Illegal Fortunes

by Sabrina Stark

  Ending the call, I parked in the alley, putting the maximum distance between my car and the dumpster. Exiting the Mustang, I gave the dumpster a dirty look and stalked into the store.

  Inside, I slid behind the coffee counter to make myself a mocha. Crystal was leaning on the coffee counter, talking with Barb and Rae Ann, who seemed to be coming in more often lately.

  "What's with the guys outside?" Barb was asking Crystal.

  "They're sort of customers," Crystal said.

  Barb rested her elbows on the counter. She opened a compact and checked her lipstick. "One of them asked me for a date," she said.

  "Really?" Crystal said. "Which one?"

  "The guy in the snow pants," Barb said. She turned to look out the window. A grizzled man in a snowsuit smiled and waved. Tentatively, the three women waved back.

  "That really gets my goat," Rae Ann muttered.

  "Were they bothering you?" I said. "Want me to talk to them?"

  "No," Rae Ann said with a sour expression.

  "One guy asked Rae Ann for a cigarette," Barb said. She turned to Rae Ann. "He didn't ask me for a cigarette, did he?"

  "You're just trying to make me feel better," Rae Ann said.

  "Rae Ann, you smoke?" I asked.

  "Nah." Rae Ann sighed. "I had to give him mints instead."

  I took the first sip of my mocha. "You really interested in that guy?"

  Rae Ann looked miffed. "Heck no."

  "But even if you don't want to go to the party," Crystal said, "it's always nice to be invited. Am I right, girls?"

  Barb and Rae Ann nodded. We all looked outside. A skinny man with a snake tattoo on his neck shook a few mints onto his gloved hand. He popped the mints into his mouth. When he caught us looking, he smiled at Rae Ann.

  She smiled back and gave a little wave.

  The guy leaned forward. He stuck out his tongue, showing off a shiny gold stud near the tip. Staring at Rae Ann, he flicked his tongue up and down with a gusto that suggested he'd be willing to lick more than mints.

  "See?" Barb said. "I knew he liked you."

  Near closing time, my brothers ambled into the shop. "Come on outside," Steve told me. "We got that thing done you wanted."

  They led me to the alley and pointed to the stairway leading to mine and Crystal's apartments. A bright orange construction barrel blocked the first step. On the barrel, they'd painted in big black letters, "Private Property! Keep out!"

  "Wow, a barrel and a sign," I said. "Yeah, that should stop 'em."

  "This is just the outside stuff," Anthony said.

  "Yeah," Steve said. "We blocked the doors from inside too."

  "You did? When?"

  "While you were out," Anthony said. He pointed to the stairs. "See the barrel?"

  "Yeah."

  "That's for the Girl Scouts."

  I stared at him. "Huh?"

  "The Girl Scouts," he said. "This'll keep 'em off the stairs."

  My brothers weren't making sense, but I was used to that. "I don't think we'll see Girl Scouts here any time soon," I said. "See that dumpster?"

  Steve and Anthony eyed the dumpster, still wedged under the stairway landing.

  "Yeah?" Steve said. "So?"

  "So, look where they put it," I said. "This alley's gonna stink to high heaven."

  "Frozen garbage doesn't stink," Steve said.

  "Well, what about the stupid lid?" I said. "Even if I can't smell the garbage, I sure as hell don't want to look at it."

  I stalked to the side of the dumpster and gave the lid an upward shove. The lid flipped up and slammed shut with a muffled thud. I gave the dumpster a kick. It was hell on my toes. I stifled a yelp.

  Anthony broke into a wide smile. "So," he said, "how was the shooting range?"

  "Thanks a lot, butt-munches," I said. "I suppose you thought that was funny?"

  They both laughed. "Hey," Steve said. "We thought you'd be happy to see him." He turned to Anthony. In a high-pitched voice, he said, "You're so hot."

  "Oh no," Anthony said, "You're so hot." My brothers made kissy faces at each other.

  "We were never like that," I said.

  "Well, you will be," Anthony said. "That's what mom says. She's been looking at your astrology chart. Bishop's too."

  "I knew it," I muttered, wanting to kick the dumpster again.

  "She said something about his Venus in Uranus," Steve said.

