that shade of red does nothing for my coloring.” Then she grinned.
“I don’t want your pity,” he said, but he said it with humor in his tone.
“Good. Seven o’clock.”
He walked to his car thinking that yes, she felt sorry for him. He was clearly insulted and angry about being played as he was. But that was okay. Even though it hadn’t been a strategy of his, he was willing to take advantage of the situation. And over coffee he would charm her and make her laugh. It was with this very hopeful and encouraged feeling that his SUV came into view.
All four tires were flat.
He looked around to see if anyone was there. Neely’s car was gone and the small parking lot behind the diner was quiet. He looked at the other cars—tires all fine. Then he went back to the sidewalk, where it was well lit. He pulled out his phone and called Cal.
“Hey,” Cal said.
“Hey. I’ve never done this before. Called my big brother when something happened.”
“Hmm. What happened?”
“I’m in town. I was having a burger at the bar and grill—Rob’s place two doors down from the diner. A woman asked me to help her with a flat tire, and when I went with her, there was no flat, just a very eager woman. So I extricated myself, but it was awkward—I must have offended her. Now, I find my tires are all flat.” He took a breath. “I guess I have to find a tow truck...”
“Sheesh,” Cal said, sounding more alert. “You know this woman?”
“Just her first name. I thought she was a nice woman, but her come-on could use a little polish...”
“You think she did it?” Cal asked.
“Doesn’t that seem a little extreme?”
“You have to call the police before you call the tow truck. And I’ll come and pick you up.”
“I can handle this myself...”
“You want the next guy who’s not interested in her to get four flat tires?”
“We don’t know for sure that she did it,” Dakota said.
“Sounds like we do, we just can’t prove who did it. Call the police, tell them what happened, ask them what towing service they recommend.”
“Aww,” Dakota groaned.
“This is Timberlake, Cody,” Cal said. “We don’t experience a lot of that sort of thing. If you don’t say anything, another guy could be vandalized. Or maybe she’ll try something bigger on you.”
“I think I’d rather just handle this...”
“Now you sound like a woman,” Cal said. “I want you to think about that. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
The notion that women don’t report crimes because they’re afraid or they just want to forget it happened and hope it won’t happen ever again had briefly crossed his mind, but he’d pushed it away. There was also a certain amount of humiliation involved in being victimized. Victimized and then tattling.
He wouldn’t have called Cal if he hadn’t been looking for someone to cut through his bullshit. Of course it was Neely. Of course she shouldn’t be pulling that shit. Then his mind wandered further. He didn’t want Sid to know. He didn’t want to seem less than strong.
The way a woman didn’t want her boyfriend or husband to know she’d been assaulted because she wouldn’t want him to think she was dirty? Or think she’d brought it on herself?
Cal arrived before the deputy. “Show me the damage,” he said. Once he’d checked out the car, he said, “That took a lot of effort. Look out for this one—she’s mean.”
* * *
To Dakota’s relief, only one tire on his SUV was slashed; the rest were merely deflated. Odd that he should have that in common with Neely—deflating tires to prove a point. And it gave him no peace of mind to know she was traveling around with some dangerous sharp object. He thought about the incident a great deal more than he wanted to. The vandalism would probably just be a misdemeanor. He tried to imagine her in her fancy clothes and boots crouching in the dark, manipulating the air out of the tires.
His insurance company covered the tow but he had to get Cal to drive him to work early in the morning. He was pretty angry about the whole thing.
But by Saturday he was looking forward to seeing Sid. After work he plugged the address Sid had given him into his GPS. He focused not on his unpleasant experience with Neely but rather on going to some coffee shop in Colorado Springs where he would concentrate on demonstrating how desirable he was. He would find out more about Sidney, entertain her with stories of his world travels and, if necessary, exploit his actions as a soldier and hero. He never did that first. He always saved that as a last resort.
He looked around but couldn’t find the address she’d given him. The directions were clear but he had trouble believing they were correct. He hadn’t been to Colorado Springs before but he had trouble envisioning Sid inviting him to a trashy side of town. Please, God, don’t let Sid be a whack job! One is enough.
He drove around the block but no coffee shop turned up. There wasn’t even a Denny’s or truck stop. He finally bit the bullet and took the slip of paper she’d given him and, after locking his car, went into the only place on the block that appeared to be open. It was pretty run-down, had a big cross on the door and the sign, which could not be seen in the dark, said Free Dinner.
He thought it might be a storefront church of some kind and they would at least know the neighborhood. He walked inside and discovered it was a soup kitchen. He had to weave his way through people standing in some kind of line to find whoever was in charge to get better directions. Then he saw her.
Sid was standing behind a serving counter, smiling like she’d never been happier. She wore a green apron, a scarf covering her hair, and rubber gloves, and wielded a big spoon. He chuckled and shook his head. He cut the line to walk up to her.
“Coffee?” he said, giving her his best smile.
“Glad you made it,” she said. “Clay? Give this man an apron and show him what to do!”
A man travels the world over in search of
what he needs, and returns home to find it.
—GEORGE MOORE
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