Hot Stuff

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  Most of the day I spent watching Asha and Raj go through a series of love scenes that made me blush and made me wonder how Jake dealt with watching another man’s hands roving around his intended’s softer parts. I started imagining Brig and me in similar circumstances.

  I missed him. I missed his laughter and the thick Irish brogue he assumed when he thought the occasion suited it. I missed his quick mind and his lack of fear and his concern for his friends. I missed the taste and feel of his lips. I missed the warmth of his body beside me. I needed much more than one brief, chaste night in his arms.

  I sat up. What was I thinking? I’d already concluded that the man put the K in crook. I mean, really, only today he’d gone off to see “some people.” Black marketeers? His Merry Men? Burglars-R-Us? Even if he felt the way I did, there was no future in this relationship. I could see it now.

  “Hi, Mom. This is Briggan O’Brien. I’m not sure what he does for a living, but he has friends on all continents. And his picture is up in a lot of post offices and train stations throughout the Western world. Oops. Make that the East as well. Not to mention all points north and south. Rather like the witches in Oz. But, hey! He spent his teen years in Riverdale even if on occasion he sounds like a charter member of the Society for the Preservation of Leprechauns.”

  Actually, Mom would love him immediately. It would be the discussion with my father that would send me into an arranged marriage with the first Wall Street mogul my male parent hauled in while dining at Twenty-One.

  Mom would be singing “Over the Rainbow.” My father would be hiring detectives. I would then cajole with “Father, you always wanted me to bring home a nice man who grew up in Manhattan. One who has eclectic tastes and can speak more than one language. Well, here he is. Yes, he lists robbing the rich and giving to the poor on his tax returns under ‘Occupation, ’ but he’s truly a sweet guy. Practical. Stable.”

  In the midst of this absurd daydream about this unlikely, silly, and just plain stupid scene, the man himself appeared. He couldn’t just walk up and greet me though. Oh no. That would be too simple, too plebeian for Mr. O’Brien. He had to make an entrance, even if he was seated as he did so. He waved at me from the top of a glassed-in animal cage stored at one end of the carnival tent. He looked very pleased with himself.

  I wondered if he’d look that pleased if he realized the cage was swarming with snakes.

  Chapter 27

  I lied. Yes, I’m a linguist. And yes, I do have a decent vocabulary. I take a special interest in the meaning of words. Which is why I was pretty darn certain snakes do not swarm. Bees swarm.

  To be honest, I’m not sure what snakes do when two or more get together to chat, but even if that activity could be called swarming, I exaggerated somewhat. There were two snakes, total, in the cage. I don’t believe even two bees constitute a swarm. Nonetheless, if Brig realized he’d chosen a spot above two cobras, swarming or not, he’d be less than pleased. He’d be paralyzed. Or passed out entirely.

  “You look a bit too content with your lot in life, Mr. O’Brien. Did your buddies direct you to whoever is currently holding Shiva’s Diva, give you tea, then send you out to retrieve the goddess without incident?”

  Brig shook his head. “Cynical. Bless your heart. I’m gone four hours and you’ve turned cynical. It’s because you need me around to keep you sweet and trusting and lovely and sexy and—”

  “Brig? What did you find out? And you can stop the list of compliments you’re apt to be tryin’ on me, lad.”

  “I’m just getting warmed up, you know. On the list of your better attributes.”

  “Well, hang on to them to warm you on a cold winter’s night. I swear, trying to extract info from you is like trying to milk Bambi the elephant. What did you find out?”

  He sighed. “Not a blessed thing.”

  “Beg pardon? You’re looking like the proverbial cat with a whiskerful of cream on its mug, but you don’t know diddly?”

  “You’re doing it again.”

  “I’m doing what?”

  “Mixing your metaphors. Slaying your similes. Pounding your paradoxes. Ousting your oxymorons.”

  “Brig!”

  “Sorry. What were you asking? Ah. If any discoveries were made. Actually, it’s been a most frustrating day. I hit Ray’s hotel. No statue.”

  “He still there? I mean, checked in and all?”

  “Oh yeah. Very much there. I could hear him snoring all the way out in the corridor.”

