by Autumn Piper
When he’d finished his business and headed into the warehouse, the only sounds were from the group standing around Mitch’s bike, tasting the contents of his saddlebags and cackling. Hoping to God my dad knew what he was talking about, I bent low and hurried across an open space to the designated car. As he’d predicted, it was running, but not locked. The headlights of another car across from me dimmed for a second. And I began counting as I quietly slid into the driver’s seat. The thudding in my ears became the measure I kept pace with. At twenty, the other car started moving, ever so slowly. I pressed the brake pedal. By twenty five, gravel snapped between tires and pavement. At thirty, three officers by the bike had looked over at the moving car. I shoved my car into drive, jumped out the open door into a somersault Mel Gibson would have envied, and ran to the street behind.
Before rounding the corner, I looked back. All five remaining cops were racing after the two self-propelled cars. And a dark figure had approached the driver’s door of the car where Mitch was.
Time to remember the rest of those directions.
Keen’s keys rode heavy in my jacket pocket. I dug them out as I ran, knowing if I forgot the way out I’d most likely get picked up and pegged for aiding and abetting in the escape. And the guys would have no one to come pick them up. Out of breath when I reached the bike, I heard a resounding crash as one of the patrol cars hit another. Thank God the bike started easily. Forsaking the notion of keeping the engine as quiet as possible, I sped away down the street Dennis had told me to take.
Chapter 19
Grandma’s Cadillac may have run lousy, but it sure drove smooth. In fact, I almost regretted handing the wheel over to Dennis when he and Mitch came running out of the shadows at a city park down near the docks. How I found the place where Dennis had told me to meet them, I’ll never know. By the time I saw them, my hands were shaking and I could barely speak. I’d escaped a drug bust and then helped someone run from the cops, while purposely inflicting damage on a cop car. Maybe Grandma Jenny was right and my dad was a bad influence.
Up close, both sides of Mitch’s head were bleeding and his wrists already showed signs of bruises to come, making me forget my own trauma. “How’d you get the handcuffs off?” I asked.
“Kimball here,” Dennis pointed at Mitch, “found a key in the back seat of his limo.” Or in his pocket, maybe?
“Kimball?” I repeated.
“The Fugitive! Jesus, you’re the old one.” He chuckled, with a slug to my shoulder. “Nice work, Cuz. I bet those goons don’t leave their cruisers unlocked anymore, huh? Good job findin’ your way around town, too.”
“And to think I did it all without Tom-Tom.”
“Who the hell is Tom?”
Mitch put his hands over his eyes.
If I was shook up over our little misadventure, Keen seemed inversely euphoric. Mitch was simply quiet. All the way back to Conga, he didn’t speak other than to grunt that he was okay. Oh God. Had I managed to make him mad again?
From the time we went through the front door and Hugo the Bouncer’s eyes rounded at the sight of us, until Keen gave me what might have passed for an affectionate hug before they went down the back hallway, we got a lot of strange looks.
I hadn’t yet made my way through the throngs to the bar when Tino grabbed me from behind.
“We must talk.”
I clearly had no choice. Hands on my shoulders, he steered me in the direction the guys had disappeared. So Tino must be surprised to see Miguel back too. Which meant he knew Miguel was only a fall guy, intended to disappear from the organization that night. Which, in turn, meant he hadn’t really been suspicious of Miguel. Perhaps jealous. Or if he thought we had some prior affiliation, suspicious of…me? My heart pounded for what had to be the thousandth time that night. I could be in an even worse predicament if I’d angered Rico, than if I got arrested.
He guided me through a glossy black door, past a guard and into a new hallway where the music was no longer audible, then into a room with its own glossy door. A raised voice rattled from the next room, but the words were unintelligible. With a gentle shove, Tino pushed me toward a black leather couch. A quick look around showed no other occupants. Perhaps those self-defense classes in college would save me.
Without speaking, Tino popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and poured two flutes. Barely-restrained excitement bubbled beneath his surface as he took a seat, entirely on what I considered my section of the sofa. His cologne was fresh as always, his teeth pearly white when he smiled and said, “To adventure.”
