The Subject Was Rose [The Sunset Palomino Ranch 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Karen Mercury

  Drake knew a lone star was an independent cowboy, capable of accomplishing much on his own. He hung up after reiterating his vow to visit after Christmas. He found Jesse, and they drove to the Racquet Club for the meeting with Macklin in Drake’s sports car.

  Jesse said, “Try to figure out how much the box is worth to him. We’ll get him in a good mood because promptly at four they start a little stage show where women demonstrate some bondage stuff. It’s to lure the vanilla guys into participating. Too bad they don’t sell booze.”

  Drake frowned. “How do you know about the Racquet Club’s show? Yeah, I’m hoping if I can convince him that I’m about to give him a new bribe and extend the contract—remind him that we’re both equally as culpable as far as corruption goes—he might give me the contract and the painting just to get the box and the bribe. I’ll hand him some bullshit about having to go to the bank to make the EFT into his account or whatever.”

  “He probably just wants cash,” Jesse suggested.

  “That’s true. But since he’s not getting a dime anyway, what difference does it make? This box means nothing to me, but you’re right—let’s see how much it means to him.”

  “I wonder if he really wants it for his father. That strikes me as a lie. He’s not the most sentimental bastard on the planet.”

  “A lie, like most words out of his mouth.”

  Macklin was already there in the windowless coffee shop. He was sipping espresso, but the stage was empty, and Drake glanced at his cell phone. Five minutes to four. Something wrapped in plain brown paper sat on a chair and Drake presumed it was the painting.

  He didn’t want to thank Macklin for giving him back something Macklin had stolen. He just grabbed the painting and handed it to Jesse without a word. Jesse was the one who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

  “You better not have fucked this up. The paint was barely dry.”

  Macklin glanced at Jesse as though irritated. “Oh, don’t have a cow. So I kissed her. She’s not all that.”

  “What?” Drake was about to sit when Macklin came out with that. His hand automatically went for Macklin in the shape of his throat, but for once, Drake was able to stop himself. Macklin’s only trying to get to you. Trying to throw you off your game. Drake withdrew his hand and sat, trying to arrange a pleasant smile on his face. “Enough with the kidding, Macklin. I’ve got your box.”

  Macklin sat up straight, nostrils flaring. “Who’s kidding? I kissed Rose the other night when she agreed to my offer. I told her I’d knock five million off my fee if she’d sleep with me.” Macklin chuckled, self-satisfied. “Quite a feat for a hick town girl from Florida, wouldn’t you say? Not even the highest-priced call girls can command that sort of fee.”

  Drake finally knew what they meant when they said “he saw red.” His entire field of vision was literally clouded with a reddish haze, and he had to will his hand to stay still on the table. The old Drake would already be strangling the life out of Macklin. Macklin was lying again—probably. Even if he wasn’t, if he really had made Rose that offer, that was best dealt with later. There was no way in hell Rose would accept an offer like that. Unless…Unless she wanted to help me out and save me a whole pantload of dough. “That’s a very generous offer, Macklin,” Drake said in his best suave voice, “but with me around, Rose doesn’t need to stoop to scum to make money. Besides, you owe me an extra five hundred for that heifer you butchered. Now listen here. We’ve got our painting back. Let’s say we strike a deal, since you’re so fond of deals. Why don’t you give me the contract as a sign of good faith. That, and I need it to make a new contract extending the lease, so I’d like to use the same verbiage.”

  Macklin’s pure black eyes flickered like marbles. “You’re forgetting one thing. The box.”

  “Oh, I haven’t forgotten the box. Jesse, your bag?”

  Jesse had a laptop bag into which he’d jammed the gold rococo box. Jesse made a big show out of reaching for it, but he stopped abruptly when the bag was in his lap. “Oh, good!” He looked at the stage brightly. To a sudden burst of applause from the coffee-drinkers, three women had filed onstage. They wore skimpy shorts or miniskirts and bras, and heels so high it was a wonder they didn’t pitch onto their faces. One brandished a long red crop while another spun about, her ass to the audience. The third girl lifted the submissive’s skirt to display her creamy white ass. With a shock, Drake realized the woman wielding the crop had been his partner in wax play. And he couldn’t recall her name. Britney?

