Trouble Under Venus

by Autumn Piper

  “Drew? Jesus, are you okay?”

  Seeing him and hearing him. Hmm. Either he was real or that searing pain in the back of my head meant I’d lost some marbles in my tumble.

  Helmets had merit, after all.

  I tried to reply, but ended up groaning.

  Grandma’s face made a quick appearance in my line of sight. She disappeared after a louder male groan from somewhere off to my left.

  Warm hands cupped my face. Mitch. Snapping over his shoulder, “Give us some room. She’s still gotta breathe, dammit!”

  The room instantly brightened, and I felt a rush of cool air with the sounds of many wheels retreating.

  “H—hey,” I whispered. “You came?”

  He nodded and stared hard into my eyes. “Just in time to see your wipeout.” His eyebrows drew together as brown eyes shifted left, then right. “Your pupils look the same. I think.”

  “What happened?” My fingers found a nice knot smack on the back of my skull. No blood, but it hurt like hell.

  Mitch’s face came closer and I hoped he’d kiss me, but his lips went to my ear. “Don’t give me that. I saw. You crashed on purpose!”

  Was it shock or awe I heard in his tone?

  “Not that,” I mumbled. “My head. It’s not supposed to hurt.”

  “You did an extra half-somersault but Stu’s body stopped yours. Your neck snapped back and your head hit the floor. You’re lucky you didn’t get seriously hurt.”

  It felt pretty damn serious to me, but since I’d done it deliberately and Mitch knew, complaining seemed a poor choice.

  “Stu wasn’t quite as lucky.” Mitch looked over my body in the direction of the continued moaning. “You caught him right in the sac.”

  Boy, did I ring ole Stu-boy’s bells. I suppressed a smile, sort of.

  “Jesus, Randi,” Mitch growled. “The guy’s just doing his job. For now, anyway.”

  Working a case. Leave it to him to find Stu’s behavior acceptable if it was for the sake of a case.

  I lifted my head and glared at him. “Oh, for God’s sake! I cannot believe—”

  “Shhh!” His finger covered my lips. “I guess you’re okay. Thank Christ.” And then with one hand cupping each side of my face, he kissed me. Right there in the middle of the crowd, with dear old Grandma and her hopefully-maimed-in-the-scrotum-area boyfriend only a few feet away. The sweet bliss of Mitch’s lips on mine was worth ending up with a killer headache. Those strong shoulders on either side of mine shuddered as he held me, and I knew he’d been truly worried. With a sigh of contentment, I parted my lips.

  I’m okay, never been better. And I’m yours, babe.

  Some wise-ass whistled amid the opening strains of Bette Midler’s The Rose. Several copycat whistlers parroted him.

  Mitch smiled down at me the entire time he helped me up. Wondering why he was standing weird, I looked down. He had on only one skate and had run out on the rink in his other sock. My hero.

  “Think this should be our song?” he asked. Lost again in the depths of his sexy eyes, I only nodded in response. “Let’s go get my other skate.”

  Deliriously happy, I rolled along beside him as he hobbled to the seats, my head full of images of us floating around the rink. Hand in hand, heart to heart, with our song playing. We’d definitely dropped anchor at the port called “Love”.

  Too bad my head hurt so damn much. I really couldn’t complain, though. My objective had been met; Stu had to be helped off the rink by two guys. Mitch hadn’t taken too kindly to my targeting Stu’s man-parts. It was only a little bump on my head anyway, no reason to act like a baby.

  Lost in my own rose-hazed world, I watched Mitch’s Levi’s strain against his awesome thighs when he sat down. The muscles in his arms flexed and bunched as he tugged on the skate and worked to tie it. So much lean man, and he was mine, all mine.

  He stood and wobbled on his skates, leaning on me for balance. Oh, wow. How cool for me to be able to help him with something! His big body pressed against mine was a yummy bonus. I could have stood there like that for hours. But our song still lilted through the speakers.

  As I reluctantly stepped back and tested to make sure Mitch was safe on his own, a bunch of hairy fingers appeared over his shoulders and shoved him forward to his knees.

  “Uummf!”

  Recognizing my father’s leather jacket above those hands made my head hurt even more.

  “Son of a bitch!” Mitch growled.

  Busted.

