I took a quick survey of the thirty or so patrons in the place, judging and discounting the women with rapid-fire glances.
With a guy. Too old. Ugly. Fugly. Chicken neck. Nasty birthmark. Fat. Bad teeth. Double chin. Missing an ear—Jesus Christ. With a guy. Fugly and too old. And—
Hello… who is this vision of loveliness?
I went in for the closer look. She was blond, perched on a barstool. Her skirt was far too short for the weather, and she had one leg crossed over the other, her foot ending in a red pump sporting a killer stiletto heel. I let my eyes drift upward. Nice rack, struggling to break free of the tight button-up shirt she wore, the first three buttons open. Lipstick that matched the shoes. And…
Jesus. Pigtails. That’s hot.
I swallowed, then took the seat next to her.
“Can I buy you a house?” I asked, leaning over.
She gave me a look as if she wasn’t impressed.
Not that I fell for it. Hard to get could be a lot of fun. “Well?”
She sighed, giving her chest a nice up and down bounce. “Start with a drink. If you don’t fuck that up, I’ll decide if you can stick around.”
I raised my hand for the bartender. “Can I get a Goose Island and three bottles of tequila for the lady?”
She peered at me under raised brows. “Rail booze?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll give you points for quantity. You’re lacking in quality.”
“Sorry. Wasn’t paying attention. I was looking at your boobs. Did you have a drink preference? I’ve found it all comes out looking the same.”
“I’ll bet.” She spun her stool and gave me her back.
I stood up, taking the opportunity to check out the top of her head.
She glanced back. “What the hell are you doing?”
I sat down again. “Checking out the view I hope to see later. I gotta say, I really dig the pigtails. Besides the naughty schoolgirl vibe, they’re also like handlebars for blowjobs.”
“You’re charming.” She rolled her big brown eyes. “The way herpes is charming.”
I winked. “Give me enough time to finish one drink, and if you aren’t completely charmed I’ll take off and never bother you again. Fair?”
Her lips pressed into a non-committal line. “Pour the tequila. I always was a sucker for a challenge.”
The Goose Island arrived, and I bugged the bartender for two chilled shots of 1800. Then I offered her my hand. “I’m Harry. Harry McGlade. Have we known each other long enough for me to get your name?”
“No. You can just call me babe, because I know you will anyway.” She gave me a quick, perfunctory handshake.
“Fair enough, babe. I gotta say, though, that it’s past seven pm, so if you were looking to hook up with some yuppie, they’ve all gone home. And dressed like jailbait, I’m guessing you did come to hook up. A lady doesn’t look this sexy if she’s just going out to get drunk. So I may be your last chance at a good evening. And while I like a challenge, I’m not into bitter and disinterested. So what can I do to push your defrost button for the next three minutes?”
She looked past me, focusing on something or someone near the door. When she glanced back, the cynicism was instantly gone and a smile teased the corners of her lips. She arched her back and leaned a little closer to me. “Thanks for the drink. I’ve just been having a few problems with men lately. Sorry to take it out on you.”
The shots arrived, along with a salt shaker and a bar napkin with two lime slices. I raised my glass. “Well, here’s to whatever asshole was stupid enough to give you problems and allow me a chance.”
She cast another look over her shoulder and picked up her Cuervo. “I hope you’re not one of those salt and lime people.”
“That depends. Have you ever done a body shot?”
She gave me a look that topped my best naughty-school-girl dreams. “Like this?” She opened one more button and exposed her cleavage, which looked like two boobs being pressed together. Then she dripped a line of tequila on her chest.
I rubbed the wedge of lime on her neck, licked that, and then trailed my tongue down her front.
Nothing smelled better than boobs. Except, maybe, boobs with tequila on them. I lingered for a bit, and after maybe two or three minutes she gently shoved me away.
“Now your turn,” I said, pouring my entire shot on my crotch.
She looked down and her smile grew. She splayed her fingers on my chest, then shimmied them down my body and cupped me with her hand. “You want to go where I can dry that off for you?”
