The Monkey Jungle (The Bennt, Montana Series)

by Taylor Ryan

Mary Louise muttered something under her breath about stealing his boots and putting them under her bed as Shania Twain’s song filled the bar. She poured Mary Kathryn a margarita and passed it over as she straightened in her chair, shrugging a shoulder until her blouse slid down. The move obviously to gain Garth’s attention.

  “Back to me,” said Mary Kathryn. “If any of you hear any gossip regarding my victim, may I present the victim, Garth Morley, alive and well!” She lifted her glass. “Here’s to bad shooting, producing indisputable proof of life—and my favorite color.”

  “What is your favorite color?” Garth asked her wickedly as her friends toasted her. He was rather put off by the slatternly Mary Louise.

  Beth Harper laughed knowingly as Mary Kathryn turned her sapphire eyes on Garth. “Green—as you well know, Mr. Morley. And it has been green since last week.” She met his gaze, held it for a moment, then said lightly, “I see nothing but green—everywhere. Even in my dreams green haunts me. Which makes them very...interesting.” She batted her lashes at him in a dramatic fashion then turned to her friends, who were full of questions.

  Garth found her flirtation amusing. So she thinks there is safety in numbers? Little did she know. His eyes glittered, taking in her profile as she nodded at something Geraldine was telling her.

  Mary Smith raised her glass and toasted Garth as the jukebox volume rose. “It’s nice having a fresh face joining us for bingo.”

  “I second that,” gushed Mary Louise prettily.

  “Bingo—?” Garth glanced around the busy room at the full tables. It made no sense. There were no bingo cards, daubers or anything bingo related to see. He knew enough about bingo to know what to look for. There was no evidence of any games except a few dice being shaken on the bar and the busy pool tables.

  “Don’t pay any attention to Smith,” Mary Kathryn quickly told Garth. “She’s trying to panic you.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m being set up for something?” He wanted to brush the stray hair off her cheek.

  “After taking a pot shot at you?” she appeared wounded. “I wouldn’t dream of setting you up.”

  “After taking a pot shot at me,” he countered lightly. “I wouldn’t put anything past you. Just remember you don’t know me very well. I don’t get mad,” his gaze warmed considerably, “I get even.”

  She grinned. “Is that a challenge?”

  “Take it however you want,” he said carelessly. “Just be forewarned, Mary Kathryn, I’ve lived and breathed warfare for years. Survival was my game.” He leaned closer to her, his voice lowering. “You play with fire?—I’d love to singe your—fingers.”

  She blinked, her eyes darkened, holding his attention. He could practically see the thoughts running rampant as they dropped to his lips. Garth couldn’t tear his gaze away. What would she do if he grabbed her by the hand and dragged her out of the bar and did what they both wanted. The energy between them sizzled.

  Mary Kathryn had to shake herself. A small quiver swept through her. “Warfare? I accept your challenge, let the hazing begin.” She pulled away from him. An imperceptible distance, but he’d felt her reaction and felt hard pressed not to pull her back. “I know things about you that would surprise you.” There was a definite challenge in her tone.

  “Let’s see what you think you’ve got.” Garth’s eyelids lowered.

  “Friends,” she waved a hand at him. “Meet Mr. Garth Alister Morley, retired Air Force. Twenty-six years in service to our country. Two years college, enlisted straight out of Humboldt State, northern California. Age forty-seven. Born in Fort Bragg, California, not North Carolina. Birthday November 17th. Married once. Divorced. Single, Mary Louise.” She glanced significantly at her friend, which earned her a bland look from the man at her side as Mary Louise smiled coyly.

  “Nothing you couldn’t have heard from Alison,” Garth said, ignoring Mary Louise’s attempts to catch his eye.

  “One child, female,” Mary Kathryn continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Mr. Morley is trying to adjust to being a bum. Friends, please note bum is how he refers to himself. He’s visited thirty-seven countries via Uncle Sam, served in the first gulf war.” At that, he did react but she continued on cheerfully. “Mr. Morley spent six years as an SP. Special Police, the Air Force version of an MP. He was trained as a special fire fighter. Oil rigs. Probably what he did in the first gulf.” She turned sideways and stared him straight in the eye. “Confirmed sexual orientation is unknown.”

