Trouble Under Venus

by Autumn Piper

“Steve gets the patent instead of Dennis.”

  “Stu, I mean, Steve, is with the FBI?” And then it hit me. “Grandma.” I covered my face with my hands. “God. Life is not fair. He’s using her, isn’t he?”

  “Probably. Looks like he’s going to steal this invention after Dennis disappears.”

  “God. No wonder she turns to alcohol. First her husband died, her son’s about to vanish, and then, what? She finds out her lover was using her as a means to spy on her drug-running son?” No wonder as a child I’d never gotten wind of this boyfriend. She must have been so humiliated.

  “Since he rips off her son’s clever idea, I’d bet Stu just falls out of her life one day and she never knows why.”

  It was too much. Too much for any one woman to handle. No wonder all my memories of her were with bloodshot eyes. How had she found the energy to smile in those pictures with me? Did seeing me as a child remind her of losing Dennis and make the wounds hurt more, or soothe her? She was such a kind person, it couldn’t be right for her to get such a raw deal.

  “Drew, hey.” He pulled me to him. I’d started crying again, and tears seemed pretty tough for him to handle. “I’m sorry. I was hoping when I ordered the data search for the patent, I’d find out a new ID for your dad. I’m really sorry.”

  “So the FBI really doesn’t know what happened to him?”

  “He was on their wanted lists until Bea declared him dead. I’m sorry, babe, but we’re no closer to finding out what happened to him.”

  “You don’t think Dennis knows? That Stu is with the FBI. Do you?”

  “He’s pretty deep undercover. I only made the connection because I’d seen him going in and out of your grandma’s. When I cased the duplex to check out the patent holder early this morning, I recognized him.”

  “I cannot believe that weasel’s gonna steal those plans from her. Kick her while she’s down, after her son comes up missing. And to think I was so happy she has him. I’m such a lousy judge of character.” I sniffled, and rested my forehead against his nice, hard chest.

  “Hey. Check it out.” He nudged me and I looked to my right, where the last bit of sun had sunk into the water, casting pink rays up and orange ones across the horizon. “Give yourself a break. You’re not such a bad judge of character. You liked me right away.”

  “Sorta,” I mumbled, “but I thought you were a serial killer.”

  Mitch threw back his head and laughed, his chest bumping into my cheek with each gasping breath. “N.D. How could I forget? A brave snoop with a wild imagination.” His arms crossed my back tight, pulling me to him. My hands felt so damn right resting under his shoulders. “But you know what?” His chest compressed, but didn’t refill. “I love you.”

  I quit breathing myself, thinking hard, wanting to make sure I’d really heard those words and hadn’t dreamed them. How could I do it without making a fool of myself? With a big gulp of courage-making air, “Really?”

  His chest moved again, in what felt like shakes from a chuckle.

  There was no getting around it. I had to look at his face and see what he was thinking.

  Relief, plain as day. “Yeah. Sorry I was so hard on you…back in the room.” With a soft smile, he squeezed my cheeks. “I really didn’t want to, you know, love you. You’re gonna be a big pain in the ass, probably your whole life.”

  “I’ll try my best. But don’t ever doubt that you’re a pain in the ass too.” It felt so good to be getting along, teasing but not fighting.

  “Look, there she is.”

  Where he pointed, the first dim speck of Venus was lighting up for the night. “You know what you gotta do now. Kiss me.”

  “Shit,” he groaned, grinning all the while. “Am I gonna have to do that every night now?”

  Before I could answer, he had.

  Chapter 27

  Knowing Mitch was parked down at the corner on his bike, watching to make sure I made it home safe, I felt like skipping the last half block to Grandma’s house. Maybe I wouldn’t go so far as to skip, but I could give myself a happy little hug. Mitch loved me. I loved him. And once we were all done in 1980, we could make a life together.

  The question of where the heck my dad would disappear to remained, but I refused to let it dim my moment.

  For the first time in over a year, I looked forward to the future. Settling down, getting older… God. I even looked forward to having kids with Mitch. Was I finally okay enough with the big question mark dangling from my family tree to grow my own branch?

  Yeah. I was.

