Dead Politician Society

Chapter 75: Clare

Roberta picked a large dead black fly off Clare’s windshield and flicked it into the rusted metal garbage bin. She shook her head and said, “Where did you take this bike?”

Clare cracked a can of Bud. She passed one to Roberta too.

“I went to Orillia on Sunday.”

“Yeah? Good for you. Your parents must have been thrilled.”

“I didn’t make it home.”

“You were in your hometown, and you didn’t stop to see your family? How bad is this, Clare?”

“You know how bad it is.” Clare scowled. “I planned to see them. I drove there to see them. But when I arrived in town, it felt wrong. I wasn’t technically off the case yet. I would have been breaking a cardinal rule of undercover work.”

“I’d believe that if you followed any of the other cardinal rules.” Roberta heaved Clare’s bike up onto its center stand. “What gives, kid? You’re stronger than this.”

“I know.”

“So what are you afraid of?”

Clare sipped her beer. She liked the way the cold bubbles felt as they moved down her throat. “I don’t want to remember them sick and pathetic. They’re not people anymore. They remind me of characters in a horror movie who are waiting around to die.”

Roberta put her hand on the motorcycle’s gas tank. “Tell me again what was wrong when you were driving.”

“Backfiring. I’ve checked the spark plugs. Tried adjusting the air/fuel mixture. No luck.”

“Here, hand me that plug wrench.”

Clare passed the wrench. “I told you I already checked the plugs.”

“I’m checking again. Your head’s in a bad place. You could miss something real easy.”

Clare rolled her eyes.

“You miss being a cop?”

“No.”

“You left the force on good terms?”

Clare shrugged. “I didn’t tell anyone to go fuck themselves.”

“And the university let you stay on like a regular student?”

“I’m on probation, but they promise not to blow my cover. Not like it really matters anymore, but it could be socially awkward if I got found out. If I do well enough this year, I can enroll like a regular student next year.”

Roberta held up a plug—clean, like Clare had told her—and checked the gap. “You gonna stay in poli sci?”

“For now. I think I want to study law.”

“You want to go from one career that’s all about rules to another with even more rules? Never saw you as the type to box yourself in on purpose.”

Clare grinned. “Yeah, that is kind of weird. Given my lawless personality. It appeals to me though. Don’t know why.”

“Maybe people like you need rules more than anyone. Can’t rebel against anarchy, can you?”

Clare laughed. She imagined herself in a suit, defending Slutty Shauna for some petty misdemeanor. Like whoring herself out for beer money. She’d do that job pro bono. “So how’s Lance?”

“He’s good. Not that you care.” Roberta let out a heartfelt belch.

“I care that he’s happy.”

“It’s not the plugs.”

“No kidding.”

“Have you drained the gas?”

“Didn’t even think of it. Maybe you’re right that I’m off my game.”

Roberta found a plastic container and set it under the gas tank. “You care if I drain this or did you want to ride tonight?”

“Go ahead. I can walk home. Take the subway to school in the morning.”

Roberta opened a valve. Gas gushed from the engine.

“You need to visit your parents, Clare. Avoiding the trailer doesn’t change what it’s doing to you.”

“The trailer isn’t doing anything to me.”

“Fine. I mean the people who live there. Your resistance is blocking your empathy. You used to be sweet. See someone in trouble, you’d help them out. Now, your first impulse is to judge them. Often out loud, and too harshly.”

Clare was quiet.

“It’s the fuel.” Roberta looked pleased with herself. “There was water in it. Your little bike’s gonna be fine.”

“Cool.”

“Which bodes well for you being fine, as well.”

“Why?” Clare said. “You going to fix me, too?”

“Nope. You are.”