  “Ah!” cried Burt. “I was wondering if they still had these shows.” He scooted to the edge of his seat, temporarily forgetting about the box.

  Did this mean the box had little value, if he was willing to be distracted by a chick’s bare ass? That did not bode well. “Do you have the contract on you?” Drake prodded.

  “Whoo-hoo!” Burt yelled louder than anyone else in the audience when the wax girl spanked the submissive. Men loved seeing women get it on with each other, and the Racquet Club owners knew this, so they usually used women only to draw in the vanilla crowd. A few women now filed out into the audience, dressed in the same fashion, to touch men and give them little lap dances. “Come on, baby!” yelled Macklin, gesturing obscenely as though he held two melons.

  Drake looked meaningfully at Jesse, wiggling his eyebrows. Jesse wiggled his eyebrows back, but Drake had no idea what that meant. Drake had to yell louder to be heard over the tumult of the crowd. “Macklin! Do you have the contract on you?”

  “Whoo! Yeah, baby! Smack that bare bottom! Take it all off!”

  “Macklin!” Drake bodily shook Macklin’s arm. “The contract! Do you have it on you? Jesse’s got your box right here.”

  “Contract?” Macklin appeared dazed, glassy-eyed. “Oh. Of course. I’ve got it right—Whoo!”

  Macklin had started to reach inside his suit jacket, but became distracted when one of the lap dancers gyrated close to him. A DJ was playing pounding, monotonous hip-hop music, and the more Drake’s ex-lover onstage spanked the sub, the rowdier the crowd became. Drake knew he had to make this transaction before things got out of hand. Damn good thing they didn’t serve alcohol at this place.

  “Hey, baby! Over here!” Macklin yelled.

  Things got worse when Drake’s former play partner suddenly noticed him. She stopped dead with the crop in midair, poised to strike the quivering bottom. She froze almost with an expression of horror, as though the last time they’d met, Drake had done something unspeakable to her.

  And not just wax play, either.

  Drake couldn’t recall anything more edgy than dripping multicolored wax onto her bare stomach, but her pause was angering many people, Macklin included.

  “Hey, now!” Macklin yelled. “Keep it up! Don’t stop, baby. Come on!” And seemingly out of frustration, Macklin grabbed the closest dancer and jammed her onto his lap.

  Jesse leaned close to Drake. “The natives are getting restless.”

  * * * *

  When Rose saw the look of recognition on Lori’s face, a ball of jealousy burned in the pit of her stomach. Rose knew that look. Lori and Drake were lovers. Rose knew Lori as a diner at the Cavern on the Green. She knew Lori came to the Racquet Club when she wanted a break from being a high-powered attorney. The Racquet Club, after all, was just down Manilow Avenue from the Searchlight Motel. After following her men to the Club, Rose was a bit taken aback to see Lori onstage spanking a female submissive, but it was no big deal, really. Restaurant workers sometimes saw diners as two-dimensional beings who ceased to exist outside of the restaurant. It was just a bit surprising to see someone who had just ordered Spam and eggs now whipping another woman into a frenzy.

  Only, Lori wasn’t whipping. She stopped the moment she saw and recognized Drake. Or is it Jesse she’s recognizing?

  Either way, a frustrated Burt Macklin pulled a dancer into his lap and all hell broke loose. Some dungeon master or other shoved Rose aside from where she peeked around the stage curta
in. He rushed past, heading toward Burt. Apparently touching the dancers was forbidden in this establishment, but the dungeon master didn’t reach Burt in time. There was a general knot of people conglomerating around Drake’s table, and Rose could see Burt forcibly wrapping one arm around the dancer and mauling her tit with the other paw. This enraged Rose, especially with the recent memory of how Burt had attempted to maul her. Rose strode out onto the little stage in a fury. Now both Lori and the sub were watching the action at Burt’s table—nobody was watching the stage anymore.

  Rose jammed her hands onto her hips and demanded of Lori, “How do you know Drake Stinson, Lori?” She knew Drake was allowed to have a past, especially prior to meeting her. She knew she was being irrational. Jealousy was just a rabid emotion that sucked one’s brains out into the atmosphere. Nothing she did from now on would be rational.

