I threw a glance back at Weasel. “Shouldn’t we…”
“Nah. He’ll be okay.” Arnie placed an ice-cold beer in my hand. “Now, what happened?”
“Mark Richardson almost caught me.”
Arnie paused fractionally, and I knew he was accessing his memory banks. “Kane’s Calgary guy? How the hell would he know where ya were?”
“I don’t know if he did. It might have been sheer coincidence. I saw him first, and I got Weasel to cause a ruckus so I could sneak out.” I swallowed another pang of guilt along with my beer. “He did a really good job, too. Richardson would’ve seen me for sure if not for him.” I half-turned back. “Maybe we should-”
Hellhound’s arm tightened around my shoulders. “Forget it. Trust me, darlin’, the only way ya coulda made Weasel any happier tonight is if ya screwed him while ya beat the hell outta him. An’ I’m thinkin’ ya prob’ly don’t wanna do that.”
I shuddered. “No.”
He guided me back into the bay, where Dave still snored on the couch. We sank into the chairs, and he leaned back slowly, holding his cold beer bottle against the bridge of his nose.
“When are you going to take the packing out?” I asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“That’s a horrible first memory you have of James.”
He shrugged. “Whatever. He’s an asshole. Always was.”
“Do you think he really always was? Or do you think he got that way because your dad-”
“I don’t call that sonuvabitch Dad. All he ever gave me was his fuckin’ shitty genes an’ a busted-up face. An’ a few other busted bones. Asshole. Doug Kane’s the only dad I got.”
I shut up and took his hand. My parents had loved me and protected me. My dad was my hero. I couldn’t imagine the kind of pain Arnie had lived through.
His voice interrupted my thoughts. “Did ya find out anythin’ from Webb?”
“Yes and no. Still no sign of Nichele, and Dante’s disappeared.”
His hand tightened on mine. “Maybe he went somewhere. A trip or somethin’.”
I swallowed hard. “Well, they haven’t found any bodies yet.” After a moment, I added, “At least Kane’s still okay.”
Arnie studied my face. “Ya still pissed at him?”
“Yeah. I mean, not that I’d want anything to happen to him or anything, I know he was just following orders, but… I thought we were friends, you know? I guess I should’ve known better. Spies don’t have friends.”
I took a long swallow of beer and slid down lower in my chair. “I’m probably more mad at myself for believing his bullshit than I am at him for shovelling it at me. I’ll get over it. If I live.”
“What about your husband?” Arnie asked carefully. “If it was me, I’d have a hard time forgivin’ that.”
“Actually, I’m not mad at Kane for that.”
“Bullshit. Ya don’t just get over havin’ somebody ya love killed like that.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t mad. I’m just not mad at Kane. He didn’t know me or Robert at the time, he was just doing his job.” I gulped some more beer. “I still can’t believe Robert was a spy. And I can’t believe he’d ever go rogue. He was so…” I trailed off. “Well, what the hell do I know? If he was a spy, it was all lies anyway. Nothing but fucking lies.”
I upended the bottle and drained the last of the suds down my throat. “I need another. How about you?”
“I’m gonna quit, darlin’. Think I’ll take a coupla pills tonight, too.”
“Back in a flash.” I headed for the dark front office.
I’d just closed the fridge door, beer in hand, when the sudden motion of a shape in the semi-darkness made me spring back against the wall.
Chapter 27
I recognized the dirty-ashtray smell immediately, along with a wet sound and an amorous moan from inches away.
“Fuck off, Weasel,” I said tiredly, and pushed past him.
“Why didn’t you hit me?” He sounded disappointed. “That was no fun.”
“Not tonight, dear, I have a headache.” I turned and left.
He followed. “Hey, I saved your sweet ass. You could at least slap me around.”
“No.”
“Come on. Please? I know you wanna leave bloody teeth marks on my big, hard cock. You wanna squeeze my balls while you whip my ass so hard…”
“If you’re trying to piss me off, it won’t work.” I kept walking and let the door go in his face.
“Ow.” He trailed me out into the bay. “See, that was okay. You could do that again.”
Hellhound shot him a deadly look from under lowered brows. “Go work on your car.”
