by T. Hammond
“You’ll probably fall asleep in the tub again,” Red teased. “You used to have more energy. I miss the good old days when you were younger and had more stamina.”
“You’re such a smarty pants,” I retorted, ruffling his ears.
“Got your cell handy?” Frost inquired.
“Yeah, sure, it’s in my pocket,” I answered, simultaneously digging past the candy wrappers to find my phone. I held it out toward him. He didn’t take it, but he angled my hand so he could read the face.
“Battery twenty percent. Should charge it overnight. Can upload an app to chime hourly. Will do it tomorrow. ”
“Excellent, Frost. Thank you. It will be nice not to have to ask everyone for the time.”
“Where’s the talking watch Gil got you for Christmas? I think I’ve only seen you wear it once.”
Jaspar was right, I’d worn it sometime last week. “I’m not used to having a wristwatch. In this case, it’s a matter of out of sight, out of mind. Maybe if I left it on top of my phone, I’d remember to strap it on my arm.”
The elevator dinged, and the panel slid open.
“Lights on, Red,” Frost rasped, wrapping a steadying hand around my upper arm. I felt Jaspar brush in front of Red and I, exiting first, blocking Red’s sight momentarily. In the lobby, only a few yards from us, two men in bright fluorescent jumpsuits struggled with police officers. The larger of the two men seemed impervious to the taser cords attached to his shoulder. With a careless hand, he ripped the wires away, following through with a solid punch from his meaty fist to the cheek of a police woman. She fell heavily to the floor, unconscious.
Frost, shielding my body from the altercation, drew Red and me to one side. Jaspar held his original position, as the apparent prisoner faced off with the police, backing slowly toward the elevator. Toward Jaspar.
The smaller man was almost in handcuffs, but still struggled violently. There were a number of police officers circling the men, hands over their holsters, reluctant to draw a weapon with the crowd of civilian onlookers gathered. One of the officers, and a random bystander, worked together to drag the fallen woman away from the melee. The large man had his back to Jaspar, who reached out a hand and tapped him casually on the shoulder, as if bumming a cigarette, “Hey, buddy.”
Predictably, the behemoth turned swinging, almost overbalancing himself when his fist didn’t connect with Jaspar’s body. Frost’s posture indicated he wasn’t concerned for his partner’s welfare, so I relaxed. It wasn’t until the man swung a second time, that Jaspar retaliated, driving a fist hard into the man’s solar plexus. From Red’s perspective, I could only see the prisoner’s profile. The man’s mouth made soundless, gasping motions as he tried to replenish his air supply. Didn’t appear to be happening. In slow motion, the man dropped to his knees, his hands clutching at his chest. Officers rushed to the incapacitated man, binding his wrists behind his back. Once the prisoner was secured, laying on his side, legs tucked into a fetal position, the involved officers approached Jaspar with a mix of awe and congratulations. I was pretty impressed too. One punch and the guy went down like a rock in water. I heard snippets from bystanders: … guy swung first… self-defense… fist like a pile driver.
“Red, lights out,” Frost ordered. Then, more softly, “Wanted you to protect yourself if fighting moved to us; but, givin’ y’self away. Attention too focused. Lucky, everyone looking elsewhere.”
My world went dark, but Frost’s hand was already gentle on my shoulder as I regained equilibrium. I pieced together his conversational scraps and realized, through Red, I had been staring at the fighters, a range of emotions probably on my face, broadcasting I watched what was happening. “Crap. Sorry, Frost.”
“No problem. Jus’ be more careful,” he cautioned.
“Got your text,” Gil panted. I hadn’t heard the elevator—he must have taken the stairs, three at a time, by the sound of him. “What’s up?”
“Jazz stepped up. Threw a punch. Run interference for him?”
“Gotcha,” Gil answered, obviously used to Frost’s clipped sentences. Seconds later, I could hear his voice added to the circle of officers around Jaspar. I don’t think it was more than a few minutes before Gil returned. “Officer Martinez will take a quick statement, then Jazz is free to go. There are enough witnesses to attest to Wilkes, the prisoner, throwing the first swing. Apparently he, and his partner in crime, didn’t like what the judge had to say during their arraignment.”