  Busy looking forward, I used the planter key to unlock the front door and walked into Grandma’s living room.

  Dennis sat in the easy chair, looking quite formidable while slapping a stack of money against his knee, my backpack at his feet. Oops.

  I swallowed hard, suddenly thankful I’d never had to face him as a misbehaved child.

  “Hullo, Cuz,” he drawled. “Been out for some more shopping?”

  “Um. Shopping? No, I went to the beach.” His calm-before-the-storm expression set off alarm bells. Maybe if I kept on talking, he wouldn’t start. “Look, if you’re mad about buying that dress for me when I had a stash of money, I’ll pay you back.”

  “With this money?” He laughed without smiling, waving the stack in the air. “Don’t even fuckin’ think of it.”

  “Um.” Totally at a loss, I sank into the couch and eyed my backpack. This wasn’t good at all. “So you snooped through my stuff.” Sure I’d invaded his privacy, but he didn’t need to know that. I’d given him no reason to be suspicious, whereas he...

  Wanted answers. “Mind tellin’ me where you get this shit printed?”

  Positively bristling at his insinuation I was a counterfeiter, I bit back my temper. This was one instance where I could tell the truth. “I got it from the bank. In Arizona.”

  “Cuz, you might wanta go pay that bank a visit. Didn’t you notice anything funny about this money? Christ, I can’t believe you’ve managed to make it out of a single store, paying with this shit.” He tossed the top few bills my way.

  As they floated down, I captured two. Standard U.S. twenties, printed on…the new paper. With all the new markings. Bloody hell. “I got these at the bank before I left,” I repeated. And then it all clicked. “You don’t think I’m the one who’s been passing all the fake money on the news?” But I probably was. The shopping center, Rico’s bar…

  “These bills say two thousand six. Who the fuck prints fake money with a future date on it? On weird-ass paper?”

  Who indeed. “Man. I am so hosed, huh?” Maybe I could play dumb. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice. Thanks for pointing these out, but in the future, please don’t dig through my stuff.” I stood and tried to breeze past him to the bathroom, anxious to have the conversation over.

  Alas, he grabbed my arm on my way past. “Know what, Cuz? I counted and there’s four hundred and forty bucks here.” He waved my travel money through the air like a banner proclaiming my stupidity. “All but eighty is fake.”

  “What?” Leave it to me to choose an ATM with all new twenties in it.

  He took a worn bill from the stack and called out, “Nineteen eighty-seven.” Next bill, “Nineteen ninety-five.” Oh, shit. Then, “Ninety-eight, ninety-eight, ninety-eight, that must be a big fuckin’ year for counterfeits, huh?”

  It was all I could do to keep from sinking to my knees. If I hadn’t left Sedona in such a hurry, Sudo probably had stacks of money I could have taken. Stacks. Instead, I’d been flitting around Miami, narrowly escaping a federal counterfeiting charge.

  “What I wanta know is, where do they get this paper? This is good shit. This is the real shit.” He eyed me suspiciously, then looked at the money in his hand. “You got any idea the trouble you can get into for possession of these?”

  “Lucky for me I’m hanging with the Great and Powerful Keen, huh? How did you get so keen? I mean, don’t expect me to believe Delicia’s voodoo blessing is the reaso
n you know where all the cops are, all the time.”

  He actually had the nerve to look offended. “It’s not the voodoo blessing, it’s more like a sixth sense. A skill.”

  He was so damn proud of himself for fooling everyone. In a way, pulling the wool over so many eyes was a skill.

  “But I don’t want the Feds breathin’ down my neck because they trace some damn funny money back to my house.” He grabbed my right hand and shoved the stack into it. “So put this shit away and don’t let me see it out again while you’re stayin’ here.”

  Half muttering, I squatted and stuffed the money into the bottom of my backpack. “Guess your telepathic cop radar, er, skill, doesn’t sense the Feds, huh?”

  His boot met my butt and sent me sprawling to the floor. Before I could register what he’d done, he’d pinned me with his knee in my lower back. “Don’t think for a fuckin’ second I don’t know when there’s a Fed around, Cuz.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” With my face against the carpet, it came out pretty muffled.

