by David Stever
“Are. You. Kidding. Me,” she said, each word slow and deliberate. “They were together the whole time you were…I was so right. Damn. The definition of friends with benefits. You and Curtis took turns in Captain Lane’s bed. Every time he was out, you were…two of you…oh my God. A traffic jam on Abby Road.”
Mike’s entire body turned red and the moment was more than funny. I poured him a quick shot of Irish whiskey and he threw it back.
She climbed on top of the bar. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am the queen of relationships.”
“Okay, you were right. So?”
She hopped down. “So, now you know to consult me with all relationship issues.”
“Wait,” Monica said. “I definitely missed something.”
The door opened and the mail carrier came in with letters and a small box addressed to me.
Katie offered me a knife. “Are you going to open it?”
“Nah, I will take it upstairs.”
“Now that we are done with my humiliation, I have a question.” Mike looked at me. “Why do you think she spared you? Talia killed everyone who got close except you.”
I contemplated telling them how I pulled a skinny, malnourished, abused teen from an ungodly vile situation, but it would only lead to more questions. “A story for another day.”
Monica’s new phone buzzed. “My ride is here.” She hopped off the barstool and balanced herself with the crutches. “Hey, you earned a hug,” she said to me.
Mike and Katie came around the bar for hugs, too.
I opened my arms, but instead, she pulled my face to hers and planted a full, open-mouth kiss on me. She broke away. “Always wanted to do that.” She then grabbed Katie and kissed her full on the mouth. “That too.” She whispered something into Katie’s ear, who was so stunned she froze in place. To me: “I should retire and come work here.”
“After that kiss, you can work here anytime.”
She tossed us a wave as she hobbled out. “Later, friends.”
Katie couldn’t move.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She nodded and slowly walked, as if she were in a trance, to the kitchen.
I looked at Mike. “Don’t see that every day.”
“Not complaining.”
###
Upstairs in my condo, I poured two fingers of bourbon into a rocks glass and pulled Charlie Parker’s One Night in Birdland from my shelf and slid it into the CD player. I needed some cool sax after the past few days.
The box did not have a return address, but somehow, I knew the contents. I sliced the tape and slowly opened it.
A note on top:
Johnny, until we meet again.
Love,
Talia
“No doubt we will, Talia. No doubt we will.”
I took the pink bunny from the box. Never did I think the young girl I rescued a long time ago would come back into my life. I took the bunny, the note, and my drink to my balcony and stretched out on my chair.
There are people who travel through your life who are insignificant, and then there are those who leave an indelible impression. Talia Thorne’s lifelong impact on me was full of conflicting emotions. My heart broke when I found her in the squalor of the Hotel Atlantic, and I violated so many rules and regulations the department could have fired me three times.
I was more than grateful to discover she was alive, and successful, and thriving, only to be disappointed by her chosen and twisted lifestyle. And my heart was touched to learn she still held a spot for me in her heart. The damage she suffered as a child influenced and controlled her behavior. There was no excuse for her criminality, but for me, and maybe only me, it was understandable.
I took my time finishing my bourbon, staring out at the city. Wondering. What was her name? Did she even know her real name? Where did she go? Stan’s money landed in a bank in the Cayman Islands. Would the island be her first stop, or was the bank only a transfer account, with the funds instantly moved elsewhere? She could be anywhere on this globe by now. A beach, a mountain. Or she could be right here in Port City. Short hair, different color, a new name, a new identity. Would I recognize her? Certainly.
I placed the pink bunny, the note, and her note from twenty years ago, in the box and tucked it away on the top shelf of my bedroom closet.
“Until we meet again.”
49
The limousine door opened, and we slid out. I caught two of the valet guys sneaking a second glance at her, and who could blame them. A hostess opened the door; we walked in, her arm in mine.
“Johnny Delarosa. Good evening and welcome.”
“Hello, Charles.”
“I have the perfect table waiting for you. Follow me.”
She whispered to me. “You know the maître de?”
“I get around.”