  “Bullshit!” Garth’s muted protest was a muffled curse.

  Beth Harper grinned. “Bingo! It was a B word, Morley. Welcome to Mystery Bingo. She got you. Give Garth his bingo prize, Mary Louise.”

  Mary Louise dug in her purse and passed Garth a magazine cut-out of a large lemon. They laughed at his blank expression. Garth had to smile. As they began to tease him with their infectious humor, calling him their lemon for the evening Mary Kathryn said, “Garth, everybody needs to experience being a tart at least once.”

  Still smiling, he leaned over and put his lips against Mary Kathryn’s ear, saying loud enough for their audience to hear. “Lemon or not, orientation will be confirmed. Be assured.”

  Garth was aware of her breath catching, but she ignored him as her friends hooted gleefully.

  “That sounded like a threat to me, Mary Kathryn,” said Maria from the other side of the table.

  “Rules of the game, Garth, threats only bring about punishment,” Geraldine raised her glass, indicating the table at large. “We are the club. We wrote the rules. Margarita Club rule number ten: Whether thou be guest or simply passing our table, we don’t care, thou threaten any fellow club member, thy punishment will be interesting.”

  “You threatened Mary Kathryn with confirmation,” offered Mary Smith chortled. “Sounds like a religious experience,” she quipped. “But, a threat is a threat, no matter how, uh, religious it was. You’ve now entered the Margarita Bingo Zone. Unlike the Twilight Zone, we fuel our zone with tequila.” She banged on the table with her hand as she laughed. “Let the meeting come to order. A punishment is on the agenda.”

  Garth sat back warily. What did that mean? He got his explanation from another source. The sheriff’s department. The off-duty deputy was telling him, “If the perps punishment is voted boring by her fellow Agave table mates, thy punisher will be severely booed. Severely!” Mary Beth smirked as she tossed money in the middle of the table. “And since you’re the perp, but Mary Kathryn brought you as her guest, she doles out the punishment. If she accepts the challenge.” She leaned in to whisper, “We cheat and make up the rules as we go along, Garth. There are no rules, so don’t look so confused.”

  Garth looked from one woman to the others, confused. He held the photograph of the lemon as they told him more rules.

  “The fine for a booing if we don’t like Mary Kathryn’s story about you is five dollars for the jukebox fund.” Mary Smith pointed to the small stack of bills Beth had deposited in the middle of the table. “Punish him Mary Kathryn. Mug him with your salty drunken wit! Show the man what we are about!”

  “That we’re all about nothing,” Mary Louise hooted.

  Mary Kathryn’s expression grew enigmatic. “I guess I could challenge the pot for a pitcher.”

  “If what she tells us surprises you,” explained Geraldine to Garth from her position at the head of the table, “and we find it interesting enough, the jukebox pot has to pay for the pitcher she is obligated to buy.”

  “Punish him, Mary Kathryn. We all heard the overt threat—it must be done.” Mary Smith leaned forward eagerly.

  “Well...” Mary Kathryn seemed to hesitate and Mary Louise impatiently tapped on the money.

  “Give me a minute.” Mary Kathryn looked at Garth. “They want to know what else I know about you. It’s you, a free pitcher, or five dollars—so in the interest of—well, me,” she laughed, “I’m selling you out.”

  “Why am I not shocked?” Garth wondered that she’d hesitated,
not even trying to figure out their game anymore. “I’ll toss five bucks in if you really manage to surprise me,” he said, challenging her again.

  Beth shook her head and tsked. “Five bucks? That’s exactly what she wanted. She’s the reigning club Queen,” she told Garth. “She didn’t tell you did she? She’s always prepared... I don’t know how she does it, but she just... knows things.” Bella scowled at Mary Kathryn, who only smirked and raised her glass.

  Voices rose in a cacophony as everybody started talking at once. Garth leaned back in his chair and observed Mary Kathryn’s profile. She remained silent as the others hazed her, all of them griping and complaining with good humored jests about her Salty Status getting stale.

  Mary Kathryn waited until the noise died down. “Are you ready, Garth, Marys and oddballs?”

  They all nodded, watched Garth, and making side bets Mary Kathryn could surprise him by knowing something about him she shouldn’t.

