by Sam Cheever
“I’m guessing you’d drop into the fetal position over menstrual cramps then,” Fortune offered.
“Or childbirth,” Gertie added, nodding.
“Welcome to being a woman,” I told the big guy.
“What can we help you ladies with today?” Little asked, sliding an assessing gaze over Cal.
I bit back an urge to introduce my PI to Little and Mannie. I wasn’t up on mob manners, but I sensed introducing your muscle wasn’t the thing to do.
“We’re looking for Brother Mike from The Order of Saint Francis Assisi on the Bayou.”
Little puckered his small face. “Saint Francis of the whatsis? What would we be doing with a monk?”
“He’s missing and, since you were at the Mudbug Art Emporium last night and he’s a client and potential contributing artist…we thought you might be acquainted with him.”
Little laughed, glancing toward Mannie. Mr. Micro Aggression laughed too, apparently finding a temporary safe place. “That’s quite a leap. Even for you four ditzes.”
Fortune’s expression hardened and one hand slipped over her hip as if she were reaching for a gun. I stepped forward, drawing Little’s attention away from her. “My father is looking for Brother Mike. Since you’ve done some business with Felonius we were thinking he might have come to you for help.”
“You thought wrong, honey.” Little came out from behind the counter and moved close, really close. In fact he was well inside my comfort zone. In one, smooth move, Cal was next to me, his hands hanging at his sides, fingers bunched. “You might want to step back,” he warned Little in his deep, sexy voice.
I nearly sighed, then had to chastise myself for being a such a sap. It was clear I’d read waaaay too many romance novels.
Ignoring Cal’s warning, Mannie stepped forward too and suddenly we had a thing. A confrontation was a breath away. I wasn’t sure how that had happened. Lifting my hands, palms out, I threw Little a smile. “We didn’t come here looking for trouble Mr. Hebert. I just wanted to know if you’d spoken to my father.”
Little frowned. “I thought you were looking for that monk.”
“We are.”
“You’re looking for your father again too?” He shook his head. “You need to embed a tracking device on that guy, honey. You’re always losing him.”
Teeth grinding together, I forced my smile to stay in place. “As I said, he’s trying to find Brother Mike. But we have reason to believe they’re in danger and it has something to do with the Mudbug Art Emporium.”
“And since we saw you there,” Cal offered, his gaze locked on Mannie as if daring him to make a move.
Little shrugged. “So what? A guy can’t visit an art show once in a while?”
“You don’t seem the type,” Gertie said.
“I’m not so sure that’s not an insult,” Little said with a glower.
I bit my tongue against making a comment about his negative-heavy sentence. My brain wasn’t in any kind of shape to decipher it at the moment. “Do you have some kind of business agreement with Gregor Pleece? The gallery owner?”
Little’s face turned mean at my question.
Mannie reacted by leaning closer, causing Cal to slide neatly between us, pushing me gently back with one hand.
Their faces an inch apart, the two men stayed locked in silent battle for a moment, large bodies hard as rock and sharing a glower with fists clenched.
Finally Little seemed to realize things were spinning out of control. “Back off, Mannie.”
The thug stepped slowly back, his face showing his reluctance to give way to Cal.
But Little’s next statement didn’t do much to extinguish the tension. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming in here, questioning us about our business.”
Mannie reached into his coat and came out with a massive gun.
Having retrieved his gun before leaving Sinful, Cal slid his Glock 9mm from the small of his back.
Fortune pulled a gun from somewhere.
And Gertie suddenly held a pistol that might have seen its first use during Wyatt Earp’s reign. The barrel of the thing was as long as my forearm.
In the single wag of a tongue, the world had turned very dangerous.
I gulped, counting guns. Three to one. If it weren’t for that first hole Mannie’s gun would make in one of us, we’d win the battle. But that first hole was a deal breaker.