  When he turned around and faced Dennis, he was obviously as pissed off as dear old Dad. Uh-oh.

  “We had a deal, you lyin’, no-good—”

  Dennis’s words put me in the Sky High Temper Club right alongside them. “Deal?” His underhanded bargaining had left me suffering for days, wondering why Mitch didn’t want anything to do with me. “You and your deal!” Hands planted firmly on his chest, I gave him a good shove. Too bad for me, Daddio was more stout than I’d expected—he didn’t budge. Neither did I, at least figuratively speaking. Staggering back on my wheels, I mounted a verbal attack. “Just who do you think you are, making deals about my love life?”

  He snickered and looked at me like I was crazy.

  And then Mitch’s hands were under my armpits, bodily moving me out of his way.

  By the time I’d been put back on the ground and regained my balance, they were standing toe-to-toe-stop, fingers in each other’s faces. My head spun. Oh, God. This time they were going to have serious words.

  Amid all the growling and testosterone, I caught the words “asshole” and “no good pig”, from different sides, then one of them suggested “take…outside” and the other agreed “bet yer fuckin’ ass” and they were heading out the door.

  “Hey, wait you guys!” Surely we could solve this in a civilized manner.

  Neither of them noticed me, but it might have been because the crowd, which had only just given up watching Stu’s agony, rushed behind them before I could. I seemed to be having trouble with my coordination. Like, I kept telling my legs to move but they did everything in slow motion. And now they didn’t seem to be interested in holding me up at all. Things got hazy around the edges. So I wouldn’t fall, I sat down. Hard, on the nearest chair.

  To Mitch’s credit, he did an excellent job going up the stairs in his skates. Both Mitches made it up the stairs and out the door fast, as did both Dads.

  Whoa. The old noggin must have taken a harder hit than I thought. After this, I’d definitely never skate without safety gear again. This time I meant it.

  I looked around the nearly deserted seating area. Geez, where did everybody go?

  And why were the damn lights so bright? What were they trying to do in here, surgery?

  Hmm. Wasn’t I headed somewhere, too?

  “Nice skating,” Stu called to me. Several seats away, he had an ice pack on his head, another on his crotch, and seemed to be holding one elbow against the scrotum-pack, too. With the look of intense pain on his face, it was impossible to tell whether his comment was sincere or sarcastic.

  The only safe response was a neutral nod.

  Outside the front doors, a crowd was yelling, cheering. A fight. They were watching a fight…oh hell. Mitch and Dennis. By the sounds of things, lots of punches were landing.

  I needed to go break it up somehow. My legs wobbled, but held me up when I rose.

  “I think you owe me an apology, Randi.”

  “Oh.” I looked over at Stu, sitting in a contorted upright fetal position. His wiener hurt. Aw, poor guy. A black eye would have been the perfect compliment to his other injuries. It really was too bad I hadn’t hurt him a little more. “I’m sorry.” Not waiting to hear his reply, I pushed off with my right foot and headed toward the door.

  Wait. I ground my scrotum-kicking toe stop into the floor. “Randi?” When I turned to face him, he wore a smug look I didn’t like at all. In fact, I didn’t like him at all. He was not attractive when he looked so mean. Surely Gra
ndma had never seen such a hateful look on his face.

  “I’ll save us both the stupid question and answer session,” he sneered. “I read your little diary or fairy tale or whatever it is.”

  Fairy tale seemed like a really good story to stick with. God, I’d never considered the possibility of Stu snooping through my stuff. But then, I hadn’t known he was a cop. I’d figured all the time he was at Grandma’s, he was only interested in getting his rocks off. “Do you think it’s best-seller material?”

  If he did, he’d probably have stolen it.

  “I might, if I hadn’t also seen your little bundle of money from the future.”

  Oh, shit. Oh, bloody hell. “I’m surprised you didn’t swipe it!” I snapped without thinking.

  Sticky Fingers looked guilty for a moment, as if he’d considered it.

  I could actually hear the punches landing outside, since the last people abandoning the now-empty rink had left one door standing open. “Jesus, I’ve got to try and stop them.” I had to give it a shot. Mitch was so fit and strong, he surely packed a deadly punch. And Dad was street-tough. He would fight dirty.

