Strip Poker

by Nancy Bartholomew

  “Sierra, you coming?” His voice seemed to echo down the narrow hallway.

  I turned away, looking outside through the darkened kitchen window. A face, ugly in the dim light, darkened by a full beard, stared back.

  I gasped, opening my mouth to scream and hearing no sound escape.

  The figure held his finger up to his lips, a sinister smile creeping across his face. Like a flash of lightning, the apparition vanished, leaving only darkness.

  Nine

  I screamed, and this time the sound came out loud and clear. The terrible face filled the window again, surprise written all over the man’s features, surprise mingled with frustration. He rolled his eyes, shook his head impatiently, and vanished.

  Nailor came on the run, fumbling to fasten his pants while trying to hold his departmental-issue gun in his right hand.

  “Jesus, Sierra, what’s wrong!”

  I pointed to the window, trying to calm myself. “There’s a man out there!” Fluffy was going crazy, barking and tearing off for the doggie door. I tried to block her way, but she squeaked by me and was gone with Nailor right behind her, his gun held high in the air. I ran behind them, the cordless phone in my hand, dialing 911 as I tried to keep Nailor and Fluffy in sight.

  Fluffy was barking in the distance and Nailor was running hard after her. I heard him yell, “Stop! Police!” But whoever it was kept on running. A minute later I heard the sound of a motorcycle roaring off into the distant night and knew they’d lost him.

  The 911 dispatcher only needed to hear Nailor’s name before he responded by dispatching half of little Panama City’s police force. The two cars arrived, sirens screaming and lights blazing, only to run into a half-naked detective and a tiny chihuahua.

  Nailor, winded, glared up at me from the bottom of the steps. “What’d you call them for?” he muttered.

  “That’s what you do when you have a prowler, Nailor, you call the police.”

  Nailor looked disgusted. “Honey, I am the police.”

  Raydean emerged from her trailer, Marlena the Shotgun by her side, and a wary look on her face.

  “Well, I know you’re the police,” I said, “but you might’ve needed backup. I was trying to help you out, Nailor. You don’t need to go off on me!”

  Raydean spat over the railing of her tiny stoop and surveyed the scene. “I got your backup right here,” she said, racking the slide of her gun. “You want me to dispatch them impostors?” She was looking at the patrol cars, her left eyebrow a skeptical inch above the other one.

  “No, honey, not them,” I said. “They’re the good guys. There was a man looking in my window, that’s all.”

  Nailor, not finished with me, muttered, “Yeah, like I need backup for a Peeping Tom.” He walked over to the closest cop and began talking in a low, quiet voice. Whatever he said prompted a few snickers and an impatient bark from Fluffy. The younger cop was looking from Nailor to me and smiling like he’d figured out some big secret. Oh well, that was just all part of the general hoopla that came with me and Nailor getting hooked up, however informally. Now we’d be the continued talk of the department and probably most of Panama City.

  The two cops got back into their cars and drove off around the trailer park, searchlights bouncing off the darkened trailers. Few residents had bothered to get up and investigate the blue lights and sirens. It just wasn’t that unusual for the Lively Oaks Trailer Park to see police activity.

  Raydean, reassured by the departure of the two officers, decided to go back to bed, but not before she issued a few choice words to Nailor and me.

  “You two have got to get your ducks in a row,” she said. “Just because you shoot off a few fireworks in your bedroom, it don’t mean the rest of us has got to get involved. Now I need my beauty sleep, so let’s keep it down, y’hear?”

  Nailor, used to Raydean, nodded and slowly climbed the steps to the back door. I was tempted to correct her, but didn’t. I’d have all morning after Nailor left to set Raydean straight about Nailor and the future of our acquaintanceship.

  Once inside, Nailor went straight for the tumbler of Chianti, took a long swallow, and then turned his attention to me.

  “All right, what’d he look like?”

  I wanted to tell him he looked familiar, like a friend of mine’s boyfriend, but that was impossible as the two had vanished into the sunset and a witness protection program long ago. And I caught myself censoring the information on account of not wanting him to think I had men popping in on me at all hours of the night. Instead I told him exactly what I’d seen and gave him the best description possible.

