by Jada Ryker
“If you did, you saved Alex’s life. Thank you.” Marisa shuddered at the terrifying thought of Alex’s vitality extinguished. To distract herself from her dark thoughts, Marisa tried to lighten the conversation. “I thought Merlin was a man.”
Carla shrugged, sending the tube top slipping. “Do you know how hard it is for a woman to make it in a man’s world? Back then, there wasn’t any such thing as the Civil Rights Act. Merlin pretended to be male to break not the glass ceiling, but the granite ceiling.”
Behind her head, mysterious fingers of smoke rose as if from an ancient brazier. Carla’s hands moved in synchronization with the lazy plumes. Her eyes were dark pools, filled with knowledge.
Marisa’s chest constricted.
“Hey! No smoking in here, Duke of Marlboro!”
Carla laughed as she pirouetted, exposing a tall, craggy faced man holding a smoldering cigarette. “Things are not as they appear, Marisa. Remember it.”
Marisa laughed weakly at her own fancies.
Alex walked across the crowded room. His stride was confident and lithe. Marisa’s eyes narrowed. Most of the women in the bar were watching him cross the room.
“No luck with the crypt keeper.” Alex stood next to her.
“Carla—” Marisa broke off. The older woman had disappeared. “She was just here.” Marisa scanned the room.
“Who?” Alex frowned. “Carla? I haven’t seen her all night, and I’ve been watching who comes and goes.”
An amused laugh seemed to echo throughout the dark corners of the bar. Marisa shook herself, and pushed the enigma of Carla from her mind. “Do you think the High Priest of Death is using the group to distribute child pornography?” Marisa shivered. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he molests dead bodies in the funeral home. It wouldn’t be a stretch for him to be involved in the porn ring.”
Amazed, Alex turned to her. “Steve seems like a good guy. He works in a funeral home, and he indulges himself in a macabre sort of humor. That doesn’t make him the villain.”
“If you don’t like the idea of the High Priest of Death as a suspect, then who do you think is the murderer?”
Alex looked across the room.
Marisa followed his gaze. “The Royal Bloodhound? You think he’s behind everything?”
Alex shrugged. “He’s a respected businessman. He’s obviously highly intelligent. What if he’s using that quirky dog persona to throw everyone off his track?” Alex slid a sideways glance at her. “He’s been posting comments about you online, Marisa.”
“Posting comments about me? Why on earth would he do that?”
“You must have made quite an impression on him at the last meeting. He goes on and on about your intelligence and your attractiveness. I think he’s hoping Tara will do some matchmaking between the two of you.”
Marisa threw up a harassed hand. “No way do I want anyone trying to fix me up with him. He tries to bite people and he howls at the members as they come in the door. And,” Marisa’s voice rose in outrage, “when he saw me tonight, he tried to lick my face!”
Alex chuckled. “At least he didn’t try to put his nose up your skirt.” He shook with laughter.
Marisa’s breath whooshed out of her chest as she felt herself scooped up in a bone-crushing bear hug. Her feet were dangling several inches off the floor.
“Marisa! How awesome it is to run into you! How have you been?”
Her hugger shook her like a terrier with a chew toy. “Uggghhhh...”
She heard Alex say mildly, “I don’t think she can talk in that vise grip of yours. If you loosen your hold on her, she can probably respond with something other than grunts.”
Marisa was dropped to the floor. She wheezed, “What the hell!” She looked up into the face turned down at her. She looked up about a foot. The face was round with remaining youthfulness. The blue eyes sparkled with fun, and he was grinning down at her. His hair was a riot of black curls, and bounced energetically with his movements. The man was tall and he was thick with muscle. He held out his bulky arms. “I’ll be devastated if you don’t recognize me!” His face shone with good humor, and his smile looked as if it was used a lot.
Marisa’s brow cleared. “Of course I recognize you! Nick the waiter!”
Nick threw back his head and laughed, catching the attention of everyone within a fifty-yard radius. “Not a waiter any longer! The past two years, I’ve worked my way up in the boxing world. I just opened my own gym.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. He handed Marisa the rectangle. “It’s called ‘Think Outside the Box.’ It’s geared toward boxers.”
