Forever Poi

by Tyler Colins

  “Earth to Fonne.”

  I saw Cash's lips move, but was back in Chicago.

  He leaned closer. “Let's try something else. How'd you track this guy of note down? And what 'note' were you referring to?”

  I refocused. “He left a Hansel-and-Gretel breadcrumb trail.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “He laid out a couple clues and I followed them. We caught up in a laneway one night.”

  “You didn't think you might need back-up when you met in a laneway?” The gaze was dark, the expression incredulous.

  “I had my handy-dandy hairbrush and manicure scissors,” I quipped.

  “Yeah, those would have clocked him senseless.” It was obvious he was keeping temper and tone in check. “What aren't you telling me, Fonne?”

  “Something you don't need to know—not now, and maybe never.”

  Cash lowered and drew a deep breath, but didn't pursue the questioning.

  A good time to switch gears. “So you're in town as Richie J. What's up, Mr. Drug Dealer?”

  “I have a transaction to oversee.”

  “Which is happening when?”

  “Tomorrow evening.”

  “And then you're back to Miami.”

  He nodded curtly.

  “Why take a chance on being seen with me?”

  “Richie J likes women and he likes them from all walks of life.” A scornful smile tugged at those sensual lips. “In fact, the more danger they pose—like when they're in law enforcement—the more he gets off.”

  Before a retort could leap from my mouth, Dean crooned. I grabbed the cell. “Yeah, what is it?”

  “Nice greeting, Fonne. Are you still with that creep?” Ald barked.

  I switched to cheery mode. “You're asking why?”

  “Because he's big trouble. One day I'm going to be called to a crime scene and find that you're the fatality and he's the reason why.”

  “Your concern's touching.”

  “… You still owe me dinner, Fonne.”

  “Mentally recorded. I'll touch base with a time and date soon.”

  Before Ald could utter another glacial word, I disconnected.

  “Anyone I know?” Cash asked.

  “Yes.”

  He smirked. “By the way, I left my stuff at your place. Where's Button?”

  “With our part-time assistant, Eddy. I'll pick her and her friends up in about an hour.” I exhaled slowly, feeling vexed. “I'm going to have to have a serious talk with Donnie about letting you into my condo.”

  “I let myself in.”

  “But he let you into the building and elevator.” I leaned forward. “And just so we're clear, you're staying in the guestroom.”

  He smirked again. “What's on the agenda?”

  I looked at the banker's box across the room and decided it should come home. “Care to help with the arson-slash-murder case?”

  “I might be persuaded … for a price.”

  “No sale.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Prying open one heavy eye, I found myself draped over a sofa armrest. A recently purchased coffee-table clock advised it was 9:35 p.m. Slumped on the opposite side, Cash was hugging Piggaletto.

  I choked back laughter. The cute little porker had a mushroom slice on his snout while Cash slept like a contented little boy clasping a stuffed toy. Not normally a snorer, he was one now: purring softly, like a kitten.

  Upon arrival at six-thirty, given the unrelenting heat and humidity, he'd discarded shoes and socks, and changed into splatter-print board shorts. I'd donned cut-offs. Never keen on A/C, I kept it on low, if on at all.

  An extra-large pizza carton was on the floor, so was what was left of the pizza. Cash and I had eaten two slices each, but it appeared that one of the “kids” had managed to clamber onto the kitchen counter and engage the trio in pizza-pie mischief. Button was dozing by the armoire with veggie bits and flecks of crust on her paws and mouth. Bonzo, lying alongside his best friend, had a sizable sliver tucked under that huge bunny body.

  I'd revealed a few facets of the case as Cash and I had eaten. Weariness and an overabundance of food, however, found me dozing off not long after the last bite. Cash, no doubt bored with watching me snooze, had probably drifted off into la-la-land not long thereafter.

  The shrill ringing of the mobile phone prompted action. Button sprang to her feet. Bonzo flew onto the sofa and then hopped hurriedly into the guestroom while I jumped across the room before it could awaken Cash. He was on his feet, however, before the second ring ended, much to Piggaletto's annoyance. Over-alertness was unquestionably a must-have skill in the agent profession. With a grunt, Cash sank into an armchair.