  My brothers burst out laughing. I knew better than to fuel the fire. It was way past time to change the subject. "Speaking of which…" I lowered my voice. "What's with the shooting range?"

  "What do you mean?" Steve said.

  "Oh c'mon," I said. "It's like the Bat Cave or something. Whose is it?"

  "Got me," Steve said.

  "Liar," I said. "And why didn't you tell me Bishop was gonna be there?"

  "Because," Steve said, "you'd have told me to fuck off."

  I glared at him. "Yeah. No kidding."

  "Hey, lighten up," he said. "Bishop's cool, a lot better than the egg-head you brought home last Christmas."

  "In case you haven't noticed," I said, "I'm kind of an egg-head too."

  "Yeah," Steve said. "A gun-toting, fortune-telling egg-head. A freak is what you are."

  "I don't even use my guns," I said.

  "It don't matter," Anthony said. "Besides, that other guy was all wrong for you."

  "He was a nice guy," I insisted.

  "Sure," Anthony said, "if you like those geeky rocket science types."

  "He was a rocket scientist."

  "See?" Steve said. "All brains and no brawn."

  "He was a championship golfer."

  "Golf isn't a sport," Anthony said. "Now wrestling, that's a sport."

  "Or a Tough Man Contest," Steve said, referring to the city's brutal no-holds-barred fighting competitions.

  "Yeah," Anthony agreed. His tone grew wistful. "Bishop would've kicked that egg-head's ass."

  Chapter 54

  Inside my apartment, I found an old board nailed across the alley door. It was ugly, but effective.

  I fired up my laptop and did a Web search on that resort in Tampa, the Boca Loca. "Bingo," I said when I found their Web site. My elation was short-lived. The hotel boasted a thousand rooms and a huge convention facility.

  If it were a small family-owned hotel, I might have stood a chance. But with thousands of guests on any given day, it'd be like finding a needle in the haystack. Plus, I didn't even know what I was looking for, or whose phone it was.

  Returning downstairs, I found Crystal in the book room. "You had a bunch of calls today," she said, consulting a notepad. "One was from your condo developer."

  "My condo developer?" I gave her a look. "Did he call me, or did you call him?"

  "He called you. Honest." She tore off the note and thrust it my way. "He said he's got some news."

  "Sure he does," I said. "Who else called?"

  "Some other guy." Crystal gave me a sly smile. "He didn't leave his name, but it sounded an awful lot like Bishop."

  "I doubt it."

  "I've been thinking," she said, "maybe you could go out with Conrad tonight and Bishop tomorrow."

  "Maybe you shouldn't think so much."

  "Or maybe," she said, "you could get them both here at once." She lowered her voice. "I hear that's real big in France."

  "Well, as tempting as that sounds," I said, "I've got to get some writing done tonight. How about you?"

  "I've gotta rearrange my apartment," she said. "Steve and Anthony got me started on this whole new look."

  "No kidding," I said, wondering if the new look included a board across her alley door. I kept my tone casual. "What kind of look?"

  "You know my oak china cabinet?"

  "The one in your bedroom?" I said. "Where you keep your astrology books?"

  "Yup," she said. "That's what started it."

  "Started what?"

  "I'd better start from the beginning," Crystal said. "So today, I'm in
my apartment, and Steve and Anthony pop in, out of the blue. So we're chatting about one thing and another, and we get to talking about antiques."

  "With Steve and Anthony?"

  "Surprised me too," she said. "So, next thing you know, we're going from room to room, and I'm showing them my favorite pieces. We get to my bedroom, and Steve says to me, 'Mom, what on Earth is that fantastic china cabinet doing in your bedroom?'"

  "Fantastic?" I repeated.

  "Exact words," Crystal said. "Swear to God. So Anthony starts in on it too. He says to me, 'Mom, you gotta move that thing out to the living room, where people can admire it.' And I says to him, 'Where on Earth would I put it, because you know, my living room's pretty packed already.' So they look around, and you'll never guess where they said it should go."

  "Where?" I asked, although I had a pretty good guess.

  "In front of my back door." She crossed her arms and leaned against the coffee counter, awaiting my reaction.

  I tried to sound surprised. "The door to the alley landing?"