“Very cute play on words, Nick.” Afraid she’d laugh, Marisa avoided eye contact with Alex.
Nick leaned down until his face was close to hers. “Come see me at the gym sometime, Marisa. I’ll give you the special tour. Then maybe you’d like to have dinner with me.” He bounced away as if he was riding a pogo stick.
Alex was openly inquiring. “A friend of yours?”
“In a manner of speaking. It’s a bit of a convoluted story...”
Alex grinned. “Somehow, I had a feeling you’d say that.”
“You already know I started the online group a couple of years ago. There was a guy named Derick who was posting great comments. He was insightful, and hilariously funny. We started messaging back and forth outside the group. I found out he was a database administrator at a college in southern Indiana. He was coming to Louisville a couple of days a week to work on his doctorate in information technology.
“The communication between us escalated from email messages to instant messenger to telephone conversations. He was so amusing and his mind was so quick...I loved communicating with him. When he suggested we meet for lunch on one of his ‘in Louisville’ days, I accepted.” Marisa paused to sip her Diet Coke. “I couldn’t believe how different he was in real life than he was online. I should have known the meeting was doomed when he immediately started picking on the waiter. He was very condescending, and nothing the waiter could do pleased him.”
“And Nick was the waiter!”
“You’re getting ahead of the story! Anyway, as the conversation continued, it got worse and worse. Derick was so negative about everyone and everything. He talked about a co-worker of his who was suffering from depression and who’d made some comments about suicide. Derick said he got fed up with the guy moaning and groaning. He said he finally told the guy to do them all a favor and go ahead and kill himself.”
“Oh, my God, what a cold, uncaring, inconsiderate bastard.”
“And then he was talking about the Ph. D. program. He said there was a quiet Asian girl in the group. He said he started saying things like ‘Godzirra! Godzirra!’ and pointing up in the air. You remember all those Godzilla movies made in Japan? Derick was blatantly making fun of her. Then he said he made her cry. He went on to say his professor was totally unreasonable, because he told Derick he would be kicked out of the program if he didn’t leave the young lady alone.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t just get up and leave.”
“I thought about it, especially since he started making cracks about my age. I’m a couple of years older than he is, and he seemed to think that was fair game for jokes. Normally age jokes don’t bother me. Hell, if you don’t get older, you get dead!”
Alex laughed. “I totally agree with you!”
“Anyway, under other circumstances, I let comments or jokes like that slide. But that day, it just hit me the wrong way.”
“Sounds like his asshole comments had a cumulative effect, and you had reached your maximum tolerance level.”
“I could see our waiter was getting fed up with Derick, too. The waiter was a young guy, very polite and respectful, very handsome in his white shirt and tight black pants. An idea hit me. I told Derick I was going to the restroom. Derick must not have been totally insensitive, because he asked if I was coming back. Instead of going to the restroom, I looked for our waiter. I waved at him
frantically to get his attention. We were standing where Derick couldn’t see us or hear us.
“I told the waiter the whole story. I told him I’d made contact with the guy in the online group, which at that time was called Women Who Love Excitement, and today was the first time I’d met him. I said, ‘He’s a total freaking jerk.’
“Not surprisingly, the waiter agreed with me. I said, ‘He’s making stupid wisecracks about my age. Will you help me give him a small dose of his own medicine?’ The waiter immediately agreed. I asked him to make some comment to Derick about ‘his daughter’...me....just to get in a little slap at him. The waiter pulled it off perfectly! Derick was livid! It was such an awesome sight!”
Alex laughed so hard he had to lean against the wall. “I can’t believe you thought of that and I can’t believe you got the waiter to join your little conspiracy!”
“As I was leaving, I went over the waiter and thanked him. I thought, what a great guy. Then I surprised even myself...I gave him my phone number! He called me that very afternoon. We chatted for over an hour. He told me his name was Nick.”
Alex nodded. “That’s where I thought you were going with this story.”
