by JL Simpson
A thump sounded from Solomon’s cubicle.
Daisy moved toward the exit door, hoping Mavis would follow.
“Are you and Hastings an item?”
Mavis hadn’t moved an inch. “He's been asking me out for ages.”
Daisy grabbed the door handle. “And?”
“Maybe next time he asks, I'll say yes.”
Daisy’s laughter sounded forced and brittle. God, what did she have to do, to get Mavis out of the room? “Solomon will be devastated.”
“I doubt it.” Mavis glanced at the closed cubicle door. “You won't be. Will you, Solomon?”
Daisy lifted her voice. “I think someone is coming. We should get back. Nobby will be wondering what kept me so long.”
“Just a minute.”
Mavis crossed the room, and pushed at the closed cubicle door. Daisy held her breath. How the hell was Solomon going to explain what he was doing at the restaurant, after blowing the police off earlier? The door swung open, to reveal an empty cubicle. Daisy met Mavis’ stare in the mirror.
Before the policewoman could continue her search and find the Irish git's new hiding place, Daisy opened the door to the corridor. Mavis followed her back into the dining area. Solomon stood next to Nobby, and winked as he pulled out Daisy’s chair.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Daisy took her seat, lifted her refilled wine glass, drained it, and then placed it on the table. The air was filled with the low drone of other diners’ conversations, the chink of glasses, and the clatter of cutlery. She glanced at the engaged couple’s table, relived to see they were too wrapped up in each other to notice her return. Her focus shifted to Mavis and Hastings, who were deep in conversation. Hastings raised an eyebrow, and Daisy reached for the wine bottle, knocking her empty glass over in the process.
Nobby leaned closer. “Everything all right?”
“How do you know my name?”
Nobby smirked. “I collect people’s secrets. They tell me things I want to know, so that I’ll stay quiet. Do you have any secrets, Daisy?”
Daisy’s stomach churned. “I’m not a threat. We plan to help you.” She leaned across the table, and whispered, “The place is crawling with cops.”
Nobby turned her head, and Daisy reached out and grabbed her hand. “Don’t look, or they’ll suspect I’m a snitch, and then this whole operation will be over. They want to know what you're into. We can get you out of here to safety, and help find the person who killed Leo.”
A smile flickered at the corners of Nobby’s mouth. “By ‘we,’ you mean you and our lovely waiter, Solomon?”
Daisy frowned. “You knew?”
Nobby licked her lips. “The man has an exceptional rear end and a way of walking once seen, never forgotten.”
He did? Daisy had seen the rear end naked, and it wasn't bad for a backside, but the walk had her stumped. Did he really have a sexy walk? Or was it only Nobby who thought so? Had Solomon done the nasty with Nobby? Why not? He was a tom cat. Although the thought of Solomon and Nobby getting busy made Daisy feel ill. Maybe Nobby had been a beautiful woman in her day, all evidence to the contrary.
“If you knew my real name and who I worked with, why did you invite me to dinner?”
“I wanted to see what Solomon was up to.”
“And you couldn't just call him and ask?”
Nobby laughed. “I don't work that way.”
“No, far better to meet me, and put us all in danger.”
“From?”
“The cops. I don't want to go to jail.”
“I'm not sure you can get charged with assault, for tripping over a bloke apparently hell bent on getting leg shackled. You might have been doing him a favor.”
“For your information, I was wearing a wire, and they won’t be happy when they realize I've gone rogue.”
Nobby smiled. “You really are a drama queen. I bet you drive Solomon nuts. Calm down. I'm sure he has a plan to save us both.”
Daisy topped up her glass, and swallowed two mouthfuls to calm her temper. She'd let the drama queen comment go. Now wasn't the time for an argument, nor for discussing Solomon's nuts. She snickered at the thought, and swallowed another large mouthful. This last drink was for courage. She was teetering on the edge of a full-blown freak out, but Solomon would save her. “It starts by us meeting him in the men's room, which is odd, seeing as neither of us are men.”
“Ouch.”
“Well you're not. Are you?”