Weasel sent a disinterested glance toward the car. “Nah. Your crazy bitch’s giving me a boner that won’t quit. Think I’ll go home and jack off.” He turned a hopeful face toward me, his nose still red and puffy. “Or I could spank the monkey right here while you watch. That’d be so hot.” His hand drifted toward his crotch.
“No,” Arnie and I chorused.
“You’re no fun.” He shuffled out, and we heard the front door close and lock behind him. Seconds later, the muffled thump of the bass faded away.
I dropped back into the chair and swallowed a generous slug of beer. “What a piece of work. Where do you know him from?”
“He’s one a’ my sources. For my P.I. business. I don’t deal with any a’ the hardcore assholes, but I got a few little slimeballs like Weasel that’re tapped into the grapevine. Known him for a long time. He’s bent to shit, but he won’t rat us out.”
“Does he ever actually manage to get laid?”
“Don’t even wanna know, darlin’.”
“Good point.” I drank some more beer. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”
“I gotta go back an’ talk to my contacts again, see if they found out anythin’ yet.”
I hesitated. “Arnie, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re so beat up already…”
He waved a hand. “No big deal. The guys that messed with me today ain’t gonna mess with me tomorrow.”
“How do you know? What if they come back with a bunch of their friends?”
He grunted. “They ain’t got friends. An’ they ain’t gonna be outta the hospital yet.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t prevent a sidelong glance at his injured knuckles. I was having a hard time reconciling the gentle, good-natured man I knew with the reality of the battered, scowling giant in the chair beside me.
As if reading my mind, he leaned forward and stroked my hand with gentle fingertips. “Ya know you’re always safe with me, don’t ya, darlin’? Ya know I’d never hurt ya.”
I took his hand and brushed my lips over the skin that wasn’t covered by bandages. “I know.”
Dave let out a particularly robust snore, and Hellhound shot a glare in his direction. “Must be fuckin’ nice, sleepin’ on the only couch without a fuckin’ care in the world. I should go kick his sorry ass off there an’ let ya have it for a while.”
“Don’t bother. Maybe it’ll help his back if he spends the night stretched out.”
Hellhound grunted. “I don’t give a shit about his fuckin’ back. He’s been hoggin’ the bed every night. Ya need a decent night’s sleep, too.”
Weariness washed over me in a sodden wave, and I drained my bottle. “I’m so tired, it’s not going to matter to me tonight. But maybe you should wake him in a few hours and take the couch for the rest of the night. You must be hurting like hell.”
He shrugged. “I’m okay.” He stood and stretched carefully. “Where ya gonna sleep tonight, darlin’?”
I eyed the filthy chairs. “I think I’ll sleep in the Caprice. Do you want the back seat? There’s probably a little more room there than in the front.”
“Nah. Go ahead an’ take the back. I ain’t even gonna try. If I get crunched up in there, I’ll never get out again.” He wandered over toward the LeSabre. “This’ll be better.”
Weasel had left the
rear bench seat lying on the floor, and Hellhound dragged it away from the car and arranged the cushions from the chairs at the end of it. He lowered himself cautiously and settled with a long breath. “That’ll do. ‘Least I can stretch out.”
“Where’s your jacket?” I asked as he wrapped his arms over his chest.
“Left it hangin’ in the shitter with my jeans after I cleaned the blood off it.”
“I’ll get it.” I ducked into the revoltingly dirty bathroom and grabbed his jacket.
When I leaned down to spread it over him, he rolled against the back of the seat and held out his arms. “Come here, darlin’.”
I knelt beside the seat and eased down, stretching out on the few remaining inches. His arms closed around me, and I snuggled into his warmth.
I woke with a start when I rolled off onto the floor.
The lights still blazed overhead, and the men were enthusiastically competing in the Snoring Olympics. Ordinarily, I found Arnie’s quiet buzzing as soothing as the purr of a big cat, but the packing in his nose forced him to sleep open-mouthed, snoring like a spavined chainsaw.
Combined with Dave’s bagpipe imitation, the echoes bounced through the high-ceilinged bay, amplifying instead of softening.