“Nick said he was working as a waiter, but his real passion was boxing. He asked me if I’d go out with him. I knew he was younger than me, I thought probably in his twenties. I said, I am thirty-seven, how old are you?”
Marisa clutched her chest. “I almost had a heart attack when he said nineteen! I was drinking at the time, and I thought, ‘This guy can’t even get into clubs with me!’ I actually asked him if he had a fake ID. We got off the phone and I never called him. I was relieved when I didn’t hear from him.”
Alex crossed his arms and tilted his head. “I think there’s more to this story.”
Marisa nodded. “A couple of months later, I was online in the live group, when it was Woman Who Love Excitement. An unfamiliar user posted a message. He wrote that he recognized my picture. He went on to say he had lost my phone number and he had been searching through live groups for the past two months, looking for me! I nearly went out with him just because he’d been so darn persistent. But I didn’t. And that’s the story of Nick the Waiter.”
Alex nodded. “You’re right, he’s way too young for you.”
Marisa frowned. “Hey, who says he’s too young for me? He’s over twenty-one now!”
“Marisa! We’re almost forty years old! We don’t need to date people half our age!”
Marisa couldn’t help laughing. “You sound like an old fogey!”
Alex grinned at her, causing Marisa’s heart to jump in her chest.
“Alex. Have you found out anything new about the murders?”
He perked up. “When I was talking to the Royal Bloodhound...”
“I hope he didn’t do to your leg what Punky did to Verna’s leg today.”
Alex grinned. “Nope, he’s being a good dog tonight. His manners are show dog perfect. Anyway, he said Sarah had been emailing back and forth with another woman in the group. He thinks Sarah was either bisexual or experimenting with it.”
Marisa grimaced. “I think bisexuality has turned into some sort of rite of passage for women in Generations X and Y. It could be they think they have to try it in order to be adult women.”
“Or maybe they know how hot guys think it is, and do it more as an exhibition.” Alex’s voice rose in question.
“I don’t know. I do know lesbians think bisexual women are completely messed up and try to avoid them.” Marisa frowned. “Sorry, I went off on a tangent.”
“Bryce, aka the Royal Bloodhound, said Sarah told him about a night she was on her computer before she ‘met’ Brandon. A user ID she didn’t recognize popped up on her instant messenger. The simple message ‘Hi’ appeared. Even though Sarah didn’t know who it was, she responded to the message.
“The user wrote, ‘I was poking around on my girlfriend’s computer. I’m getting ready to go to Korea for two years, and I need to know if she’s trustworthy. Why did she email you provocative pictures of herself?’
“Sarah has a user ID which could be male. The guy who was messaging her thought Sarah was male and that his girlfriend was flirting with a guy. Sarah messaged back, ‘I am not a guy.’
“He didn’t respond for so long Sarah didn’t think he was going to continue. He finally wrote, ‘Why would my girlfriend send nearly naked pictures of herself to a woman?’
“Sarah told Bryce she didn’t owe any allegiance to the other woman, and plus she could see by the guy’s picture on his instant messenger that he was very attractive. So she wrote, ‘Why do you think a woman would send nearly naked pictures to another woman?’
“He finally made the connection. Sarah boasted to Bryce that she continued to chat with the guy online, met the guy for dinner, and found him extremely attractive.”
“And now you’re wondering if this man could have killed Sarah out of anger and jealousy. It’s bad enough for a woman to cheat on you with another man...but with another woman? Especially if he was homophobic.” Marisa briefly thought about Parvis, and then sternly ordered herself to avoid those wayward thoughts.
“We have to find the identity of the man. Tara will have the user lists. We can go through them.”
Marisa pursed her lips. “Unfortunately, not all users click on the ‘join’ option. I’m not sure if Tara keeps a log of lurkers or not. The program offers the option, but it has to be toggled on.” Marisa waved madly. “There’s Tara!”
Teetering on her spike heels, Tara veered toward them. Her long blonde curls were in wild disarray and her skirt was hiked up her creamy thighs. If her skirt inched any further north, then her south of the border area would be exposed. If Dreamus counted as a border patrol officer, then he’d have to arrest her. She’d undone several buttons on the frothy sea green blouse, the exact color of her eyes. Her generous cleavage was exposed, framed by the lacy edge of her abbreviated bra. Her entire chest appeared to be splattered with a sticky red substance.