  “Hey you,” Rey greeted gaily, dance music thumping in the background. “How goes?”

  “Your rabbit just pooped on the sofa.”

  “I'll bring down cleaning stuff and spray in the morning.”

  The music intensified or maybe she'd moved closer to the speakers. “Are you at a nightclub?”

  “A bar in Mililani.”

  “What the hell are you doing in Mililani?” I all but squealed as I strolled into the lanai and stared across a busy park to a glittering ocean. Stars were out in full force.

  “Gail and I decided to check out a former patron of James-Henri's. Franco Mallard agreed to meet us at The Black Swann, a local hotspot.”

  “Do we still believe former gallery patrons and clients will provide value-add information at this point?” I asked dryly, sensing Cash step up behind (I'd be surprised if those inquisitive agent ears didn't revolve like satellites).

  “We do.”

  “Okay, I'll bite. What did Franco tell you?”

  “That he'd met Lolita at a showing on Maui many weeks back. She was selling Bizz Waxx as an up-and-comer. Lucky for her, a magazine and newspaper bought in, and both featured him that very week. She was such a good salesperson, she got Franco to buy two doors. His friend, Lester, and another acquaintance, name forgotten, bought windows.”

  “She sounds better than 'good'.”

  “Wanna hear something really interesting, Cousin Jilly?”

  “I do.”

  “Guess who her sidekick was that evening?”

  “If it wasn't her protégé, then I'd have to guess … James-Henri?”

  “Bingo!”

  “The plot thickens,” I said wryly. “Are you and Gail having too much fun to return anytime soon?”

  “We promised Franco we'd hang around. He's kinda cute and his friend, who just arrived, isn't bad either.” Her tone grew serious. “We need to ramp up.”

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “I feel as if we're dog-paddling in a giant bowl of oatmeal.”

  “That's a really super weird image.”

  “… I'm thinking we should check out Lolita's place.”

  “If the police found it, they've probably gone through it with a fine-tooth comb.”

  “… Probably.”

  “You heard Hives' lecture about breaking and entering.” She chuckled. “But when did we ever listen?”

  I straightened and drew a deep breath. “Let's do it.”

  “Tomorrow aft soon enough?”

  “It'll have to be.” I turned when Cash brushed up against me.

  Curiosity was emblazoned on his face. I felt compelled to pinch a cheek—and none too softly.

  Which prompted him to grab my chin and guide my mouth to his.

  “Is he there?” Rey demanded. “I'm gonna bet big bucks you're playing kissy-face with Secret Agent Man … Ms. Wham-Bam-Thank-You Ma'am.”

  “A rose by any other name,” I said with forced gaiety. Disconnecting, I leaned into the window and watched the traffic-heavy boulevard below. Rey was right to be annoyed. And I'd be right to not let anything transpire.

  But his lips were brushing the base of my neck and it felt—damn—really nice. Why couldn't I be free of him? Could it be … I suffered from Bad-Boy Syndrome?

  Men. Screw 'em. Figurative
ly speaking, of course.

  * * *

  I gave in and allowed Cash to share the bed (why, I'll never know or confess) and he appeared quite content to snuggle. At eleven, in underwear and Ts, the lights were off and we were intertwined like a mochi rice cake: I was the filling and he the paste.

  “Do you know anything about a former queenpin named Mary-Louise Crabtree?”

  “Should I?”

  “I thought you—or Richie J rather—might have met her during your drug-dealing travels. She was known in a few states. Other names include Lila Deadwood, Peppa Stone, and Metro Montana.”

  “I like the last one.” He chuckled, then yawned. “Didn't you mention something about checking out her place when you were on the phone?”

  I shrugged. “A passing thought.”

  “Stay out of trouble, Fonne.” He kissed my shoulder. “Plans for the morning?”

  “A walk with Button at 4:30. Then, breakfast for the frisky trio. Rey and I intend to get together, but the time hasn't been decided, so I guess the morning's free.”

  “I'll make coffee and breakfast while you're out.”