  I threw him a quick glance. “I thought you told me the rooms were so soundproof you hadn’t been able to hear anything when you were eavesdropping on Mahindra and Ray the other morning. Yesterday?”

  He looked not the least ashamed to be caught in a fib. “We’el, I might be stretching the truth just a wee bit there about hearing actual snoring from the corridor. But, Ray Decore was inside and definitely asleep. I peeked in on him from the balcony doors and saw him lyin’ on the bed and whispering sweet nothings to his pillow.”

  “You were on the balcony? Are you nuts? How in hell did you get up there anyway? I don’t remember a fire escape nearby.”

  “You’ve got good eyes. As well as beautiful. And you’re right, there are no stairs by the balconies. But I’ve done a spot of mountain climbing in my time. I simply shimmied up to floor five.”

  The lunatic truly was a second-story man. And today he’d added another three stories.

  “You did this in broad, blazing daylight?”

  He seemed surprised. “Well, naturally. If I went sneaking up the side of a luxury hotel in the middle of the night, it’d look quite suspicious. Daytime? Who cares? Anyone not busy with their own business would assume a man climbing outside a building had a damn good reason to be doing so. Checking security. Washing windows. Having an assignation. Avoiding a spouse. Any number of innocent explanations. Who’s to notice a man rappeling in reverse?”

  He had me. It was so ludicrous it made sense.

  “Okay. So you do your Spider-Man routine up the side of the Taj Hotel and peek in through the doors outside Ray’s balcony and see him snoozing. How do you know the statue wasn’t there with him? Or packed with the Armanis?”

  Brig studied the top of the carnival tent with intense interest. He didn’t answer.

  “Brig?”

  “Well, if you must know, I searched his room.”

  I groaned. “You went in and tossed his things and he just lay there?”

  “The man’s a world-class champion sleeper. But I think this particular nap might have been kicked up a bit thanks to the stash of morphine on his bedside table.”

  “Morphine?”

  “He got shot last night, Tempe. Or knifed. Leg? Thigh? Remember? Which is how you were able to squirm out of the way of Ray’s nasty gun while he howled. I hate to ruin any previous impressions you might have from TV. Regardless of how heroes in crime shows pop up and run away after being riddled with bullets that would take down a charging moose, getting shot hurts. One hell of a lot. Wee bottles of children’s aspirin won’t end that kind of pain anytime soon.”

  “Ah.” I paused and remembered the cry from Ray last night when whatever got him tore through his thigh. I winced.

  Brig motioned for me to join him on top of the glass cage. It was apparent he still hadn’t noticed the inhabitants. I politely declined his invitation. I’m not terribly afraid of snakes, especially when they’re behind a sturdy partition, but the idea of conducting a nice tête-à-tête on top of a nest of crawlers made my skin crawl more than the serpents, who at this point still seemed to be asleep.

  “Uh, Brig?”

  “Mmmm?”

  “Do you know what you’re sitting on? Do you have any idea at all?”

  Both eyebrows raised in an attitude of bewilderment.

  “Well, this is a carnival tent. And I’m on top of a cage of some sort of animal creatures. I don’t know. Whoever they are, they seem pretty quiet. A lot like Ray. Sleeping tigers? Sleeping monkeys? Sle
eping gorillas?”

  “Want to try sleeping cobras?”

  Expressions of intense panic followed by intense fear flooded his face. He froze. For a moment I thought he would faint right there onto the cage itself.

  “Brig? You don’t look too happy. In fact, you look rather sick. No offense. Brig! Brig! Snap out of it! Hey! Do you need some help climbing down?”

  He continued to stare at me.

  “Brig? You okay? Brig! Listen. It’s okay. They’re behind glass. The snakes. They can’t get out. Honest. And I’m sure they’re defanged anyway. Um. Brig. Listen to me. There’s a ladder on the side. Just take it, stay quiet, and come down.”

  He hadn’t said a word. But he followed my instructions and inched down the ladder.

  We stood in front of the glass prison and stared at each other for at least two minutes.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Brig finally choked out.