“You mean like that corner over there?”
“I mean my place.”
“That corner’s a lot closer.”
“My place is a lot more private.”
“That corner can be private. I’ll drape my jacket over your head.”
“Maybe I want to dry off a little, too.” She arched her back a little more, sticking her tits out so far they brushed my chest.
I raised an eyebrow. “Is this going to cost me money? Because I’m okay with that, but my limit is thirty bucks.”
“No money. I just want to make you scream.”
“I’d scream if I took off your panties and found a dick. You don’t happen to be a pre-op transsexual, by any chance? Again, I’m okay with that, but I need fair warning. I don’t want to get an eye poked out.”
“I promise I’m all woman.”
“Fair enough. And that guy behind me that you keep glancing at. How does he figure into this little soiree?”
The woman backed off a bit. “What guy?”
“The mean motherfucker who is staring at me like he’s a starving lion and I’m a zebra with a limp. Does he belong to you?”
Her smile disappeared. She gave me a doe-eyed look, slipped off her bar stool, and draped an arm around my shoulders. “Look, I’ll be straight with you.”
“Straight is good. So is bi.”
“I’m in a spot here. I could really use your help, Harry.”
“Is he the aforementioned guy giving you problems?”
“Something like that.”
“Is he a cop?”
“No. God, no. I wish he was.”
“Did you know he’s got a gun on him? Shoulder holster, under his jacket.”
She skimmed her hand down my back. Cupping my ass, she rubbed her chest against me. If this didn’t happen to me so often, I might have been a tad bit suspicious.
Okay, I’m lying. This stuff never happened to me. But for some reason I wasn’t thinking clearly. There was a slight chance it could have been her boobs rubbing against me while she groped my ass.
“Please. I wasn’t kidding about going somewhere more private. You get me out of this, and I’ll do anything you want. Anything.”
“Anything? Because I’ve got a pretty active imagination.”
“Anything at all.”
“To be clear, we’re talking about sex, right?”
“Yes.”
“With each other?”
She nodded.
I leaned in closer. “What’s your name, babe?”
The woman whispered so close to my ear that I could feel her hot, moist breath, which was hot and moist. “I’m Tangi.”
“Yeah, you are. And what’s Rambo’s name?”
“I don’t know. He works for my old boyfriend.”
“Hired muscle, huh? You want to tell me about this old boyfriend of yours?”
Tangi didn’t respond.
I nodded and stood up. “Order two more tequilas. I’ll be right back.” I drained the pint of Goose Island, stepped away from the bar, and strolled over to the man Tangi had been looking at.
The guy had a few inches and about fifty pounds on me, and the scar tissue around his eyes and chin spoke of a former career in boxing or mixed martial arts. He widened his stance as I approached, letting his hands drop to his sides.
I stopped a foot away from him, offering a large smile. “Do I know you?�
� I asked.
The guy barely looked at me, keeping his focus on Tangi. “No. But if you’re smart, you’ll walk out of here. Right now.”
“I’m sure I’ve seen you someplace before. Pro wrestling? Maybe the boxing circuit?”
“Are you dense? I said leave.”
I snapped my fingers. “Wait! I got it! You were in that movie, Anal Boys Gone Wild! Man, the way you serviced that entire soccer team—I’m surprised you could still stand up afterward.”
Face reddening, the hulk looked at me for the first time. He pulled back one side of his jacket and flashed me the gun in his shoulder holster. “I’m giving you one last chance.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s a big gun. But mine’s bigger.” In one blindingly fast move, I tugged the .44 out of my shoulder holster and pressed the barrel into the man’s crotch.
He gave a startled snort.
“Here’s the thing, Godzilla. I don’t like big, scary guys breathing down my neck when I’m trying to get laid.” I kept my body close to the behemoth’s, shielding my Magnum from the other patrons. Then I snaked my free hand up the man’s admittedly ripped stomach and tugged out his gun, shoving it into my pocket. “Now I’ve got two guns, and you don’t have any. So unless you want to go back to your boss and tell him you fucked up a simple job like this, how about you answer a few questions for me? Then maybe I’ll give you your weapon back.”