“Er. To adventure.” Crystal clinked and I chugged, conscious of the irony. Only a few days before, adventure would have been top on my list of toasts. It was fast becoming old. A nice evening spent in front of the tube sounded magnificent.
The bubbles burned on the way down. Wow. I hadn’t realized I was so parched.
Tino refilled my flute and sat down. “Is it true you can ride a motorcycle?”
I nearly choked on my champagne. “Word travels fast.”
“Keen called in while he was waiting for you to pick him up.”
“Ah. Um, yes. I ride a motorcycle.”
He wore a look of wonder. “And you helped with this…escape?”
“It was nothing. All I did was put a car in gear, really. Anybody could do that.”
“I always miss all the action,” he complained. “I’m so sick of being inside here. All I’ve learned about here is cigars and dance steps and sex. Maybe you could teach me.” At my intake of breath, he chuckled, then gave me a lusty grin. “To ride a motorcycle. I’d like to get my license.” He leaned closer, as if vying for a kiss.
“Oh!” I took a drink, turning my head aside. “No, I’m afraid I won’t be here that long. I’m only visiting for a couple of weeks, tops.”
“I could pay you.” As I made to get up, he blocked me with his arm. “I could pay you a lot.” I tried to duck under the arm and he said, “In many rewarding ways.”
Much to my relief, the door clicked open. “Tino!” said that voice I knew from the hallway. “Please do not make fool of yourself with Keen’s lady friend.” Was that sarcasm in his tone when he said lady?
Tino straightened away from me and managed to flush red beneath his dark skin tone.
“So. Señorita Drew. Tonight you help to save two of my men.” Carefully hitching up his expensive suit pants, the tall, almost painfully thin Rico took a seat in the armchair across from us, one leg crossed over the other. Was that smile he wore for real? I tried to remember The Godfather. Didn’t the Italians smile at people right before having them capped? Was Tino a capper? “For that, I must thank you. Muchas gracias.”
“Um. You’re…welcome?” Feeling suddenly inspired, “De nada.”
His smile faded. “For the other…” He snapped his fingers, but apparently came up empty handed. “…thing. Tonight, you pay, how you say—false money—in my bar.”
False money. Fake? “Counterfeit? Me? No I did not!” Counterfeit money was a federal offense. No way would I go near that.
“Yes,” Rico hissed, “you deed!”
“I didn’t!” I jumped to my feet, prepared to argue to the death, which may not be far off. Rico, unfortunately, followed suit. And though I might have outweighed him, he was taller than me by about a foot.
Seeing the confrontation escalate must have spurred Tino to try and intervene. The questions he asked in rapid Spanish, Rico answered in angry bursts. At some point, I became aware of “Ramón” bouncing round in their words, as well as mojito, and rather a lot of “Papi”s, coming from Tino. No wonder he was cosseted and stuck inside running Conga instead of out on the streets!
“Dru,” he said to me, making the pouty kiss-face, “my father believes you paid Ramón with a fake twenty dollar bill earlier today.”
“If I had,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, “how would Ramón know it was me? Are you telling me I’m the only customer who paid with a twenty today?”
“It was on the bottom?” I rephrased. “So. Can it not be possible another person paid with a twenty later on, which got stuck on the bottom of the stack?”
Mimicking my stance, Rico crossed his arms too. And stood there breathing heavily in my face. Or rather, above my face. I staunchly stared at his bony wrists. Mob boss or no, he wasn’t going to falsely accuse me and get away with it.
“You,” he said at last, aiming a long finger at my nose, then more Spanish which Tino interpreted as, “are very wise or very foolish.” He failed to relay the last part of Rico’s message, which I’d heard on the streets enough times to know meant “Don’t fuck with me.”
