“What the hell?!” she objected, rubbing her arm.
“The Pappy was the plan for Mayor Sutton. It was poisoned.”
“I threw it all up when Vanessa punched me!” Kissy yelled.
“Oh.” Tim looked at the empty syringe in his hand. “Well, better safe than sorry. You’re gonna feel really good in a moment.” He rubbed her arm over the injection site. Then he turned away and added, “And then you’re not gonna feel well for a few hours.”
“You are such,” Kissy faltered. Tim looked back to see her looking at him strangely. She looked away and tucked a strand of hair behind the ear he’d caressed earlier. Her tone was husky when she finished her thought, “a jackass.”
“Wow, that kicked in fast,” Avi observed as Tim put his poison kit back in the MacGyver satchel. “Can you get her home?”
Tim felt a twinge of guilt but he realized he probably wasn’t going to get any romantic points for nursing Kissy through a sickness he’d caused. “Yeah. We should get her on my bike while she’s still feeling good. Did you have fun with the magic bag?”
“Not really.” Avi took the satchel off over his head and gave it to Tim. “I didn’t want to know what you have in there.”
“Thanks for keeping it close.” Tim took two of the bundles of cash out and offered them to Avi. “And thanks for keeping all the good people alive tonight.”
Avi took the money reluctantly. Tim took another two stacks over to Kissy. She took them, brushing his hand. He quickly crossed to the desk. Killer followed him. He picked up the bottle of poisoned bourbon and stowed it in his satchel.
“I know you don’t help me for the money.” Tim crouched and jimmied open the lock on a bottom drawer. He pulled out the real three quarters full bottle of Pappy twenty year and set it beside him. He waited for Killer to finish sniffing inside the drawer and then jimmied the lock closed again. “And I know you don’t believe killing is the answer.” He stood and placed the bourbon carefully on the bookshelf behind a row of architecture books.
“But Vanessa,” Avi caught his train of thought.
Tim turned and looked at Kissy, a hand on her sore stomach and then at Avi who still had popcorn and bits of blown up candy cane stuck to his ugly sweater.
“But Vanessa,” he repeated.
Tim stepped around the desk and met his two cohorts in the center of the office. He repeated the gesture the mayor had used when he had entered the office. He tapped his ear and looked around. Avi understood. Kissy reached up and rubbed a hand on his faux hawk. Her pupils had shrunk to tiny black dots.
Kissy caught him examining her. She shook her head and straightened. “I’m in.”
Tim looked to Avi.
“I’m in.” Avi’s voice was uncertain. But when Tim raised his eyebrows questioningly, Avi took a breath and added, “Anyone with a conscience can see it’s the right thing to do.”
Kissy stuck the cash in her pocket. “How do we find her?” she asked.
“I have a plan.”
“I’ll just bet you do,” Avi smirked. “Care to share?”
Tim looked at each of them and then down at the enormous puppy shoving his nose insistently into Tim’s hand. He rubbed Killer between the eyes and wrapped an ear around his hand. Killer barked once, insistently. Tim smiled.
“Have you guys ever tried Absinthe?”
The End
Absinthe
Killer on Call
book six
by
Gwendolyn Druyor
www.KillerOnCall.com
Copyright © 2015 by Gwendolyn Druyor
One
Tim’s toes hung two feet from the ground. He felt the pounding drive of music through the rope wrapped around his wrists. The band playing downstairs in the theater must be using some serious bass. He ran through the groups scheduled to perform this evening as he slowly spun. But he wasn’t much distracted from the details passing before his eyes.
Killer’s oft sewn up dog bed had been flipped upside down beneath the kitchen bar. A blue monkey missing both eyes and an ear peered blindly from where it lay trapped by a corner of the bed.
Tim kept turning to see the red door leading to the back stairs was locked and bolted. The door to the bathroom stood open. Beside it, Avi slumped against the ropes that strapped him to a classic fifties kitchen chair. The bloody gash over his left eye stood out in as much contrast as his dark skin against the red vinyl upholstery. Cold water dripped from the big man’s rock hard muscles and form fitting black boxers to puddle beneath the chair. Tim couldn’t help bemoaning his brand new parquet flooring as he spun on to see the wall hiding his Murphy bed and a third captive.
