Froggy Style

by J. A. Kazimer

  I was inexplicably drawn to her. Probably a latent death wish. Made sense if one considered I’d be married soon.

  “Keep the meter running,” I said, tossing the cabbie my last hundred-dollar bill. She glanced around nervously, but finally agreed.

  Tugging on the sleeve of my sweatshirt, I exited the taxi. The night air smelled of sand and heat with a ting of piss. Ah, Cin City at its finest. Up the block, a police siren whooped and then went quiet. Rats in tiny felt hats scurried from the sewer, their manicured claws scraping the pavement in a hypnotic rhythm.

  No sooner had I walked two steps away than the cab screeched from the curb, smoke billowing from its tires as it shot down the street, narrowly missing a guy on a magic carpet.

  I jogged to the front door of the Rose. A part of me prayed I’d find Spindle inside and end this whole charade. The other, dumber side, hoped for something along the lines of Lollie Bliss naked and waiting for any prince to come.

  I was disappointed on both counts.

  I opened the front door and bells rang overhead, causing every eye, three in all, to swing my way. A big guy with one eye in the center of his forehead, tattoos up and down his arms, and a blank expression on his face glanced up from his plastic waiting room seat. The red-haired midget lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead she focused on the tiny, fat, and very dead mouse in her hands. A naked Lollie Bliss was disappointingly absent from the scene.

  “Hi,” I said to the receptionist. “Remember me?”

  She grunted in response.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” I took a step closer to her small desk. A growl rumbled from her lips. Plastering on my best princely smile, I said, “Spindle around?”

  The midget finally glanced up, a frown on her small face. “Who?”

  I grinned, keeping my voice low and tight. “Spindle. The guy fucking your boss. Kills people for a living. Strike any midnights now?”

  Like a specter, Lollie Bliss materialized in front of me, her hand on her curvy hip and a dark smile upon her plump maroon lips. She wore an outfit similar to the one she had on the day before—black leather pants, a white tank top, pink bra strap peeking through. An outfit selected to showcase the artwork covering her arms, back, and chest. But it did far more than that. My mouth went dry as I pictured running my hands over her soft, inked skin.

  “Oh, you struck something all right.” Lollie’s words shook the fantasy from my mind. “Now get out of here before it strikes you back.”

  “Ms. Bliss, a pleasure to see you again.” I held out my hand, wondering if she’d shake or break it. She did neither, much to my disappointment. I wanted to touch her, even if it was nothing more than a quick handshake. I wanted to feel the heat of her skin, the softness of her fingers, the indentations of ink and flesh. Instead she ignored me and turned to the big biker. “Okay, Tweedle, I’m ready for you.”

  The biker nodded, hefting his large body from the seat. The chair creaked in relief. Lollie motioned to the purple curtain hanging across the room, and the biker slowly lumbered toward it. Lollie glared at me. “You still here, Kermit?”

  Swallowing a sharp retort, I shot her a charming smile. “I need to speak with you, mademoiselle. It’s quite urgent.”

  “Sorry,” she said sounding anything but, “I only have time for my customers. Paying customers, that is. A girl’s got to make a living.” Turning on her boot heel, she headed for the curtain.

  Got ya, I thought as I pulled out my wallet, which held a stock photo of some creepy male model I kept forgetting to toss out and a sad lack of funds. Frog! Karl had taken all my petty cash to the dry cleaners. Perhaps Lollie would take credit? “Three hundred dollars for five minutes of your time.”

  She didn’t stop or slow down, for that matter.

  I tried again. “Five hundred.”

  Nothing.

  “A grand.”

  That seemed to get her attention. Slowly she turned around to face me, her eyes on my wallet. Greed was a hell of a motivator. I waved my wallet in front of her like a matador.

  Here kitty, kitty.

  “I only talk while I work.” She crossed her arms under her breasts, her eyes boring into mine as if daring me.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Her smile widened. “It means, pretty boy, if you want to talk, we talk,” she lingered on her words as if savoring the moment, “while I tattoo you.”

  “I . . . ah . . .”

  “That’s what I thought.” Once again, she spun on her heel and headed toward the curtain, pausing long enough to call over her shoulder, “You know the way out.”