Nobby grabbed her wrist. “Says who?”
Daisy squealed, and tried to pull free. “Let go of me. Do you want our help or not?”
Nobby held her firm. “Why does he want to help me?”
“Why does Solomon want to do anything? Money? Sex? For the hell of it? Who knows?”
Nobby laughed and let go of her. “I think I like you. You're a real breath of fresh air. A girl who isn't worshipping at Solomon's altar.”
“Never heard it called that before. Although he is conceited enough to think girls would line up to bow down and kiss it.”
Nobby stared at Daisy, who made a conscious effort not to look for Solomon. The whole evening had gotten out of control.
Solomon strode to the table with a clean wine glass, and a bottle of Riesling. He poured her a generous serving, and she swallowed it in one go before pushing to her feet and grabbing the bottle. “I'm going to the bathroom, to work on the stain in my dress. Bloody thing cost a fortune.”
She wasn't lying about the price. It was purchased for her belated wedding anniversary, last year. And Paul had loved her in it…and out of it. Her stomach did a somersault, as she remembered waking up in the hotel's huge four poster bed naked, rested, sated, and ready to get busy in the shower. And the spa bath. Would she survive to celebrate their next anniversary?
“Penny for them?”
Daisy glanced at Solomon, who hovered at her shoulder. She clutched the bottle of wine to her chest. “They're worth far more than a penny.”
With as much dignity as she could muster, she marched across the restaurant, away from Nobby and her secrets, Mavis and Hastings playing footsie under the table, and the happy couple–who gave her the evil eye as she passed their table–and far away from Solomon with his stupid schemes and plans. As she stumbled toward the bathrooms, she wished she’d worn sensible shoes, eaten more food, and consumed less wine. The floor appeared to be rising and falling, and she lurched left and bumped a pedestal, sending a vase of flowers skittering across its polished surface. She grabbed the pot, and held her breath as she slid it back into place. Hastings tossed his napkin on the table, as Mavis leapt to her feet. Daisy glared at her. She didn't need a babysitter, to visit the toilets, even if she was going to the men's room. And Solomon would probably prefer Mavis not be involved in an operation to save his Nobby. A snort of laughter escaped Daisy, as she wandered down the corridor.
Daisy shoved the door to the men's bathroom open, and stumbled inside. Damn. That had been easier than she'd expected. A pudgy man at the urinal yelled, and Daisy waved a hand at him, before taking a peek over his shoulder. “Carry on. I've seen it all before, although never one quite that shape. Has it always curved that way? You could paint it yellow and hide it in a bunch of bananas.”
The man shifted to the left, and peed on the floor.
“Your aim's off. Maybe you need to sit down to pee.”
“You can't be in here.”
“Can too. Having a room just for men is sexist.”
“You're drunk.”
“We've all got our problems.”
The man stowed his equipment, and zipped up. He glared at her as he opened the door to the corridor.
“Oy, mate, you should wash up. No one wants to shake your hand after you've been shaking your willy. It's unhygienic.”
The man slammed the door behind him, and Daisy wrinkled her nose. Men were so yucky. She sighed, but she loved them. She didn’t love all of them. Just one. Paul would never pee on the floor, and
leave it for her to clean up. Paul was perfect. Except for when he wasn't.
The door opened with a thump. What now? They’d get more privacy in the dining room. Daisy turned, and frowned at Solomon. “About time. Where's Nobby?”
A man dressed in checked pants, white top, and blue bandana followed Solomon into the room.
Daisy squinted at the man as he tugged the bandana off his head. A chef. A bald chef. “That's not Nobby. If you need to use the toilet, you'll have to wait. It's otherwise engaged.” She lifted the bottle to her lips, and took a healthy swig. Solomon wrestled it out of her hands.
“If I have to carry you out of here, I will, but it's going to make our escape a little more difficult.”
The world shifted left, and Daisy grabbed the front of Solomon's jacket and pulled him closer. “Shh. It's a secret. We're not supposed to talk about it. Loose lips sink…” She frowned as she struggled to remember the missing word.