Could it be Kissy?
Inexorably, he spun. Tim saw his own pale body reflected in the standing mirror he’d had made especially and affixed to the floor. One insistent trickle of blood tickled its way down his four pack abs toward the bright blue boxer briefs which were riding lower and lower on his hips as he spun. She’d nearly sliced off his right nipple and it stung fiercely.
Tim chose to keep his mind on his surroundings. He’d loved the raw look of the exposed beams in the loft over his new bar. He’d never considered that his mortal enemy might be an aficionado of suspension bondage or so proficient with pulleys.
He revolved past the glass block wall that flickered with the light of the dozens of candelabras strung along the entrance to the club. The realistic fire effect of the bulbs had inspired him to buy eight of the expensive chandeliers. He thought they looked like a crowd of excited people sounded. A flash of lightning made him hope all those people had made it inside the club. He tried to imagine he was in the middle of the happy, partying folk downstairs but felt his heartbeat speeding up nonetheless as he pirouetted to face her.
Vanessa was pacing the faux-wood floor in five inch stiletto boots that gave way to a black and gold catsuit that caressed her every curve. She wore a blue pixie cut this evening instead of her natural blonde and she’d been lecturing him like the homespun detective at the end of a predictable mystery novel. He should have been listening but the sound of her voice made him too angry to think.
Tim dropped his eyes to keep her from seeing the fierce hatred burning in them and noticed the blood had reached his boxers. He snickered. Her hair matched his boxers.
The slap caught him by surprise.
Vanessa flew by him, then landed and hopped up on the arm of his couch.
“You don’t get to enjoy this.” She slapped him again with the back of her hand. Her ruby ring gouged a furrow along his jaw.
Tim gagged as the sickly sweet scent of an old copper penny focused his brain back on the here and now. Pain spiked through his skull as Vanessa yanked on his white blond hair. She used his hair to hold him close and leaned in to examine the new wound along the angle of his jaw. First she licked the blood, her tongue darting out like a snake’s. Then she sucked at the wound, dragging the blood up to his lips. He refused to kiss her back. She bit his lip open and slapped him.
Which started the spinning all over again.
Two
“Killer!”
Tim was launched from the path as his hundred seventy-five pound wolfhound-dane-pit bull mix lunged for the sparkly red figure down by the sidewalk. His leather boots barely hit the ground as he raced along behind the beast. Eyes turned from the long line of club goers wending their way through the dry stone sculpture garden which would be improved with greenery and flowers come the spring. Now, in late January, despite the menacing clouds blocking the starlight, frost on the rocks glittered in the light of the eight chandeliers strung overhead. Closer to the doors of the club, the people huddled in packs against the cold. But farther back towards the street, they stared about in awe at the beautiful entrance, weather forgotten.
Even as Tim rocketed past on the end of a short leather leash he had to feel impressed with himself. He’d put this whole garden together in little over a month. And that was nothing compared to the inside of the thr
ee room nightclub. The front entrance was disguised as a bookshop. After a guest passed inspection by the bouncer and paid their exorbitant entrance fee (lessened considerably if they donated a book to the lending library in the lobby), they would enter the club by means of a doorway disguised as a bookcase.
Tim tripped over his pet monster, nearly barreling into the goal of the dog’s race.
“Who’s a gorgeous, muscular Killer?” Kissy simpered.
Tim grinned. “Why thank you.”
The woman he’d dreamed about since sophomore year of high school spared him a withering glance before she crouched down on the path to pet the shaggy monster who had skidded to a halt and rolled onto his back. Kissy wore the same sparkly red flapper dress she’d sported when she’d gotten Tim into the performance rave his first night in town. Tonight she’d added a pair of deep red leather gloves. Poor Killer got a mouthful of shiny black hair as she turned her face away to protect her makeup from the dog’s eager tongue.
“Not in the face! Not in the face!” she quoted her favorite superhero sidekick, laughing as she pushed away the giant mix-breed’s muzzle.
