Shelby’s Angels: When Irish Eyes Are Dying
Stephanie Burke
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Copyright ©2004 by Stephanie Burke
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Case #10853
The laughing blond Viking was no longer laughing, or smiling for that matter. In fact, he was all but screaming in pain, tearing at his hair, polluting my view with his ugly, skinless face.
I watched him peel the skin off in an attempt to get away from the agony.
He thought he was so cute too, with his inane juvenile jokes and the goofy face he wore during the press conferences. So confident. So brave.
So very much dying at my feet.
“Knock-knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Dee’s.”
“Dee’s who?”
“Dee’s nuts -- Dee’s nuts in your mouth.”
Dee’s nuts, indeed.
You’d almost peed your pants laughing at me.
Look who’s laughing now.
The tall blond Viking of a model writhed on the floor in agony, his whimpered pleas falling on deaf ears, as his blood stained the floor red.
He was getting what he deserved.
“You!” he gasped out, his watering eyes staring at me, choking as even this small amount of effort cost him.
It was almost horrifying the way the flecks of foam flowed from his mouth and coated what was left of his blond beard. Well, it would have been horrifying if it hadn’t been so funny. Funnier than his obnoxious jokes and the monster he was helping to support.
Irish Eyes would fall, and everyone supporting it would fall, and soon there would be nothing of it left.
There was only one person fit to represent this company, and that model had been tossed away like last week’s salmon almandine. Those who had done this would pay.
Leaving the blond on the ground, eyes wide as the life seeped from his body, I quietly exited the room, a smile planted firmly on my face and a spring in my steps.
I knew that the last thing the blond would hear was the sound of my whistling.
Danny Boy, I felt, was appropriate. With one final, dark chuckle, not giving the Viking another thought, I slammed the door shut.
And then he died.
Chapter 1
“This is the third such death in five months. Police are baffled as to who could be doing this… and why. The Irish Eyes Conglomerate, producers of the ever-popular line of skin care, hair care, and waxing products directed toward men, is scrambling for answers, and its investors are scrambling to keep their heads above water.
“This is Denise Robberston reporting live at the site of the Fifth Annual Microbrewery Convention. Dick, back to you.”
Shelby used the remote to shut down the television and its disturbing imagery.
There was silence for a full minute after the screen went black -- total silence.
She turned to face the group of men sitting around the downstairs boardroom -- okay, living room -- of Club Angels. All seven of her boys, plus her man, sat with faces twisted in an array of emotions from shock to disgust.
“Well?” she asked, feeling that maybe something had gotten through to them, that they were no longer wrapped up in their own petty concerns, realizing there were things out there that mattered, and the world didn’t revolve around them.
She stood back and waited to hear about the injustice of it all.
“Oh my God!” Delsin started, with a toss of his yards-long hair.
“I know!” Adan exclaimed, his voice breathy in horror as he stared wide-eyed at the blank screen. One hand was balled in a fist pressing against his chest while the other reached for Nalu, who was just shocked into silence. Like some of the others, he stared out at nothing.
“Did you see?” Delsin whispered again, turning wide eyes to his compatriots.
“She was wearing red lipstick and blue eye shadow! Those color combinations are so not in this year!” Adan said. “And they do nothing for her complexion, like that burgundy shirt. You’d think that someone would have told her it would make her look more ruddy than she already does!”
“And who styled her hair?” Raidon chimed in. “That just makes her look bloated! If you’re heavy like that, you pick a haircut that doesn’t make you look like a reject from parochial Samurai school in Neo Tokyo.”
The others -- even William, usually uber-intelligent -- for a model -- nodded in agreement. Of course, then he flushed in embarrassment as he took in the red that had begun to stain Shelby’s cheeks.
“And that’s all that you got out of it?” Shelby nearly shouted, arms akimbo, indignant that this group couldn’t pull it together and see the big picture.
“That and the co-announcer should be named dick-less,” Shen almost timidly announced. All the others turned to stare at him as silence filled the room. “What? I dated him before his male pattern baldness caught up to him -- but for the grace of the Lord we go.” All the men sucked in a fearful, shocked breath that he would even mention that out loud. “And he got the bad toupee and the cheesy voice. He’s every size queen’s nightmare.”
“And you still went out with him?” Adan leaned forward to get the good gossip. He ignored the auburn-highlighted black curls that fell endearingly into his face as his accent purred around the room, sending an erotic shiver down more than one back.
“I don’t put out on the first or second dates,” Shen responded. “Besides, I thought he was a grower, not a shower. Boy, was I wrong.”
They all ah-ed in understanding as Shelby finally reached her boiling point. “Hello? Narcissi on speed? A man was killed! Now’s not the time to discuss dick size! There’s murder afoot!”