  Lori frowned at her. She looked rather ridiculous with that crop in her hand, her jaw hanging low. “What are you doing here, Rose? Are you coming to cook for the club? Drake and I are just…buddies. That douchetard at Drake’s table is getting out of hand. Tell him to knock it off, will you?”

  Rose snarled, “I’ll fucking knock it off for him,” and took several determined strides toward the table. But something shocking happened then.

  Burt finally succeeded in getting the dancer’s black latex bra off, and he shouted victoriously. Rose could see real fear in the girl’s eyes, as by now the coffee-drinking men were crowding so close they were packed like sardines. Rose couldn’t see Jesse at all anymore, but Drake was right in the thick of it, trying to fend off the spectators who were becoming more and more insistent. Unsurprisingly, the sight of a topless woman was enough to bring the delirious, lusty wolf out in men.

  Against her better judgment, Rose tried to squeeze her way through the knot of men. She caught occasional glimpses of Macklin mauling the dancer’s naked breasts, and several other men had added their paws to the mix. She could still see Drake trying to extricate the girl, but the press of men against Rose had become too strong. An inkling of panic set into the edges of her awareness. Should I panic? These men are crushing me from all sides.

  It was then she realized neither of her feet was touching the floor. At least fifty men had all converged at once, turned into a mindless, groping horde, all simultaneously trying to get to the braless woman. Rose feared she’d gone too far to turn back. Men were even starting to grope her, and she knew she had to get out somehow.

  “Let me…out! Let me out!” Rose’s voice grew in urgency and volume as men pressed in on her. Since she was squashed and lifted high above their shoulders, she could see that at the focal point, what had been Drake’s table, the men were starting to fall on top of each other. They flailed pointlessly as men behind them were shoved on top, and soon men were being layered horizontally like a layered bean dip. Instead of horny shouts of joy, now they were uttering flattened groans of despair. Rose squirmed like a worm, trying to pop free of their pressure.

  She was being squeezed so hard she felt her eyes would pop out of their sockets. It was just typical that men would turn a simple thing like viewing a woman’s tits into a stampede. This isn’t how I want to die. Being squashed like a bug by dozens of horny men. She had to stop yelling because all the air was squished from her lungs, and someone’s wallet or belt buckle was jammed so hard it felt like her hip was broken.

  Suddenly she was plucked free, as though a hook from a giant crane had come down through the ceiling. She was flying through the air, landing with a thud on top of a table. The pain in her hip was nearly blinding her but she knew she had to keep moving, to get away from the throng of squashed men. Looking up at the ceiling as her limbs scrabbled to find something to hold onto, she saw a flash of Drake’s lovely salt-and-pepper hair. Happiness and gratitude flowed through her, and he practically took her in his arms like a baby.

  “Jesus, Rose!” He looked furious with her as he carried her away from the carnage. “What the fuck were you thinking, following us here? I told you not to come! You could’ve been trampled to death!”

  “Well, who was expecting that to happen? I just wanted to see you get revenge on that douchetard.”

  Drake had swept her away so fast they were now outside the club in the bright muted light of the autumn desert afternoon. A cop car with lights and siren blaring was heading from the downtown Palm Springs direction, so the couple jogged the other direction. Drake didn’t put her down until he’d gone a block. People were racing toward the club, and only Drake and Rose ran away from it.

  He stood her against the side of a building and gripped her shoulders. “That was a stupid thing to do, Rose! I don’t want you anywhere near guns or potential violence.”

  Rose pouted. “How was I supposed to know Burt Macklin would rather rip off a girl’s bra than take millions of dollars from you?”

  “Yeah.” Drake’s expression went from one of frightened rage to one of amusement. “He was so obsessed with that chick he didn’t notice when I snagged the contract from the inside pocket of his jacket.”

  “Oh, nice,” said Rose, full of admiration for her boyfriend. “He stole it from you first, after all. You shouldn’t have to pay to get it back. And where’s my painting? I saw something wrapped in brown paper that looked about the right size, but I’m sure it’s got a hundred footprints on it now.”