  Shit. So far my plan for winning Lollie over had failed, and in a big way.

  “Wait,” I said.

  She stopped.

  “I’ll do it.”

  She swung around to face me, her mouth curving into an appealing “O.” “Really?”

  No, I wanted to say, but nodded instead. “Yeah. Let’s get it over with.”

  Lollie grinned, flashing teeth as white as Mary’s Little Lamb. “Okay, Kermit. Money up front.”

  I pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper, wrote “one thousand” on it, and quickly signed my name before shoving it her way.

  “What’s this?”

  “IOU.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Hey, I’m good for it.” I straightened to my full six-foot height. “You have the word of Jean-Michel—”

  “Yippee for me.”

  “Mademoiselle, I assure you—”

  “Save it,” she said, folding the IOU and stuffing it into her bra. She nodded to the midget. “Red,” Lollie said, fingering the small diamond on the side of her nose. “Would you finish Tweedle up while I take care of his lordship over here?”

  Red grinned her agreement.

  “Okay, pretty boy,” she said, gesturing to the myriad of tattoo designs on the wall—anything from a cat with a fiddle to three tiny mouse skulls with flames shooting from their empty eye sockets. “Pick your poison.”

  I studied the wall. While all the designs were expertly drawn and imaginative, I felt overwhelmed by the sheer number, as well as the thought of receiving yet another unwanted tattoo. In less than two days. Worse, the thought of a needle stabbing my skin over and over again had me breaking into a cold sweat.

  Picturing Beauty’s cold, fixed eyes, I threw my hands in the air. “It doesn’t matter. You pick something, and let’s get this over with.”

  “Wrong answer, Kermit.” Lollie grinned. “A tattoo isn’t like picking out a wife.”

  “What—” I began.

  “A tattoo’s forever. It can’t simply be erased. No matter how tired you get of it.”

  My eyes narrowed. Was she making a veiled reference to my relationship with Sleeping Beauty? Or perhaps the fact I’d hired her boyfriend to erase my future wife? Either way, I wasn’t in the mood, not to mention my nuptials were not a damn bit of her business.

  We stared at each other.

  Minutes ticked by.

  “That one.” Tweedle, the one-eyed tattooed biker, broke the silence. “Get that one.”

  Without taking my eyes off Lollie I nodded, hoping I hadn’t just agreed to get a skull and crossbones riding a mermaid with the word “mom” scrawled over her boobs. Not that I had anything against mermaids or boobs, for that matter. Actually, when I considered the flowers already stamped on the small of my back, a mermaid might butch me up some.

  “Good choice,” she said, a small smile on her plump lips.

  I looked up at the wall, surprised to see Tweedle pointing at a small, fluffy bunny tattoo with a red ribbon tied around her ears. “Really?” I glanced at the biker.

  “I like bunnies,” he said, his eye narrowing to a slit.

  “Of course you do. Who doesn’t?” I said, a grin spreading across my face.

  Chapter 14

  Before I could reassess my life choices and/or get my ass kicked by a one-eyed biker with a bunny fetish, Lollie grab
bed the string of my sweatshirt and dragged me across the room. She opened a door and practically tossed me inside. She flipped on an overhead light and gestured to a dentist chair in the center of the room. “Have a seat.”

  I did, taking time to glance around, checking for the closest emergency exit. A mirror hung on the ceiling, giving me a clear view down Lollie’s tank top. No wonder Tweedle had so many tattoos. Hell, if it wasn’t for my fear of needles, I might return for a few more myself. Miss Bliss was one hell of a beautiful, stacked woman.

  Lollie caught me staring and yanked up her top. I sighed, returning my attention to the rest of the space, which was tidy if not a bit cluttered. Art in various tribal designs with flaming dragons, black knights, and swords filled the walls. A machine about the size of a tuffet sat next to the dentist chair, a bunch of levers and cords attached at random intervals. Lollie played with various dials and smiled as the machine responded to her touch.

  The phone on the wall next to the tattoo machine started to ring. Lollie held up a finger. “I have to get this.”

  I motioned for her to answer, not in any great hurry to have a needle jabbed into my skin again and again, even by a woman as beautiful as Ms. Bliss.

