Moth(17)

It’s been over almost two weeks since my brother was found murdered. The police have no new leads, and I’m not surprised about it. If I hadn’t recognized the heroin wrapper I too would be stumbling for answers. That being said, I know there is more to the story. A straight and narrow man doesn’t up and involve himself with criminals.



That next morning I park the old Ford at a coffee shop Windy’s financial records say she frequents. I wait patiently until I see her pull in and step out of her vehicle. She’s wearing heels again and as she stands her calf muscles are accentuated. I take in her slim figure and the way she carries herself, almost to the point where I miss my opportunity to accidentally run into her.

I hop out of the vehicle and wiz over to hold the door open for her to enter. At first she doesn’t look up to thank me, but just when I think all hope is lost I get a quick glance. “Monty right?”

“Moth,” I correct.

“Right, Moth. I see you’ve found the best coffee this town has to offer.”

“That’s what I hear. It’s my first time.” I say it like I’m not yet convinced. “I don’t know anything about fancy brews. You have any suggestions?”

“That depends,” she replies with a curious gaze. “Are you buying?”

“Well,” I play into her. “That would depend on if you accept. You seem like an independent woman who doesn’t like being taken care of.”

“What would give you that impression?”

I point to her body. “You’re wearing expensive pumps. Your hair doesn’t shine like that without products, and I’m pretty certain your purse is one of those name brands that cost more than a car payment.” I’m talking out of my ass. Yes, I recognize the purse as being a Coach, but I have no idea about hair products. I’ve only overheard the chick that was grooming me saying she’s found this new treatment that leaves her hair smooth and sleek. As far as the pumps, well they could be from Walmart. The point is that I’m trying to know my shit so I can impress her. The more I pay attention to detail the more likely she is to find interest in me. I need this to happen, sooner than later. The only way I’m going to figure out the real Windy is if I place myself directly into her life. Like it or not, I’m going to have to pretend I’m interested in her sexually.

It’s not going to be hard. What’s difficult is knowing she could be a cold-blooded killer and having to force myself not to strangle her every chance I get.

“Sometimes things aren’t always how they appear. I think I’ll take you up on the coffee though. What can it hurt?”

Everything, I tell myself.

She orders a caramel latte with soy milk, while I tell the barista I want a black coffee with one sugar. When I expect she’ll be on her way to work I proceed to follow her to an outside table. She sits down and spins her cup around while she waits for it to cool. I can tell she seems uncomfortable. She’s not making eye contact with me. “So, do you come here often?”

My question causes us both to laugh. I’ve never been one for small talk. Obviously I need some lessons. “Seriously? That’s all you can come up with to say to me?”

I shrug. “It seems like a logical question.”

“Just about every day. I can’t make it at home like they do here.”

“Do you live close by?”

“Two miles away. You?”

“About the same.”

She takes her first sip. “Did you get your truck fixed?”

“Yeah. For now. It’s a piece of shit. I need new wheels, but I haven’t found a better paying job yet and I don’t feel like sinking all my money into making it last. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“So, are you looking for a different line of work?”

If she’s fishing to see if I’d be interested in distribution I’ve hit the jackpot. “Yeah. I am.”

“What do you have experience in?”

“Waiting tables. Cooking. Being a professional badass,” I add at the end.

“A professional badass,” she repeats with a giggle. I immediately notice she has matching dimples that are sexy as hell. I can’t stop looking into her deep brown eyes and hoping everything I assume about her is a mistake. She’s someone I’d love to sink my teeth into, but I know she’s probably the enemy.

“Yeah, well, we all have something good about us, right?”

She keeps going. “What does a professional badass do exactly?”

I spread my arms out. “Obviously we look the part, but that’s not the only quality necessary. In order to be a professional badass you have to have the skills.”

She sips at her drink some more. “Like?”

I lean forward, not able to help myself. “Like being able to satisfy a woman like she’s never been satisfied before. It’s a God given talent, if you ask me.” I’m cocky and it shows. A little flirting will make her more susceptible to trust me.

“You seem confident.”

I take a gulp of the piping hot brew before answering. “Trust me, I am.”

I can tell she’s both curious and taken back. There are some women who will find me offensive. She’s young and independent, so I can only assume she’ll appreciate my banter.