  His hands were everywhere, sliding up and down my legs and taking liberties around my butt.

  “Checkin’ for stuff. ID, guns…”

  “Guns?” I squeaked, trying but failing to roll over. “I’m not a cop!” His hands moved up my ribs, making me wiggle from the tickling. When his hands slid back down, I couldn’t stifle a giggle. “Geez. And ID? Whaddaya think, I’m a federal agent and I’ll be packing around one of those shiny gold badges?” One more try at rolling over to my back. He let me. “That would be pretty damn stupid of me, now wouldn’t it?”

  If his eyes got any narrower, he wouldn’t be able to see daylight.

  “I am not a cop,” I repeated.

  “Probably not.” He rubbed his free hand over his eyes, while the other held my shoulder pressed to the floor.

  “Probably not? I come here, a long-lost relative with a family resemblance, ID I know you found with my money in the backpack, and all you can say is I’m probably not some impostor agent posing as your cousin? Paranoia will destroy ya, Dennis. Geez, what finally convinced you?”

  “I can’t see a lady cop feelin’ ticklish when she’s bein’ frisked.”

  “Christ. Will you let me up now?”

  “No.” He chewed the inside of his cheek while staring down at me. “Maybe not a cop, but…”

  “Buuut?”

  Pressing his mouth together in a small grimace of resolve, he gave the world’s smallest nod. “Mysterious. You’re not who you say you are, that’s for sure.” His eyes widened and his brows rose to an exaggerated height. “Mysterious women are a turn-on, Drew.”

  Um, excuse me. Turn on? “But I’m so old, remember—”

  His eyes roamed down to my chest for a microsecond, then he raised one brow at me like some Elvis impersonator. “Maybe age doesn’t matter. I think I’d like to,” he leaned closer to me, “you know, really get to know you.”

  He was close enough for me to smell his aftershave. Too close.

  Did he intend to kiss me? Is that why his face was still advancing? “Ewww! Oh my God!” Somehow I managed to roll away from him, escape his touch, and scramble to my feet.

  Just as the front door banged open and Grandma and Stu entered.

  My heart was racing faster than an Earnhardt car at a NASCAR track. I hugged my arms around my chest. Did my father just come on to me? If so, why wasn’t he offended by my reaction? He looked more like he’d solved the bonus round on Wheel of Fortune.

  “What’s wrong, dear?” Grandma asked, looking from me to Dennis, who still knelt on the floor.

  Stu stood behind her, a look of intense interest on his face.

  “Um. A, a, roach,” I answered. “Yeah, a roach. I… it, went under the couch.” No point in telling her there was a giant rat sitting there too, one who’d tried to kiss his own cousin. Make that daughter. Oh, yuck, yuck, yuck!

  “A roach?” She looked positively horrified. “Kill it, Dennis. I won’t tolerate those vermin. And where there’s one, you know there’s more. I thought you sprayed for those last week.”

  Dennis groaned. “Aw, Ma, I need to get to a meet—the library.” He shot a glare at me. “Don’t have time to go chasin’ imaginary roaches.” Still, he dutifully lifted the front of the couch and pretended to search. Maybe to avoid looking at my still-curled lip.

  “Are you all right, Drew?” Grandma put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Would you like a drink?” Without waiting for my reply, she headed for the kitchen.

  “You don’t have cockroaches in Arizona?” that dirty dog Stu piped up.

  “Um. It was a nasty surprise. A really, really unwelcome surprise.”

  Dennis conked his head on the couch frame. “Fuck!” And turned to glare at me for it.

  I gave him my best ‘serves you right, you sicko’ look.

  “What’s happenin’ at the library?” Stu asked.

  The couch slammed back to the floor with a bang. “I’m workin’ on somethin’,” Dennis muttered. “A way to make enough money so I can pay somebody else to smash the goddamn roaches. Time for me to fly.”

  Grandma walked in with a tray full of rather strong-looking drinks just as her son disappeared out the front door. “And I thought he was at his worst at seventeen!”

  * * * *

  Strobe lights flashed across bodies on the roller rink. Grandma and Stu glided past, swaying to Donna Summer’s On the Radio. I waited ’til they’d gone by, then turned my attention back to the front door.