  “How very domestic,” I joked. “Doris is right. You are a keeper.”

  * * *

  Not long after drifting into dreamland, an urgent rap on the bedroom door preceded Cousin Reynalda's entry.

  Flipping on the light, she smirked. “Oh good. I didn't interrupt anything. How embarrassing would that have been?”

  I sat upright and Cash glared. “What brings you here at this time?”

  “Gail and I just got back. We got a flat, so it took longer than expected.” Smelling faintly of coffee and strongly of Chanel #5, she dropped onto the edge of the bed and looked from him to me and back. “Nice ass, Secret Agent Man.”

  “Nice mouth.”

  She stuck out her tongue.

  “Did you drop by unannounced to annoy us?” Cash asked flatly.

  “I dropped by to share something with my cousin and to see if you were here.” She yanked a small pink stun gun from a floral lace bomber jacket and aimed it. “It seems my cous doesn't have the balls to tell you to F off, but I do. In fact, this cute little weapon is going to zap yours if you don't leave … now.”

  “Listen, sistah, put that away or—”

  “Or?” She aimed it below his belly.

  “Or.” In a blink, he'd dislodged the stun gun from her determined grip and zapped her in the right shoulder.

  A strident shriek prompted Bonzo to bounce into the room, bound across his mother's lap, and then dive under the bed. Button and Piggaletto raced in, hurdled across the bed, and raced back out. Rey's grass-green eyes widened with pained surprise. “You shit! That hurt!”

  “These aren't legal in this state, darlin',” he said bluntly, tucking the stun gun in a nightstand drawer. “You may want to take self-defense courses. Weaponry 101 would do you some good, too.”

  She winced and cursed. “Cousin Jilly doesn't need you in her life.”

  “Why's that?”

  “You're a user.”

  “I'm not a user, dearheartt, and JJ has a mind and mouth. If she wants me out of her life, she can say so.”

  Rey's gaze was as challenging as her tone. “Okay, Ms. Wham-Bam-Thank-You Ma'am. Tell us what we both should know.”

  “Frankly, at the moment, I want sleep.” I grabbed a pillow and swatted her with it, then him. “But if we're going to tell all, here it is: Jones, I don't want you, or your alter ego, calling me whenever you or he decides you have a few minutes to spare. As for you, Cousin Reynalda, Linda seems fine with you bossing her around, but I don't care for it. I'll always welcome your opinions and support, but I won't welcome—or obey—those major-general commands.”

  Indignant, Rey sniffed and looked at Cash, who rolled his eyes.

  “While we're baring all, is there anything you two would like to tell me?”

  “I don't care for that I'm-always-right attitude of yours,” my cousin spat.

  “I'm-always-right attitude?” I smacked her with the pillow again. “What the hell.”

  She caught me by surprise—with a right jab—and I tumbled from the bed. “Bitch.”

  “Don't you call me bitch, bitch!”

  I wasn't quite sure how we came to roll and lurch across the room with fists swinging, but the next thing I knew, Cash was hauling us to our feet … which resulted in him receiving a left hook from yours truly and a cross punch from Rey.

  He flew into the wall and, stunned, sank to the floor.

  “Oopsy,” Rey and I murmured in unison.

  “Ladies.” He offered a flaccid salute and finger, and blacked out.

  “Dang,” I murmured.

  “Double dang.” She draped an arm around my waist. “He's gonna be super p-o'd when he opens those gorgeous green eyes.”

  I nodded. “Drink?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did you come to share, by the way?” I asked as we stepped from the bedroom.

  “I put in an offer on that house of ours.”

  * * *

  “Say, when did you let your legs get werewolf hairy?”

  “I didn't,” he replied flatly. “There's a petting zoo in the bed.”

  I turned on the light to find Button laying alongside Cash, Piggaletto's snout pressed against his feet, and Bonzo between our legs. The trio looked our way, rounded eyes and fuzzy faces as innocent as Muppet babies.

  “How's the face?”

  “It feels exactly how I'd imagine it would after being sucker-punched by a couple of cat-fighting women,” he replied irritably. “Thanks for leaving me on the floor while you two indulged in champagne to celebrate those new digs.”

