“What the fuck do you have a picture of her on your wall for, Jack?” Lou asked, angry now.
“Lou?” I said, my voice dangerous. “Back off.”
He exhaled sharply and looked away, gathered his wits, then turned back to me. “Jack, do I need to tell you exactly how fuckin’ stupid it is to have a picture of her hangin’ over your toilet?”
“Don’t,” I snapped.
“Don’t what? Knock some common sense into that fuckin’ head of yours?”
“It’s a picture. On my bedroom wall.”
“Ohhhh, well, that’s so much better. What do you do, beat off to it at night before you go to sleep?”
I just stared at him and cracked my knuckles with one hand, my thumb popping the joint in my fingers, one by one.
“Alright – alright, forget I said that.” Lou leaned forward and dropped his voice. “But that was some bad fuckin’ times, man, and I do not see the wisdom in you keeping shit like that lying around.”
“It’s a picture. People have pictures.”
“Not of chicks they barely knew who got their brains blown out in an alleyway,” Lou seethed.
I swear to God, I wanted to leap over the desk and pound his teeth down his throat.
Lou saw it and had the good sense to ease off. “All I’m sayin’ is, we went to a lot of trouble to bury that shit – ”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have.”
“You know as well as I do what she was planning to do,” Lou hissed.
I looked away. I hadn’t thought about Alison Levitt in a long time. Now that I had, the guilt was eating me alive.
“We shouldn’t have had the cops bury it,” I said.
“Haha – we shouldn’t’ve had the cops – Jesus,” Lou swore. “You’re a piece of work, you know that? The cops start pullin’ on one string, and suddenly it leads to another, and then the FBI and the DEA are in on it, and then you and me and every other guy in the Riders are left standing there with our dicks in our hands and a couple dozen laser sights on our foreheads. Shouldn’t’ve had the cops bury it, my ass.”
“That’s not the way we do things anymore.”
“Yeah, well… sometimes the old ways are the best ways.” Lou sat back in his chair. “Why the fuck was that bitch so interested in the photo, anyway?”
“Don’t talk about Fiona that way.”
“Oh my God, he fucks her once and suddenly she’s Mother Teresa and Mary Poppins rolled into one,” Lou muttered. “Okay, motherfucker: why exactly was your newest squeeze – and my newest waitress – so interested in that photograph?”
“Just by chance. She saw some photos of a bunch of my exes and got jealous.”
“Not Sloane,” Lou groaned.
“NO, not Sloane. Christine.”
“The redhead with the tits?” Lou said, cupping his hands in front of his chest.
“Yes,” I said, not liking the way he said it.
“Oh… no wonder she got jealous,” Lou said.
“There you go.”
“And then she just went to the other picture? Just like that?”
“Yeah.”
“She get pissed about any others?”
“No.”
“How many bitches – excuse me, ‘ladies’ – do you have up there in your fuckin’ gallery?”
“I don’t know. A dozen, maybe.”
Lou got a thoughtful expression on his face. “Just those two photos? That’s all she freaked out about?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Were they right next to each other?”
I had to think about their positions on my wall. “…no. Not exactly.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothin’,” Lou said. “Fuckin’ bitches, gettin’ all jealous… what’re you gonna do?”
I shrugged like I agreed. What’re you gonna do.
“Besides maybe takin’ down stupid goddamn incriminating photographs,” Lou said mildly. “Besides that, of course.”
“Lou, I’m going to tell you what I told her.”
“What’s that, bend over?”
“No. DROP it.”
He put up his hands in surrender. “Alright. Fine. Consider it dropped.”
But now he had me thinking about it…
…and I couldn’t let it go.
7
Fiona
I was nervously puttering around my motel room, getting ready for my shift, when my cell phone rang.
I had been trying to keep my emotions from running away with me. My emotions about Ali, about Jack, about the fact that their paths had crossed, and in a way I still wasn’t sure about. The mystery of what their connection was, and whether it had been a dark one.
When the phone rang and I saw JACK on the display, I almost jumped out of my skin.
I thought about not answering it… but then I remembered I was a private detective under deep cover.
Plus… I desperately wanted to hear his voice again.
I was hoping against hope that what he had said earlier was true: that Ali was someone he lost. Someone he cared for, but not romantically.
That would have made him a good guy in my book.
And I could use a good guy in my corner right about now.
I steadied myself before I answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Hello, beautiful.”
That voice… like warm golden honey, with undertones of deep, resonant, throbbing bass…
I reminded myself to play the part I’d begun earlier.
“Hey,” I said, forcing an air of relief as well as contrition. “I wasn’t sure you were going to call.”
“Why not?”
“Because of… because of this morning.”
“What, your little jealous outburst?”
“…yeah.”
I could hear the grin in his voice as he said, “Ah, well, it’s always good when the woman puts her cards on the table upfront and lets you know she’s a total psycho.”
“You asshole!” I laughed. I couldn’t help myself.
I had a British friend back in LA who would have said he was a cheeky bastard, through and through. She would have been right on the money.
