He's A Magic Man (The Children of Merlin)

by Susan Squires

  Dowser looked up at her, blinked twice. “Oh, yeah.” He shrugged.

  “Mr. St. Claire wants you Thursday morning instead. I overheard him,” she explained. “That will give you time to ... uh ... rest up. I could hire the boat after that. Say ... Friday?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not? I can pay.” Drew realized she wasn’t used to being refused. The bartender filled Dowser’s shot glass from a bottle labeled as rum. Jamaican.

  “Won’t need money for a while after St. Claire pays me,” he slurred. “So. No boat.”

  “Don’t you put money away for a rainy day?” Now Drew was really getting annoyed.

  Dowser threw back the shot. The way his Adam’s apple moved in his strong neck did something to Drew that she’d never really felt before. Not like that. That direct. That strong. “Nope,” he said, and slapped down the empty shot glass. “’Nother, Al.”

  Drew turned to Al and raised her eyebrows. This guy should not be served more alcohol. Al unscrewed the bottle cap and poured him another. “Wow, responsible drinking not exactly a priority here,” Drew muttered.

  Al half chuckled under his breath. “Dowser’s here all day, every day, miss. He’s only about three-quarters gone right now.”

  Drew turned to Dowser. “Maybe you’ve had enough.” She heard Al chuckle behind her.

  Dowser rounded on her and his eyes, though still swimming, got more serious. He looked her over, seeming to register her for the first time. “Why are you here, little girl?”

  Little girl? “I’m not a little girl,” she gritted out. “And I’m here to hire your boat.”

  “Lotsa boats in the Keys. Why mine?” He paused. Drew didn’t really know how to answer him. So he continued for her. “Too late in the year for spring break, college girl.”

  “I ... I’m not a college girl.”

  “Sure you are,” he said, turning back to his drink. “And you saw the TV show, didn’t you?” Drew turned away. “And you thought maybe you’d get some fast sex and a boat ride from a guy who’d been on TV.” He sipped his drink this time. “Well, you’re pretty good looking. I’ll give you some of what you need and a boat ride for free. You don’t even have to pay for it.”

  This was the man she’d thought was her destiny? Fury boiled up. She hauled off and slapped the jerk as hard as she could. His head snapped to the side.

  “Ow!” Dowser rubbed his cheek.

  “Well, lookee that.”

  Drew heard movement behind her, but she didn’t care. She stood there, shaking in front of the biggest disappointment of her life. Roger paled in front of this character. “I’m not your usual trash,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

  “This one’s got spunk,” said another voice.

  A chill went up her spine. Drew realized she should be paying attention here. She turned. The four from outside had given up watching from a distance and had sauntered up behind her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Looks to me like she needs a lesson,” said the guy with the facial tattoos.

  “She jus’ need a real man,” said the black guy.

  The nearly bald one reached for her. She shrugged violently away. “Don’t touch me.”

  “No, no, no, no. Don’t do this.” Dowser moaned and let his head fall dramatically onto his forearms. What the hell was he moaning about? She was the one who was about to be in very big trouble. The four had circled her. Her heart was racing. This was serious. Now the guy with the tattoos grabbed her arm above the elbow, while the black guy grabbed her other wrist. The bar patrons were shouting and whistling.

  “Come on back to the pool table, honey.” They jerked her forward as she struggled. The fourth guy, Hispanic with a tiny goatee and a lot of piercings, scattered the patrons playing pool. Pool table equaled very bad.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.” She turned her wrist in the black guy’s grip and pulled down sharply, right where his thumb met his fingers. At the same time, she stomped hard on the instep of the tattoo-guy who had her upper arm. Worked like a charm, just like Tris and Kemble had taught her. She freed her wrist, and the tattoo guy yelled and stumbled away. She whirled and headed for the door as fast as she could. But she had to pass Danny and he got her around her middle in a bear hug, spinning her back toward the bar. Before he could pull her into his body, she squatted and lifted her elbows up to her shoulders, then ducked out under his arms.

  “Hey!” he shouted as she headed for the door again.

  But this time both tattoo guy and the Hispanic one with the earring were barring the door. “Bartender—call the police....” she called over her shoulder.