  “I hereby challenge the party pool,” Mary Kathryn declared, “for a pitcher of margaritas. His favorite wine was none until last week. He grimaced when Henry handed him a glass of red, but smiled politely and tasted it. Twenty minutes later he betrayed his favorite beer, pilsner, and had another glass of my lovely red. His favorite cocktail, Jack Daniels and cola. He plays a mean game of pool, has a few nine ball trophies. And once,” Mary Kathryn said with anticipation, “he was confused in the United Arab Emirates, in the Middle East.”

  Stunned, Garth sat up straighter, his eyes flying to her profile as her voice lowered dramatically.

  “Ladies—” she looked around the table. “Get this—understand confused is Air Force personnel term for lost. Turned around is Air Force personnel term for lost and confused...”

  The club members looked bemused for a moment then burst into laughter.

  Mary Kathryn felt his arm jerk slightly but continued on. “While the US Air Force will not officially confirm this, I have it on good authority that sometimes their personnel do get confused, occasionally they get turned around, but never lost.” The women all laughed uproariously. Mary Kathryn waited until it died down before continuing.

  “Confused on foot...having gotten turned around our own Mr. Morley and three companions were lost in the UAE. At dusk they were following the brightest light they could see above one and two story mud buildings, no electricity, mind you, except in the safety zone, which was wired. As the story goes, Garth and his companions wandered through very old dark alleys trying to follow the light they could see above the buildings...in the belly of a danger zone—where they had been ordered not to go for their own protection.”

  She carefully ignored Garth, who was sitting very still next to her. “And they were unarmed. Much to their dismay, the locals in the neighborhoods started following them in the twilight. Men and women in traditional dress, robes and veils. The crowd grew larger and louder behind them. It was very dark now—small alleys and buildings blocked the light they were using as a guide. The restless mob behind them continued to grow, men chatting excitedly, women holding up their veils—following them, calling more people to join the crowd, becoming noisier, appearing to be more threatening due to the sheer number and the volume. The mob trotted and walked along side them, behind them... Pointing and yelling...having a great and loud debate. Our fly boys, after much confusion, searching the night sky for the light and trying to follow it, finally came to an intersection. Lo and behold, right across the street was safety—the US base was a shining beacon, bright as day. The source of the light! And so close...

  “But the mob grew larger, even more agitated as our fly boys sweated, wondering if they were going to be cut down. They were so close—just across an intersection—when suddenly, out of nowhere, a huge black SUV with tinted windows came barreling down the road, veered toward them. It slammed on its brakes, and sliding sideways up to them it came screeching to a dust and tar smoking halt. Imagine it—unarmed, so close to safety—then the darkened window rolled down—a nattily turban headed man of Arab decent stuck his head out the window and screamed as loud as he could, Yahoo, John Wayne!— and peeling his tires, sped off, spitting dust and rocks, still yelling John Wayne out the window of the SUV.”

  Garth sat in stunned silence as the ladies clapped exuberantly.

  “Is that story true?” Maria asked amid the hilarity of an Arab mistaking them for John Wayne and that other thing—that lost thing.

  “It’s true,” he peered closely at Mary Kathryn as he told the other women. “John Wayne movies are everywhere over there... He’s an icon.” Garth felt the same ludicrous amazement he’d had at the time it had happened, and although it made a good story now, at the time they really had thought they were going to die.

  “Except we weren’t lost—” he defended staunchly, which made the ladies levity rise. “We were turned around. Confused... Well, hell!” Garth very gently tugged on a handful of Mary Kathryn’s hair until she faced him. “How can I defend myself? We were confused—we were turned around!” He heard himself and cringed as the women became even louder at his masculine indignation. She’d set him up. He couldn’t wait to get her into bed. There was nothing confusing about that! “You’ve left me nothing, Mary Kathryn,” he said with disgruntled humor. “Nothing to work with here at all.”

  “We’ve all experienced the confused man at one time or another,” her quip brought a fresh flurry of teasing. “Lost. L-O-S-T!” she spelled the word. “The only four letter word men won’t say,” she glowed with smug satisfaction. “Garth, please tell them why the mob was following you.”

