Illegal Fortunes

by Sabrina Stark

  She slid her long wool coat off one shoulder. The shoulder was bare except for a black spaghetti strap. A couple of jailbirds whistled. Carolyn smiled and dropped the coat from her other shoulder. She shimmied Marilyn Monroe style and tossed back her blonde hair. She let the coat drop, and the catcalls picked up volume.

  Crystal and I watched from the coffee bar. She turned to me. "Looks like someone bought Gabriel a strip-o-gram," she said.

  "That's no stripper," I said.

  "Could've fooled me."

  Outside, the train wreck progressed full-steam ahead. Inside, I struggled with a train wreck of emotions I didn't fully understand. I'd wanted to see Nicholas Armstrong humiliated, and worse. Carolyn was dancing outside in thigh-high boots and a negligee. It was the middle of winter. She was drunk. This would humiliate him and then some.

  But what about Carolyn? Gabriel had said she was troubled. I saw what he meant. I felt my temper rise. Nicholas had a roving eye. No wonder Carolyn was desperate for attention. This wasn't the kind she'd need.

  Before I knew it, I was dashing out the door.

  Chapter 75

  Outside the coffee shop, I made my way to Gabriel's side. I heard Carolyn slur, "I still got it, don't I?" She shimmied closer to Gabriel, and said, "You wanna see what you're missin', magical man?" She lowered a negligee strap and shimmied some more.

  I dove toward Carolyn and yanked her coat back in place. A few of the jailbirds started to boo. I dragged Carolyn back to her car and shoved her in through the passenger's side door.

  "Sit!" I said.

  She started to cry. I slid around and got into the driver's seat. The keys were still in the ignition. I looked back at the store. Gabriel watched, an expression of horror on his pale face, as I shifted into gear and pulled away from the curb.

  A disgruntled jailbird threw a coffee cup at Carolyn's car. It hit the windshield and exploded into a chocolaty mess. I flipped on the wipers, turning the brown goo into a thin film of semi-transparent chocolate coating.

  In the passenger's seat, Carolyn's sobbing picked up volume. "He wouldn't see me," she sobbed. "Why wouldn’t he see me?"

  I knew why Gabriel wouldn’t see her. It had been my doing. Looking at her state of mind, that was probably a good thing. Still, I felt a pang of guilt looking at the pain it had caused her.

  "Give me your address," I said.

  Still sobbing, she shook her head.

  Circling the block, I fumbled in the car's center console. I found Carolyn’s billfold and flipped it open to her driver's license.

  A few minutes later, I arrived at the Armstrongs', a massive riverfront home a few miles from our store. I pulled down the long, winding driveway and stopped in front of the house.

  Carolyn slumped in the seat. "I'm not getting out," she slurred. "You can't make me."

  "I don’t have to make you," I said. "It's your car. We're at your house. You can sit here all night for all I care."

  "Now you're just being a meanie," she said.

  I opened the driver's side door and got out, yanking the keys out of the ignition. I stalked up to the front door and rang the doorbell.

  Nicholas Armstrong appeared looking anything but welcoming. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

  "I've got something for you," I said.

  "What could you possibly have that I'd ever want?"

  I flung Carolyn's keys into the house. They skittered across his marble floor. "Nothing," I said. "Except maybe your wife."

  Nicholas leaned out the doorway and saw Carolyn's car in the driveway. He took a closer look and saw her slumped in the passenger's seat.

  "What the hell did you do to her?" he demanded.

  "Nothing she'll thank me for now," I said. "But when she sobers up, tell her to stay away from our store. And off the roads too. She could've killed someone."

  With that, I turned to leave. I looked around. I had no vehicle. I ignored that problem and started down the long driveway. I didn't even have a coat. Probably, I should've borrowed Carolyn's. I wrapped my arms around myself and tried not to think about it.

  I was nearing the end of the Armstrong's drive when a long black sedan pulled up next to me. The car stopped, and the window rolled down. A gray-haired gentleman sat behind the wheel.

  He leaned out. "I'll drive you home."

  I shook my head and kept on going.

  "Please?" he said. "For my sake if nothing else?"