“You working for her? Is that it?”
“I have the guns. If you had the guns, you could ask the questions. Who’s your boss?”
“You going to shoot me? Right here in the middle of this tavern?” He gave me a weak attempt at a grin.
I cocked the Magnum and stared the guy dead in the eyes. “Yes, I am.”
Though on the outside I may appear lovable and harmless, he must have seen something in me to know I spoke the truth. His face blanched. “I hope you ain’t doing it for her.”
“I’m doing it for the vague promise of a blowjob.”
The thug pointed his chin at the bar. “Whatever she promised, she’s not sticking around for you to collect.”
I didn’t turn around to check. “Did she at least order the tequilas?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“Shit. Can’t catch a break today. But I still would like an answer to my question. Who do you work for?”
“Sal Dovolanni. You recognize the name, shithead?”
I did. Anyone who knew about organized crime in Chicago knew the Dovolanni family. “How is old Sal these days? Still running underage hookers and selling crack to school kids?
The guy grunted.
“So… lemme guess. Sal hasn’t recognized the fact that Tangi is no longer interested in pursuing a relationship, and he uses you to scare away prospective boyfriends.”
“Is that what the skirt told you?”
“I’m asking you to tell me.”
“Maybe I don’t want to say nothing.”
I shoved the barrel of my .44 down the front of his pants, deep enough to tickle his balls. “I bet you liked that show The Sopranos. How’d you like to sing like one?”
The wise guy cleared his throat. “She and Mr. Dovolanni, they had a… thing.”
“And now she says it’s over, and Sal has a problem letting go?”
He shrugged.
“What’s her story?” I asked. “Failed actress? Escort? Stripper?”
“She tried to pick Mr. Dovolanni’s pocket. He caught her. Admired her moxie.”
“First skirt, now moxie? Do you think you’re in a Cagney movie?”
“Youse got a problem with how I talk?”
I jiggled the gun. “Just finish the story.”
“Mr. Dovolanni called it quits, gave her some walk-away money. But the dame wanted more, threatened to tell Mrs. Dovolanni.”
“And you’re here to persuade the moll not to do that.”
The bodyguard’s face screwed up. “The moll? Whazzat?”
I shook my head, then thought back to Tangi’s touchy-feely flirtations. I reached around and slapped my back pocket.
The little minx pinched my wallet. Son of a bitch.
“Go to the bar,” I said. “Pay my tab. I’ll leave your gun in the Dumpster alongside the building.”
“You’re really gonna give me my gun back?”
“Of course. I’m a working man, just like you are. Can’t begrudge a guy for doing his job.”
I took two quick steps backward, facing the guy and then hurried the hell out of there..
Two blocks up the street I ducked into a pawn shop and sold the gun for a hundred bucks. It was a nice gun that should have been worth more, but it was an under-the-table transaction, no paperwork, no serial number search. Then it was another three blocks to my condo, a posh residence that cost slightly more than it would have taken to carpet the place in hundred dollar bills. I studied the doorknob before sticking the key in, then turned it abruptly and went in fast, tugging out my .44 with my free hand.
Tangi was sitting on the back of my leather sofa, one leg trailing down, the other bent and on the armrest. On the end of her finger swung my Smith and Wesson handcuffs.
“I found these in your drawer.” She raised an eyebrow. “What exactly is it you do for a living, Harry?”
I tucked my gun back in my holster and closed the door behind me. “Those are for recreational use. My fur-lined ones are at the cleaners. Need another tequila?”
“Sure.” Tangi raised her arms, thrust out her chest and stretched. “This is a nice place,” she said as I walked into the kitchen. “You rich, Harry?”
“I do okay. Did you find anything worth stealing?”
“Lots of things.”