  Nailor listened, leaning against the counter and drinking as I talked. He looked completely comfortable standing there. He wore only his trousers, no shoes, and no shirt. His bare feet were tanned and I found myself staring at them, wondering how he’d like me to massage them later. I shook it off and focused back on the conversation.

  “Any of your customers ever try to follow you home?” he was asking.

  “A time or two,” I said. “But Raydean or I always handle it. I think by now the word’s gotten out that uninvited guests are unwelcome.”

  Nailor didn’t seem especially reassured. “It’s a risky business you’re in, Sierra.”

  I bristled. “You too, my man, but you don’t see me trying to warn you off of it.”

  Nailor smiled, but his face was tight. “I’m observing, Sierra, not warning.”

  “Whatever.”

  Nailor picked up Pa’s jug of wine and poured more in both our glasses. “Let’s go back to bed,” he said. He was trying to push it aside and move on, but I wasn’t so sure.

  “I’m not going to change just because we’re involved, Nailor.”

  He turned around and laughed. “God, I hope not!” The mood was broken. We started out of the kitchen and headed for the bedroom only to have the phone ring. I rolled my eyes at Nailor.

  “Guess who?” I asked. “Five bucks says it’s Raydean reporting aliens.”

  Nailor laughed. “No takers there.” He moved past me and headed back down the hallway as I grabbed the cordless phone and followed him.

  “Hello?”

  I could hardly hear the voice above the loud roar of an unbaffled motorcycle.

  “You idiot!” he said. “I need to talk to you. What did you go and sic the cop on me for? And what’re you doing, shacking up with that creep?”

  I knew the voice. It was my friend, Frankie the Biker, back in town and looking for trouble as usual.

  Nailor turned around and made a face at me, clearly thinking I had Raydean on the line.

  “No, honey,” I said, “everything’s fine. Nailor’s here with me. Don’t worry about that prowler.”

  Frankie caught on. “I’ve gotta see you and I don’t need no cops around. There’s a problem and I think you know all about it. Can you lose that asshole by lunchtime?”

  “Sure, honey,” I said soothingly. “No problem.”

  Frankie sighed. “Good. I’ll call you later. Boy, is Denise gonna be pissed when I tell her you’re screwing a dick.”

  “Well maybe that’ll just be our little secret,” I said.

  Frankie roared. “Like hell! I told her you had the hots for him and she didn’t believe me. No way is this gonna be a secret!”

  “Yeah, but you do owe me.”

  There was a pause as Frankie considered how I’d helped him and Denise out of a huge jam before they rode off and disappeared on me.

  “Not that big a favor,” he said. “I gotta keep Denise happy, and trust me, this’ll make her real happy!”

  Nailor was sliding under the covers when I clicked the phone off. I dropped the robe, aware of him watching my every move.

  “Weren’t we in the middle of something?” he murmured, pulling me close to him.

  “Maybe,” I said, slipping my hand under the covers and beginning a little exploratory research.

  Nailor moaned as I touched him and his eyes slowly closed.
“Yeah, that’s it. We were in the middle of something.”

  I moved closer, my fingers finding all the little spots Nailor loved, but inside I was thinking a mile a minute. What was Frankie doing back in town? There could only be one answer. This all had something to do with the robbery at the club.

  Nailor’s fingers were doing their own dance across my skin and I felt myself respond. A sigh escaped my lips and I moved a little to the left, landing his fingers right where I wanted them. For a second I relaxed, giving in to the feel of him, the sheer enjoyment of his skin against mine.

  Maybe Frankie was going to present me with the key to the robbery at the club. Maybe the whole mess with Vincent and the murder charge would all be taken care of by Frankie’s information and I could go home for Christmas without a care in the world. Except, that is, for leaving Nailor behind.

  I reached for him, pulling him tighter against me. When he sighed I felt guilty. Right now, Nailor was completely happy thinking we were going to spend Christmas together. But come the morning, I was going to pull the plug on his expectations. Surely he’d understand. I looked at him and felt a pang as he smiled down at me. Sure, he’d understand, but he’d still be alone. What if he didn’t have anywhere to go?