  The bartender raised his hands in the same gesture he’d given her before. “I don’t want no cops. My policy is ‘see no evil.’ ”

  Shit. She was really in over her head here. The two guys grabbed her again and crowded her. She should never have come into a place like this. And no one knew she was here except the old man at the dock. Not even Jane. Rape was about the least of what could happen. She kicked at their knees but tattoo-guy limped up to her and slapped her so hard it rattled her head. Her knees sagged. The room spun. They started pulling her toward the back. The pool table loomed. She couldn’t drag her feet. They just lifted her off the floor like she weighed nothing. Up to me. She did the first thing she could think of. She leaned down and bit the hand that held her upper arm as hard as she could. The copper tang of Danny’s blood tasted like victory, as he let her go with a shout. The victory was short lived though. Danny hit her this time. Open handed, but it still knocked her to the floor. How could she fall? The black guy seemed to have let go of her for some reason.

  Chaotic noise and shouting erupted all around her. On her hands and knees on the dirty floor, she could hardly see. Somebody kicked her or stumbled into her or something. The smell of piss and spilled beer and old cigarette butts on the floor made her gorge rise. She sucked in air, trying not to vomit, as her vision started to clear. Then, right in front of her, the guy with the tattoos fell onto the floor. His head bounced. His nose and mouth were bloody. She squealed in surprise and looked up, awareness back whether she wanted it or not.

  The room was a flurry of motion. In the background, people were scurrying for the door. In the foreground, four guys were in a pounding, bloody, kicking and gouging fight.

  One of them was Dowser. He must have taken on the four toughs. Now there were three, since Mr. Tattoo was down and out. The others didn’t look so good either. Wow. That guy could fight. But as he whirled around to take on one of the guys who had gotten behind him, he staggered. He was still drunk. He could just fight drunk really, really well.

  Danny, the nearly bald guy, pulled a knife out of his boot. Drew shrieked. Dowser glanced over to where she pointed frantically. He turned back just as Danny lunged in. Dowser managed to kick the hand with the knife. He must have kicked it really hard, because Danny’s hand went limp and he dropped the knife. It spun away. Then the three of them were on Dowser at once, punching and kicking. They were bloodied and cursing. She wasn’t the one in trouble anymore. It was Dowser. She pulled herself up using the nearest barstool. Her safety wouldn’t last. As soon as they got done with him, they’d be back to her.

  Dowser went down. “Shit!” she yelled. Some part of her was appalled at her behavior. She never yelled “shit.” The black guy grabbed a fistful of Dowser’s tee shirt to pull him up. She turned on the bartender. “Do something, you moron. They’re going to kill him.”

  The bartender’s eyes were big, but he shrugged. That made Drew even madder.

  “You telling me you don’t have a gun back there like every bar in the movies?” His eyes glanced under the bar. Oh, yeah. He had a gun. She scrambled over the bar, trying not to listen to the thumps and groans behind her. She stumbled to her feet and began fumbling among the bottles where the bartender had looked. Where was the damned thing? She pulled bottles over. The crash of glass and the rush of alcohol fumes added to the chaos.

&
nbsp; Hot damn. A shotgun.

  “Hey, what d’ya think you’re doing?” The bartender grabbed her shoulder, but not before she grabbed the shotgun.

  “Back off,” she hissed, turning it on him. “Get over at the other end of the bar.”

  He was only too glad to comply. She glanced over to the fight. Dowser’s shirt was in shreds and he was balled up trying to protect his body from their kicks. Could anyone survive that? So she put the stock to her shoulder and shrieked, “Enough!” at the top of her lungs. For emphasis, she jerked the loader back. The evil snick got their attention, if the shriek didn’t. Everybody knew that sound. They stopped kicking Dowser and looked around. The other patrons hit the deck, some crawling behind the pool table.

  “The little preppie girl got herself a gun, boys.” Danny gave a bloodied grin.

  They didn’t think she knew how to use it, or maybe that she didn’t dare. Surprise, surprise, boys. Her father had insisted on target practice this last year for the older kids and practice with a shotgun for Tammy and Kee, since it didn’t require much aim. Drew was a crack shot, but she’d also trained with the girls as a gesture of solidarity. She raised the shotgun and pulled one trigger. The light over the pool table exploded.