“And his feet are big so there goes that foot-as-a-ruler thing.” Shen nodded his head with authority before smiling up innocently at his benefactress.
“I need a drink!” Shelby sighed, looking toward the heavens for help as she shook her head at the insanity that she willingly surrounded herself with.
“It’s not noon yet, Shelby,” William told her with a frown, taking her at her word. “But I can make you an Irish coffee.” His smile was both innocent and charming. “Coffee’s a morning kind of drink.”
“And it’s much later than that in Ireland!” Blain chimed in, all smiles and helpfulness. “And there’s always a good reason for a shot of good Irish hooch!” His accent made the words seem cute even though they were the most idiotic thing she had ever heard.
“Don’t you people understand?” Shelby growled. “People have died!”
“I know!” Barika sighed, looking sad. “I don’t think anyone can recover from such a bad public appearance. You’d think they would have dressers or someone to help them out.”
“Too much alcohol.” Will’s mind was still on Irish coffee in the mornings, but the others agreed.
“Turning into a lush can do that to you, make you forget your appearance and things,” Shen agreed with Will, silently wondering how such an intelligent man didn’t get wrinkles from thinking such deep thoughts. “It’s an angle we can look into.” He smiled at Will. “An alcohol breakdown’s something you can really never overcome. Even with the help of Betty Ford, your image would be… irredeemable.”
Solemnly, the other seven nodded, then dropped their heads, giving the fallen-from-grace reporters a moment of silence.
Giving up on trying to make them see her point of view, Shelby walked over to the low coffee table and snatched up a file folder.
“Okay, Angels, listen up.” When you can’t beat them, move on, was her motto. “There’s a mystery to solve, and we have been hired to crack this case.”
“Somebody hired us? After that Jacuzzi incident?” Will asked, shock in every line of his body, as a fire suddenly lit in his eyes. Then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Model or PI?”
“PI,” she assured, then sighed as several masculine exclamations of delight floated around her, accompanied by hand slaps and high fives.
“And if we’re all finished celebrating, I think I should inform you of the particulars.”
Suddenly, they were all business, attentive as a pack of puppies fresh from obedience school.
Excellent.
“Okay, Angels, here are the facts. Irish Eyes stock’s going to start to plummet, despite the fact that several important celebrities endorse them. The scandal’s good for sales with the gory set, but we’re all sure that won’t last. They need answers and they need them fast. That’s where we come in.”
“We get to sleuth?” Adan asked, almost wriggling in delight in his seat.
“We get to sleuth and model and crack this case. I’m sure you are all qualified and we’ll wrap this up quickly.”
She smiled at the pride that beamed from her seven boys and one man. This was a good thing she was doing. It was the right thing, giving them something rewarding to do with their lives. And it was better than shaking their asses and having drunken rowdy women shove dollars down their G-strings.
“Who does what?” Barika asked, placing a calming hand on Adan’s shoulder.
“Well, I have broken this down as I see fit. If there are any objections, please let me know and we’ll discuss it. I’ll give you my reasoning as well.”
There were nods of agreement, and Shelby looked down at her file folder and began to read.
“Adan, Blain, and Raidon, you will play model this trip. No fighting, Blain, but feel free to defend any of the guys, not that they’ll need it. You fit the traditional look they’re going for, and you have the accent.”
“I have the lilt in my voice and the face to pull it off.” He smiled. “Plus, I really am Irish, Shelby! I’m authentic! Don’t be forgetting that!”
She nodded, then carried on. “Adan, you can be anything so be more European. Foreign buyers relate to that and Americans find it sexy. Not only that, but while Blain distracts them, you can ferret out inside info from the people behind the scenes.”
“Right, Boss,” he agreed, already planning his persona for this job.
“Raidon, you’re going because you can kick ass and take names.” They all laughed at that and a rare blush, a flush of delight, spread out over the Japanese man’s face. “That, and I need you to back up the guys, to keep anyone from getting too close, and see if you can use that brain of yours to find any underworld connections.”
“Mafia, Yakuza, or Tong?” he asked. No one questioned how he would know. Hell, Shelby wasn’t sure she wanted to know. But he was on their side, and that was good enough for her.
“Any and all, and if there are organized, non-familial groups too. You’re good at that sort of thing.”
“I’m great at that sort of thing,” he corrected, and it wasn’t bragging, it was just the pure and honest truth.
“Barika, I want you on computers. I want you to dig up anything you can about Irish Eyes and its parent company, Green Isles Industries. Make it thorough.”
“Give me time and I can tell you what color underwear the president wears and his sperm count.”
“Um, do it fast and you can keep the sperm.”
“Good for the skin, ain’t that right, Shen?” he chuckled, and Shen blushed red as a beet.