“Few more items bein’ added to his rap sheet,” Frost stated, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. “Lucky Jazz didn’t go for his face. Woulda knocked him out.”
“I was using mind-sight, Gil. I may have been too obvious. Can you review the camera tapes later and let Bas know if there’s anything to worry about?”
“I’ll see what I can do, Teresa. I doubt anyone was paying any attention during a brawl,” he said.
“Maybe not, and I’m not so worried about the police video, as I am camera phone footage of the fight. You know people in the crowd were probably recording. Last thing I need is a clip to show on the nightly news with me and Red in the background ‘watching’ the action. I’m not sure if my reactions were noticeable, or not. It would be good to have a heads up if there is a potential problem.”
“Yeah, I see your point. I’ll ask Lt. Faber for permission to review the tapes. She doesn’t know about your mind-sight capabilities, but she would still be interested in protecting Team Red as an asset, based on the mind-speak skills. She’ll twist an arm or two to let me view the tape if I ask.” He sounded confident in his lieutenant.
“Thanks Gil. We also appreciate you coming down to help Jaspar,” I added, belatedly digging through my purse for a pair of sunglasses to shield my eyes.
“I don’t think you needed me. Jazz did what the cops wished they were allowed to, they were happy to assure me there would be no charges against our man. Jazz even has a few fans who remember him from his short stint in the UFC. This’ll be the talk of the station for the next week.”
“What’s UFC?” And why would people know Jaspar? That would explain why he always wore the dorky baseball cap. Did this have something to do with Frost’s quiet confidence in his partner’s proficiency? I was positively loaded with questions now.
“Ultimate Fighting Championships,” Frost explained. “Jazz was a cage fighter when he left the Navy. Fought ‘bout a year ‘fore Russ convinced him to work for Wild Horse.”
“Had an 11-0 record. One of the best MMA fighters on the circuit. Could have landed some excellent paydays if Russ hadn’t talked him into retiring.” Realizing he’d thrown out another acronym, Gil clarified, “MMA is mixed martial arts, Teresa. Fighters go against each other with a variety of fighting styles. A judo expert, like Jazz, could be matched with a kick boxer, for example. They fight in an enclosed arena, literally a chain link cage.”
“That explains why perfect strangers are always approaching to talk to him when we are at the park,” I laughed.
“Been a Wild Horse three years. Still gets stopped for autographs. Damned inconvenient, but helpful sometimes. Diverts interest from clients—MMA fighter trumps singing diva nine-of-ten times,” Frost informed me with droll humor.
“Sorry for the delay,” Jaspar apologized, joining our group. “I can go now; they’ll call if they have further questions.”
“Three twenty-six. Behind schedule now. Need to cut bath short,” Frost joked.
“No way,” I insisted adamantly, “I’d rather rush through my hair and make-up than miss out on my long soak. Let’s get going, I hear a tub calling me.”
With final goodbyes to Gil, we were soon on the road.
Chapter Seven
“Oh girlfriend, aren’t you a gorgeous sight?” Jinx asked, rhetorically. “And those shoes? O.M.G., please tell me you didn’t get those from Tara’s shop, or I will be sorely ticked off she didn’t sell them to me first.”
“Like your boat-sized feet would fit into s
omething so dainty,” Tara huffed, dismissively. “Teresa bought the last pair of size nines I had.”
Through Red’s vision, I watched Janey, Tara, and Jinx, Jason’s alter-ego, gaze down admiringly at my black velvet and rhinestone stilettos. While I didn’t agree with Tara’s assessment of size nine being dainty, they fit my five-ten frame. I lifted first one, then the other foot, to show off the delicate, jeweled straps buckled at the outside of each ankle. Although I’m not a clotheshorse, I was feminine enough to appreciate a fine pair of shoes. Tara had not only managed to find the perfect pair of heels to match the strapless, black velvet mini-dress I’d dug out from the murky depths of my closet, she also suggested the black lace and velvet half-jacket to compliment it. Speaking of which, I plucked it off the coat rack beside the front door where we were standing, and shrugged it on, latching the single button at the waist. I felt more comfortable concealing the scars on my shoulders, and back, reminders of the accident which took my eyesight. From the sad look Red’s mind-sight showed in Janey’s eyes, she recognized why I wore the long sleeved cover-up.