  "The very same," she said. "At first, I think they're crazy, because who puts furniture in front of a door? So I ask 'em, 'What if I want to use that door sometime?'"

  "What'd they say?"

  Crystal paused for affect. "Anthony says 'Oh Mom, you can't compromise your sense of style for a minor inconvenience.'" Crystal shook her head. "Honest to God, that's what he said."

  "Well, I'll be darned."

  "And next thing I know," Crystal continued, "Steve and Anthony head straight to my bedroom, pick the darn thing up, and move it themselves." Crystal slapped the coffee counter and finished by saying, "So there it sits."

  "How does it look?" I asked.

  Crystal winced. "Not so good. But Steve and Anthony were so happy, I didn't have the heart to make 'em to put it back. That thing weighs a ton."

  Returning to my apartment, I studied the phone message from Conrad. Against my better judgment, I called his number.

  When he answered, I said, "Hi, it's Selena Moon." I hesitated before adding, "Returning your call?"

  "Thanks for calling me back," he said.

  I let out a breath.

  "What's the matter?" he asked.

  "Nothing."

  "Thought your mom was playing match-maker?"

  "Call her Crystal," I said.

  He laughed. "Listen, the reason I called is there's a charity event Thursday night, and some major movers and shakers will be there."

  "No kidding?"

  "No kidding," he said. "It'll be the perfect place to corner them."

  "Is that what you’re planning to do?" I asked.

  "You bet."

  It sounded like a golden opportunity. "Thanks for the tip," I said. "What kind of event is it?"

  "A black tie dinner," he said.

  "Do I need a ticket?"

  "My ticket's for two," he said. "Care to join me?"

  I hesitated. "I don't want to take advantage."

  "You're not," he said. "I need an ally."

  "I know the feeling."

  Conrad chuckled. "Maybe together, we can talk some sense into this town."

  I hung up the phone smiling. Then I frowned. Most of my clothes were in Alabama. I rose and dug through my closet. I found only one dress. I eyed it with concern. I'd freeze to death. I shook my head. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  I spent the rest of the day banging away at my computer. At nine o'clock that evening, I stood and stretched. On impulse, I called Edgar's house. Again, there was no answer. Where the hell was he? And why hadn't he returned my calls? It didn't take a fortune teller to see he was avoiding me.

  Would I see him at Thursday's event? It seemed unlikely. In search of reassurance, I went to my bedroom and retrieved my favorite Tarot deck.

  I sank onto the sofa and sifted the cards through my hands. I envisioned Edgar in his fishing shanty, fishing pole in one hand, pina colada in the other. When the vision solidified, I picked three cards, setting each card face-down on the adjacent sofa cushion.

  I flipped over the first card. A medieval man hung upside-down by a single foot, a peaceful expression on his serene face. The Hanged Man. In spite of its name, it wasn't a violent card. If anything, it was a card of inaction – maybe sacrifice, maybe limbo. It suggested that wherever Edgar was, he'd be there a while.

  I flipped over the second card. The Eight of Swords. A woman stood alone, bound, blindfolded, and imprisoned by a ring of swords.

  The image was deceiving. Her arms were constricted, but the bindings were loose. Her eyes were blindfolded, but not tightly. The swords encircled her, but the formation had a gap, definitely wide enough for her to slip through.

  Probably, she could free herself if she’d only try. Instead, she stood rooted in inaction, either resigned to her fate or awaiting rescue. Was Edgar feeling trapped too? Maybe backed into a corner by his promise to support us?

  I flipped over the third card, the Fool, reversed.

  Crap. As usual, the card reminded me of a certain ex-boyfriend I was trying to forget. With a sound of disgust, I gathered up the cards and set them aside. If the cards were any indicator, Edgar wouldn't be coming to me any time soon. I'd have to go to him.

  Chapter 55

  I stood and pulled on a few layers of warm clothing. I had no Edgar and no food. I wouldn't find either in my apartment. With the alley door off-limits, I headed into the hall and made my way down the stairs into the darkened coffee shop.

  I felt like I was missing something and recalled my little Ruger. Just yesterday, I'd dug it out of my closet for the sole purpose of self-defense. I'd made a special trip to practice. I even had a concealed carry permit that was still valid, even if just barely.