  The thought of Nailor alone on Christmas morning was almost more than I could take. For some reason, that one image tore at me until I was suddenly aware of a tear snaking its way down my cheek. What in the hell was wrong with me?

  I brushed the tear away before Nailor saw it and tried to refocus my attention on the current moment’s activities. It was all the tension, I supposed. I was getting all mushy over a man who was perfectly capable of handling a simple holiday without me.

  “Mmmmm,” Nailor moaned softly. “I can’t wait to wake up with you on Christmas morning.”

  Great. Just great. If I didn’t go home, something awful might happen, and with a Lavotini, family comes first, no question. But if I left Panama City, not only was I letting the club, the dancers, and Vincent down, I was ruining John Nailor’s Christmas morning.

  For a moment I entertained the idea of taking Nailor with me, but I couldn’t bring an outsider in on a problem so huge Joey wouldn’t even discuss it over the phone. No, this wasn’t the time to bring home a man, even if that man was John Nailor.

  I thought of my brother Joey’s last words to me—“pray, Sierra”—and shivered. Something was horribly wrong in Philadelphia and I was going to have to fly up there and face whatever it was alone.

  Ten

  In my dream I was home for Christmas. Pa had trimmed the tree in bright red glass balls. But when I stepped over to look more closely, all I could see were the distorted reflections of my friends, each one imprisoned in a glass globe, each one crying out, “Help me, Sierra!” I reached out to touch them and my fingers came away covered in blood.

  I sat up, gasping. Nailor was gone. In his place there was a note written on his small, lined notepad paper. “I’m working until six. Get dressed up. I’m taking you out.”

  I moaned and rolled over on my stomach. Hearing me, Fluffy came tiptoeing into the room, jumped up on the bed, and stuck her cold nose in my armpit.

  “All right, already, I gotcha. It’s time to wake up!”

  Fluffy snuggled up closer until I wrapped my arm around her and hugged her tight.

  “You know I love you, right?” I said. “You know it’s you and me against the world, right?”

  Fluffy smiled and licked the side of my arm. I scratched behind her ears and laid there for a second, enjoying the warmth of my bed and the quiet of a trailer park morning. Everyone who was leaving for work had left two hours ago. And those who weren’t working still slept. It was unusual for us to be up. On a typical worknight, I wouldn’t have collapsed into bed before five A.M.

  I looked over at the clock. Ten A.M. The faint smell of brewed coffee reached my nose. How could that be?

  “You make the coffee, girl?”

  Fluffy only scratched a spot behind her ear and hopped off the bed, waiting for me to follow her. My kitchen had been invaded by one of Raydean’s Flemish aliens. The coffeepot was almost full of fresh coffee. The two wineglasses from the night before had been washed and turned neatly upside down on a square of paper towel. And Fluffy’s food dish showed the signs of having been filled recently along with fresh water in her bowl. Nailor.

  “Okay, girl,” I said, pouring a cup. “I should love this, right?” Fluffy nodded. “Well, I do.” I looked around at my kitchen and felt warm inside. I felt like I did when I was a kid and Ma had chicken-noodle soup and fresh muffins ready if I walked home from school for lunch on a cold day.

  I sat there, drinking my coffee and thinking about Nailor, a stupid grin plastered across my face. This was definitely an uncomfortable feeling for me. New. The last guy I thought I loved was Tony and that ended in total disaster. In fact, if I looked back on it, I couldn’t recall a time when thinking I was in love turned out good for me.

  I managed to keep thinking about Nailor all through my shower.

  Raydean’s phone call finally burst the bubble on my little romantic sojourn.

  “Good,” she said when I answered. “You’re getting ready. I’ll be by to get you soon as I can. I reckon we take the Plymouth. It makes more of a show at these sorts of occasions.”

  I sank down on the edge of the bed and cradled the phone against my neck. If I reached across just so, I could get lotion on my legs and accomplish two things at once.

  “What occasion, Raydean?”

  She snorted. “Why that poor dead boy’s funeral, that’s what. Says right here in the paper the funeral’s at one followed by the family receiving guests back to their house. Don’t you read?”