She wore a tight royal-blue dress that stopped three inches above her knee, a plunge of a neckline, but not too low, accented with a sapphire and diamond necklace. Her matching slingback heels accentuated her long, shapely legs and her trademark blonde hair fell in waves to the middle of her back. The Blue Coral Lounge was perfectly packed, and Charles led us through a maze of tables to ours at the front of the room. She turned every head in the place. Male and female. It was a Bond girl, show-stopping scene if there ever was one.
“You certainly know how to make an entrance.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
A waiter appeared. “Two dry martinis up, with your best gin, and olives,” I said.
“Yessir.”
“Martinis? Fancy,” Katie said.
“Top shelf tonight.” A jazz quartet was on stage, putting a new spin on “Dream A Little Dream of Me.” The band had a female singer named Seely, and she had a soulful, sultry voice that did a cool justice to the Ella tune.
“Even though we maintain our employer-employee relationship, I want to say you are absolutely stunning tonight.”
“Why, thank you, Mister Delarosa. I appreciate everything you did. I can’t believe we are at the Blue Coral.”
“You deserve a night on the town. I’m surprised you are not wearing all black.”
“Aren’t you funny. I think my Monica phase is over.”
“What did she say to you the other day, after she planted the kiss?”
“She said she will teach me to use my sexuality not to attract men, but to control them.”
“And?”
“Mons is unique, intense, fun, and I can learn from her, but I think I am better off being myself. All that macho stuff is not me. I need to learn to use my own skills and to discover and develop my own talents.”
“Truer words were never spoken. I’m impressed.” I remembered the night I pulled her from a warehouse and how she came back asking for a job. Mike and I were so amused we couldn’t refuse. She had since transformed our lives and I couldn’t imagine the bar and my work without her. She was the closest I would ever come to having a daughter, and the pride welled in me.
“Are you the same woman who nail gunned a man to a deck? I heard about you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. A woman of my grace, class, and sophistication wouldn’t dream of touching a hammer, let alone some filthy nail gun.”
“My mistake.”
The martinis arrived and we toasted. “To your future as a private detective,” I said.
“And to my friend, employer, mentor, and the man who has saved me from myself more times than I can count.” She raised her glass, then sipped. “Whoa, strong.”
“Hey, every Bond girl can drink a martini.”
“I’ll take it slow. Don’t want to ruin the perfect evening.”
The singer, Seely, called for everyone’s attention. “Down front here is my good friend, Johnny.” She waved and I waved back. “And this next song goes out to the beautiful blonde at his table. Katie, this is for you.”
The band eased its way into “The Way You Look Tonight.”
“You know her, too?” she asked.
“I get around.”
The music flowed over us and I couldn’t help but to sit back and take in the wonder of Katie. So grateful this beautiful, smart, funny, quirky person filled my life.
A smile on her face and a tear in her eye, she reached across the table and put her hand on mine.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Publishing a book is a team effort and I have a great team! Brandi Doane McCann (ebook-coverdesigns.com) once again did a wonderful job designing the cover for the book. Much thanks!
My editor, Faith Williams, (www.theatwatergroup.com) always works overtime cleaning and polishing what I have written. I am grateful for her expert guidance. A big thank you to my proofreading team: Helene, Cassidy, Mark, and Matt, who spent a lot of time finding errors and making corrections!
A special debt of gratitude to Corbin and Larry Nulton, of Nulton Aviation, Johnstown, PA, for their consultation on the technical aspects of “flying under the radar.” The father and son team are experienced pilots, businessmen, and more importantly, trusted friends. They do own a twin-engine Beechcraft, but I assure you it is used only for good, and not for evil. Thanks guys!
Thank you to my brother Matt, for his expertise on the weaponry described in the book, and to my brother Mark, for his constant support and promotion of the series.
A heartfelt thank you to my wife, Helene, for her constant love, support, and encouragement. And a thank you to my writing partners, Lucy and Kent, who keep us all young.
This book is dedicated to three smart, funny, hard-working, and extraordinary individuals. My children: Brian, Kevin, and Cassidy. Thank you for your love, inspiration, and support. You make me proud every day. I love you.
Johnny Delarosa will return!
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