Her petite figure bouncing as she nearly plowed into Marisa, Tara was laughing and her eyes were glassy. As she unsteadily stopped in front of them, her glass sloshed onto Marisa’s skirt.
Marisa’s nostrils flared. She swiped at the liquid on her skirt and smelled it. Tara was drinking gin. She could tell by the expression on Alex’s face he’d smelled it, too.
“Tara, what’s that on your chest?” Marisa’s heart sank. She knew what was on her friend’s chest.
Tara waved one hand in huge circles, nearly taking out a barmaid’s full tray of drinks. “Some of the guys were doing jello shots out of my cleavage. Hey, they’re having a bar dance contest. Come on, Marisa, dance on the bar with me! Everyone votes on the dancers by handing them leis. Whichever person ends up with the most leis wins the contest! Come on!” Tara lurched for Marisa’s arm and missed.
Marisa caught her friend as she nearly fell, and squeezed her. Hard. “Tara! In your condition, I don’t think you need to dance on the bar—”
Four men Marisa had never seen before swooped in and tore Tara out of Marisa’s arms. “Come on, Tara, it’s time for you to dance!” The men bore her off, laughing and whooping.
“Dear God, we have to do something!” Marisa grasped Alex’s shoulders and shook him.
He pried her clutching fingers off his shoulders. “Come on!” He dragged her along with him through the crowd, and pushed and shoved to make a path for them.
Above them, women were lined up on the bar. Tara was weaving, and holding on to the woman in front of her to keep from falling off the bar.
Her purple ponytail bobbing, the very full-figured woman in front of Tara turned around in annoyance. Her jeans were cut so low her butt crack and green thong were fully visible. The tight waist band squeezed her belly up and out around the top of her jeans. Frowning, she shook off Tara’s hands.
One of the waitresses was handing out stacks of leis to the crowd of eager spectators while two bartenders
worked at top speed mixing drinks and pulling draft beer.
Marisa grabbed Tara’s ankle.
The blonde peered down in annoyance. When she recognized Marisa, she smiled in sloppy happiness. “Marisa, get up here and dance with me! Hey, guys, help Marisa up here!”
Obligingly, Tara’s new entourage converged on Marisa and tossed her up on the bar. As she staggered, one of them pushed her upright.
The music started.
With Tara behind her and shoving her, Marisa found herself pushed along the bar. Marisa tried to dig her feet in. The force of the throng of laughing women behind her danced her around the circular bar.
Below them in the crowd, Marisa could see Alex trying to keep up with them by shoving his way through the crowd. As she watched, he was joined by Dreamus.
A man tried to give Marisa one of his paper leis. Irritated, she slapped his hand away. He yelped, “Hey! I’m trying to help you win!”
As Marisa was pushed along the bar, a familiar figure in the crowd caught Marisa’s attention. Tall, short thinning light hair, rangy body dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt...who was it? In the dim light of the bar, she couldn’t quite make out his features. As she craned her neck, he seemed to sense her eyes on him. He turned away.
Marisa bumped into the woman in front of her.
The younger woman whirled, her purple ponytail flying. Her heavily made up face scrunched in anger as she grabbed Marisa. “Back off, bitch!” As she screeched in Marisa’s face, spit flew. Her eyes narrowed on Marisa’s face and down her body. “God, you’re as old as my mother.”
Behind her, Tara pushed into Marisa. “Go, Marisa, go! We can’t win if we don’t dance!”
The purple ponytail swung in contempt. “And your friend is the same age as you. You two get the hell out of here and stop making such fools of yourselves!” She started toward Tara. “Starting with her!”
Marisa was getting angry. “Leave her alone, bitch!” Marisa’s eyes swept the other woman’s full figure and tight clothes. “From behind, you look like the back half of a hippopotamus squeezed into a two-pronged tube! And believe me, there’s more outside than inside!”