  “I thought you knew. How did you get on top of the damn thing in the first place if you didn’t crawl up the ladder? Where, quite plausibly, you would have seen the serpent critters inside?”

  He pointed to the top of the tent. A rope swung leisurely from a tightrope that was stretched between two small platforms.

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did. I wanted a bit of practice.”

  “So you did a swashbuckler with the rope? You are so nuts.”

  He looked hurt. “I did not use the rope. Not till I decided to land on this evil cage. I used the tightrope and walked. Then I jumped down.”

  “You can balance on a tightrope?”

  “Well, certainly. You’re a gymnast. A tightrope is a lot like those tiny little balance beams. You yourself have done hundreds of spins and splits and leaps and flips off them without a care.”

  I didn’t bother to point out that a balance beam is only four feet six inches off the floor, whereas a circus tightrope is yards above the ground, and there wasn’t a safety net anywhere in sight.

  I debated whether it would be better to ignore his more outrageous exploits or lecture him on the value of safety. If I dismissed his tightrope routine as no big deal, he’d be convinced I wasn’t impressed. So he’d try and top himself with something crazier and more dangerous.

  Then again, if I told him he was deranged, he’d do something worse to prove I was being foolish by worrying. He’d trot back to the snake cage, be brave enough to grab one of them and use the serpent to swing himself over to the cannon in the back of the tent. There, he’d light a match and shoot himself out of the cannon, grinning all the while.

  I shuddered. “Okay, ropes and balance beams aside, you searched Ray’s room and didn’t find the Diva. Right?”

  He nodded. “Do you mind if we move away just a tad from the serpents? They freeze the bloody blood in every one of my veins. I’d love to tell you about the rest of my day, just not next door to the lads here. Or lasses. I have no desire to get close enough to check name tags.”

  One of the snakes must have heard him. It uncoiled itself, raised a flat head, then butted the cage. Brig grabbed me. “We’ll be off then, before this one learns how to get through the feeder.”

  I gazed at him as we hurried away from the snake cage.

  “What is it with you and snakes? A holdover from Indiana Jones movies? Or is it an Irish thing? Saint Paddy ridding the island of the slithering evil serpents?”

  We were outside of the tent. Brig took a deep breath.

  “Nothing so glamorous. I got bit by two rattlers in the wilds of Texas about two years back. Not a pleasant feeling, I can tell you. And it stayed with me. As did the treatment to get rid of a few poisons. Ouch and ouch.”

  “What were you doing in Texas? Aside from bonding with rattlesnakes, that is.”

  “Work.”

  Terrific. Doubtless a tale of infamy and deceit. I pitied the rattlers. One bite out of Brig O’Brien’s treacherous, albeit muscular and tempting, ass had undoubtedly sent them into shock for the rest of their natural lives.

  With much effort, I pulled my thoughts away from the bottom portion of Brig’s anatomy. He kept smiling at me. I was certain he was reading my thoughts and storing them up to use against me some wild night. Which could be fun.

  “Did I tell you the other part of the Saraswati legend? The one concerning the snakes?”

  I groaned, “There’s more?”

  “Oh yeah. When the statue hears a snake hiss in her presence, she makes the choice as to her true owner. Immediately. So if a snake hisses and there are two people present who want Saraswati, one might get hit with the curse and the other blessed on the spot. She’s a very smart goddess, our Diva.”

  “Right. Like I really buy this particular tall tale.”

  Brig smiled. “Ah, Tempe, you’ll be a believer by the time we get Saraswati into the right hands. And hopefully I’ll be well out of range of any serpents helping the Diva choose. Which she will.”

  “And that’s coming when? Oh, never mind. I know you won’t tell me. Okay. No more talk of curses or blessings. And definitely no more snakes. So, what happened after you left Ray’s? No, wait. Back up. How did you choose to exit?”

  “The balcony again. In case any of those suspicious types you were so worried about might be gazing up at the building. Better to leave the same way one comes in.”

  Frightening, but logical. I nodded. “Go on.”

  “Ah. Yes. I next paid a visit to Mahindra’s flat.”

  I groaned. “You know where he lives?”