  I stopped and turned toward him. "What do you mean by that?"

  "Mr. Armstrong asked me to drive you home," he said. "I'd rather not displease him right now."

  I looked toward the house. Nicholas was helping Carolyn out of the passenger's seat. I looked toward the street. It would be a long, freezing walk. Silently, I opened the car door and got in.

  "Where to?" he asked.

  I gave him directions to the coffee shop, and the drive passed in silence. A few minutes later, we pulled up to The Crystal Moon. I thanked him and exited the vehicle.

  Crystal was waiting at the coffee bar. "I saw you take that stripper for a ride," she said. "Does that cost extra?"

  "She's a customer," I said, "not a stripper."

  "She looked like both to me," Crystal said.

  I turned to head upstairs. I needed a bath, or something. And then I remembered, I had dinner plans with Conrad. I consulted my watch. He'd be pulling up any minute. "Gotta run!" I said and dashed upstairs. I washed my face, threw on some makeup and fresh clothes, and made it back downstairs just in time to see Conrad pulling up to the store.

  I met him outside, and we walked to the restaurant, making small talk as we strolled. I didn’t mention the scene with Carolyn. The woman had embarrassed herself enough already.

  Too bad it wasn't Nicholas who'd stripped outside our store. I smiled to myself. In that case, I'd have pulled out a camera.

  Chapter 76

  Over dinner, I told Conrad the police had the names of the men who'd assaulted Gabriel.

  Conrad reached across the table. He gave my hand a little squeeze. "About time you had some good luck."

  "Know what the best part is?" I asked.

  "What's that?"

  "It might take a few days, but they'll get those guys. And once they do, there's a good chance they'll rat out Scruffy."

  "So you're thinking," Conrad said, "that if Scruffy were back in jail, you'd see an end to the picketing?" His gaze shifted to my jaw, where makeup had softened, if not completely concealed, the last remnants of Tuesday's scuffle. "For your sake, I sure hope so."

  "Let's take it one step further," I said. "Once Scruffy's in the hot seat, maybe he'll give up the person who's really behind all this."

  Conrad's expression turned serious. "You mean Nicholas Armstrong?"

  "That's my guess."

  "Well, you're the fortune teller," he said, running a thumb along my wrist. "Who am I to argue?"

  As he caressed my wrist, my thoughts drifted to Bishop. I felt myself flush, embarrassed by my lack of focus. I freed my hand and reached for my wine glass.

  Conrad lifted his own glass and took a long drink. "Now," he said, setting down his glass with a decisive thud. "No more shop talk. Let's pretend we're normal people with normal lives."

  "We are normal people," I said with a laugh.

  "Selena," he said, "you're anything but normal."

  Over the next hour, the conversation drifted to more general topics, hobbies, books, favorite vacation spots. I tried to stay focused, but my mind was elsewhere, a few blocks away, where Bishop was waiting.

  I felt awful, but I couldn't help it. Conrad was a wonderful dinner companion, attentive, interesting and fun. I noticed a couple of women sipping drinks at the bar. If their glances were any indicator, they'd be thrilled to swap places with me.

  Still, as the minutes passed, it became increasingly difficult to hold up my end of the conversation. It was a relief when the waiter cleared away dessert dishes and brought our check.

  I sn
atched up the check. "I've got it," I said.

  "I wouldn't hear of it," he said.

  I pulled out my credit card. "I insist." I felt I owed him something, and not just for his insights on City Hall. I doubted there'd be another date. If I couldn't give Conrad my full attention, it wasn't fair to either one of us.

  Plus, I never wanted to do this again – have dinner with one man while thinking about another. It was too unsettling, like watching the images from one movie while listening to the soundtrack of another.

  As we left the restaurant, Conrad placed a protective hand on my elbow. We made our way down the steps, and I scanned the street. Bishop was nowhere in sight. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  When we reached the coffee shop, Conrad said, "If you invited me inside, there's a good chance I'd say yes."

  "I'd better not," I said. "It's been a long day."

  He poked me gently in the ribs. "Is this the brush off?"