“Ships. The word's ships.”
“How do lips sink ships?”
Solomon shook his head. “Jaysus, Daisy, did you have to drink so much?”
“Yes. I don't cope well with being put in danger.”
“The only thing you're in danger of is having a hell of a hangover tomorrow.”
“Tell Paul I love him.”
“Tell him yourself.”
“And give him this for me.” Daisy planted her lips on Solomon's, and he wrapped his arms around her apparently more than happy to kiss her back.
The chef cleared his throat. “Do you need some privacy?”
Daisy pulled free, and Solomon smiled. “If that's how you kiss Paul I'm surprised you're still married. My grandmother puts more passion into a kiss than that.”
“Liar. I'm a very passionate woman, and I know that's a trick to get me to kiss you again.”
“I never asked you to kiss me in the first place, but who am I to say no when a pretty girl throws herself at me?”
“I'm not a girl.” She frowned. “I'm not pretty. Am I? Do you think Nobby's pretty?”
The door swung open, and Nobby walked in.
“Time to get naked.” Solomon patted the chef on the shoulder. “Tony's agreed to swap clothes, and then he’s going in to sit at the table.”
Nobby unzipped her pants, and Tony unbuttoned his chef's tunic. Daisy buried her face in the front of Solomon's jacket, and he placed his hand on the back of her head.
Her voice sounded muffled. “I don't need to see this. I've seen enough naked penises for one night.”
Solomon whispered. “Sounds like Paul won't be getting lucky.”
She lifted her head, and glared at him. “None of your business. I don't talk to you about my sex life. “
“I never brought up a naked penis.”
Daisy giggled, and Solomon rolled his eyes.
Chapter Thirty
Solomon held onto Daisy. The soft scent of her shampoo and perfume filled his nose. She trusted him to protect her, and he couldn’t even do something as simple as making sure she didn’t drink too much. He should be mad at her. A few weeks ago he would have been, but he was mostly angry with himself, for letting things get so far off track. He ran his hand over her hair, and she leaned more of her weight against him, as Nobby and Tony swapped clothes. Nobby tied Tony’s bandana over her bald head, while the chef put on Nobby's white fedora.
Tony held his arms out. The outfit was a little big across the shoulders, and the sleeves and pants were a little short. “Will I do?”
Solomon nodded. “They're expecting to see Nobby, so they won't be looking too closely until Daisy's a no show.”
Daisy frowned up at him. “Why don't I stay? The longer they think Nobby's still here, the more time you have to get away.”
“That would be a grand plan, Princess, but trouble follows you around when you're sober, never mind drunk.”
“I'm not drunk. Just a bit tipsy. It's your fault, you kept refilling my glass.”
Solomon looked at Tony. “You know the plan?”
“I tell them a geezer in the men's room paid me to swap clothes with him, to escape a nightmare date.”
“I'm not a nightmare date. I'm not even Nobby's type. It's not my bum she's been admiring all evening.”
Solomon glanced at Nobby, who was busy examining her nails, and squared his shoulders. “Right let's get this dog and pony show on the road.”
Tony crossed the room to the door. “You know where to drop my clothes off when you're done.”
Solomon nodded. Tony gave him a salute. “Good luck, Sir. Not that you'll need any. You and Deliah never do.”
Daisy frowned. “He knows you.” She let go of Solomon, and swayed as she stared at the door the chef disappeared through. “He knows both of you. What did he mean you two never need luck?”
“No idea, Princess.” He glanced at Nobby. “Can you get the door?”
Nobby crossed the room, as Solomon bent and grabbed Daisy around the top of her legs, and then threw her over his shoulder. She squealed, and he slapped her backside.
She kicked and wiggled. “Put me down.”
“Quiet. I've no time to play games, and with the state you're in, it will be quicker this way.”
He waited as Nobby checked there was no one outside, and then followed her into the corridor. A sharp left brought them to a door that read ‘Staff Only’ Daisy pummeled Solomon's back with her fists, as he slipped a key into the lock, shoved the door open, and stepped into the darkened room. Nobby followed, and the door closed behind them.
