Dirty Little Secrets

Chapter Four

“Then I thought, maybe that is the problem. Because I keep swimming oceans for people, who wouldn’t jump over a puddle for me.” –Unknown

 

I’ve done a lot of nasty things in my time to get things done.

Sometimes the only way to get a dirty job done is to do it the hard way. I’m not going to tell you some of the highlights, because they are most definitely going to be the things I go to hell for, but let’s just say there are some people who have been seriously injured because of my impatience.

I’ve also done a lot of jobs for a lot of different people. Whether it be mayors, principals, politicians, CEOs and lawyers—even a murderer, at one particularly nasty case—it’s safe to say I’ve pulled a few extreme risks in my time. Of course, these are just things that come with the job sometimes, but they are still not particularly nice things I like to reminisce on.

That’s why, when Mr. Solomon called me into his classroom, I was not at all surprised or intimidated by the fact an authority figure was calling on me for help.

Mr. Solomon was the youngest teacher at our school, and the object of many girl’s crushes. He was only around twenty-four, fresh out of college, and had that tanned look that so many girls liked. He was tall, lean and athletic, with cropped light hair and a distinctive jawline. Totally drool-worthy, I’ll admit, but not really my type.

“Solomon,” I greeted as I breezed into his English classroom Thursday morning, examining my nails, which had been freshly manicured with a sparkly black.

“Cam,” he replied, leaning against the desk and crossing his arms over his chest. “How are you this morning?”

“Just perfect,” I replied. “But why don’t we cut down on the pleasantries and just get down to business. How does that sound?”

He nodded his consent. “Okay. I hear you’re the girl to come to if you ever need help.”

I smiled. “The one and only. Tell me what you need, I name a price, and I get it done for you.”

“And I’ve been told it’s with total discretion?” he asked, glancing around, as if worried someone would peek in and spot what was happening.

I nodded. “Oh, definitely. Cross my heart. What can I do for you, Leo?”

“H-How do you know my name?” he questioned, caught off-guard.

“I know everything about everything in Leighton Fields,” I told him. “I also know you went here when you were in high school, then you moved to New York and graduated from Langley University with a masters in English and a minor in History, and you’re totally into classic novels. Modern-day romantic, are we?”

“I…” He trailed off, obviously unsure on what, exactly, he was supposed to say. He shook his head as if to clear it of cobwebs. “Look, it doesn’t matter. The fact of the matter is that I need your help, Camila.”