  “Fuck, bitch! Be careful with that thing.”

  “I was careful,” Drew said. She realized her cheek was swelling. Her words came out through a jaw that wasn’t moving much. “The next shot will carefully blow a hole in one of you. Don’t particularly care which one.”

  The other two had raised their hands and now Danny joined them. “No hard feelings.”

  “Right.” Now what? She really didn’t want the police involved. She’d never get home on time. Somebody would claim assault with a deadly weapon and she’d need a lawyer, and … well, not happening. And she couldn’t leave a guy who had tried to come to her rescue to the tender mercies of her attackers. “So, you two get Mr. Dowser out to my car.” She made a little motion with the gun barrel toward the door. “You, Baldy, trail them out.”

  The black guy and the guy with a lot of piercings heaved Dowser up, none too gently. Danny leaned down as he passed the knife on the floor “Uh-uh, buddy. Keep your hands where I can see them.” That felt like TV talk. Who would have guessed it could come from sophisticated Drew Tremaine? Must be the shotgun.

  The bar was now empty except for the bartender and Mr. Tattoo, still out cold on the floor. The place was a wreck, tables overturned, chairs in pieces, shattered glass and spilt beer everywhere. As they filed out with Dowser’s arms over their shoulders, Drew flipped up the bar where it hinged, her shotgun barrel steady. “Thanks a lot,” she sneered to the bartender. “I’d say drinks are on you.” She backed over to where she could pick up her purse.

  “I’d say, don’t come back here, bitch.”

  “No worries,” she muttered under her breath. If they actually got out of here, she was never coming anywhere near this place again. She stalked after the men who were dragging Dowser toward her car. He was a really big guy. They were staggering under his weight.

  “Load him in the back seat,” she called, keeping her shotgun pointed at Danny’s knees.

  He jerked open the door to the back seat, and the other two shoved Dowser half in. Dowser crawled weakly across the seat. They pushed his legs in and slammed the door. Danny started to grin as he realized they were now between her and her car.

  “Yeah, yeah, tough guy,” Drew muttered. “Like you’re gonna take on a shotgun. Get over across the street. All of you,” she added as they hesitated.

  Grimacing, they shuffled to the other side. The black guy was rubbing his jaw. The guy with piercings was going to have some beautiful facial bruises very shortly to go with his split lip. They all glared at her as she fumbled for her keys. She opened the driver’s door without taking her eyes or the gun off them. She slid in and propped the shotgun barrel on the base of the open window as she pulled the door shut. Then she shifted the shotgun so her left thumb was on the triggers and fumbled the key into the ignition. The car sputtered to life. She put it in gear and spun loose gravel as she pulled out.

  “No hard feelings,” she called as they passed the group of very pissed off badasses.

  She only pulled the shotgun in after they’d turned the corner.

  She wasn’t heading back to Key West, which was like a cul-de-sac surrounded by the Caribbean. The only way to go was back up Highway 1. She gunned it up the gravel road and made it to McDonald Street, all the while looking into her rearview mirror. Nothing. Well, some cars came and went, but nothing suspicious. She turned up Highway 1 and over the bridge to the next Key. She realized she was shaking. Her hands felt clammy. Her cheek and jaw hurt like crazy. A groan came from the back seat. She couldn’t think what to do about that. In fact, everything was suddenly very confusing. She pulled off to the side of a road next to a wood frame cottage whose owners didn’t believe in paint.

  Uh-oh.

  She opened the door and leaned out, barely in time to keep from barfing all over her lap. She hung on the doorframe while she heaved again. The cars whizzed by. They were getting a great close-up. Right into the road. Real lady, Drew. Perfect end to a perfect afternoon. But she felt better when she sat up. She fumbled for a tissue in her purse and wiped her mouth, then used another to mop her damp forehead.

