The Devil's Luck

by W E DeVore

  “For fuck’s sake, it’s been over a year already,” she replied. “Time to get back in the saddle.”

  The previous summer, Sanger had discovered his girlfriend was both married and trying to murder her husband so that she wouldn’t lose the fortune she stood to inherit. When he’d confronted her, and she knew she’d been caught, she’d killed herself to avoid prosecution. He hadn’t been the same since, and Q had been trying stronger and stronger tactics to bring him back to himself.

  “Seriously, Sanger. When was the last time you got laid?”

  He let out an aggravated groan. “Did you need something, Clementine? Or did you just call me from the road to kill some time annoying me?”

  Q told him about Mikey’s Music Emporium still being closed almost an hour into its business day and finding the front door of its owner’s house unlocked and ajar.

  “You mind coming over to check it out?” she asked. “I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s just… I think I’ve found my lifetime quota of dead bodies already.”

  “Stay tight. Don’t go inside. I’ll be there in ten. Wait across the street,” he instructed.

  Not seeing any imminent danger, she walked to the bottom step of the porch and sat down to wait for Sanger to arrive. Twenty minutes later, his truck pulled up in front of Mike’s house. Sanger parked and got out to join her. His t-shirt clung to his still sweating torso, and his dark, curly hair was wet with perspiration.

  “Told you to wait across the street,” he said, putting his hands on his hips and giving her an exasperated look.

  “Told you to hurry,” she replied, standing up to greet him and mirroring his posture.

  He smiled broadly and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “Welcome home, Clementine. It’s good to see you.”

  She grinned back at him. “Good to be seen, cowboy. Sorry to interrupt your day off.”

  He glanced at Mike’s front door standing ajar. “Trouble sure does like to follow you around. Be right back.”

  Jogging up to the porch, he called through the open door, “Mr. Ackerman… It’s Detective Aaron Sanger from the NOPD. I’m coming in to see if you’re alright.”

  Q watched him disappear inside and folded her arms, hugging herself to calm her fears, waiting to hear Mike’s voice respond. Sanger reemerged minutes later, alone. As soon as she saw his face, she knew.

  Goddamn it.

  She walked up to the porch to stand with him in the doorway.

  “What am I, a corpse magnet?” she asked. “Don’t answer that. How?”

  “If I had to make an educated guess, I’d say, suicide,” he replied, stunning Q into silence.

  She blinked several times before managing, “What?”

  “Looks like he shot himself.” Sanger’s eyes darkened, and Q wondered if this was the first suicide he’d found since his girlfriend had died the same way. He glanced back at the door. “Got himself good and smacked out first.”

  “Heroin?” she stammered, wondering if she’d misunderstood.

  Sanger raised his eyebrows in the affirmative. “He ever use?”

  “That’s what people say, but how much of it’s true and how much is just people making history more entertaining, I couldn’t say. Apparently, back in the eighties, he was quite the coke vacuum. Tony Balladine told me his dad used to buy speedballs from Mike. Rumor is that he sold it right out of the store. I always thought that was bullshit, though.”

  “Well, it looks like he was having a little one-man party in there. Heroin, whiskey, at least two packs of smoked cigarettes. Reeks to high heaven,” Sanger commented.

  As if his words willed the odor out onto the porch, Q’s nose was accosted by the smell of stale cigarettes and whiskey, and her chest began to burn. She swallowed hard, fighting to keep her stomach calm. But it was a losing battle.

  She raced down to the street and threw up beside Sanger’s truck, holding onto his front bumper to keep from falling. She felt Sanger’s hand on her forehead and his other arm wrapped around her torso, supporting her weight as her body committed its act of treason.

  When she was finished, he helped her to an upright position and walked her back to the porch steps to sit down away from the smell of her own sick. He left momentarily, returning with a bottle of water from inside his truck, and handed it to her. Q took a sip and spat to rinse out her mouth. Sanger sat down beside her, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “What’s the matter, Clementine? You pregnant or something?” he teased.

  Motherfucking super detective, god damn.

  “That’s what the little stick says,” she replied.

  He pulled back and smiled. “No way. Seriously? Mazel tov.”

  “Yeah. Yay,” she said sardonically.

  His smile faded, and he gave her knee a sympathetic pat. “So, I take it this isn’t good news.”

  She shook her head. “For Ben, it is. For his family, it will be. Bubbe will be over the moon. Mavis, too. Daddy and Uncle Ernst will probably drink themselves into a rum coma celebrating.”

  “What about you, Clementine?” he asked.

  Tears formed behind her eyes.

  “I don’t know, not really,” she admitted. “It’s just… things were going so well with The Beasts. I’m supposed to do those shows with Dark Harm in two months, and now I won’t be able to. There’s no way Derek is going to want a pregnant, vomiting Archangel opening his U.S. tour.”