  As I turned and headed toward the steps, Stu called, “Hey, wait! Give me the inside scoop on the future and I won’t have you arrested for passing all that counterfeit cash.”

  Dirty, low-down, no-good…I turned to fix him with what I hoped was my most disdainful stare. “I’ll tell ya, Steve.” His eyes went wide when I used his real name but I plodded on. “In the future, people with personal computers can communicate with anyone anywhere in the world. Women keep a big list of assholes like you, accessible via these computers. Kinda like a big Not Wanted poster, with your picture, a list of ways you wronged them, everything. Congress passes a new Amendment that calls for publicly hanging bad cops.” I glanced down at his crotch coldpack and got inspiration. “The medical community is unable to find a cure for injury-caused impotence, and on a more personal note…” I leaned down toward him, my heart racing with hatred and anger at this man who would ultimately destroy what was left of my grandma, this man who’d destroy me if he had half a chance. “…I know more about what you’re gonna do with the rest of your life than you do, at this point. And I will look you up in the future, Steve. Count on it.” His nostrils flared for about a millisecond before he was up on his feet, his hands at my throat. “You bitch, if you really are from the future, you’re about to die really fucking young!”

  The back of my head didn’t hurt at all, compared to his thumbs shoving, digging deep into the front of my neck. His icepack clunked against the top of my skate. I struggled against him, but his hands were so strong. And I couldn’t seem to get my footing. Tears of pain ran from my eyes. The front of my windpipe smashed against the back, burning like hell. I was sure I’d feel it for the rest of my life. Which might not be long, unless I did something. Unless I…lifted a knee and plowed his crotch.

  “Ho-ho-whore!” he moaned, as he crumpled to the floor at my feet.

  Wobbling something fierce on my skates, I worked to keep upright and move away, but like some kind of hellish octopus, he wrapped his arms around my legs. I fell. Long, hard, and flat on my stomach. The spaghetti Grandma’d fed me earlier threatened to come back up. It probably couldn’t get to my esophagus though, because Stu managed to throw his weight right on my lower back and pin me to the floor, rip at handfuls of my hair.

  Jesus, had he always fought like a girl, or was it because I’d crippled his testosterone factories? I scrambled under his weight but found myself utterly helpless to escape. Even groping for the soft skin under his arms proved futile, especially after he resumed his efforts to strangle me. I had to settle for scratching and clawing at his hands and wrists. Maybe I wouldn’t live through this, but if Mitch ever saw Stu again, at least he’d be able to tell I’d put up a fight. Oh no, thinking of Mitch made me tear up. Not that it mattered. All I could see was a forest of chair legs and lots of empty shoes.

  Things started going dark. This was it. End of the road for Randi the Fearless. So much for my future with Mitch, my chance to have babies. Poor Mom was right. I’d thrown away my life. I wasn’t ready to die yet!

  A few more attempted squirms and I managed to twist enough to suck in a bit of air. It might be my last breath, but I’d make sure it counted. Gagging all the while, I managed, “Fuckyou!”

  Darkness.

  * * * *

  Had I died? The pressure on my neck was gone, but my throat still felt like it was permanently crushed. No white light beckoning me to heaven. Only darkness, and quiet. All except for the people yelling. Some ghastly goings-on in the after life. A street fight in hell… Hell? Well, what had I expected? I hadn’t set foot inside a church for anything but weddings and funerals in years, and the obscenity I’d chosen as my dying words was hardly the pass code to heaven.

  With my luck, I’d end up sitting on a very safe sofa for all of eternity, watching an endless tennis match. Or bowling. Oh God. I should’ve gone to church! What if I had to sit through cooking shows forever?

  The immense weight on my back lifted. Now I heard voices, one of them seemingly Spanish in accent, and sounding quite deadly. My body moved without effort on my part. Oh, thank God! There was the beckoning light, penetrating my eyelids. So maybe I wouldn’t spend my afterlife as a permanent viewer of The Boring Channel, after all. In order to see the white light better, I opened my eyes. Huh. The big white light was fluorescent. And there were lots of them.

  And right between me and the white lights was, as near as I could tell, a switchblade knife. Held by long, dark fingers. By the person who was speaking those beautifully accented words? The blade turned and glinted in the light, pointing across my body.

  Beside it, the animated face of Tino came into view.