The rest groaned.
“Nalu, if I get you the autopsy reports, can you tell me what’s going on?” Shelby continued.
“Yes.” Then he was off in his own little world again, probably dancing with dolphins or something.
“Delsin and Shen, you guys are backup. I want you to be communications for the inside guys -- be boyfriends, best friends, makeup people, entourage, or something. But you’ll be the only connection between them and me and any help they may need. I’m counting on you two.”
“Do we get that neat spy stuff that William’s always buying and refusing to let us touch?” Rika asked, his eyes bright and hopeful.
“Um, yeah!” Shelby laughed as William paled.
“But those are my babies,” Will nearly whimpered, thinking of his precious electronic devices in the hands of those two.
“And they’re designed to do a specific job, babes.” Shelby chuckled. “I’m sure these guys will take good care of them.”
“They’d better,” Will whined, resigned. “Because if they don’t, I’ll add alcohol to their skin creams and piss in their hair tonics.”
They all blanched at that declaration.
“We’ll be good,” Delsin promised, eyes wide in horror. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout,” Rika snorted as he rose to his feet, smoothing his dreads neatly back into his ponytail.
“Only because they wanted me to cut my hair.” He sniffed. “I don’t know why I wanted to join. Those uniforms are so tacky.”
Then the conversation turned toward uniforms, men in uniforms, and how terribly gay the new Marines’ uniforms were -- in short, another beautiful day in the basement.
“What have I gotten myself into?” Shelby sighed, then grinned as Will presented her with a steaming hot mug of… Irish coffee.
She hadn’t even noticed him leave the room to fetch it. But she smiled as she took a sip.
He was good, in more ways than one, she decided. She licked a bit of whipped cream from her upper lip and smiled as he shot her an evil smirk. He was damn good.
And he had trained the boys, so all would be well. What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter 2
“I think he likes you,” Adan whispered to Blain as the usually outgoing model attempted to become one with the furniture. In fact, he sat so far away that if he moved any further from the desk, he would be leaving his own chair and sitting in the scowling Raidon’s lap. The chairs -- no, the office -- was too small. If he were across the state, he would have still been too close to the ugly smirking man.
“Not funny, you rat bastard!” Blain hissed, while trying to keep up a smiling façade. He looked more like he was fighting seasickness, but he growled under his breath and turned to face his new employer, pointedly ignoring Adan’s giggles.
Raidon scowled.
Edgar Rice smiled.
The CCO of the company could hardly contain his excitement as he looked at the trio of models he had been presented with.
The one with the indefinable European accent -- Adan -- was a darling of a man, dark and mysterious, yet his full lips and bedroom eyes fairly screamed his sexiness.
The Irish one seemed almost shy, as if he had been coached on how to behave by an overzealous agent. He would have to work on that, but the man was the epitome of masculine beauty, his red hair and accent perfect for the company.
And the little Japanese guy -- that was unexpected, but perfect. His unusual looks would be the foil to this campaign.
Three examples o
f masculine perfection sat in his office, making his secretary drool and the stockholders purr with delight.
“Edgar, you are a genius!” Macey Snow gushed, taking in the trio of spokesmodels who would help the world forget the scandal and concentrate on buying their products. She could see men from all around clamoring to buy, if only for the slight chance of looking like any of these men. The hair products would fly off the shelves and into the hands of hungry little consumers for the promise of hair that shiny and silky smooth. Not to mention the length of the locks on the Asian model. She sat excitedly on the edge of her seat.
As the head of the promotions campaign, she was thrilled. She might be able to keep her job after all.
James Prince glared at the three men. Had everyone lost their minds?
“This will never work!” Growling, he rose to his feet and glared at his boss. “And I want no part of it.”
“Sit down, James!” Edgar leapt to his feet and glared at his consumer liaison. “If you value your position in this company, then you will sit and listen to what I have to say.”
“How could you?” James took a step toward the huge desk, his muscles tensed and his eyes took in the confrontation. “What are you going to do? Just toss away more lives in this insane venture? I say you kill Irish Eyes before any more people die!”
“How dare you even think that!” Edgar growled, slamming his fist on the desk.
“I care about my people, all of my people, and I’m doing my best to put an end to this bullshit!” James was livid.
“I care about my people!” Edgar growled, leaning forward to make his point.
Edgar was not a tall man. In fact, with his nondescript brown hair and eyes and his almost slimy appearance, he took advantage of every opportunity to use his heavy bodybuilder’s physique to intimidate people into his way of thinking. And he was not above using fear to make his point.
“Then why’s Dennis’s poor body not even cold in the ground before you’re replacing him!”
James’ last comment silenced Edgar and more than made his opinion known on the whole affair.
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