  “You don’t know that. He might be into it. The dude has more than a few kinks, in case you haven’t noticed.” He jostled her against him and she laughed a little.

  “I just thought I’d have some time to get used to the idea.”

  “You have nine months for that,” he suggested.

  She looked at him earnestly. “How am I going to figure out how to be a mother in nine months? I mean, Bubbe is a force of nature, but she’s not exactly maternal. Ben, on the other hand, is going to be this amazing dad. His parents are these amazing people…”

  “You’re pretty amazing, too, you know?” he asked, pulling her closer and she rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Not like that. Not like them. I’m all prickly and hard to love. I know that. For the love of god, Aaron, I’ve killed a man.”

  “That was self-defense, Clementine. Why are you still beating yourself up about that?” he asked.

  “You’re still beating yourself up over Tori,” she countered.

  “That’s different. It was my fault.” He studied his shoes.

  “No, Aaron. It wasn’t.” She looped both arms around his elbow and leaned against him in commiseration. “Who’s gonna want someone like me for a mother?”

  Sanger thought seriously for a minute before replying simply, “A lion cub.”

  She gave him an annoyed scowl. “A lion cub? That’s super helpful, Aaron, seeing as how I’m pretty sure there’s a human being growing in there, not a feline.”

  He laughed. “No, hear me out. The female lions, they hunt, they teach the cubs how to fight, how to survive in a dangerous world. So, maybe that’s you. Maybe you’re a lioness.”

  She grinned. Sanger’s confident serenity filled her with a calm stillness and she was happy to have her best friend to talk her down off the ledge she’d climbed out onto.

  Sanger glanced at her sideways and finished, “If you want my advice, I’d let Ben handle the maternal stuff. You be a lioness. Any kid would be lucky to have a mother like you.”

  He rested his head against hers, supporting her weight as she slumped against him. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because, Clementine, you are looking at a genuine human lion cub. My mom was a lioness. She was tough and smart. But not the person to go to if you skinned your knee doing something dumb and were looking for some sympathy. She’d dust you off, tell you to suck it up and to not be so stupid next time.” Sanger paused and swallowed before continuing, “But she always made me feel safe. Made me feel protected. Made me feel loved. She made me into a warrior, and I love he
r for it.”

  “You still miss her,” she said plainly, knowing that ovarian cancer taking Sanger’s mother away from him over a decade earlier had hurt him in ways he still hadn’t admitted.

  “Every damned day. Your grandmother makes me miss her a little less, she reminds me of her. Doesn’t take shit from anyone.” He nudged her head with his shoulder. “Kind of like you.”

  “A lioness,” she said, blushing at the compliment.

  “Best type of mother in the world, if you ask me,” he replied, turning to kiss the top of her head. “You tell Ben any of this? About what’s bothering you?”

  “Not well. I completely lost my shit at him about an hour ago. Told him it was his fault and I didn’t want to have a baby or be a mother at all. He probably thinks I’m the most horrible woman in the world right now and I can’t blame him for it,” she said. “I won’t even let him be excited about it. He has to hate me.”

  “I very much doubt that. If you were my woman and you looked as pale as you do and were as sick as you seem to be, the last thing I’d be worried about is baby names,” he said.

  Q twisted uncomfortably around the ache in her right side that came back as if on cue. She futilely massaged at her stomach trying to make the pain go away.

  “I’ve got to call this in,” he said, reaching for his phone in his back pocket. He started to dial, but stopped himself and asked, sincerely, “You want a little more advice?”

  “Sure. Shoot.”

  “You tell Ben what you told me. Just like you told me,” he said, gently. “Stop yelling at the man. He didn’t do this all on his own, I’m assuming.”

  “Nope. Can’t say as he did. He’s got to be so angry at me.”

  “No, I don’t think that he is,” he replied.

  “How can you be so sure?” she asked, really wanting to know.

  Sanger tilted his head towards the street and the black Audi parking at the corner. Ben stepped out of the car wearing a worried expression on his face. She stood up and waved to him as he jogged up the pavement, jaywalking over to meet her.

  “Q, you scared me half to death. What’s going on? Mikey’s is all locked up and you weren’t there.” He eyed her and Sanger with concern.

  “Mike is dead. Sanger thinks he shot himself,” she said.

  “Jesus.” He looked at Sanger and back to her. “You didn’t go in there by yourself…”

  She shook her head. “No, I was good. I didn’t go in there at all. I called Aaron as soon as I found something suspicious.”

  Sanger heartily shook Ben’s hand. “Clementine just told me the news. Mazel tov, brother. I’ve always wanted to be an uncle. Excuse me for a minute; I was about to go call this in.” Leaning down to Q, he said in a low voice next to her ear, “You remember what I told you.”

