Burning Moth

Chapter Two, Part Three - Bad Company

We cleaned up the apartment, but beyond that there wasn't much we could do to repair the situation. The evidence of our mistake lingered everywhere–in the deflated cushions, in the missing pictures, on the splotchy walls and stained carpet. New rugs and frames couldn't replace everything.

Happy early birthday to me–Aidan was now officially too freaked to call the police, but I had trouble feeling good about that one. Persuading him not to quit his job, and continue acting like everything was normal, made me feel even guiltier–but if making Aidan miserable was what it took to keep him out of jail, so be it.

The next morning, he dropped me off in front of campus, like always. During breakfast he was silent and stony, and I was pretty sure he left the sugar out of my oatmeal on purpose--but I let him stew. Now he stared straight ahead, his elbow on the door, the other hand loosely gripping the wheel. He was usually such a stickler about ten and two. 

I climbed out of the passenger side then leaned toward the window. "Hey, buddy, everything's gonna be fine. I just need you to play it cool long enough for me to get us out of this mess. I'm halfway there--scout's honor." Lies. We were nowhere close to the shore. Already, I could see the hurricane on the horizon, and the most significant thing I had done so far was cringe. What good would that do against Nicholias?

I had slept on it, and after much tossing and turning and anger-paranoia had come to the obvious conclusion. Given the chance, yes, Nicholias Dixon would step on us and twist his heel–unless I one-upped him first, but I couldn't do that without a little guidance.

"Scar, this time you cannot sleep, drink, or fuck your way out of this. We need a real plan--"

"I know, Aid. Trust me--I'm putting on my thinking cap for this one." I blew him a kiss. He caught it, threw it out the window, and drove away. Ten seconds later a red Mercedes rolled in his place–shiny, expensive, and a thousand dollars said it still vibed that new car smell.

The passenger window lowered, revealing the willowy blonde at the wheel. "Get in, bitch." A smile glimmered behind her Ray Bans, the only shine to this gloomy autumn day. Chloe Brinks to the rescue.

She parked her whip on the street, behind the lacrosse field. This morning it was empty, but come spring the team would reassemble, flitting across the grass, sticks and jerseys in motion. Today we enjoyed the solitude, ignoring that the bleachers were still wet and cold from last night's dew. I let Chloe sit on my backpack so she wouldn't ruin the couture–a Terani number, short and red just the way she liked, with a leather jacket draped across her her shoulders. Chloe's fashion sense had always been killer. Now she made enough dough to buy the dresses we used to steal.

"Thank gawd we graduated and high school is over. Though I'm totally gonna miss seeing all the cute jocks in those tight little football pants, just gripping each other on the field. Do you know how many times I got laid beneath the bleachers--glorious." Chloe flipped her gold sheet of hair to the side, vaping away in blissful reminiscence.

"Yep, Chlo. You are definitely in the right profession."

"Excuse you, I happen to enjoy being an escort. I mean, I get paid to date men–two of my favorite things combined into one. Tell me that doesn't beat community college."

"According to Aidan it's twice as bad as community college. And babies."

If it weren't for Aidan's adamant declarations against the sex industry, I would've been right there with Chloe, pretending I didn't suck dick for a living. Aidan never understood why girls like Chlo would resort to men for money–and I didn't try to make him. My best friend still believed there was a difference between people like him and the Dixons, but that line of judgment grew thinner every day. Bottom line–money changed lives, and if Chloe's daddy had stuck around to earn it, maybe things would have been different for her.

Her cherry lips pursed in distaste. "Yeah, well, if Aidan knew anything you wouldn't be asking for my help." She produced her compact, inspecting eyes camouflaged by fake lashes to hide the fact that they were brown and ordinary. "Now, what's this big emergency you were talking about?"

I leaned toward Chloe and lowered my voice–though it was highly unlikely the old guy on the lawn mower gave a shit. "What do you know about the Dixons?"

She lowered her mirror, a shrewd look on her face. "I know a couple of their boys are regulars at the club. They really like my girlfriend, Savannah. When they wanna have a good time, Savi's who they'd call, but..." Chloe hunched her thin, elegant shoulders. "She took off last week, cleared out her stuff and left all her clients hanging. Miss Hannigan was pissed that we lost her. Although, we could easily fill that vacancy..." Chloe waggled her manicured brows with meaning.

"Chloe, I am not going to become an escort. I refuse to eat dinner with horny old men who only pay girls so they can get away with sexually harassing them. I get called way less names doing that for free."

"Your loss, darling." Chloe exhaled, sliding her pink, coffin-style nails across her hairline. "Why do you care about them, anyway? The Dixons are overrated. Hot, but overrated."

"Truth is..." I took a deep breath. "Aidan and I are in a mess and we need to fix it before it gets worse. In order to do that, I need to see Nicholias--and that skadoosh banned me from Dixon Industries. Help me? Please?"

Chloe grabbed my shoulder, and squeezed. "You're in trouble--of course I'll help. I have an idea. The Dixons are hosting an event this weekend at the Fairway, and Nicholias should be there. I can get you in, if you're willing to sacrifice..."

"When am I not?" I gave her dap and Chloe rewarded me by handing over the vape.

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