douchewad principal, or something?"
"Not without good cause," Clarissa replied, her voice hoarse. "When the principal is a highly respected vet and the vice principal has worked there for nearly two decades, you don't have a lot of leeway when it comes to firing people. And if you try to close down a school..." She shook her head. "...that's an admission of defeat and you get paid even less by the Board. So no, I don't have any real power." Clarissa turned back to Dom. "Except on nights like these. You caught me on real shitty day. Would you guess I almost got robbed today?"
"No shit?" Dom grinned, "Fuck. Maybe it's someone I knew."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, "That's a joke. You know," he ran his tongue over his lips, getting to his feet, "You know, my boss is gonna fleece you for your car, right? Damage ain't worth the repairs he's charging you for. So you get robbed again."
He shrugged, "Figured I owed you a head's up."
"I'm used to getting screwed over," Clarissa said, resigned to her fate. "Ever since I was a kid. I think...I think it's because I never made my own decisions. Never did anything I wanted. Just listened to my parents. 'Get a job. A government job, that pays well. Even one in education. You love kids, right? Well, you'll learn to. Go this college, apply to these jobs, date these men, become friends with these people, just listen to us. We know what's best for you.'" She looked back out the window, deep in her reflection. "I haven't talked to them since my college graduation. Fifteen years later of no communication whatsoever, and I'm still following their orders. What a joke."
She turned back to Dom. "But I'm not paying you to play therapist. Not paying you at all, actually. Unless you're comfortable being a prostitute. I wouldn't put it past you. We all need money."
"A man's got a make a living," he shrugged, "But I wouldn't ask you to pay for it..."
He leaned against the wall, facing back as she faced front, "'Less you really wanted to tip for..." he leaned in a particularly provocative way against her, brushing up very particularly against her side, "Tip."
He chuckled, "I robbed somebody once," he volunteered, "No big deal. Nobody who was gonna cry about it after, anyway."
Clarissa closed her eyes, feeling Dom brush up against her. "I fucked a kid and a criminal. I could see why my parents had to control my life. I make terrible decisions." She paused, thinking. "Who did you rob?"
Dom shrugged, "Some rich fucks. Went to school with their kid."
He looked off across the room, his expression becoming distant.
"...Easiest damn thing. You break a lock, knock out the alarm...cover your face, of course. It's Lakewood, you know, so they're not gonna jump to some hot Sicilian stud breaking and entering. Fuckin' Klan's got a chapter down there. I made like a had a gun, too..." he made a shape with his hand, "Under the hoodie, in the dark. Kid almost shit his pants. Next thing you know, I'm walking away with Mommy's pearls in my pocket. Don't matter...they got insurance for shit like that anyway."
He turned to her, "Pearls were wax, though. Story of my life. I don't let it get to me, though. Hear the kid started tweaking after I ditched, and I don't lose sleep at night."
"Easy, huh?" Clarissa stared at their reflection in the window. "So easy...even I can do it?" She joked, exhaling more smoke.
"Sure," Dom grinned, "Why the hell not? You already tamed a Stallion," he looked her up and down, "...after that, what's robbing a couple of mooks?"
Clarissa smirked, continuing to play this game. "So...what about a bank? Do you think I can pull that off?"
He laughed, a low, husky sound, "...got one in mind?"
"Let's say..." Clarissa snapped her fingers. "The community bank on Easton and Woodhouse. Could I rob that?"
Dom made a show of considering, "You'd have those bastards before they could say 'She's got a gun!'" he paused, "But...uh...not alone. Nah, it'd be...uh...tricky for one broad to pull off a thing like that, even one, er, like..." he brushed a lock of hair from her eyes, "You."
"Hm," Clarissa nodded. "OK. I'd need some help. Where would I find a goon to do my bidding?" She felt the back of his neck, not even turning around. "Oh. Right. I fucked a criminal."