  “Potential new digs.”

  “Whatever.” He sat up and looked at the clock. “Shouldn't you have been dog-walking ninety minutes ago?”

  “We went and returned.”

  His forehead furrowed. “Really?”

  “Uh-huh. Coffee's timed to brew at seven.”

  “I must have been really knackered.”

  “We both were.” I stretched. “I still am, to be honest.”

  “There's no rush to be anywhere, for a while anyway.” He leaned close. “Care to kiss my boo-boos?” He winked. “Or would you rather tell me to F off?”

  “F off.” I swept lips across a discolored cheek, then brushed them along a small scratch received when Button, concerned about her felled “boyfriend”, pawed his face worriedly.

  “You can't get rid of me that easily.” Flipping me onto my back, he nuzzled by neck, then scanned my face when I didn't respond. “What's with the perturbed look?”

  “I was thinking how I wished I'd continued with those martial arts classes.” Playfully, I bit his chin. “Then I could knock you on your sorry butt.”

  He grinned. “How many classes did you take?”

  “Four. Rey managed two and Linda got through ten.”

  “You should reconsider.” Laughing, he kissed a trail from my neck downward. “It's a valuable asset in your line of work.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Coffee smells good,” Cash murmured as we moved into the living room after taking an unhurried shower.

  “You don't smell so bad yourself,” I murmured, one hand fumbling with a towel hanging from wet hair and the other awkwardly tightening a belt on a kimono-sleeved robe.

  He was wearing a long fleece one kept on hand for Quincy, but given Cash's build, it was three sizes too small. “Yeah, for a guy wearing mango-coconut body wash.”

  Pouring Kona coffee, I asked, “Toasted bagels with eggs?”

  “You know how to cook eggs?”

  I shot a get-real look.

  “Do you?” he repeated with eyes as round as billiard balls.

  “I think I can manage to boil or fry them.” I smiled dully. “Name your poison.”

  “Uh, boiled.”

  Putting eggs in a pot on the stove, I leaned into the kitchen counter. “What happens upon return to Miami
?”

  He stared over the coffee mug. “Richie J continues doing what he does best. And you?”

  “We continue with the arson-murder case.”

  “I'd keep a wary eye on Cholla Poniard. She sounds like serious trouble.”

  I frowned and nodded.

  “What about the laneway guy?”

  My frown intensified. “What about him?”

  “Who is he?”

  “… I can't tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “… You'd go after him.”

  It was his turn to frown. “Why would I do that?”

  To share or not to? Damn. Let's see how far it would go. “He was Colt's associate. But listen, Jones, there's no proof he ever murdered anyone or did anything—”

  “Are you kidding me? Colt was a double-agent who had no qualms about killing anyone who looked at him the wrong way. I'd bet Richie J's condo and boat that this 'associate' has the same murderous inclinations.”

  While it was true I didn't know anything about Morton Smith's past, I still sensed his future would be a law-abiding one. The man was ecstatic and proud about being a father, so much so he'd shared the exciting news. He'd be around for his baby. Yes, he'd made threats, but my P.I. gut advised he'd never make good on them.

  “Spill it, Fonne.” The gaze was as dark as the tone. “Where do I find Mr. Abominable Snowman?”

  “You don't. I do.” I sipped slowly as I watched displeasure darken Cash's face. “I need him to help with the case.”

  “I ask again: are you kidding me?”

  “No. I'm sure he'll help … because I'm going to promise him that you, and anyone you work with, won't pursue him. Ever.”

  Cash's laugh was scornful. “Your case is that important?”

  Anger warmed my cheeks. “Do you think this case is a Scooby-Doo-and-company jaunt? If the female private eyes solve it, kudos to them, and if they don't, no big deal.”

  “You're being ridiculous.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Okay, you're being totally logical.” He sneered, then inhaled deeply. “You're asking me to forget years of law enforcement training, ethics and principles, Fonne.”

  “… I am.”

  He glanced sideward. “The pot's boiling over.”

  “So am I.”