  He walked away and pulled out his cell phone, leaving them alone.

  “You told Aaron about the baby?” Ben asked, surprised.

  Q pointed to the front of Sanger’s truck.

  “Lucky guess after I threw up breakfast on his front bumper. He’s quite the detective,” she quipped.

  She twisted uncomfortably around the mounting pain in her right side and grimaced. Ben’s expression grew concerned, but he took her hand and walked with her back to his car.

  “Josh had the Cove pretty well in hand by the time I got there, so I called Emmy.” He held up his hand to stop the accusations before they began. “Don’t get mad; she’s sworn to secrecy.”

  He opened the back door and rummaged in a bag, pulling out a fresh pack of hair bands.

  “For your jeans,” he said. “You’ll need to ask her how that works, but that’s what she told me to get. I also got ginger ale, ginger chews, and ginger tea for your nausea. Lavender bubble bath for your headaches. A heating pad for that pain in your side. And non-alcoholic beer and potato chips, just in case you were feeling better.”

  Sanger approached before she could respond. “Y’all can go on home. I got this from here.”

  “Thanks, Aaron,” Q said. “For everything.”

  He nodded silently.

  “You want to come by for dinner?” she asked.

  Sanger looked from Ben to Q and said, “Nah, you look like you could use some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow and check up on you.”

  She gave him a quick hug and got into the car with Ben.

  “So much for B3’s surprise,” she said, sarcastically.

  “It’s ok. I already called Ma and told her that you were under the weather. We’re going home, so you can take it easy.”

  As soon as she sat down, she unbuttoned her jeans and let out a sigh of relief, resting back in her seat to close her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “About what I said before. I didn’t mean it. Not really. This just came out of the blue, and I’m freaked out. I don’t know how to do this, Ben. Please forgive me.”

  Ben started the car and steered it towards Napoleon and home.

  “Nothing to forgive, darlin’. I know this was always more my dream than yours,” he replied, looking at the road, not his wife.

  “I just thought we’d have more time,” she said, raising up her right shoulder to ease her discomfort.

  She twisted around in her seat and reached into the bag to retrieve a ginger candy, sucking on it until her stomach relaxed somewhat.

  He glanced at her, worried. “You’re in pain, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “It’s like something is poking my side and it’s hard to get comfortable. I don’t know what’s normal and what’s not. Maybe this is, but I think I should go to the doctor first thing tomorrow.”

  Ben exhaled, in relief. “Emmy’s already got you covered. She called her doctor. You have an appointment at ten. I was afraid I was going to have to trick you into going.”

  Q laughed and turned her head to look at him.

  “Thank you for taking care of me. Putting up with me, too. I know I’ve been awful today,” she said. “I haven’t even let you be happy about it.”

  He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “I can take it. And I have plenty of time to be happy about this. Let’s get you feeling better first.”

  As they turned into their driveway, he parked the car and faced her. “I meant what I said back there, Q. I don’t want you giving up everything for this. It wouldn’t be right, and it wouldn’t make you happy. You need to trust me when I tell you that we’re going to make this work,” he said earnestly.

  She leaned across to kiss him, letting her body relax. After several moments, she felt her body stirring in familiar ways, easing her systemic tension.

  “It’s going to work out,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

  “As long as I have you, it’ll work out just fine.” Ben smiled.

  She eyed him skeptically. “Did you?”

  “Did I what?” he asked.

  “Do this on purpose?”

  “As I recall, I had a very willing partner in Atlanta who said, and I quote, ‘fuck it, we’re married. What’s the worst that could happen?’” He grinned at her.

  She wrinkled her nose and squinted one eye. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

  He got out of the car and opened her door. As she stood up, he abruptly scooped her into his arms, carrying her into the house and up to the bedroom. He set her down on the bed and started to untie her Converse.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Taking care of you. You’re going to rest. You look like shit,” he said, dropping her shoes on the floor.

  She slithered out of her jeans, gratefully settling back into the bed. “You’re supposed to tell the mother of your child that she’s beautiful, Ben. Even when her head’s in the toilet and she’s fat. That’s your gig for the next nine months while I do all the heavy lifting.”

  He lay beside her on the bed and caressed her face. “You’re beautiful. And I love you. And we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, darlin’.”

  He
r eyebrows stitched together as she grasped what he was inferring, and she asked, “What are you saying?”

  “I know you have a ton of gigs booked and we were supposed to wait another year. We can still do that. It’s your decision,” he said. “I’ll leave it to you.”

  She fingered her stomach and thought for a minute. “It’s crap timing. Derek is going to be pissed. How pudgy do you think I’ll be in two months when I’m supposed to be the Archangel?”