“Getting through my front door couldn’t have been easy. When I bought the lock, I was told it was pick-proof.”
“I didn’t pick it. I bumped it.”
Bumping was a term used for putting a key into a lock then tapping it in a precise way to align the tumblers. It wasn’t an easy skill to master.
“I like a woman who can bump,” I said. I poured two splashes of Patron into some rocks glasses and walked back to the sofa.
Tangi reached for one of the glasses. “I can grind, too.” She smiled wickedly.
Which, of course, had no effect on me. “So besides stealing men’s wallets and breaking into their condos, what else do you do for fun?”
She dangled one red pump on her toes. “Shoe shopping.”
“Did Sal Dovolanni take you shoe shopping?”
Her lips tightened for a second before her teasing smile returned. “Sal was good for a lot of things. Unfortunately I grew a little tired of those things, and he doesn’t take no for an answer.”
“Doesn’t take blackmail very well, either.”
She blinked. Recovering quickly from being called out, she leaned forward, resting an elbow on one knee and giving me a good view down her shirt. “Okay, that was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that. But now all I want is for him to leave me alone.”
“If you want me to get Sal off your back, I can do that. But there’s a price.”
“Let me guess. You want to get on my back instead?” Another wicked grin.
“It crossed my mind.”
She gave a little nod, sat up straight and threw back her liquor. “So how are you going to do it?”
I took a step closer. “I was thinking doggy style first, then me on top…”
“I was talking about Sal.”
“So was I.”
She let out a laugh. “Really, how are you going to get him to back off?”
I snarled and drained my tequila. Then I wrapped my hand around the cuffs Tangi still dangled and tugged her off the back of the sofa and onto the seat beside me. “I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse. Now this is the part where you seduce me in order to seal the deal.”
“How do I know we have a deal? Sal isn’t some street punk. How do I know you can do what you say?”
I lea
ned in, my lips brushing her neck. “Hmm?”
“Come on, Harry. You’ve got to give me something.”
“I’m just about to.” I played my fingers up her shirt, caressing her spine.
“Harry…”
“Can’t answer. Blood rushing from my head to my erection.”
Moving my lips along her jaw, they eventually found hers and silenced Tangi’s next protest. She pushed her hand against my chest, a token bit of resistance, and then she melted like a candy bar on a hot skillet, though God knows why anyone would put a candy bar on a hot skillet. I mean, that’s just stupid. Ruins both the candy bar, and the skillet.
We fell backward onto the couch, and I managed to get her shirt open, my fly down, and both shoes off within a few seconds. Then the Love Machine got into gear.
The secret to fully satisfying a woman is patience, self-control, and a solid knowledge of female anatomy.
Since I lacked all of these things, I just went for the quickie. Two minutes later, I was zipping up and pouring two more drinks.
“Wow. I didn’t even need to take my underwear off,” Tangi said, pulling her blouse closed and fastening a couple of buttons.
“I want my wallet back,” I said. I handed her another tequila.
She took it and downed it in one gulp. “You’re still going to help me?”
“Help who?”
Her eyebrows creased. “With Sal, Harry. You said—”
“I’m just messing with you, babe. I’ll help out with Sal. It’s what I’m good at.”
“I hope so. Because you aren’t good at—”
“Easy, there, sugar. Now I gotta ask you a personal question. Do you mind if we get personal?”
“Didn’t we already get personal? At least, I think we did. It was all over so fast…”
“Tell me. What kind of lover is Sal?”
“He’s terrible. Like you.”
“Excellent. Have you ever posed nude for him? Did he take pictures?”
“And risk his wife finding them? Not a chance. What are you getting at?”
“Sal’s an older guy. How’s his eyesight?”
“His glasses are thicker than your—”
“Perfect. Now I need you to take off your clothes and step into my studio. We’re going to do a little photo shoot.”
“You’re kidding.” She frowned. “No, you wouldn’t be, would you?”
Jack Kilborn & Ann Voss Peterson & J. A. Konrath Page 26