Undaunted, Killer spun around in joy, nearly knocking Tim off his feet again. Kissy grabbed his head and pulled the dog to her. She kissed his massive skull leaving a lipstick stain on the shaggy gray and black fur and straightened Killer’s thick plaid collar so the Greek cross sewn onto it lay clearly on the back of his neck.
“This looks lovely on him. So much better than on Coldman. Oooh, and now you have the same initials. KC. Killer with a Cross and,” she reached up and took Tim’s offered hand, “the Killer on Call.”
“It’s Killer with a Conscience,” he corrected her half-heartedly.
“I know.” Kissy laughed as she stood.
Tim pulled her up with a little more force than necessary so that his secret sophomore year crush fell into his chest. Their eyes met for an instant. He reached up to fix her hair but she slipped out of his arms before he could. She looked away to straighten the glittery red strap of her ukulele case. It matched her short outfit.
“You look stunning,” he said.
“You are so white you actually glow,” she replied. “Why isn’t your pretty blond hair in that nasty faux hawk?”
“I’m not Red until later,” he reminded her.
Technically the club and the dog belonged to Red Logan, one of Tim’s aliases. He’d won them fair and square in a poker game with the woman who had hired him to kill the mayor at Winterfest. But tonight, Red would making a grand entrance at midnight so until them, Tim was free to hang out in his personal uniform of dark green cargo pants and tight black tee with the ever-present satchel slung across his chest. Red couldn’t carry the MacGyver style bag and for tonight’s events, Tim wanted all of his options close to hand.
“For now, I’m just Tim, dog walker and talent escort.”
Kissy tilted her head, much as Killer was doing while he watched the two humans dance around their mutual attraction. “I think I should be insulted. But I’m not sure.”
“Then don’t be.” Tim pasted a charming smile across his face. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before you freeze.”
He dropped the leash and let Killer bound around them as they made their way along the empty path to the side Artist’s Entrance.
When they reached a turn in the stone wall of the old building, Tim stepped past a descending stairwell to the cage built along the side and back of the building. He opened the gate and unhooked the leash from Killer’s collar. The dog spun a few times and then dashed around the back of the building. Tim hung the leash on a hook inside the cage, then shut and latched the gate.
“Won’t he freeze out here when it starts raining?” Kissy laughed at the beast as she asked.
“A, it is not going to rain. B, he’s got a dog door into the back stairwell. He’s probably gonna go up and then cut down the front stairs into the lobby to hang out with the bouncer, Terrance.”
“You hired Santa Claus as your bouncer?” Kissy giggled. “The guy from Winterfest, right?”
“Yeah,” Tim confirmed. “He’s a big, scary guy who seems to know everyone. Plus he can beat me at chess.”
While Tim was talking, Kissy stepped back to gaze at the glittering lights over the garden. She appeared to consider for a moment before offering Tim a compliment. “The garden really is divine. Nice job.”
“Thanks.” Tim led her down the few steps to the side entrance. “I wanted to give a great greeting to our patrons.”
He opened the door and Kissy stepped past him into a dingy square of space decorated with bare bulbs and couches deemed too bohemian even for the quaint antique bookshop lobby. Paint was peeling from the walls and the floor remained bare concrete.
Kissy picked her way over to a warped mirror standing unevenly in a rotting frame near a cluster of dusty bulbs. The image looking back had black splotches all down her dress and legs where the silver backing was flaking off. Killer sneezed.
She stared in horror at the cobwebs on the exposed pipes overhead. “This is your green room?”
“Yes. This is where the performers get to hang out.”
“You are still a jackass.”
“Yes. A killer, a club owner, and a jackass. Just what you’re looking for in a man.”
She hit him.
Three
Avi buttoned the GinNtonix’ first set with a low G, holding the microphone right up against his lips so the bass would carry. The crowd stopped dancing long enough to applaud wildly while Scout, the GinNtonix’ lead threw the floor off to a drum and bass DJ who launched straight into a track in G. It was impressive. The kid must have an amazing ear.
“I’m off to the Absinthe station. Who’s with me?” Mitch, their tiny tenor hopped off the little stage erected at one end of the so-called Disco room.
