“Axel, I have soooo many questions for you, but I don’t want to bombard you all at once.”
He shrugged. “You can ask me whatever. But it’s not like we’re not going to see each other again.”
She smirked as he started up the engine. He too must’ve realized they’d been sitting there laughing and talking for hours. The park was now closed. “Oh, is that so?”
“Yeah, that’s so.” His teeth sank into his lower lip as he traveled the path toward the exit. So hot. “So, what do you think about Sunday? My work schedule is kinda crazy, but I can do Sunday afternoon.”
“What are we going to do? Go to an Italian place where the mafia is sitting around with guns pointed at us?” she teased. “You might have a habit of taking me to good but dangerous places. That lady’s mouth was reckless.”
“And so was yours. You see she shut up.”
She couldn’t help but giggle at that. Perhaps she went in a little too hard on the woman, but oh, well.
“Sunday at what time?” She reached into her purse, grabbed her lipstick, and reapplied.
“Maybe ’round five as long as I don’t get a call from the police or anyone.” She nodded in understanding. “And I don’t know why you’re putting on lipstick. I’m just gonna eat it off.”
She shrieked when he yanked his truck over to the side of the road, parked it, and proceeded to suck out her soul when his lush mouth touched hers. She melted into the motherfucker, her body on fire. Then, when she had turned to jelly, he broke the kiss, put the truck in drive, and went on about his way, as though nothing had even happened. When he arrived at her condo, he helped her out of the truck and walked her up to her front door.
“I had a nice time, Axel. Thanks for dinner.”
He nodded, then leaned in and kissed her cheek, heading back to his vehicle after he saw her open her door.
“Good night, sugar.” His tone was wispy, low-pitched and sexy.
She watched him walk back to his truck, his footsteps hard, then get inside.
Tonight was more than just a good date. This was a solid connection…
They waved to each other once more, and she entered her home, locking the door behind her. She smelled like delicious greasy Chinese food, and his cologne. She didn’t know the name of it, but she’d forever associate that scent with him. It became a part of her over the last few hours, just like the smile that took over her face.
Chapter Six
Axel stood under the roaring shower, shampoo in his hair. The water was almost too hot to bear, but he wanted a deep clean, so he kept it that way. Grime. Filth. Stench. Pain. Be gone.
In the basin of the shower enclosure, the once dirty water was now clear. He stared at his big feet, the suds collecting around them until they, too, were gone.
He’d been covered in proper protective attire from the top of his head to the bottom of his thick rubber boots, as he always was for his job, but he’d been called over to a hoarder’s home, and that was a different animal altogether. Irrespective of the elaborate equipment—clothing layers, goggles, elbow length gloves—he still felt as if he was encrusted in dirt and dust after walking out of that place. He and his crew worked around the professional junk haulers transporting considerable piles of trash. It was a small two-bedroom, well-built house, on a nice tree-lined street, that was roach and vermin infested. Besides the critters, the old man had died alone.
He’d been there amid the countless stacks of garbage, papers, expired and rotten food, overflowing sewage from the non-functional toilet, moth-eaten magazines from the 1980s, and grocery sacks of soiled adult diapers in each and every room. According to the coroner, the man had been deceased for at least a week. Only the mailman noticed something was amiss, for the old man always retrieved his mail from the box, and said hello to him when they’d spot one another. But said mail had begun stacking up. Red flag. And then, there was the odor—far more pungent than usual. The mail carrier called the police for a wellness check once six days of no mail retrieval had passed.
Axel grabbed his bar of soap, lathered his fingers for the third time, and took great care in going over his nails and knuckles, and in between his digits, too. His mind kept drifting to the old man, no matter how he tried to hum songs and push the thought away. Perhaps due to his own trials and tribulations as of late, this case had yanked on the fact that no one is promised tomorrow. Life was so fragile.
Such cases were always a bit harder to deal with—elderly lonely people with no family or friends, left to literally rot. Just as bad, if not worse, were the cleanup jobs after children had passed away. Sometimes, it was due to violence or neglect, occasionally due to them being in hospice at home, facing death after enduring a lifelong pediatric illness. He could stomach the gruesome scenes, while so many others fell apart. He could tolerate the bilious smells. The crying and prying eyes of neighbors and fair-weather friends. The dried blood, piss-soaked sheets, feces and maggots.