  Sensing movement behind her, she grabbed for the shotgun propped in the passenger’s seat. When she turned, she saw Dowser trying to sit up. He groaned and hung his head. His face was bruised and scraped, and he cradled his bare midsection with one arm. He had scrapes over his ribs too. And older, bigger scars. A lot of them. She managed to turn the shotgun on him, though it was tight quarters.

  He glared at her out of one swelling eye. “I’m an asshole.” It came out “ash-hole.” “But I’m not the enemy here.”

  True. He had saved her from rape or worse. And watching the muscles in his bare shoulders bunch as he moved was taking a toll on her. Boy, for an alcoholic, he was really built. Made Roger look like a little girly man. What were all those scars about? “S-sorry,” she muttered. “I’m a little, uh, disconcerted by what happened back there.” She put the safety on and laid the shotgun down.

  Dowser grimaced painfully as he made it into sitting position. “You even think about conshequences? Going into a plaish like that.…”

  Stupid. But she wasn’t going to admit that. “I needed to find you.”

  He looked up at her. Boy, those brown eyes would be devastating if they weren’t so bloodshot and swollen. They had a depth in them—more colors than just brown, though she couldn’t quite tell what colors from here. She’d never liked brown eyes much. Maybe she’d never looked closely enough before. And then there was the lurking pain. “Why?” he croaked.

  Million-dollar question. Not a match made in heaven. This drunk could not be the guy who raised her magic. There was some mistake. Probably hers. Remember Roger.

  If she even had any magic. Seeing herself in the Miami airport in a linen suit? Big deal. Subconsciously she had wanted to go to Miami because of her obsession with this guy. So she had seen herself there and then recreated the scene by flying there and wearing the linen suit. Circular loop. That’s all. As for the instant and unnerving attraction to this man … well, she was on the rebound from Roger, doing and feeling crazy things. It happened. And she wasn’t even going to think about how, exactly, she’d found him in this little marina.

  So she couldn’t answer that simple question. She took a big breath and started the engine. “You need a hospital. Is there one around here?”

  “No doctors,” he gasped. “I’ve been beat way worse than this.”

  Hard to believe. She wanted to ask him about that, but she caught herself. She didn’t want to know anything about him. She just wanted to move on from this second terrible mistake, and get some control in her life. “You got a car? I’m heading back to Miami but I can drop you.”

  “At the bar.”

  “We are not going
back there. You live on your boat?” That would involve driving past the bar, so she hoped the answer was no.

  He shook his head, easing back against the seat. The muscles in his chest and shoulders were pretty impressive. Abs? She could count them if she wanted to. Which she didn’t. How in the world did an alcoholic boat guy get an eight-pack?

  “Okay, where do you live then?”

  “Sugarloaf Key.” His eyes closed.

  She remembered the signs. “Good. That’s on my way. You can give me directions.”

  “Deal.” But he didn’t look like he was going to get coherent anytime soon.

  She put the car in gear and eased out into the highway. Time for some air. She rolled up the window and cranked up the air conditioning. Cool air fanned her face as she worked her way up Highway 1. She began to breathe a little easier. But that left her strangely empty. What was she going to do now? Slink back to the Ritz for some spa treatment with Jane? Maybe it was just the adrenaline letdown. But her future in LA seemed meaningless right now.

  *****

  Who was this girl? And what the hell had she been doing in a place like O’Toole’s? He tried to gather his thoughts. The adrenaline had taken the edge off his drunk. More’s the pity. Now his jaw hurt and his ribs hurt and his bad knee, not to mention his belly. Those guys wouldn’t have been able to touch him if he was sober.

  He should never have gotten involved. He was doing fine. Drowning the fact that it was Alice’s birthday. Why had he gotten involved? Because if Alice had been here, she’d have wanted you to help this girl.

  The pain that hit him had nothing to do with the beating he’d just taken. Don’t think about her. He rolled his head. Need a drink. Right now.

  But there wasn’t any drink coming until he got back to his shack. And this girl was the quickest way there. He rolled his head back and saw her glance in the rearview mirror at him. Her eyes were a cool gray. Gray sounded plain, dead. But they weren’t. Alive looking, maybe. The thought made him uncomfortable. Yeah. Alice’s eyes had been alive like that. Only they had been cornflower blue.