Each of the girls looked ready for a night on the town. I grinned as I noticed all of us had elected to wear black, and we all chose mini-dresses, regardless of it being the dead of winter, and we were surrounded in melting snow. We may have had a warm streak which melted off the ice on the roadways, but many of the denser wooded areas and side streets still sported berms or patches of snow. Predictably, we sported fun, flirty clothing and stilettos from Tara’s shop. That woman had an eye for sexy.
“Why aren’t you wearing your coats, ladies?” Ken asked. “It’s freezing outside.” Gooseflesh covered Janey’s arms, and she shivered as if he’d just reminded her she should be chilled. Each girl had their coat draped over their arms, purses dangling from their wrists. “Hey, baby.” Ken leaned in to give Janey a kiss.
“Hey hon.” She kissed Ken, a lingering gentle caress which speared a longing through me. They were such a perfectly matched couple; my Barbie-doll best friend and her Ken. I missed having that same easy intimacy with David—the spontaneous touches, and warm greetings. I was slowly building a relationship with Bastian, but we both had an awareness of unfinished business with David. “We didn’t want to put them on, only to take them off in a few minutes when we switched cars. Besides, the night is young and we don’t want to wrinkle our dresses.” Janey smoothed a palm down her silk, form-fitting dress, and did a little twirl to show off the frilly, ruffled hemline.
“You look gorgeous, sweetie. New shoes?” Ken asked.
My bestie was preening—her guy noticed her shoes. Seriously, though, how could he not? They were four-inches high with enough straps and buckles to fulfill the fantasies of the most demanding dominatrix. I had noticed Jinx sending covetous glances at them, although her own thigh-high boots were seriously awesome and the perfect complement to her leather corset over a layered taffeta skirt, with the studded collar and matching wrist bands. In contrast, Tara had decided on simple elegance; her Chinese inspired, sleeveless satin sheath, was adorned with fine gold embroidery along the hem, small frog fasteners from throat to thigh. Her shoes were simple pumps with a tiny bow at the back of each heel.
“Christmas gift to myself,” Janey explained the shoes. “I left the keys in the vehicle for you, so you can drive it home. Teresa said our escorts will drop us off when we’re done clubbing.” I barely managed to hold back a snort. Clubbing? Last I heard, we were going to dinner and heading to a piano bar. We had collectively decided against a dance club, as we wanted to indulge in girl-talk and didn’t want to shout over loud music, or strain to hear each other over booming speakers, spewing heavy bass, and ear-splitting vocals. Not that we had anything against numb eardrums, but we wanted to hear about Janey and Ken’s Christmas trip, and I’m sure the girls had plans to extract the scoop on David’s defection, despite Jinx’s promises to the contrary. Sigh. Maybe a dance club wouldn’t be a bad idea after all.
My friends were distracted when Dexter, Jaspar, Fritz, and Frost, tonight’s escorts-slash-drivers, joined us in the entryway, dressed sedately, predominately in black layers. I had already enlightened the group we were being chauffeured and accompanied this evening. The girls were understanding, as they realized Bas and David did some sensitive work for the military. Bas had explained we girls would be driven by Fritz, with Jazz at shotgun. Dex and Frost would follow in another SUV. Our escorts would watch from afar, to ensure our safety. At the end of the evening, Fritz would drop off my friends, while I’d ride back home with the other three men.
Dex and Fritz had already met Janey and Jinx last November, and greeted them with boisterous catcalls. Janey completed the introductions while I ruffled Red’s ears and kissed the tip of his nose. “You be a good boy, and try to keep Tank out of trouble, okay?”