I groaned and squinted at my wristwatch. Quarter to two. Another friggin’ long night.
I opened the door of the LeSabre so the dome light would stay on before turning off the overhead lights in the bay. Then I crept through the darkness into the back seat of the Caprice, and thankfully closed the door on the racket outside.
“Fuck!” I threw an arm over my face in an attempt to block out the insufferable light, and tried to squirm away from the seatbelt buckle grinding into my hip.
I heard the sound of the rear door opening, and a whiff of dirty ashtray reached my nostrils as Weasel sang out, “Good morning, Jane-Crazy-Bitch!” He inhaled deeply and groaned, “Goddamn, nothing like the smell of hot pussy in the morning.”
I realized I’d draped one leg over the driver’s headrest and the other on the back deck when I pried open one eye to see Weasel’s face inches away from the crotch of my jeans.
In sheer reflex, I jerked away and kicked both heels into the middle of his chest. I caught a glimpse of his wide eyes and open mouth as he toppled backward.
Blind, brainless rage overwhelmed me. The rude awakening after a too-short shitty sleep obliterated everything but the primal urge to find the source of the irritation and eliminate it. Permanently.
When I woke fully, I was astride Weasel’s motionless body. My knuckles hurt and my arms were pinned behind me. Dave knelt beside me, his eyes wide and frightened while he called my name. When I snapped my head around to look at him, he jerked back.
“Aydan!” Hellhound’s strained voice came from behind me. “Calm down, darlin’.”
I realized I was gasping for air, my heart hammering. I sagged in Hellhound’s grip, and he slowly relaxed his hold. “Ya okay? Ya know where ya are, right? Ya know you’re safe?”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t catch my breath. “I’m. Okay. What…?”
Dave reached slowly for Weasel’s neck and pressed trembling fingers against the pulse point. There was a lot of blood. What little breath I had went out of me.
“Oh… God… is… he…?” I doubled over, panting, afraid to hear the answer.
“He’s fine.” Dave’s voice was full of relief. “Guess he’s just got a glass jaw.”
“Oh…” I slumped back into Arnie’s arms. “Thank God.”
He held me close for a few seconds. “Ya scared me, darlin’. I thought ya were gonna kill him.”
Dave rocked back to sit on the floor, his face ashen. “I thought you had killed him. Jeez. What kind of martial arts was that?”
“I don’t know any martial arts. I don’t even know what I did. I’m not even awake yet.”
“If I let ya go, will ya hit him again?” Hellhound asked.
“No. I didn’t really mean to…” I trailed off as Hellhound released me.
“Come on, darlin’.” He offered me a hand up. I winced when his grip crushed my aching knuckles, and he let go hurriedly and examined my hands. “Shit. You’re gonna need the frozen peas this mornin’. ‘Cept they ain’t frozen anymore.”
He looped an arm around my waist and helped me totter over to the couch. Dave handed me an orange juice and hovered while I attempted to free the straw from its cellophane with shaking hands. After a second, he took it away from me, inserted the straw, and handed it back.
I sipped slowly under the weight of two sets of worried eyes. A groan from behind the car signalled Weasel’s return to consciousness, and a couple of minutes later he staggered toward us, smearing the sleeve of his jacket through the blood on his face.
“Jesus, Jane-Crazy-Bitch, you know how to get a guy up in the morning,” he mumbled. “I shot two massive loads last night, and now you got me hard all over again.” He pushed his hand inside his jeans and fondled himself.
Dave gaped at him in frozen outrage for a split second. Then he shot to his feet, his face contorting with fury as he lunged at Weasel. “You scumbag pervert! You…”
Hellhound and I both leaped to intervene as Weasel snatched up a tire iron and swung it in a whistling arc. “Right now, old man! I like it from the bitches, but I ain’t gonna take no shit from no fat old fart.”
I flung both arms around Dave and dug my toes into the concrete floor, trying to shove him backward. He made an equally determined effort to push past me, and we struggled against each other for a few seconds until I found my voice. “Dave, stop!”