Daisy went limp, and Solomon gave a sigh of relief. She could probably walk, but why take the risk? In her heels, and with over half a bottle of wine and almost no food inside her, Daisy would be an easy target for anyone hell bent on stopping them. His plan to save Nobby didn't include putting Daisy in danger.
He glanced back at Nobby. She was staying close, head down to hide her identity. “Keep to the middle, and you'll not bump into anything.”
He hitched Daisy higher, and strode through the doorway. The room was only about ten feet long, and the air was filled with the scent of onions, spices, and garlic. Nobby shuffled along behind. Solomon stopped, and slid Daisy to the ground. She stumbled and he handed her off to Nobby. “Take Daisy. I'll have her back in a minute.”
Nobby held Daisy by the shoulders, but had to grab her around the waist when Daisy started sinking toward the floor. “We could leave her here.”
Solomon slipped a pouch of lock picks from his pocket, and pulled one free. “Not going to happen.”
Daisy giggled. “Paul would kick his arse if he lost me.”
Nobby snorted. “Paul could never take him. Remember when we were in Morocco?”
Daisy stage whispered, “Morocco?”
Solomon glanced over his shoulder. “Shh. You'd make a fine pair of cat burglars, flapping your lips like a couple of old ladies.”
Daisy grabbed Solomon's arm. “I thought burg…burgulars were supposed to get into buildings, and we”—she shoved a finger into his chest, then into Nobby's, and finally her own—“are trying to get out. Are we not?”
“We are indeed, Princess.” Solomon finessed the lock, and the tumblers shifted. He rewrapped his tools and dropped the pouch into his pocket, took hold of her warm body, and hefted her back over his shoulder.
She groaned. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Solomon growled. “You ruin this suit, and you’ll be paying my dry cleaning bill. Concentrate on breathing.”
Daisy prodded Solomon’s backside. “Nobby’s right. You have a funny walk.”
“I never said funny,” Nobby said.
“Did you mean sexy?” Daisy snickered, and Solomon slapped her arse.
“Behave, and act like you're out for the count. You can be part of our cover story,” he said.
*
Cool air blew up Daisy’s dress, making her shiver as Solomon opened the door and stepped outside. She could see Nobby's feet, as the gangster followed them
along the cobbled back alley. Solomon set the pace, and Nobby hustled to make up the distance to walk beside him.
They must have come out of a store room into a back alleyway. The overriding scent of rotting vegetables and urine hung in the air. This had to be the local lavatory, for the men leaving the club down the block.
With her hair covering her face, the only thing she got a view of was Solomon's rear end. Not that she looked, and she certainly had no plans to touch, to see if it was as firm as it appeared. Maybe a little feel wouldn't hurt. She squeezed his left butt cheek.
Solomon's arm tightened around her legs, and he wiggled in an attempt to dislodge her hand. She fought a giggle. He had to be working out a lot. You could bounce coins off his rear end. Nobby might have been onto something, when she said Solomon had a bum once seen never forgotten. Daisy was amazed it had survived so well. Miraculously, he didn't have a limp. Only a small scar, where her bullet had accidentally drilled a new hole in his backside. He seemed to have finally forgiven her, and she had no plans to remind him about it.
Solomon turned a corner, with Nobby trotting along beside him. Daisy held her breath, as her stomach growled in protest at having been sorely mistreated all night. She'd been joking about feeling sick, but with all the jostling and hanging upside down, she was starting to think throwing up was a very real possibility. What she needed was something to soak up the wine. Curry, a kebab, or some chips and gravy would hit the spot.
Footsteps approached, and a rumbling male voice asked. “You need a hand?”
Daisy flapped her arms around Solomon, in an attempt to reach the bottom of her dress, and tug it down over her dangerously exposed backside.
Solomon kept moving. “You know how it is when your lady can't hold her drink. She was to meet me at the end of my shift at the restaurant, so we could go clubbing, but it looks like we'll be off to bed instead.”
“The three of you?” The man sounded amused.