  I'd feel silly bringing it. But recalling what had happened with Lucy, I dashed back to my apartment anyway, where I pulled the gun out of the night stand and stuffed it into the front inside pocket of my ski jacket.

  Exiting the coffee shop, I set the alarm behind me. Snowflakes drifted onto the sidewalk, and I picked my way carefully along the darkened street.

  Now, where was I going? To the convenience store for a hot dog? Or to Edgar's for a quick look-see?

  I settled for both, first hitting the convenience store, where I scarfed down a hot dog and a small bag of chips. I bought a jumbo hot chocolate for the walk and set out toward Edgar's.

  I walked past his house, trying to appear casual as I strolled along the sidewalk. Edgar’s porch was still littered with garbage, but the mailbox looked empty. That was promising.

  I cut through the neighbor's yard and stood in the shadows, hunkering down in the pines. I gave Edgar's house a serious once-over. This time, all the windows were dark.

  Maybe Edgar was inside right now. But if he were home, why weren't any lights on? And why hadn't he cleaned up his porch? I checked my watch. It was a little after ten. Was he asleep already?

  Wondering what the hell I was doing, I stood in the pines, watching and waiting, until I ran out of hot chocolate. Then, sick of the cloak-and-dagger routine, I decided to leave Edgar a note.

  I rummaged in my pockets and found a pen and old envelope. I knelt on one knee, struggling to compose a quick note with freezing hands and almost no light. "Please call me," I wrote and signed my name and phone number.

  After a moment, I added in big letters, "ASAP." I underlined the ASAP three times. Then, deciding the note looked kind of rude, I added a huge smiley face at the bottom and called it good.

  I stood and walked toward the front porch. But just as my foot hit the bottom step, someone grabbed me from behind. I called out, but a strong hand covered my mouth, muffling my protests into a low garble.

  This time parka-boy was asking for it. I kicked and struggled like a madwoman. I caught his shin with my heel and gave him a good elbow to the gut. Aside from a few whispered curses, my struggles had little impact. He was a lot stronger than he looked the night before. He tried to shush me. Instead, I redoubled my efforts to re
sist.

  It did little good. Without breaking stride, he dragged me toward the cluster of pines, and I began to seriously panic. I kicked and twisted and elbowed my way across Edgar's yard as the intruder dragged me like a rag doll into the shadows.

  Within seconds, his free hand was all over me, pressing against my hips, my backside, my waist and making its way upward. His hand crept into my jacket, slithering toward my breasts. My heart skipped a beat. Was he going to molest me right there in Edgar's yard? I twisted and turned, but the hand kept moving.

  Then, with one quick, steady motion, the man pulled the Ruger from my jacket pocket. Oh God, it was worse. He was going to shoot me with my own gun.

  With everything to lose, I redoubled my efforts. I delivered a vicious kick to his shin. When he shifted his leg, I bit his hand. "Shit!" he muttered, not a whisper, but a full-blown curse.

  Time stood still. I stopped struggling. Unless my ears had deceived, me, I recognized that voice.

  Chapter 56

  I paused, still and silent. It couldn't be who I thought it was.

  I heard a low whisper in my ear. "Don't worry. It's only me."

  The hand was still clamped over my mouth. I remained motionless, my senses on high alert.

  He whispered, "You okay?"

  I nodded.

  Slowly, he removed his hand.

  I whipped around to face him. "Bishop?"

  "Yeah," he whispered. Reaching for my hand, he pulled me deeper into the patch of pines. When he stopped moving, he turned to me and said, "What the hell are you doing?"

  "Me?" I said. "What the hell are you doing?"

  "What does it look like?" he said. "Following you."

  "Oh for God's sake," I said. "You promised not to. Remember? Outside my apartment?"

  "No," he said. "I promised to leave. And I did. Now I'm back."

  I scowled at him. "Very funny."

  "Do I look like I'm joking to you?"

  "No. But I was just leaving a note."

  He held up my Ruger. "You use a gun to write?"

  "No, I use a pen," I said. "Everyone knows you don't use a gun to write. I'm kinda surprised that you of all people don't know that."