“What’s going on here?” Big Hebert’s voice boomed through the showroom and everybody stilled. He sidled toward us from the vicinity of the office, his fleshy bulk swaying as he moved. With his squinty eyes and wide mouth, he reminded me of Jabba the Hutt from Star Wars. Big was every bit as disreputable as Jabba and they shared a similar physique. Though, unlike the disgustingly naked Jabba, Big Hebert covered his bobble shaped silhouette in giant silk suits he had custom made for his unique frame.
He moved past Mannie, shoving the thug’s gun down as he passed. Stopping in front of Cal, he placed a beefy hand on my PI’s Glock and gently pushed it toward the floor. “No guns necessary.” He cocked his head. “Cal Amity, right?”
I blinked, a cold dread slithering through my belly. How did Big Hebert know my PI?
Big looked at me and grinned. “Don’t look so terrified, Felicity. I make it my business to know everybody who comes into my territory.” He patted Cal on the shoulder. “I got no beef with Cal. He’s good people.”
The way Cal’s gaze narrowed I was pretty sure he didn’t appreciate being approved by Sinful’s own mob boss. Cal didn’t put his gun away but he relaxed. “Mr. Hebert, we’re just here for information.”
Big nodded. “I’ll help in any way I can.” Still looking at Cal, Big added. “As soon as Fortune puts her gun away.”
I glanced over at Fortune and she hesitated a beat longer before spinning the gun in her hand and sliding it into her waistband in one smooth move.
She probably read a book once on how to do that too.
“Good.” Big said on a smile. “Now what can we help you with?”
“We’re looking for my father and another one of the monks at the order. Brother Mike disappeared and now my father seems to be on the lam. We believe the Mudbug Art Emporium is connected somehow and we thought, since you do business with them, you might be able to help us.”
Big stared at me for a long moment and I thought he was going to get all defensive like his son had. But he finally nodded. “I like your father, Felicity. He and I worked well together last summer. If I could help you I would.”
“There’s an artist at the Emporium who works through a middle man so he can protect his identity. You don’t by any chance know anything about that do you?” Cal spoke softly, his voice without inflection. But he might as well have punched Big in the gut.
The thug king blinked, his face turning red. “What makes you think I’m involved with this artist fellow?”
“Honestly?” Cal asked.
Big hesitated a beat and then nodded.
“Because, like you said, you make it your business to know who’s operating in your territory. If the guy’s hiding behind a front organization he must be running from something. That makes him dangerous. We have reason to believe Brother Mike and maybe Felonius Chance are tied up with this artist somehow. Felicity’s worried about her father. We need to find out what’s going on before somebody gets hurt.”
Big thought about Cal’s very reasonable request and then nodded. “Charlie Spift engaged our services remotely. I’ve never met the man. All I know is that his work brings top dollar and that means hefty fees for us. I wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that, Mr. Amity.”
“We’re not asking you to. But we need to find Mr. Spift and you might be the only person who can help us with that.”
Big shook his head. He leaned a hefty arm against the counter and it creaked under his weight. He considered Cal’s request for a long moment and then straightened. “I can’t give you his address.”
We all opened
our mouths to respond but Big held up a meaty hand. “However, I can give you the next best thing. He sends a kid around once a week with a check for what he owes us. I give the kid an invoice for the next fee. The messenger’s actually due here in about an hour. I’m guessing if you happened to see the kid leaving here and followed him, you might find what you’re looking for on the other end.”
Cal offered Big Hebert his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Hebert. I appreciate your help.”
Big nodded. “Anything I can do to help these four lovely ladies.”
Mannie snorted, earning himself a glower from his boss.
“Besides,” Big said with a smug smile. “I’m keeping track of the favors they ask for. At some point, payback’s gonna be a bitch.”
CHAPTER TEN
“It’s starting to smell like a Greek Bath House in here,” Gertie groused.
Ida Belle nudged Gertie’s purse with her elbow and grimaced. “Ow! Can’t you move that thing to the floor or something?”
Gertie eyed the available floor space. “There’s barely room for my feet.”