  “It was pretty tense there for awhile,” he said truthfully. “We thought we were done for. We really did. But, as it happened, we were wearing cowboy hats and boots. The crowds were following us because they wanted to buy our outfits,” he laughed ruefully, still not believing it himself, then said, “But we weren’t lost! I swear, we got turned around somehow,” he was perfectly aware his claim gave them hilariously derisive entertainment.

  “Mary Kathryn, how did you find that story? No!” he shook his head. “No, not that lost stuff. Men don’t get lost,” he claimed with dignity, “especially Air Force personnel. The Marines have been lost a time or two...” His laughter joined theirs as he glanced around warily, as if looking for Marines who might take offense. “We weren’t lost! We got turned around!”

  “I’m not done yet.” Mary Kathryn took a breath, drank from her margarita then set her glass down. “Garth was a Superintendent for air crew life support,” she said, aware he was intently focused on her. “A survival expert. He certified flight crews. He taught land, water and desert survival to flight crews. Any and all conditions. You all get the idea. He taught survivors of air crashes that if they lived through the crash they could live off the land until they were rescued or made it into friendly territory. He taught captured personnel how to survive captivity.” She glanced at him, her eyes glowing with genuine admiration. “Don’t ask him questions about exactly what he did, ladies. He claims he will have to shoot you.” She laughed. “And as Officer Harper is off duty, the paper work would piss her off.”

  Garth was blank brained. Mary Kathryn had surprised him twice now.

  Chapter Eight

  “FRANKLY, MR. MORLEY,” SAID Mary Smith, “I’d rather get spanked than shot, can we arrange that?” she winked at him. “You do spank, don’t you?”

  Garth’s eyelids flickered. “Spank? Wrong word. A friendly birthday clout and such for my guys. To remind them I can still teach them to eat dirt and like it.”

  “I need a spanking too,” Mary Louise cooed, jumping in. She placed a hand on her breast, deliberately drawing Garth’s gaze to her overly ample endowments, peering closely to see if he looked. He wasn’t. She appeared stunned for a moment then picked up her drink, recovering quickly, her laughter forced. “Mary Kathryn, that was a good story. You’re still the Monday night queen. But, the night is young and you can’t reign forever.”

  Maria said from dow
n the table, “Smith, it’s your turn to fill our pitcher. John Wayne,” she challenged Garth, “cough up your bet to Mary Kathryn or I’ll complain to the local deputy.”

  Beth grinned cheekily. “Sir, I warrant she’s right. Pay the piper or sing your punishment.”

  Garth didn’t ask this time, reaching for his wallet as Mary Smith rose, grabbed the empty pitcher and headed for the bar.

  “We take turns buying,” Mary Kathryn told him quietly.

  “I was supposed to be the designated driver and here you are, plying me with alcohol,” Garth complained with good humor.

  “I lied.” Once again Mary Kathryn’s smile captivated him. “I needed you here to put a stop to speculation that’s gotten turned around since my carpet was shot.”

  He laughed. “How are we getting home?”

  Her hand went to his shoulder, a natural action, done without thought. They both froze at the contact, the small gesture creating that same jolt of awareness, but even more intense. She moved away reluctantly.

  “I’ve arranged rides,” Beth interjected. “After the Birthday Bow Incident, I knew we’d be drinking... it was a given.”

  “The Birthday Bow Incident?!” Mary Kathryn exclaimed “It’s got a name? Horrid!” She turned to Garth. “Damn Wilson! He’s laughing his head off about me saying you were a pervert playing with my stuff.”

  “He’s telling anybody who will listen.” Beth hooted loudly as Mary Kathryn cringed.

  Garth’s arm went around the back of Mary Kathryn’s chair. Mary Louise blinked owl-eyed. Beth smiled at the gesture. Geraldine looked at his arm and frowned.

  “Well,” Mary Louise thrust herself up from her chair as she grabbed a bill from the center of the table. “Jukebox time. Garth, you want to help me pick out some songs?” She leaned deeper, allowing her breasts to hit the table. “There’s sure to be something you like...”

  “I will,” Beth blocked Mary Louise’s obvious attempt to get him alone for a few minutes.

  “Play something I like,” Maria called, her accent barely discernible.