  I kept my tone light. "It's not the brush-off. But things are complicated right now."

  "You mean professionally?" he said. "Or personally?"

  "Both."

  "Maybe this will help uncomplicate things." He stepped forward and pressed his lips to mine.

  As gently as I could, I pulled away.

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  I took a step backward and met his gaze. "Listen, you're a really great guy–"

  "Uh-oh," he said. "Is this where you give me that 'it's not you, it's me' speech?"

  "It is me," I said. "My life's a mess."

  Conrad said nothing, and I continued. "I guess I'm not looking for anything more than a friend right now."

  "With me?" he asked. "Or with anyone?"

  My thoughts turned to Bishop. I couldn't lie. "I don't know," I said.

  "So," he said, 'you've got someplace else you'd rather be?"

  I dodged the question. "You've been great," I said. "But trust me, I'm the last person you'd want to be involved with right now."

  "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"

  "I'm really sorry," I said.

  "Me too," he said with a tight smile. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

  Upstairs in my apartment, I sank onto my sofa and pondered my next step.

  I'd been planning to see Bishop. But now, more than ever, it felt wrong. I sniffed my sweater and caught a faint whiff of Conrad's aftershave. I definitely needed to simplify my life.

  I ambled into my bathroom and drew a hot bath. I undressed and sank into the bubbly depths, trying to wash away my conflicting emotions. When the bath water cooled, the scent of Conrad was gone, but the unpleasant sensation lingered.

  I stepped out of the tub, wrapped myself in a thick robe, and wandered to my bedroom. I retrieved my favorite Tarot deck and crawled onto my bed. I crossed my legs and leaned against the headboard, deck in hand.

  I closed my eyes and sifted the cards through my fingers, thinking of Bishop. In my mind's eye, his face appeared, not as he looked years earlier, but as he looked today, with hair a little shorter, eyes a little darker, his expression a little more world-weary. When the vision solidified, I picked a single card from the deck.

  I opened my eyes and turned over the card. It was The Moon, a dreamy, yet uncertain card, showing land meeting water, the sky meeting the Earth, and two wild dogs barking on a moonlit night.

  The card was a reminder that things aren't always what they seem. By the light of the moon, visions of people, places and things can shift, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse.

  The card only confirmed what I already knew – that when it came to Bishop, I was operating in the dark. In the light of day, I'd see things more clearly. But for now, I was clueless, and maybe a little spellbound. No surprise there.

  I returned the card to the deck and shuffled again. I closed my eyes and envisioned Conrad, with his blonde hair, blue eyes and easy smile. The deck slipped from my hands.

  Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked down. Amidst the jumble of fallen cards, a single card had landed face up. That card was the Moon. Again.

  It seemed an odd coincidence the same card would appear twice in a row, representing two different people. Yet in a strange way, it made sense. My visions of both men kept shifting, with real clarity remaining just beyond my reach.

  Distracted, I set aside my Tarot deck, threw on some clothes, and headed out toward the hardware store. I was a block away from the hardware store when I turned the corner and came face-to-face with a familiar figure, hands in pockets, a grim expression on his angular face.

  But this time it wasn't Bishop.

  "Looking for me?" Conrad said.

  Chapter 77

  I looked around. "Oh hey," I said, wondering where he'd come from. I spotted a nearby alcove, the entryway to a local bakery, now closed. The cubby was hidden deep in shadows. Was that where Conrad had been?

  I kept my tone light. "So, you decided to go for a walk?"

  "Yeah, same as you." Conrad looked down the city street toward the spot we'd run into Bishop the last time. "Or maybe you're just looking for an old friend." He crossed his arms, awaiting my response.

  Even in the frigid air, I felt a burning warmth in my face. I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

  "So that explains it," Conrad said.

  "Explains what?" I asked.

  "The cold shoulder."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You know damn well what I mean," he said. "So what is it? You cozy up to me, see what you can learn? Then you run to your ex-boyfriend? Maybe have a good laugh at my expense?" Conrad shook his head. "I had you pegged differently."

  "It's not what you think," I said.

  "Isn't it?" He smiled without humor. "I knew I'd see you here. Sooner or later."