On the other side, Fortune shoved a sweaty strand of blonde hair off her face and fanned herself with a piece of paper she’d found on the floor.
I glanced over at Cal. “I hope this messenger shows up soon, the children are getting restless.”
Cal skimmed Swamp Team 3 a look in the rearview mirror. “Don’t make me come back there.”
Fortune snickered.
Shaking her head, Gertie dug into her Mary Poppins bag and pulled out the bottle of water with the rag banded around it.
“Oh good,” Ida Belle said, “You’re going to water board somebody. I was bored.”
Gertie slid her a glower. “Don’t be stupid.” She unscrewed the top of the jelly jar and dipped the rag into it, wiping it over her face and neck and sighing with pleasure.
“Share,” Ida Belle said, grabbing for the jar.
Gertie lifted the jar out of the way and it hit the back of the headrest. Cool water launched from the wide lip and doused me, trickling down my back as I sucked air. My first thought was to complain, then I realized the water felt like a little bit of heaven in the stuffy car. I turned around. “Hit me again.”
“Let me have that,” Fortune made a grab for the rag and dipped it anew, wiping it over her face and neck.
Ida Belle took the rag next and refreshed it before wiping it over her throat and arms. “That feels wonderful.”
I got it last and I wrapped it around the back of my neck, closing my eyes as the coolness eased into me.
“There he is,” Cal said.
Three of us ducked guiltily. Cal and Fortune eyed us with matching “you’re all morons” expressions.
Heat that had nothing to do with the air temperature filled my cheeks. We were tucked at the back of the big lot, a giant boat on either side to block us from view. There was no way the skinny, shaggy-haired youth climbing from his rusty mini-car could see us.
Cal started the Jeep’s engine as soon as the kid went inside, creeping slightly forward. “Hopefully he won’t be in there long.”
Though Cal hadn’t said a word during the hour we’d waited in the airless pocket between two big boats, he had to be just as hot and uncomfortable as the rest of us. A quick glance in his direction showed the dark circles of moisture around his collar and under his arms. The midnight curls at his neck were shiny with sweat and a trickle of moisture ran from the thick mane of black hair at his temple. None of it dulled his appeal. Even damp and wilted, Cal Amity was delicious.
“Here he comes,” Fortune said, sitting forward and fanning harder. “Finally, we can catch some air.”
The kid stopped with his hand on the door and turned back, speaking to Mannie, who no doubt knew exactly what he was doing as he chatted amiably with the messenger. He placed a meaty paw on the kid’s skinny shoulder and proceeded to engage him in a lengthy conversation about god knew what. At some point I started to growl.
My thighs were so wet they kept slipping across the leather seat. I prayed we didn’t make any quick turns or stops because I was pretty sure my well-oiled flesh would send me smashing into the dashboard.
The kid finally pulled the door open and, behind his back, Mannie gave us a thumbs up and a mean little grin.
“I’m going to come back after this and throat punch him.”
Four surprised gazes hit me and my eyes widened. “Did I say that out loud?”
Fortune snorted. “I’m coming with you.”
“I’ll bring my hot wax machine.” Gertie said. “We won’t stop with a bikini wax. We’re going full Brazilian on him.”
Cal waited a couple of beats after the kid drove out of the lot and then pulled out behind him, following several car lengths back.
I chewed on my long-suffering fingernail, worried he’d see us and find a way to disappear. It was an unfounded fear. From what I could see, we could probably tap his bumper and ride him like a pony all the way back to Sinful without him even noticing.
The kid’s bushy head swayed and dipped, his narrow shoulders shaking in time to something only he could hear. One hand rested outside the window, fingers tapping against the rust-infused paint.
“He’s really rockin’ whatever he’s listening to,” Cal said with a grin.
I shifted in my seat, grimacing as the seat squished wetly beneath me. “Can we turn the air down to minus ten?”
“Sorry,” Cal responded. “It’s as cold as it will go. It’s just too hot outside. The thermostat can’t keep up.