  Tino. Did he save me from being strangled by Stu?

  Sounded like. And now, judging by the smell of urine and the laughter from Tino and some other men behind me, Stu might be a little scared. Alas, turning to look in his direction and witness his discomfort was more than my poor, hurting neck seemed able to accomplish.

  So maybe having Tino as an admirer had come in handy. Only, how’d he seen what was going on in here when not another soul had noticed Stu attacking me?

  I’d find out soon enough. Tino’s associates were lifting me up. Holding me, actually.

  While they adjusted their grips, I caught sight of Stu, sitting as he’d been told, on the floor. Wearing an embarrassed glare. Opening my mouth, I prepared to tell him off, but the only sound was a little gagging racket. Still, it was enough to get Stu’s attention.

  My voice might be out of order, but my middle fingers—though bloody—were still able to convey my sentiments.

  Tino and Company guffawed.

  Stu seemed to consider lunging my way, then sat back, scraped fists clenched in his lap.

  As one of the guys lifted my feet up and they started carrying me away, I couldn’t resist waving “ta-ta” to Stu.

  Bastard. I was half-tempted to blow his cover and let Grandma know what a louse he was, whether it screwed up the future or not. Who knew, maybe she’d ditch him anyway after tonight. Surely everyone would connect his scratched hands and my bruised neck.

  All I wanted was to collapse in Mitch’s arms. Maybe Tino’s guys could break up the fight. Except they weren’t heading toward the front door. Instead, we went toward the restrooms. In the back.

  By the emergency exit door.

  I shook my head wildly and made grunting sounds, pointing toward the front, but they didn’t change direction. Though I’m sure he heard me, Tino kept walking. Maybe this wasn’t as good as I’d thought.

  On the up side, I was breathing. Alive. Out of Strangler Stu’s clutches. On the down side, the son of Miami’s most notorious mobster had taken custody of me.

  It seemed Tino had finally gotten out of Conga and into the action.

  Chapter 29

  From the leather back seat of a large sedan, I caught only a
glimpse of the crowd gathered in the front lot as we sped away from Skate Fever 4ever.

  No cop lights yet. This was a good thing. Cops meant arrests, which meant Keen and or Mitch missing The Big, which could spell messed-up history trouble.

  Although, how long could the two of them keep fighting without somebody getting seriously hurt? The punches I’d heard meeting skin would surely equal lots of bruises. Which meant Keen and Miguel would have to come up with a way to explain to Rico next day, and Armando. No doubt I’d be to blame, since I seemed abnormally adept at messing up undercover activity.

  In the meantime, I had bigger worries. Like all my own bumps and bruises, not the least of which was a nasty case of floor-burn on my elbows. I was pretty sure this was the work of Stu, rather than my staged crash. With my throbbing head and injured throat, aching stomach and what felt like a sprained right wrist, I was a disaster.

  Worse yet, Tino had turned on the dome light above me and was making it his business to examine all my wounds while we careened down some dark street with his two thugs in the front seat.

  “Dru,” he tutted, “you’ve had a violent day.”

  I bit my lower lip as he skimmed a finger over my raw elbow. Geez, that would take forever to heal. Then he turned his attention to my neck, his touch feather-light along the most tender spots. There must be marks already.

  “And why would this man dressed as John Travolta be trying to kill you, Señorita?”

  Taking advantage of my out-of-order voice, I shrugged. This was great, I didn’t have to worry about my voice giving me away when I lied.

  “Can you talk?”

  I shook my head and made a pathetic little croak while mouthing “no”.

  He nodded and shrugged back. And much to my horror, began patting my body from top to bottom. In a most courtly voice, he explained, “I am searching for ID. You see, we believe you are not who you say you are.”

  You’re not who you say you are. Dennis’s words came back to me. Looking for ID. Hmm. Tino was out of luck, as much as he was enjoying his overly thorough search. My ID was back at Grandma’s, safe in my backpack…where Keen had seen it earlier. Oh! With a mental forehead-slap, a sinking feeling hit. If Dennis had seen that ID, my troubles might be really, really big. The driver’s license Sudo had provided identified me as Miranda Reed. Dennis wouldn’t forget his own daughter’s name was Miranda, and probably knew Reed was her new step-dad’s name.