  I spread a thick coat of raspberry cream lotion down the front of one leg and started slowly massaging it into my skin. Raydean never missed a good funeral and this one promised to have all the thrills she could handle. After all, here was a whiner cut down in the prime of life, a murder victim no less.

  “I can’t come,” I said. “I’ve got a business meeting.”

  “The hell you say!” Raydean countered. “Honey, what kind of detective are you? This is what you do. You go to the funeral and watch for suspects.”

  I sighed silently. “Raydean, the men who robbed Vincent are hardly liable to show up there. It’ll just be a bunch of family and friends.”

  “And good eatin’” Raydean threw in. “Ain’t nothin’ like a funeral for good vittles. What time’s your meeting?” Raydean managed to make the word “meeting” sound like an encounter in a motel room with a married man.

  “Noon.”

  “Well, all right,” she said. “I’ll just pick you up and we’ll be a little late, that’s all. How long’s your meeting going to last?”

  I poured lotion on the other leg, switching the phone to my other ear. “That won’t work, honey. I don’t know how long it’ll take and I don’t know where it is yet.”

  “Humph!” Raydean clearly didn’t like my answer. “Don’t sound like too much of a meeting to me. Sounds more like wishful thinking. You didn’t get enough of that boy last night, you gotta wait on him to call and hope for a nooner?”

  “Raydean! That’s not it at all. This is something different. I’m working my own angle on this case.” Then I became inspired. “Tell you what, you go to the funeral and make notes.” I lowered my voice to sound secretive. “I’ll meet with my source then slip over to the family’s house for the receiving.”

  Raydean bit. “Good plan. Now let’s have us a code word so I’ll know you.” I figured up mentally how soon Raydean would be due for medication. She had to be about due.

  “What’s the word, Raydean?”

  “Well hell, honey, thought you’d figure that one all by yourself. Just walk up to me, make eye contact, and say ‘hello.’ That’ll clue me in right there that it’s you.”

  I lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “Sounds like a plan,” I said. Raydean, con
fident in her condolence casserole’s ability to gain her entrance into yet another funeral, hung up with the furtive air of a master spy. I made a mental note to call her friend and my landlady, Pat, so we could drive Raydean into the mental health center for her shot.

  The phone rang again just as I finished dressing. I was wearing black, just the thing for meeting with a biker and then paying a condolence call.

  “Sierra,” Frankie said, “meet me out back of the community college at the picnic tables. Ain’t nobody gonna know us there. Fifteen minutes.” He hung up before I could say a word.

  Maybe Frankie and Denise were in more legal trouble. I didn’t really think so. Denise and I had worked together at the Tiffany, and while Denise didn’t dance pro, she could’ve turned at any time. She was a hell of a looker and sweet on Frankie to boot. Denise wouldn’t put up with Frankie rejoining the biker life, and Frankie wouldn’t jeopardize what he had with Denise. No, I figured Frankie to be carrying a message or getting ready to drop a dime on somebody.

  Fluffy was waiting in the Camaro when I opened the door. Her look said “don’t even think about not taking me.”

  “You sure you want to see Frankie?” I asked.

  Fluffy let out a low growl.

  “Well, just so you’re sure. And then there’s a funeral after that. You’ll be waiting in the car. It’ll be boring. I can’t even leave the radio on for you. And if it gets cold, all you’ll have is your blankie.”

  Fluffy rolled her eyes and stared out the window, clearly ignoring every warning I was issuing.

  “All right, just don’t come crying to me when it doesn’t turn out the way you want it to.”

  Fluffy yipped and I cranked the engine. There was no accounting for dogs and crazy people. I was surrounded by unpredictability. I looked over at my dog. She was standing on the passenger-side bucket seat, her toenails gripping the black leather. Fluffy loved adventure, the smell of unknown places, and the challenge of peeing in a new location.

  “So what’s the music for the occasion, girl?” I asked. I pulled two cassettes from their holder and looked over at her. “Shawn Colvin?” Fluffy seemed to shake her head. “Yeah, you’re right, not rowdy enough for this venture.” I held out the other cassette, as if she could read it.