“Well, you know what they say: the crazier the chick, the better she is in the sack.”
“Is that so.”
“Yep. So now I know why you’re so good in the sack. Cuz you’re cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.”
I have to admit, I went googly in the knees a little.
He thinks I’m good in the sack.
But that backhanded compliment? I wasn’t going to let that one stand.
“That’s a children’s breakfast cereal.”
“That’s right – and if you pull out those mad skillz again, we’ll have a bowl in the morning. Provided you decide to stick around this time.”
I laughed out loud. “Wow, you really know how to romance a girl. Sugary breakfast treats at 3.99 a box.”
“Stick with me, baby, and you can have all the cereal you like.”
“Well, that amazing offer notwithstanding, I think it’s my duty to inform you that my ‘mad skillz’ are in no way linked to my emotional well-being, which is rock solid, thank you very much.”
“Yeah, that’s what all the crazy bitches say.”
I laughed. “Has anybody ever told you you’re an asshole?”
“All the time. Anybody every told you you’re crazy?”
“Never.”
“You must not date much.”
Actually, I didn’t. Not a whole lot of time with my P.I. job… and not much interest since Ali died.
“Either that,” he continued, “or you just bury the bodies out back behind the house.”
My insides went cold.
The joke was too close.
Too close, too raw, too soon.
All I could see in my mind’s eye was Ali’s body laid out in the casket.
He didn’t notice and kept prattling on. “Is that why you really left LA? A long trail
of dead guys who called you on your psycho ways?”
I feigned a laugh. “You got me. I confess.”
“Well, don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me… as long as you’re up for Round Four.”
“…Round Four?”
“The boxing metaphor? You really gotta start reading more.”
“Right. Yeah.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Hey… you okay?”
No, I wasn’t. I’d been caught off-guard and let myself get sucker-punched, even if accidentally. I was blowing my cover.
“I’m fine,” I said brightly.
“You sure?”
“Yes. I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“It’s… I don’t know,” I said lamely. “Sorry. I’m just being… sorry.”
Another long pause.
“I wanted to apologize, too.” He said it with strength and sincerity, not any sort of need to get back in my good graces. He said it like he felt he genuinely had something to apologize for. Something minor, but something worth saying.
My heart skipped a beat.
“For what?”
“I was… unnecessarily rough in some of the things I said this morning. It was uncalled for. I’m sorry I reacted that way.”
My heart melted the tiniest bit, and I felt some of the stress drain away.
But then I saw the opening.
A chance to get more information.
Should I push for it?
It was risky…
Should I?
…yes.
“Was it that… girl in the photo?” I asked hesitantly, in a soothing voice. Not accusatory, not jealous.
A long, long silence on the other end.
“Why do you ask?”
“She… she was the only one you got really angry about. The other ones you were kind of like, annoyed with me about, but her… she seemed different.”
Another long pause.
Then a sigh.
“She was a dancer for Lou. She died about a year ago.”
A dancer for Lou.
I hadn’t known that.
“She was a good kid. She lived hard and rough, but she had a good heart. She was smart, too. Just maybe not smart enough to get out when she should have. But she didn’t deserve to go out that way.”
“How did she die?” I asked, though I already knew.
Let’s see if he would tell me the truth.
“She got shot. Probably in a back-alley drug deal. I was trying to get her help… to go to AA meetings, that sort of thing. It didn’t work. I keep telling myself there’s nothing else I could have done, but… it’s one of those things that keep you awake at night. Whenever I think about her, I wonder, ‘Is there something else I could have done? Maybe if I’d done this or that differently, if I’d been harder on her, leaned on her more to get her shit together… would she still be alive?’”
I knew exactly what he was talking about.
Because I’d stayed awake for weeks after her death, asking myself those same questions.
Tears welled up in my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“For what?”
That was a good question.
“It sounds like you really cared for her… I’m sorry all that happened.”
A long pause.
“Yeah. Me, too. Hey, look… I didn’t mean to get all morose on you. This was supposed to be a fun, happy phone call.”
“You don’t always have to be fun and happy with me,” I whispered.
I could picture him nodding on the other end of the line. Like he got it.
“Cool. I’m glad. Well… I still want to see you tonight. Fun and happy hopefully, but no matter what, I want to see you.”
“Okay,” I breathed out.
“I’ll pick you up at work?”
“Yes.”
“And no more jealous rages tomorrow morning?”
I laughed in spite of myself. “Who says there will even be a tomorrow morning?”
“I do. So – AGAIN, since you dodged the question – no more jealous rages?”
“No more jealous rages.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you soon.”
“See you soon.”
Then he hung up the phone, and I collapsed on the bed and sobbed.
8
Once I got to work, I mentally prepped myself for the night ahead of me. It wasn’t difficult; the only bad part about it was the seven-hour shift before the good part began.
Same regulars, same crowd, same motorcycle gang members, same pissy Arlene.
Everything was like Groundhog Day, that movie with Bill Murray. Just with more cussing and boobs.