  “Well, certainly. I know you think everyone involved with Shiva’s Diva has psychic powers. That they gaze into some crystal ball and the whereabouts of all concerned pop up on demand. I considered trying to impress you; make you think I came by Mahindra’s address through brilliant means of detection, but the truth of it is quite simple. The man’s listed in the directory. I looked him up.”

  We smiled at each other. He continued, “I will admit, Mahindra’s place of residence made it a bit trickier to do any spying. First off, Kirk’s flat is in a high-rise. Close to Flora Fountain. A bloomin’ twenty-nine story tower. You might know the man would choose to live in an ostentatious skyscraper. Painted gold outside, mind you. So much for taste. At heart he’s nothing but a showy gangster.”

  “So?”

  “So, what?”

  “Honestly, O’Brien, you are an annoying man. Did you get into Kirk’s flat, and if so, how? And if you did, did you find Shiva’s Diva?”

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “No to all of the above. I did not get in. Consequently, I did not find Shiva’s Diva.”

  “Oh poo. So Mahindra may have it. Well, I guess that’s better than Patel, who doesn’t even have the wit to try and be genteel about his crimes.”

  Brig shook his head. “You’re jumping to conclusions. I said I didn’t get inside. What you didn’t let me get to is that I did meet Mr. Mahindra outside. He very kindly informed me that the statue did not reside in his possession and that he had no idea who’d claimed the prize at the end of the battle.”

  “I guess that means Patel got her after all. Damn.”

  “I’m not so sure. I saw our Seymour today as well.”

  “Is he listed too?”

  He laughed. “I don’t know. I saw him outside Mahindra’s high-rise. Patel walked right up to both of us as we stood chatting near the flower garden. Demanded that whichever of us had the statue give it over.”

  “Wait. This doesn’t make sense. Was Mahindra lying? Was Patel faking you guys out? Or did Ray manage to hide her so well you couldn’t find her?”

  “I don’t know. Could be any of the above. I left Mahindra and Patel arguing about that very subject when I went tippytoein’ down the lane with none the wiser as to my absence.”

  “Arguing?”

  “Well, the debate seemed likely to turn into fisticuffs when Patel’s bruisers showed up and were met by Mahindra’s backup. I decided it would be a sane thing to exit fast and on my
little fleet feet.”

  “And you came back here.”

  “Precisely.”

  He inched closer to me. We’d found a table a few yards from the carnival tent and were sitting across from each other during Brig’s recounting of his activities. Brig ooched his chair next to mine, then casually wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

  I couldn’t move. His very touch was hypnotic.

  He moved closer and his lips met mine. His hand traced down my cheek to my chin and the nape of my neck. I wanted to wind my body around his like one of the snakes. I pulled closer within the circle of his arms. And then heard, “Brig! Tempe! There you are. I thought you were watching the shoot.”

  We pulled away from each other.

  “Hi, Asha. I was. That is, we were. But it got too crowded inside the tent to discuss whether Brig had learned anything about the whereabouts of the statue. This seemed a better place.”

  Asha smiled sweetly. “Of course.”

  She plopped down on one of the vacant chairs. I ooched mine away from Brig’s. For an actress, Asha had crummy timing. Which might be fortuitous. Another two seconds looking into Brig’s eyes, and our next moves would be on the ground engaging in serious unsafe sex in the middle of a carnival set on a studio lot. Jake would pop up with the Panaflex to film us in the act. Maybe I could ask for a copy to take back to the States. A nice souvenir video of my trip to Bombay.

  Chapter 28

  A wizened gnome of a man appeared from the direction of the service tables bearing a tray stacked with tea, cups, and an assortment of goodies. Asha, Brig, and I helped ourselves, then spent a few minutes enjoying a respite from thoughts of filming, kidnapping, cursed statues, and shoot-outs. Jake joined our group about ten minutes later. He sank down next to Asha.

  “I am tired. I freely admit this. I must say I dislike a schedule of filming during the day and tracking down felons at night. It is very disruptive.”

  Asha, Brig, and I held on for a moment, then we lost it. We laughed until the tears came.