  Drake became concerned again. “That’s the thing. Once all those lookie-loos started converging on us, I lost sight of Jesse. The girl’s okay—I got her out before those morons started falling on the table. She ran out the side door. Probably never wants to go back again.”

  It was Rose’s turn to grip Drake’s shoulders. She said in a hushed voice, “Jesse didn’t get squashed…did he?”

  Drake hugged her close. “I don’t think so. I think he was one of the first ones out of there with your painting. Listen. I don’t want you to ever try to save me a single dollar by doing anything you normally wouldn’t do.”

  Rose stilled. She knew Drake referred to her chance encounter with Macklin in front of her hotel room. Lightly she said, “What’s wrong with trying to save a buck?”

  Drake held her out at arm’s length and pinned her down with his eyes. “Not that way. You know what I mean, Rose. You know I wouldn’t want you doing anything remotely like that, not for one buck or five million of them.”

  Rose tilted her head stubbornly and said, “Okay, point taken. Let’s get to your car. Where’d you park?” Secretly she was pleased that Drake was so protective.

  Once again, they were walking against the tide of people and cops. People shoved Drake and Rose aside in their zeal to see what was going on at the club. Rose became even more worried when an ambulance blasted its siren in an attempt to get through the gridlock that suddenly appeared for the first time ever on Manilow Avenue.

  “We didn’t even hand over the jewelry box before the stampede started,” said Drake, “so we’ve still got leverage, if we even need it. Least, I think Jesse still has the bag with the box in it.”

  Rose tried to keep the frenzy out of her voice. “Where is that guy?”

  “My car’s just around the corner, on Fourth Street.”

  Sure enough, Jesse leaned against Drake’s Corvette casually, long legs crossed, as though to goad them for being so worried about him. Rose broke free of Drake and ran to Jesse with her arms wide. She crashed into him so hard they slammed against the sports car. Rose squeezed him as though she didn’t expect to ever see him again.

  “Oh, Jesse, oh, Jesse,” she murmured over and over.

  Manlier, Drake slapped Jesse on the shoulder. “Good going, getting that painting out of there unscathed. There was a big pileup after you absconded. I take it you still have the box, too?” Drake indicated the laptop bag between Jesse’s feet.

  “Sure.” Jesse hefted the bag, and Rose snatched it from him. “I saw you take that contract from Macklin, so now we hold all the cards. Why give him the box?”

  “E
xactly. Now he’s got nothing.”

  Rose added, “Macklin might even be squashed like a bug under that table.”

  Drake asked Jesse, “Did you ever ask your friends what might be so special about it?”

  “Yeah. No one had any fucking clue. I mean, it’s not a cheap-ass knockoff or anything. Let’s say in 1950 it might’ve cost a hundred dollars.”

  “So about five hundred now?”

  “In that ballpark. No big deal.”

  Drake frowned. “So maybe it’s possible he did want it for his father. Maybe his father was in love with Kitty from afar, or some such shit.”

  Jesse opined, “There were always rumors that Kitty’s husband was a closeted gay. Maybe Kitty was looking elsewhere.”

  Rose said, “And found Macklin Senior? Gross. Hey, look. Under this necklace compartment there’s a couple hinges. I wonder if I could—hey!”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Drake breathed down on her neck. “A secret compartment? Don’t tell me it’s got incriminating photos of Kitty and Macklin Senior.”

  Rose waved Drake away, but only bumped into Jesse. “Out, out! You’re in my light. Huh. What the hell is this?”

  From the compartment Rose lifted something flat, about five inches square. It looked like some kind of magnetic data enclosed in a shiny black envelope.

  Jesse said, “Is that some sort of floppy disk? I remember having smaller ones, before everyone started using CD-ROMs to store data.”

  Drake whisked the disk out of Rose’s fingers. “You young whippersnappers. This isn’t even the biggest disk they used to make. There used to be an eight-inch one before this modern work of art came along.”

  Rose had seen that the hand-lettered label said, “Richard’s book, 1976.” Kitty’s husband was Mickey Hart, so maybe Macklin Senior was a Richard. “Where the hell can we read a disk like this? This is obviously the real thing Macklin Junior was seeking.”