I got a close-up view of his scowl as he panted, “Filthy. Scumbag. Pervert. Gonna…”
I wrestled with him a few more seconds before I finally brained up and let out a pitiful cry. “Ow, Dave, you’re hurting me!”
He backed off so suddenly I almost fell. His arms closed around me. “Sorry, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt you, are you okay?”
“Dave…” Hellhound’s rasp held a world of menace, and I turned quickly to see him holding the tire iron in one large fist and the front of Weasel’s shirt in the other. Weasel’s toes were still touching the ground, but barely. His eyes bugged out while he gurgled desperately.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “I just hit the bruise on my arm.”
“Ya sure you’re okay, darlin’?”
“I’m fine. Don’t kill Weasel,” I added.
Hellhound grunted and half-shoved, half-tossed Weasel away. He landed hard on his butt and sat gasping and massaging his throat. “Look who’s talking,” he croaked. “You were all over her like slime mould last night, you fat old fuck.”
Dave tensed and shot an anxious glance at me. A slow flush climbed his neck, and he let go of me abruptly. “Uh…” He studied the floor, his face flaming, and then dragged his gaze up to my eyes. “I owe you an apology.”
“No, you don’t,” I assured him. “You had a reaction with your painkillers and some beer, and you kind of fell against me. It might have looked as though you were groping me, but you weren’t. We just put you on the couch, and you fell asleep.”
“I remember being on the couch…” He blushed even more furiously. “I might’ve said some things, um…”
“No, you were just snoring,” I lied.
“Oh.” He sagged with relief. “Good. I mean… uh, my back’s good today. Muscle relaxants must’ve helped.”
“Your back cracked when you fell last night. I was afraid I’d hurt you worse.”
“No.” He stretched and twisted tentatively. “Feels as good as if I went to the chiropractor. Thanks.”
“Time we got outta here,” Hellhound growled. “Ayd… Jane, get some breakfast, an’ let’s roll.”
Dave surveyed me with concern. “You’re shaking like a leaf,” he said, and ushered me back to the couch. “Sit down and I’ll get you something to eat.”
He turned to head for the car and stopped when Weasel climbed to his feet. The two men lo
cked eyes, glaring until Hellhound stepped between them.
“Back off, both a’ ya, before I rip your fuckin’ heads off and shove ‘em up your asses,” he advised.
Dave and Weasel surveyed his blackened eyes and the blood-stained packing that still protruded from both nostrils. I could track the progress of their inspection over his bulging arms and shoulders, down to the ludicrous tattered skirt drooping over his hairy, muscular legs and heavy boots.
Neither man seemed inclined to laugh. Or to argue. Weasel turned back to the LeSabre without another word, and Dave made for the Caprice.
Hellhound raked them both with an expressionless stare before turning to me. “Be right back. Gonna put on my pants an’ take this packin’ out. Yell if the gonad twins start up again.”
“I will. Wait,” I added as he turned.
“What?”
“What about Hooker? I just realized it’s been three nights. Will he be okay?”
Dave made a slight detour around Hellhound with the grocery bags. “Who’s Hooker?”
Arnie eyed him impassively. “My cat.”
Dave let out an uncertain laugh that trailed away as Hellhound’s deadpan scrutiny continued. After a few seconds, Arnie turned to me. “I called Miz Lacey yesterday mornin’ right after ya dropped me off. She’s handlin’ it.”
“Oh, good. You’re lucky to have her.”
Arnie’s face softened. “I know. She’s gonna gimme hell when I show up lookin’ like this, too.” He chuckled and turned away, his good humour obviously restored by the thought of his feisty elderly neighbour.
As he vanished into the front of the bay, Dave leaned closer. “Does he really have a cat?”
“Yes.”
“A real cat. Not like some perverted joke, like hooker…” He flushed and whispered, “…pussy…” His flush deepened. “You know.”
“His cat’s full name is John Lee Hooker. He’s named after a famous blues musician.”
“Oh.” He busied himself getting out the bread and peanut butter. “Sorry. He, uh, doesn’t seem the type.”
“There’s a lot about Arnie that you don’t know. He’s a very talented blues musician himself. He plays the guitar and harmonica.”
Tell Me No Spies Page 23
