Breaking Through

A fucking snake in the grass for a bastard like Michael Roe, a black hole of debt that didn’t seem to be getting any smaller, and now to top it all off I’m getting a fat ass.

He sighed and forced himself to think about the task at hand.

Roe was right. No closet was empty, and with someone as young as Murray there wouldn’t be skeletons but fresh corpses. It would be easy to follow the stench of decay.

Simon Reeve had been a damn good bloodhound once. He still was, he told himself daily, ignoring the fact that the last year had watered down much of his bloodlust.

He’d get it back, he swore right there in the elevator. He’d get it back if he had to tear Matthew Murray apart with his bare hands.

* * *

‘No, damn it! You cocksucker!’

Miranda didn’t see any reason not to have a full-blown tantrum as the bus motored onto the overpass. The next bus wouldn’t be along for another half-hour and she’d run like hell from work to make it to the stop on the other side of the parking garage in time.

She was soaked through and through, and as she stamped her foot she felt the leftovers from the last three puddles squishing from the soles. Every filthy word she could conjure spewed out of her, burning a hole in the centre of her chest until nothing more came out.

For once she hadn’t been running late. For once she had felt in control and confident that she’d make it home in time to share a bite to eat with Juliet before her sister headed off to the pubs.

But no, because the goddamn buses in this city were apparently running on a clock set by the Mad Hatter. Miranda had lost count of the number of times she’d had to run for one that left too early, or sit and stew while the minutes ticked by as the driver played games on his bloody phone.

And there wasn’t even a shelter at this stop next to the parking garage. There was just a damn pole in the sidewalk and a view of the overpass. If it had been payday she might have given up and called a cab, but every cent left in her bank account was spoken for. She’d just have to wait it out, but she’d be damned if she did it in the rain.

As the wind picked up and whipped rain in her face, Miranda ran again, this time uphill, until she reached the entrance to the parking garage. She was frozen as she headed towards the side that overlooked the bus stop she’d run from, but at least she was spared the needle-sharp torrent that had stung her bare legs.

As she settled against a concrete ledge, she pulled her phone from the soggy depths of her bag and swore as the touchscreen did nothing. Her hands were too cold and too wet, and it took another minute of blowing on her fingers before she was able to punch in her passcode and get to her contacts.

‘Don’t tell me,’ Juliet answered, ‘you missed the bus.’

‘I missed the fucking bus and I’m soaked,’ Miranda growled. ‘I’ll be home by nine, but no pizza for me.’

‘Too late, I already ordered it. I’ll leave it in the oven for you.’

‘Did he get his bath?’

‘Yeah, I put him in a puddle in the driveway with a bar of soap. He loves it.’

Juliet laughed after she spoke, but there was a hint of acid to her words. Juliet was great with their toddler nephew and didn’t so much as flinch when it came to a shitty diaper or a vomit-soaked onesie, but she wasn’t the most reliable person when it came to remembering to bathe Eddie before putting him to bed. More than once Miranda had checked in on him to find his face and hands caked with whatever he’d been given for his supper, and had had to wipe him down while he squirmed and shrieked out his exhaustion.

Given some of the shenanigans Juliet had gotten up to these last few months, Miranda supposed she should consider the poor little bugger lucky that his other aunt remembered to feed him.

‘You want me to see if I can have someone pick you up?’

‘No, it’s only half an hour.’

‘Are you soaked?’

‘A little. My jacket seems to be keeping my tits from marinating.’

‘If you change your mind, call me back and I’ll see if Tim can pop up for you.’

‘Thanks,’ Miranda said and hung up, but made a face as she tucked her phone back in her purse. She’d rather walk home in a blizzard than get a ride with one of Juliet’s creepy friends. The last one who had picked her up had spent the entire ride talking into her tits and accenting every point he made by squeezing her thigh.

She shivered and looked towards the North End of the city. One of the two suspension bridges that crossed the harbour was barely visible in the rain that wrapped the entire downtown, and the fog devoured the second bridge and the city of Dartmouth on the opposite side.

She supposed that the weather forecast had predicted this soggy mess, but Eddie had had an upset stomach that morning and, between cleaning him up and shouting for Juliet to get her ass out of bed, Miranda didn’t give the weather a second thought until she heard it hit the window behind her cubicle.

She thought of that other Miranda, the one who lived in the future and had her shit together, who took coffee to work in an aluminium flask and wore heels to work instead of comfortable flats. Other Miranda would have tucked an umbrella in her huge purse and maybe owned a stylish raincoat and some cute rubber boots.

Then again, Other Miranda knew how to drive and rode a comfy sedan from her waterfront cottage in the country, and didn’t work in a call centre because she made a tidy living selling her paintings online.

In real life, Miranda wrung the moisture out of her hair and busied herself with braiding it into a long rope.

She jumped as the car nearest her chirped and flashed its lights, and moments later a figure followed the thump of footsteps on the pavement. Miranda kept her eyes on the view before her, but her body went on alert as the car’s owner appeared on the periphery. She reached into her purse and wrapped her fingers around her keys, something she often did when she shared a bus shelter in the dark, then relaxed as the slam of the car door echoed through the concrete shelter and moments later the vehicle coughed and hummed to life.

The momentary worry – that she’d end up a corpse in the trunk of that shiny silver sedan – having passed, Miranda resumed her mundane task, pulling her braid loose and starting again.

‘Hey, you need a ride somewhere?’ a man’s voice called out to her.

Miranda turned and prepared to make a grateful but firm refusal. Her stomach flopped as she saw who was in the driver’s seat.

Of course, it was the Bathroom Blowjob Guy.

Her spiel of thanks-but-I-have-someone-waiting-he-should-be-here-any-minute vanished, and when she spoke to him it was to say, ‘Are you serious?’

He stared back at her for a moment, then nodded. ‘Yeah, you got me. This is my thing. I ask women caught in the rain if they want to get into my fancy ride, and when they say yes I floor it and laugh like hell all the way home.’

She wasn’t sure if he was trying to be funny or merely sarcastic. Either way, his remark did nothing to change her mind.

‘Thanks,’ she said, her voice as flat as her humour, ‘but I have someone waiting. He should –’

‘If you did, you would have had him pick you up at the entrance.’

She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Why would I get in a car with a stranger?’

‘Well, if you want to get technical, we’re not exactly strangers.’

‘I can’t tell whether you’re referring to the fact that I caught you getting a blowjob in the ladies’ room, or the fact that you decided to brag about it to me later on. Either way, you’re not doing anything for your case. If you’re trolling for a handjob while you drive, you’re talking to the wrong woman.’

He chuckled, a sound that grated up one side of her and down the other. ‘Listen, darling, I know you have no reason to think I won’t stick my dick in any wet hole, but trust me when I tell you I can do better than a drenched rat with raccoon eyes.’

Miranda’s sense of vanity overcame her need to be a hard-ass. With a horrified squeak, she reached up to rub her fingers beneath her eyes.

The man produced a can-shaped package of moist towelettes. ‘By all means, walk around the city terrorising old people and small children while incubating a nasty cold if you would prefer that over my heated seats.’

Miranda knew that the last thing in the world she should do was accept a ride from a stranger, let alone this one, but the chill was setting into her ass and she could feel the heat radiating from the car.

She could practically hear her sister advising opportunistic imprudence: Don’t be such a pussy. Get in the car and let him stare at your tits for a few minutes if it gets you out of the cold.