“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
5
DAKOTA FELT AS though he’d been tricked again, but this time in a good way. It took him about five minutes to get into the idea of serving free food. The clientele was as varied as the human race. There were a few grizzled old men—or maybe they were only grizzled and not so much old as worn down. A pair of elderly women came in together and passed through the line with their trays. He served a family of six, the oldest child no more than ten. There were several families, not always with both parents. A young man was there with his toddler son, who sat on his lap the whole time. He spotted a young couple, maybe twenty years old, followed by a few kids being led by what could only have been a big sister. A couple of boys around twelve came in with no adult. Then a vet, wearing a purple heart on his denim vest. To him, Dakota said, “Greetings, brother. Thank you for your service.” More old men and women arrived and he wondered which were street people and which were merely poor. A few people came in over the course of a couple of hours who Dakota realized were not in reality and he thought this was what his father would have become without the anchor of his wife and family.
While a few looked as though they could benefit from some drug or another there were also those who appeared to have benefited too much. They were of every race and ethnic group—black, white, Hispanic, Middle Eastern, even a man with a strong Australian accent who said, “Thank ya, mate.”
They had only one obvious thing in common. They were hungry.
Once the food had all been served, the next step was the inevitable cleanup. That was when Dakota became acquainted with some of the volunteers. Sid introduced him to a sixty-eight-year-old woman in jeans and a flannel shirt. “Dakota, meet Sister Mary Jacob,” she said.
“You’re a nun?” he stupidly asked. Nuns used to be much easier to identify.
“You were expecting Mother Teresa?” she asked. “I might not look like you think I should but I’m a damn good nun.”
Dakota met a retired man who called himself a professional volunteer and gave his time to many organizations from the antidefamation league to animal rights causes. There was an elementary schoolteacher and her husband who liked to help out at least twice a month. He learned that a retirement community sponsored the soup kitchen as well as an at-risk school and there was always someone from their group there. And there was a youth minister from a local Methodist church. “Sometimes I bring a few kids with me, when their social calendars allow,” he said. This particular soup kitchen was run and managed by Sister Mary Jacob. She knew just about everyone who came for meals and she knew every resource in the area from rehab to where to get clothes and haircuts for job interviews.
He was just about finished mopping the floor when Sid handed him a cup of coffee. “Thanks,” he said. “Is this my coffee date? Because I was really hoping for a little pie to go with this. Like from a coffee shop or diner or maybe we could go batshit crazy and hit a Denny’s.”
She laughed. “We could do that. Let’s head back toward Timberlake and go to the Denny’s on the highway.”
He followed her all the way to the restaurant, a little afraid she might ditch him on the long drive, but she waited by the door while he parked. They had no trouble getting a table, late as it was. They sat across from each other in a booth, ordered coffee, and Dakota asked for a moment to look at the menu. But he didn’t. Instead, he looked at Sid and asked, “Soup kitchen?”
“I guess you don’t meet too many of your potential girlfriends at a soup kitchen?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “You’ve upgraded your status,” he said. “I thought I was going to have to work much harder for that.”
“I feel sorry for you,” she said with a smile.
“Whatever ticks your clock. Just explain the soup kitchen. Is it some kind of a test? To see if I’m charitable?”
“It actually has nothing to do with you. After my divorce I needed counseling. I struggled with depression. I think that’s not unusual or unexpected. After some months of talking about myself and my feelings, the counselor gently suggested I might want to take the focus off myself and see what I could do for the less fortunate. She gave me an intimidating list of places that needed help. I just couldn’t bring myself to cuddle terminally ill toddlers, and if I’d worked at an animal shelter, I would have brought them all home. I went to the soup kitchen and Sister Mary Jacob tried to feed me. She couldn’t wrap her head around me as a server, that’s how bad I must have looked.”
“Must have been worse than just a bad divorce,” he said.
She paused for a moment as if considering how much personal information she’d give him on this, their first date. It made him smile for two reasons. One, it wasn’t much of a date, and two, she was very protective of her privacy. When she continued, he decided she must have at least branded him as a good guy.