I had indeed fucked with Rico. I’d foiled his plan to use Mitch as his scapegoat, maintained Mitch’s status as an undercover FBI agent, manufactured an affair with Rico’s top guy, and spent the evening leading his son around by the nose. I should, by all rights, be scared out of my platform shoes. Instead, I got a huge adrenaline rush. Somehow, fate was giving me some vengeance. Rico Romero had stolen my father from me before I had a chance to win him over with my babyish charm. And in turn, I was going to fuck with him in every way possible.
“Miguel will need a new bike,” I said. Feeling a surge of weightlessness like that first second or two of a bungee jump, I asked, “I assume since he lost his in the line of duty, you’ll replace it for him?” Breathless, I waited for gravity to take hold and slam me for my boldness.
One corner of Rico’s mouth lifted in a genuine-looking smile. “Juevos. Sí, señorita. One for you, tambien?”
Behind me, Tino chuckled.
I decided to smile back at his joke. “No. I don’t plan to be here that long, but thanks.”
“Ah. Sí. Then you will return to—”
“Colorado,” Tino interrupted. Shit. Had I told him Colorado last night? Too many mojitos.
“Arizona?” Rico asked. I was in a fix this time. If I said Colorado, then it would get back to Keen, and he’d wonder why I’d lied to him. On the other hand, if I stuck with Arizona, Tino’s suspicions would be raised.
“I, um, live in Arizona. But work in Colorado.”
Like his son’s, Rico’s nostrils flared when he concentrated. Assuming United States geography escaped him, I had only to worry about Tino. Who managed to look unconvinced and horny at the same time.
“Well.” I wiped my palms on my jeans and forced a smile. “It was really nice meeting you, but I suppose I’d better see if Keen is ready to go home. Is he out at the bar?”
After Rico gave instructions to Tino in Spanish, he turned to me and bowed. “Señorita.” Then he clasped my hand in his bony one and shook it.
Tino led me back into the hallway. “Before we go in,” he asked, pausing in front of a wider black door, “one little kiss?”
I shook my head at the tenacity of youth.
With a sad sigh, he opened the door for me.
Keen and Mitch were seated on sofas, facing one another, heads turned toward the TV. In the typical fashion of men, they were so absorbed by the broadcast, they didn’t hear us enter.
“Ahem,” Tino said. Once he’d gained their attention, he shot Mitch an evil glare. “Report here tomorrow for your replacement motorcycle. Buenos noches.” He shut the door with solid bang on his way out.
Mitch’s head didn’t look so good. “Jesus, Mi-Miguel. Why hasn’t anybody cleaned up your wounds yet?” On closer inspection, it appeared his pupils were equally dilated, but he seemed groggy and distant.
“I’m fine.” He didn’t look fine. He looked damn injured. And a bit aloof.
A commercial ended and the newscaster began a report about counterfeit twenty dollar bills. I watched in fascination at shots of the shopping center I’d been to that day. So the culprit had been there, too! “Maybe that’s where it came from,” I muttered.
“What?” Keen asked.
Some dumbass cashier had probably given me the twenty back in change at the mall. No way in hell I’d admit it to Rico.
“Nothing. Let’s go home.”
Dear Randi,
This has been one hell of a day. Culminating in an argument with my father—which I won!—over whether we should bring my boyfriend home with us so I could doctor him up. Dennis is determined Mitch is bad news. But hey, what’s a boyfriend without a bit of paternal disapproval? Grandma is obviously a much better judge of character. She thinks Mitch is a “nice young man”. And I heard her giving Dennis hell for being so rude to him.
Of course, I reckon if she believed Mitch had been up to what Dennis believes he’s been up to, her opinion might be different. As it is, she thinks the “boys” got in a bar fight, thus Mitch’s injuries.
He’s been really quiet—Mitch—and it’s stressing me out. Except for chiming in a bit on the way home with lines from ‘Ironic’ when we were talking about how weird it is for the narrowest man in the world to have such a wide door to his office. I said it was “Like a free ride, when you’ve already paid.” He put in “It’s like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife” and then I said it was like “Rain on your wedding day”. He got really quiet. And then he muttered, “The good advice you just didn’t take.” I really don’t want to think about what he meant by that. I’m sure of it. I’ll pretend it’s a phone call I’d rather not make, and tuck it away in the To Be Done file.