“You got it, Beautiful. I’m taking the little guy out with me on patrol tonight. The cat has been creeping closer to the house lately, so I’m going to be extra vigilant in marking territory this evening,” he replied.
Translation? They planned to pee on trees and bushes for the next few hours. I shook my head, grinning at the mental picture of Tank following Red around the yard, learning to lift his back leg. “It’s nice to know you boys are taking the home security seriously,” I deadpanned.
“Lights out? We have water to drink, and trees to visit,” my dog explained.
“You two have fun. I’ll see you later. And, yeah, ‘lights out.’ Good night, Red.”
My world went black, and I swayed, momentarily off balance. Fingertips lightly gripped my elbow to help steady me. “Thanks, Frost,” I said quietly, in an undertone. It was an educated guess since he had been closest to me, and seemed to share Bastian’s awareness of when I needed a helping hand. “You’d think I’d be used to the dark by now.”
“Can develop exercises,” he replied, softly since he knew Tara and Jinx were not aware of the mind links. “Dizziness puts you at disadvantage. Bet we can discover coping mechanisms to cover the disorientation.”
“That would be awesome. I really need to do something about it, so it’s not obvious to observers. I want to help you guys keep Red and me safe.”
“Will put thought into it,” he promised, releasing my arm as the tone of the group discussion indicated everyone was getting ready to leave. I could feel Frost step back, but retained a strange awareness he was close enough to reach out to touch if I needed anything. While I realized the Team Red guards were highly skilled and competent, I felt especially secure, knowing Frost had my back.
****************
We’d finished dinner a half-hour ago. Italia Trattoria, a locally owned and operated restaurant in the historic Browne’s Addition, was our “go to” place for exceptional and unusual dishes. I was happily full from my selection—a perfectly-cooked rack of wild boar with sweet potato gnocchi. Ever vigilant regarding their svelte waistlines, Tara and Jinx split an order of the honey-balsamic glazed lamb chops—yeah, I snorted too, when they used that excuse. If those two were so worried about calories, they would have ordered salads and skipped the tiramisu. Janey enjoyed Italian sausage stuffed quail with red wine risotto, moaning ecstatically between each bite. As always, the waiter, Jesse, was outstanding, and one of the owners, Bethe, stopped by the table to chat with us while we sipped our brandied coffees.
During our meal, Janey entertained us with stories about Charles (call me Chaz) and Lil, Ken’s parents. The Westons welcomed the younger couple with hugs, food, and not-so-subtle hints that Ken, at almost twenty-five, wasn’t getting any younger. Between helpful suggestions that Ken shouldn’t let this beautiful woman get away, and more flagrant observations regarding how the two of them would make beautiful, blond, blue-eyed babies together, the parents let their son know Janey had their stamp of approval. My BFF was in stitches as she mimed her boyfriend’s panicked, deer-in-the-headlights stare when his mom mentioned raging hormones and the joys of pregnancy sex.
In the vehicle, en route
to drinks at the Davenport Hotel, we hooted with laughter as Janey continued her story, telling us how Jeff, Ken’s younger brother, added his two-cents worth by lining up various items on his plate during dinner, to illustrate the various sizes of the much anticipated fetus during the first trimester. At one point, eyeing Janey’s trim waistline, he reminded his sibling (pointing at three peas in the gestational line-up), their mom was the oldest of a set of triplets. It took Ken almost five minutes to recover from the resulting coughing fit, possibly exacerbated due to Jeff’s energetic, helpful pounding on his brother’s back?
We were fortunate to find a table in the Davenport’s lavish, marble lobby, and in time to catch the beginning set by the featured pianist too! Our cocktail order had been delivered moments ago, and Janey finished up her narration of the Catskill Christmas Antics. Don’t blame me, she came up with the name, I was merely a captive audience. It was obvious from her tone, Janey loved the elder Westons. She and Ken were already making plans to attend the family reunion in July. Janey confided she anticipated an engagement ring in her near future, which predictably, shifted the conversation to David and me.