  “The Rose. Lollie speaking,” she said into the mouthpiece. “Yeah, he is.... No . . .” She paused to listen. “I said no!” she added with greater emphasis. “Fine, whatever.” She hung up with a sigh.

  “Problem?” I asked.

  “Not really.” She shifted from foot to foot. “My sister. She’s getting married soon, and she’s a little nervous.”

  “Understandable,” I said.

  “I guess.” She cracked her knuckles, one by one, sounding like mini-gunshots in the silent room. “So where do you want it?” she asked, almost as if we were discussing something as unimportant as the weather instead of the placement of a very real and permanent design branded on my flesh with a super-large and sharp needle.

  Have I mentioned the extremely large size of the needle?

  “Beauty better give great head,” I muttered under my breath.

  “What?” Lollie tilted her head to the side, showing off the soft white skin of her throat. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

  “Nothing . . . How about here?” I pointed at the left side of my chest, right above my heart, where a large birthmark that looked remarkably like the letter “B” marred my otherwise flawless skin.

  Lollie nodded. “Take off your shirt and let’s get started.”

  Slowly, as if locked in a nightmare, I peeled off my sweatshirt and lay back against the cold leather of the high-backed chair. My face flushed and my stomach clenched.

  Lollie moved her chair next to me, a large, pink tattoo gun in her hand. Except it didn’t look much like a gun, not in the “blow your brains out” sense. Rather it resembled a futuristic torture device with interchangeable vials.

  “No. No. No. It can’t be,” she mumbled to herself, her eyes locked on the birthmark.

  “What’d you say?” I struggled to sit.

  “Nothing,” she said, pushing her hand against my chest. “Lie back.” Her foot pressed a pedal and the tattoo gun whirled to life.

  I let it go, my full attention on the gun in her hand. “Shouldn’t you . . . um . . . disinfect my skin or something. . . ?”

  “Naw,” Lollie said with a smile. “What’s the worst that could happen?” She started forward, the gun looming larger and larger.

  I shrank back in the chair. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea. . . .”

  “Shh . . .” Her finger pressed to my lips. “It will be over before you know it.”

  My heart thundered in my chest and my breath came in short gasps. Visions of long, pointed needles danced through my vision, growing larger and larger. Squeezing my eyes shut to ward off the image, I tried not to hyperventilate.

  The gun touched my flesh.

  “Nooooo!” I lurched up, knocking the tattoo instrument from her hand. It clattered to the floor. Blood-red ink leaked from the chamber, pooling in a circle on the shiny tiled floor.

  “I can’t do this,” I said, scrambling from the chair and holding my arms in front of me to ward off her and her super-large needle.

  “Relax, Kermit.” Lollie gave a small laugh. “No needle.” She picked up the empty gun and jabbed it toward me. “See? Now get out of here before you do get hurt.”

  Rage boiled in my gut. “That was your idea of a joke? Funny. But we’re far from done, mademoiselle.” Grabbing her arm, I yanked her to her feet, accidentally knocking over the tattoo machine next to her. It hit the ground with a crash. Broken bits flew off in all directions. I winced at the damage, but rage kept my mind on my mission. “I’m done playing around. Where’s your boyfriend? Where’s Spindle?”

  Her eyes narrowed, moving from the busted machine on the floor to my face. “Let me go. Now!”

  Rather than obey her order, I tightened my grip, feeling her delicate skin bruise under my fingertips. “I give the orders now, Ms. Bliss. Tell me what I want to know. . . .”

  The fight suddenly left her and she trembled in my arms. I dropped her arm and shoved her away, disgusted with myself. This wasn’t me. I didn’t manhandle semi-innocent maidens, unless they asked nicely. Even then I used the safe words “Rub-a-dub-dub, hands off my nub.”

  Lollie snorted with laughter, easing any feelings of lingering guilt I experienced. “Give it up, Kermit. You’re not the physical type. Now get out of here and you might live to see your next birthday.”

  Not much of a consolation when one considered I’d be spending it waist-deep in flies and murky pond water. I glared at Lollie. “You don’t understand, madam—”

  “Oh, I understand perfectly,” Lollie said, her tone soft.