Right now he thinks I’ve gone off to be in a spare room somewhere. It was a necessary deceit to get him to take the couch. Dennis, bless his bossy soul, thinks I’m sleeping with Grandma. In reality, I’ve shut myself in the bathroom to compose this journal entry and then I plan to tiptoe out to the living room and sleep in the easy chair, where I can make sure Mitch is okay.
I seriously don’t know what I would have done, if something happened to him. I might be in trouble here. He says he could get me out of his system if we got it over with and had sex. But…what will I do then? I have this really bad feeling I’m in love. With a dude who’s going to see me safely home, maybe lay me once, and then disappear back to Washington DC or wherever his next case takes him.
Oh, man, what a day it’s been.
Eternally messed up,
Randi
Chapter 20
I woke to find my father scowling at me as he leaned against the doorjamb and ate cereal from a mixing bowl. Jabbing his spoon in Mitch’s direction, he announced, “It’s time for him to go home.”
Mitch roused at the sound, only to be greeted with, “Mighty heroic, takin’ the couch and leavin’ her the chair.”
“What happened?” I snapped at my cranky dad. “Get a roach in your Cheerios?”
“You,” he roared back, pointing his dripping spoon, “were supposed to be sleeping in the bedroom, where I told you to.”
“Yeah? And who the hell are you, to tell me what to do?”
He stared back at me, then mussed the back of his hair. “How the fuck do I know?”
As he disappeared, muttering, into the kitchen, I turned my attention to Mitch. “How’s your head?” I sat on the edge of the couch and examined his injuries for signs of improvement.
He still seemed disoriented. “What are you doing out here, Drew?”
“Sleeping. Watching. In case you needed something.” At least he wasn’t bleeding anymore, so stitches probably weren’t necessary.
“I’m not helpless, Goddammit.” He captured my hands and pushed them into my lap.
I scooted back and bumped into his midsection. Where I felt a hard protrusion. Raising my brows at him, I tried to suppress the smile I knew would piss him off.
“I was dreaming,” he growled.
“I’m flattered.” I grinned down at him, wondering whether I could chance a good morning kiss. I’d had a dream or two about him, too.
“You shouldn’t assume it was about you.” His words stung like the sl
ap he seemed to have intended.
“Oh. I’ll just…leave you alone then.”
It hurt enough, rushing out of there all emotional, but I got an added burn when he looked relieved that I’d gone.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, where I washed my face to disguise the tears, I flounced past Dennis in the kitchen and went out to the lanai. I seriously felt like crossing my arms over my chest and pouting like a teenager who wasn’t getting her way. Carrying on my adolescent persona, I flopped without grace down on the nearest lounge chair.
Grandma looked over her paper and glasses at me and smiled. “Good morning, dear.”
The best I could manage was a, “Hmmft!”
She smiled wider and returned to her reading.
“So do you, um, always have Mondays off work?” I asked.
“No.” She looked up. “I took today off to spend with my new niece. Dennis has college classes today, and it would be rude to leave you here alone.” Back to the paper.
“Oh. So, maybe we should go shopping. For a new car.”
She closed the paper and folded her arms over it. As if I’d suggested the most far-out idea ever, she asked, “Why?”
“My d—I mean, Dennis, thinks your old one is more work than it’s worth. He says you don’t want to take the time with the trade-in, but I bet you haven’t done it because you don’t want to go alone.”
After pulling off the reading glasses, she folded and placed them precisely in the center of her paper. “All right.”
“All right?”
“All right, Drew. Let’s go buy a car.”
* * * *
Though I’d hoped to leave the house without another word to either my father or Mitch, we ended up having to drive Mitch to an apartment complex up the street from Conga. When he got out, Grandma put down the electric window on my side. He stood there, looking as uncomfortable as I felt, and then leaned down to look me in the eye. “Um. So, I’ll…see ya.”