All the strippers kept calling me ‘New Girl’ this, ‘New Girl’ that.
Eddie – the surly Midnight Rider with the mustache – ordered another round of shots as soon as he and his buddies walked in.
Benjy came over and vaguely hit on Shelley again, then left after ten minutes, only to come back ten minutes later.
“Are you two…?” I finally asked.
“Naw, he’s just a sweetheart,” she chirped.
“Does he ever ask you out?”
“Nope.”
“Never?”
“I think he’s hoping I’ll ask him out, but that ain’t happenin’.”
“Why not?”
She leaned in close and whispered, “He’s a little touched in the head. Little slow, if you catch my drift.”
“Oh.”
The rest of the night I watched him out of the corner of my eye and gradually came to realize that behind that shy, sleepy grin, there wasn’t much else going on.
It was a little baffling. How a guy like that could survive in a motorcycle gang amongst sharks like Lou Shaw, I had no idea. But I let it go. If the Midnight Riders were content to look after him, then that was at least one bonus mark in their column as far as I was concerned. And they could use a couple.
Towards the end of the evening, one dancer took up residence at the bar – a thin woman in a string bikini wearing a long, platinum-blonde wig. You might say she was talkative; if so, you would definitely be understating the case. Shelley could hardly get a word in edgewise, and for a chatty Kathy like Shelley, that’s saying something.
“This is Jasmine,” Shelley finally introduced us, probably trying to offload the motormouth stripper on me.
“I don’t look like a Jasmine, though, do I? You don’t have to say nothin’, I know I don’t. Real name’s Tammy, pleased to meetcha,” the stripper said, and stuck out her hand to shake mine. “I oughta change my stage name to Bubbles or Bambi or somethin’. Make ‘em think I’m stupider’n I look. It’s the blonde hair. I picked Jasmine ‘cause I liked Aladdin when I was a little girl, you know that Disney movie with the blue genie?” she said, and pulled off her wig to reveal a pixie cut of thick black hair. “But men don’t tip brunettes as good as blondes, and they sure as shit don’t tip short-haired ones. Blondes have more fun and make more tips. Am I right or am I right, Shelley?”
Shelley gave her blonde hair a little toss and laughed. “You’re right, darlin’.”
“You gettin’ any tips?” Tammy asked me.
“No, but I’m basically just serving the motorcycle guys.”
“At least you ain’t givin’ ‘em lap dances. Here, try my hair,” she said, and held out the wig.
“Um – no, I’m okay – ”
“Try it!” she insisted, and plunked down the wig on my head before I could ward her off.
Shelley was about to bust a gut. “Girl, you look like the preacher’s daughter just went to the glamour shots place!”
I gave Shelley a sideways look, then turned back to my ‘hair benefactor.’ “I appreciate it, Jasmi – Tammy – ”
“Try it!” she cried enthusiastically as she straightened the wig and smoothed it out. “Hell, I’ll tip you myself if you don’t get at least a little sumpin’ sumpin’!”
I thou
ght about ripping the damn thing off my head. However, I wanted to make allies, not enemies, so I reluctantly turned towards the motorcycle guys with my tray of shots.
Tammy swatted my butt as I walked away. “Get that dolla, make you holla!”
I groaned inwardly as I approached the motorcycle guys – but a miracle happened: they all started shouting and cheering as I approached, and at least half plunked down dollars as I doled out their drinks. I wondered what the hell was going on, until I glanced around and saw Tammy standing on the bar, flicking imaginary dollar bills off an invisible wad in a ‘make it rain’ kind of gesture.
I looked at her with a hand on my hip, like, Seriously?
“Get that dolla, make you holla!” she yelled with a huge grin on her face.
I laughed and mouthed Thank you to her as I pocketed my tips.
Then I saw her eyes widen, and wondered what she was reacting to.
“You look pretty good as a blonde,” a familiar voice rumbled behind me.
My heart immediately skipped a beat.
I turned around to see Jack grinning at me.
Gone were all my previous fears that he might be a killer. He had reassured me with his earlier phone call, and now all I saw was a good man. A man who had grieved the loss of someone he had tried to help. A man who had tried to help my cousin in her darkest hour.
But I played my role. I smirked at him playfully – which took all the powers of control I had, because what I really wanted to do was burst into grateful, relieved tears and throw my arms around his neck.
“You want me to wear it for later?”
“Naaah… I like you as a brunette. Plus, when I pull your hair, I don’t want it coming off.”
I raised one eyebrow. “Oh really?”
He winked. “Don’t worry… you’ll enjoy it.”
My skin flushed a little hotter. As did other parts of my body.
Another person walked up behind Jack: the blond mechanic from the diner. He looked gorgeous, but still had the same dour expression on his face as the day before.
“Somebody should tell your friend that blonds have more fun,” I said to Jack. “He doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo.”
“I think he’s constitutionally incapable of having fun.” Jack looked over his shoulder. “Hey, Kade – Fiona says you’re a blond, so have more fun.”
Midnight Lust: A Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club Romance Part 2 Page 2