  “I’m sorry, Kermit. Maybe you’re confused. Pre-wedding jitters or something. I don’t know. But you’re barking up the wrong rose bush.”

  I frowned, suddenly unsure. Was Lollie right? Was I just suffering from cold feet about my upcoming wedding? “Wait.” I held up my hand in question. “How’d you know that I’m getting married?”

  Her thin shoulders lifted in a shrug. “You must’ve mentioned it earlier.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Then your servant did.”

  “I don’t think so.” I took a step toward her, our bodies mere inches apart. Her scent, a combination of ink and strawberries, rose up, tickling my senses. I wanted nothing more than to give into my primal urge and take all that she offered. But I resisted. After all, I was a soon-to-be-married man. Not to mention, Ms. Bliss would likely geld me with the tattoo gun in her hand. “So if I didn’t mention my upcoming nuptials and my manservant surely didn’t, that leaves only one option.” I lifted Lollie’s chin with my hand. Her eyes met mine and she swallowed. “Spindle,” I said. “Where is he, Lollie?”

  “How many times do I have to say it? I don’t know anyone by that name.” Her eyes flashed with true anger. Shit. Unless she was a first-class actress, and I’d dated a few, Lollie Bliss was telling the truth. So where did that leave me? One step closer to a pair of frog legs, that much was true.

  Lollie pushed me away. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  “But I—”

  “Now,” she added, shoving me toward the door. I allowed her to prod me along, pausing at the threshold of the shop. Her hand pushed at my chest, but I didn’t budge. Rather, I grabbed her arm and yanked her body against mine. Her nipples hardened under the fabric of her tank top. An inferno of passion swept through me. There was something between us. Something dark and dangerous. I leaned down to take possession of her mouth. She responded in kind, lifting her lips to meet mine.

  “Ow!” I yelped, spinning to face my attacker, a tiny redheaded woman with an extremely large and sharp needle in her doll-like hand. “What the hell—”

  Red tilted her head to the side and batted her oddly long eyelashes. “What?”

  “You stabbed me,” I said, pointing to the needle and then to the
pin-sized hole in the side of my sweatshirt.

  The midget scowled. “Did not.”

  “You did so!”

  She shook her small head.

  “Damn it.” I turned back to Lollie. “She stabbed me. You saw . . .” I looked around only to find Lollie Bliss had vanished. When I turned to question Red, she had disappeared as well.

  There I stood, alone, in the doorway of an empty tattoo shop, a pinprick of blood seeping into the elastic of my boxer shorts.

  As first dates went, I’d had worse.

  I strolled out of the Rose a few minutes later, my mind filled with questions. Questions like, was Lollie telling the truth about Spindle, and if so, who had I hired to kill my bride? And more importantly, just how much mead would it take to get Ms. Bliss into bed? Sleeping with Lollie wasn’t cheating until I said “I do,” right? I made a note to ask Karl, if he ever bothered to make an appearance.

  Boots scraped against the sidewalk, dragging me from my fantasy. A down-on-his-luck woodsman carrying a bottle of whiskey and a rusted ax approached. “Hey, buddy,” he slurred. “You got a light?” He waved a bent cigarette in my direction.

  “Yeah.” I dug in my pockets, pulling out a pack of matches, and lit his cigarette. The tip flared to life, illuminating the woodsman’s eerie jade eyes. Familiar eyes. “Do I know you?” I asked.

  “Don’t think so,” he said. “You in the union?”

  I shook my head.

  He preened, tossing his hair back like Neverland’s Top Model. “Maybe you saw my spread in Woodland Animals Weekly.” He flexed his biceps under his flannel shirt.

  Again I shook my head. “Sorry. I missed that one.”

  His smile dropped. “Oh. Well . . . thanks.” He lifted the lit cigarette. “You’re a prince,” he said and stumbled away. Not for long, my good man. Not unless I found whoever I’d hired to kill my bride and soon.

  I fingered the matchbook in my hand. The same one from the other night at Old Mother Hubbard’s All Bare Cupboard. A flash of ink caught my eye. There, on the inside cover, behind the unlit matches was a scrawled phone number.