The Hinky Velvet Chair
Page 27
Jewel said, “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Othmar. We’ll take your word for it.”
That made Mrs. Othmar blink.
My sex demon is a walking hinky detector. He would know if there was anything on the premises.
“Do you happen to recall the man’s name? The man who visited your home? Or the name of the man he said would buy it?”
Mrs. Othmar was still blinking. “I think Joseph? Samuel? Something biblical. It was on a patch on his windbreaker. The windbreaker was blue,” she added helpfully.
“Did he show you any identification?”
“Naturally. I insisted.” More blinks. “But unfortunately I don’t recall—”
“How about the guy who buys hinky — who buys houses?”
“He gave me a card for that man. I’ve been looking for it.”
Jewel’s hopes collapsed. “If you find it, will you phone me? I’d like to see it.” Mrs. Othmar still seemed upset. “Do you happen to know if he visited any other homes on your block?”
“I asked around,” Mrs. Othmar said. “He hadn’t. That’s why I complained to my alderman. It was as if he chose me to bilk.” She was plenty mad about that. “He must have expected a fool.”
“Well, he knows better now,” Jewel said.
That pleased her. “Of course I complained immediately.”
It took twenty more minutes to get out of there.
On the way to the car Jewel said, “She got rid of the pocket zone after she complained and before we got here.”
“Ten four,” Randy said.
She socked him on the arm. “I’m cutting off your television privileges until you can drive sanely.” She got them onto Lake Shore Drive. A faint haze of pink smog hung over the Drive, promising a doozy of a morning traffic jam.
“What is a pocket zone, anyway?” Clay said. “Other than something the city can condemn your house for.”
“A pocket zone is a little patch of unreality. A — a hinky spot.” She still found it hard to say the word magic.
“How big a spot?”
“Depends. They say Pittsburgh started with a pocket zone on a single seat on a commuter train. They don’t know if some guy died there, or if a teenager had her baby there, or what. It spread through the train, and they think somehow the train spread it across the city. Pocket zones formed in places along the rail lines and the expressways. Nobody knows for sure, and the people who know the most are behind the yellow-striped barricades.”
“That makes it kind of tricky to gather information, doesn’t it?” Clay drawled.
“Don’t get me started on how the feds ‘fix’ things.”
“So the city will condemn a place with a pocket zone on it?”
“First I’ve heard about it. Inspectional Services should have reported it directly to me.” She frowned out the windshield at two teenagers in Grant Park who were holding up lighters and giggling, trying to coax a pigeon to bring a cigarette butt close enough to light it. “But if it’s hinky, it stays hinky, doesn’t it? Randy? You didn’t feel anything on her premises?”
He shook his head.
“So somebody has figured out how to, what? Fake a pocket zone? Let’s report to Ed. I need coffee.”
They were stopped dead at the light at Jackson Boulevard.
“I thought I was to drive,” Randy whined. “How may I acquire a license without practice?”
“Oooh, all right.” Out of misguided pity, she switched seats with him. While she made notes on her clipboard, she overheard snatches of conversation from the front seat.
“Darn, she’s moody. You didn’t stork her, did you?” Clay said to Randy. “Go straight here. You can get off at Randolph.”
“Give her a slip on the shoulder? No.”
“You’re awfully positive.”
“A sex demon knows these things. I see every part of her.”
“Too much information. Turn right here. Wait, wait! Wait for the light!” The car jerked to a stop. “Now you can go.” The car jerked forward. “Wait for this guy to turn.” The car jerked to a stop again. Clay called from the front seat, “Stay calm back there! We’re just building a little right-of-way awareness!”
Jewel shut the file, laid it on the car seat beside her, and covered her eyes.
She wasn’t calm. She was jonesing for coffee, tired, hungry, annoyed, afraid for her life, and, under all of that, horny. Maybe it was because she was sitting in a car with two men she’d had sex with recently. Clay claimed he didn’t want to mess up their work partnership by sleeping with her, but he’d had two shots at it on their last undercover case. He wasn’t bad, either. And he never, ever stopped competing with Randy.
Randy, of course, did her with mind-blowing magical sex-demon tricks every single night.
For some reason, dating two guys was exhausting her. Since she’d hit the city she’d dated uncountable men, bedded and dumped them. When that got scary she stopped, and, just when the pressure had built to the internal combustion point, she’d found Randy and rescued him from sexual slavery to a brass bed. And now he was her sex slave. Though Jewel might as well be his slave, since he lived with her, worked with her, and haunted her dreams.
Add a manipulative sneakypants for a partner. Put them all in a car. Clamp the lid on and shake—
The car bounced heavily. She bit her tongue. “Ow!”
“My apologies!” Randy called.
“Be careful!”
The car hit a pot hole. Jewel almost swallowed her tongue.
“My apologies!”
o0o
Acknowledgments
I owe thanks to many people for their help with this book. In almost chronological order: Rich Bynum, a writer’s dream husband; Nalo Hopkinson, for The Connection; Pam & Bar Man Mordecai, Larissa Lai, and Hiromi Goto, for being there from the start; Beata Hayton, for The Other Connection; “Mr. Balantine” for invaluable insider info; MJ Carlson for straight dope; Betsy Mitchell, editor and major saint; Ysabeau Wilce, for brainstorming and lifesaving; Simone Elkeles and Amey Larmore, for synopsis genius; Officer Sue Heneghan, Chief Greg Shields, and Ed Myer, for advice on tracer anklets; Arrit McPherson, for advice on parasailing; Cat Eldridge, for encouragement and support above & beyond all my desserts; Leah Cutter for cover design, Julie Griffin for the smoking pigeon, Sherwood Smith for copyedits, and Julianne Lee for ebook formatting; and my wonderful readers, Jackie Wallis, John & Pam Nikitow, Theodore & Sylvia Halkin, Pam Telfer, Marianne Frye, Mindy “She’s So” Fine, Yvonna Yirka, Kate Early, Nnedi Okorafor-Mbachu, Kari Hayes, Bev Long, Martha Whitehead, Marilyn Weigel, and the ladies of Chicago-North RWA.
o0o
Special Thanks
To the heroes of the Chicago Department of Consumer Services, who make the city a better place to live, in so many ways.
o0o
All Rights Reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictional or used in an imaginary manner to entertain, and any resemblance to any real people, situations, or incidents is purely coincidental.
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Copyright & Credits
The Hinky Velvet Chair
Hinky Chicago Book Two
Jennifer Stevenson
Book View Café Edition September 10, 2013
ISBN: 978 1 61138 287 7
Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Stevenson
First published: 2008
Cover design by Leah Cutter
www.KnottedRoadPress.com
Smoking Pigeon image by Julie Griffin
Production team:
Copyeditor, Sherwood Smith
Formatter, Julianne Lee
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About the Author
Jennifer Stevenson loves dark chocolate, Chicago, and crows, and she would never buy cigarettes for pigeons. She thinks up new uses for old sex demons for money and lives in the C
hicago area with her husband and two cats.
About Book View Café
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