  It seemed ridiculous to hope Mitch had been eavesdropping with his surveillance bug and would follow us here, but a girl could dream. I’d made a special point to have Stu explain in a loud clear voice where the rink was in relation to the house. At least now I knew Mitch could find me if he wanted to.

  There were important things I needed to tell him, but mostly I just wanted to see him.

  My rented orange-and-beige skates beckoned from their spot on a fiberglass chair.

  Still no Mitch. Maybe he’d opted out and was working on his case. Or had stopped for dinner on the way back to his crummy little apartment and hadn’t heard where we’d gone. These were chances I’d had to take, but no way was I sitting around Grandma’s house, waiting for My Father the Letch to come home and mortify me again.

  This was no good, standing around watching everyone else have fun and thinking of that oh-so-yucky moment. Sure, I’d had thoughts about how handsome he was; I was proud of him. And weren’t daddies the first men little girls fell for? But hey, the idea of him finding me attractive repulsed me. Those thoughts had to go. Besides, looking down at those skates reminded me there were no milk crates full of safety gear lurking on the rink to cause me bodily harm. I felt the need, the need for speed. This visit to the rink, my unusable money was stashed safely back at the house, so I had no reason to be a lurker.

  The drinks Grandma’d served me might have boosted my courage; as I double-knotted my laces, my confidence soared. Time to show Miami my moves.

  The floor was smooth and perfect compared to the sidewalks I’d traveled with my Rollerblades. And the skate wheels were loose. This might take some getting used to.

  When Stu passed me—without Grandma, that bastard!—I took it as a personal challenge. Working my way over from the outer wall to the inner ring, I sped up and found my rhythm. There, just what I needed. Speed. No wonder the skates had felt alien to me. I wasn’t cut out for leisurely rolling along.

  No doubt about it, Stu was going faster. Trying to see what I had. He’d find out.

  Teenaged boys got out of my way as I zoomed past. Several onlookers from over in the chairs pointed our way. Soon all the other skaters edged closer to the wall to give us space. Wise of them, since skating at this speed could result in a rough crash.

  Still Stu was in the lead. Stu, who would soon break Grandma’s poor, fragile heart and rob her blind. And possibly be responsible for my father’s disappearance.

  Time to take ole Stu do
wn a notch or two.

  My thighs burned. But thanks to all the training for Sudo’s camp, I could focus above the pain. I pushed my body, using my glutes with each stroke, leaning forward like speed skaters in the Olympics. Closer to Stu. Two more trips around the floor and it was obvious he might be used to lots of skating, but he certainly wasn’t acclimated to going so fast, or for so long. Well, maybe in bed…

  That pissed me off more. To dangle not only happiness, but a great sex life in front of Grandma, with every intention of ditching her, the louse!

  By the time I’d quit seeing red, I was right beside him.

  Seemingly surprised to find I’d overtaken him, he put some effort into regaining his lead. But he was sweating buckets, wearing down quite badly. It wouldn’t be long ’til he was eating my dust.

  My hips and thighs burned. My knees ached. My throat stung and my heart was about to explode.

  No time for weakness. Time for phase two. The crowd cheered as I pulled ahead. Stu’s labored gasps behind me helped ease the stitch in my side. I just needed him to feel like he had a shot at overtaking me…

  Maintaining a lead of only a few feet must have looked foolhardy. Should I fall, Stu wouldn’t have time to change his course and he’d surely mow me over, causing me more injury. A smart person might have been afraid.

  I considered it a calculated risk.

  From behind me came a wheezed, “Drew!”

  Could be he was ready to give up. My big chance.

  “Huh?” I looked over my shoulder at him and feigned a turned ankle, executing the forward roll I’d learned in sky-diving class. The wood floor was hard as living hell under my shoulder blades. Still, as Stu’s body flailed past mine, I had enough sense of direction to plant my toe-stop right between his legs.

  Accidentally, of course.

  One more flash, blinding pain in the back of my head, and the disco lights went out.

  Chapter 28

  The music was off. The disco ball must have been back on, though, because I could sure see stars. And marvelous visions, like that of Mitch’s nearly normal-colored face.