  "But you left our store at least an hour ago." I stifled a shiver. "Don't tell me you've been hanging around here the whole time."

  "What kind of loser do you think I am?" He motioned toward Lucky's Pub, just across the street. "No. I've had the perfect vantage point from a nice warm window seat."

  A couple of pub-crawlers passed by, giving us barely a glance. Conrad took a step closer. His face was inches from mine. His breath reeked of bourbon.

  "So," he said, "what do you have to say for yourself?"

  "Look," I said, taking a step backward. "I'd be lying if I didn't say I feel really awkward about this."

  "You should."

  "But I've gotta tell you," I continued, "the way you're acting, it's making me more than a little uncomfortable."

  "Like someone caught with their hand in the cookie jar?" he said. "Yeah, I hear that's a real bitch."

  I shrank back. "For what it's worth, I am sorry," I said. "But I'm leaving. And I think you should do the same." I took a step sideways to move past him.

  "I don't think so," he said.

  He grabbed me by the shoulders and slammed me into the alcove. I struggled against him, and he rammed my back, hard, into the brick wall. My head thudded against the unforgiving surface, and stars flickered before my eyes.

  Pressing the advantage, Conrad pinned my arms over my head and crushed his lips onto mine, mouth open, tongue probing.

  I struggled to turn my head, He surged forward, pressing harder and grinding my hands into the rough bricks behind me. I felt a burning pain in my knuckles and pushed back with everything I had. It was useless. The more I struggled, the harder Conrad held on.

  Fighting the waves of panic, I forced myself to relax. I stopped resisting. I closed my eyes and counted the seconds until Conrad relaxed too. With a low groan, he thrust his tongue deeper into my mouth and released my right hand. A moment later, I felt a hand at my breast, groping clumsily under my sweater.

  Slowly, I lowered my right hand to my side. I made a fist. A second later, that fist connected with Conrad's Adam's apple. He gave a sharp wheeze and dropped to the concrete, gasping for air and clutching his throat.

  I dashed from the alcove, looking over my sh
oulder as I cleared the block to the hardware store. Frantically, I pounded on the door. Bishop appeared within seconds. As he unlocked the door, I glanced behind me. Conrad was nowhere in sight.

  Reading my face, Bishop pulled me into the shop. "What is it?" he asked.

  "Nothing," I said, working hard to control my ragged breathing.

  "Someone follow you?"

  "No."

  "You're lying." Bishop poked his head out the door. He scanned the street in both directions. "Who was it?" When he looked back at me, his eyes were blazing. "Who?"

  "No one," I said, making my way to the back of the store. I heard Bishop's footsteps behind me. My hands were shaking. I thrust them deep into my pockets. I kept on walking. Soon, I was staring at the back wall.

  Gently, Bishop turned me around. With slow deliberation, he pulled my hands from my pockets. He looked down and frowned. "What happened to your hands?" He turned them over for a closer inspection. I followed Bishop's gaze as he studied my freshly scraped knuckles, raw and bleeding.

  "I slipped," I said.

  "Onto the backs of your hands?" he said, his tone barely controlled. "Who was it?" His eyes probed my face. "Tell me."

  I said nothing.

  He persisted. "The two guys from Edgar's house?"

  I shook my head.

  "One of the picketers?"

  I shook my head again.

  "Conrad?"

  I looked away.

  "Wait here," he said, heading for the door.

  I followed on his heels. "Where are you going?"

  "To find him."

  Chapter 78

  I leapt toward him and grabbed his arm. "No," I said. "Don't. Please?"

  Whirling toward me, his fists were clenched, and his jaw was tight. "Why the hell not?" he said.

  "I think he's hurting enough already," I said.

  His voice was deadly cold. "Emotional pain doesn't count."

  "I know." I tried to laugh. It came out as a choked sob. "I clocked him in the Adam's apple."

  Bishop stopped moving. His gaze met mine, and something like sanity returned. He gathered me into his arms, holding me so tight that my ribs felt in danger of snapping. Still, I clung to him, soaking up the feel of his embrace as he whispered into my hair, "You remembered that?"