Sighing, I pulled a wad of hair off my neck and prayed for an errant draft.
“He’s turning,” Fortune said unnecessarily.
A moment later we turned too, surprised to find ourselves on a dead end road. There were a half dozen mailboxes on the street but no visible houses. Every driveway disappeared into a forest of trees draped with moss.
The tiny car was gone.
“Great!” I groused. “Now how do we find him?”
Cal drove slowly past each mailbox and we all peered optimistically at the winding, heavily-treed drives. It was a hopeless task. Not a single building was visible through the dense vegetation. For all we knew the driveways could be a half mile long.
“What now?” Gertie asked.
Cal pulled to the end of the road and turned off the engine. “We wait.”
A collective groan filled the car. I wasn’t sure I could sit there for another ten minutes, stewing in my own sweat. “Maybe we could sneak down the drives on foot. Just take a peek.”
Cal gave me a look. “We wait. He won’t be in there long.”
We waited another five minutes that felt like four hours. An army of mosquitoes had moved into the car when we opened the windows. I slapped at the blood sucking monsters until I had bug bodies plastered all over my skin. There was a chorus of almost continuous slapping behind us. Cal seemed annoyingly unaffected. There were so many bugs flying around the interior of that car it seemed like there were more inside than out. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved the door open. Cal’s gaze scoured me reproachfully. “What are you doing, Felly?”
“I have to get out of this seat for a minute.” I had no sooner slammed the car door shut than the back doors flew open and Swamp Team 3 blasted out, slapping and dancing as the miniature aviators continued their determined aerial attack.
Fortune slapped the back of her neck, grimacing at the bloody mess in her palm. “It’s like we have mosquito beacons on us or something.”
Gertie stilled, her eyes going wide. Guilt transformed her face.
“What did you do, Gertie?”
She frowned, “Why do you think I did something?”
Ida Belle slapped three times and jumped sideways, kicking at a swarm aiming for her legs. “Because you’re you. And because you have an, ‘oh crap’ look on your face right now.”
Fortuned sniffed her arm. “Wait a minute. Why do I smell good?”
Ida Belle lifted h
er arm and sniffed too. “Me too. I smell like roses. Gertie!”
She shrugged. “I might have put a little rose oil in the water-boarding jar.”
My eyes popped wide. “You what?”
“It’s refreshing,” Gertie said by way of lame explanation.
“Yeah, ’cause you always want your terrorists to feel refreshed while you torture them,” Fortune said on a glare.
Inside the car, Cal was shaking. I peered through the window and thought he was having a fit of some kind. Then he barked and the wall of control crashed down. He melted into a puddle of uncontrolled laughter.
“Are you crazy?” Ida Belle asked.
“I swear, Gertie…” Fortune started. She never finished that thought because the distant drone we’d been hearing for several minutes had grown louder and a mysterious cloud was descending on us from above.
We all peered at that cloud, our faces filled with confusion. Then, one by one we realized what it was.
“Mosquitoes!” We all shrieked at once, then we took off running down the road, arms waving and legs kicking manically to the side as we ran. We must have looked pretty interesting because the mop-haired kid in the tiny car actually slowed way down on his way down the road and watched us for a while, his lips spread in a wide grin.
Somewhere far behind us a car horn honked but we were lost to panic. Before I knew what I was doing I’d dragged one of the messenger boy’s car doors open and leapt inside. Fortune leapt in a second later and Ida Belle hit the front seat. Gertie ran behind us, screaming for us to stop.
The cloud split off and half of it headed our way. “Gun it!” Fortune yelled, clearly panicking.
Something in her voice must have warned the kid he’d better do as commanded because his shoulders dipped and his foot hit the gas pedal hard. The underpowered little car bucked once, groaned softly, and then jumped forward, tearing down the street.
I turned around in my seat, watching Gertie run and slap while I scratched my arms. The Jeep eased up beside her. “It’s okay, Cal’s got her,” I told my friends.