Scout, Kay, Kevin, and Avi took the stairs to follow him. There was no point in talking over the music, but each of them were accosted by fans as they made their way through the room to the series of archways leading out to the main Lounge room of the three room club. If the lighting in the Disco was dark but colorful, the lighting in the Lounge could only be described as shadowy.
The acapella quintet slipped through the crowd of people watching a bartender with green wings strapped to his back serving absinthe with an excess of panache. The man had skills. He flipped bottles wildly and launched sugar cubes into the air with dazzling accuracy, punctuating the rhythm with an excess of care in pouring. They watched him prepare a champagne saucer and a flute next to each other. He poured an ounce of absinthe down the side of each glass, avoiding the gently placed absinthe spoons and flung sugar cubes. With a flourish he then pulled a bottle of prosecco from an ice bucket and a sweating metal pitcher of water from a fridge. He glanced over the crowd as he slowly poured the liquids over the sugar, not even seeming to glance down yet stopping at the exact moment each drink reached the rim.
Avi was interested in the champagne version. He’d never tried absinthe. But tonight was not the night. He was on a mission that had nothing to do with psychedelic drinks or singing. He swept his eyes over the room as the other four singers conferred over the small menu of specialty drinks. He spotted his girlfriend Kissy and Tim coming through the closed door leading into the third room of the club, the Theater.
“Take care, guys. I’ll meet you in the Disco for our second set.”
Only Kevin glanced around. “Say hi to Kissy for me.”
“You got it, buddy.” Avi bumped fists with the percussionist and headed through the crowd to intercept his cohorts in crime for the evening.
Avi never had trouble making his way through a crowd. He stood six foot six in stocking feet and while in this light he could easily blend into the background with his dark skin, his muscular build—improved in recent days with hours of volunteer work at the new Parkside Projects construction site—made him impossible to overlook. Women were aware of him and men were wary.
He s
aw Tim escort Kissy to a booth and cut left past a gaggle of ladies who looked like they’d forgotten to wear pants.
“I’ll have Dethica send over a bottle of whiskey because I know you don’t trust me to get you a drink.” Tim turned from the booth and ran face to chest into Avi.
“Hi Tim.”
“Hello, Brute Squad.” Tim punched Avi jokingly in the xiphoid process and then invited him to join Kissy in the booth. “Okay, I’ll be back sooner now.”
Kissy held up her phone as she let Avi kiss her cheek. “We’re all set. I texted her.”
“I was joking. But you really don’t trust me, do you?”
Kissy’s reply was simple and perhaps more honest than Tim had been bargaining for. “No.”
She turned to Avi. “How did your fist set go? Did you feel all warmed and welcomed by the green room?”
“Not so much the green room as the free drinks tickets waiting for us at the Absinthe station.”
Tim’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, maybe I should curtain that whole area off and call that the Green Room.”
“You should probably clean up the actual green room and the Theater first,” Kissy suggested.
“Hey, the paint should be dry in the Theater by eleven. I have a plan.”
“How goes our plan?” Avi asked.
A magician brought a tray of whiskeys over right then and after setting one in front of each, she made the tray disappear.
“That was weird,” Kissy observed. “But kinda fun.” Picking up her drink with a gloved hand she took a tentative sip. And pulled a face. “Iced tea. Very funny, Jessica.”
“She’s supposed to be working the queue.” Tim slid his glass over to Kissy watching the magician scoot out the entrance where people were still flowing into the club in twos and threes. When she was gone, he turned to Avi and asked, “Where’s the mayor?”
Avi had become the mayor’s bodyguard after Mayor Sutton unsurprisingly lost the run-off election for Governor after he and Hoss Davids had finished the November election in a statistical tie. Avi had been suspended from the police force a few months earlier under suspicion after he’d been present when an underground club had blown up, killing a known drug dealer and then when he’d been unable to provide any information about the night he was found releasing a dozen abducted women from a shipping container while his ride smoldered from a car bomb set off with three known criminals inside.
Killer on Call 6 Book Bundle (Books 1-6) Page 34
