Some Like it Hot

by K. J. Larsen

  “No worries. We roughed them up a little, knocked them senseless.”

  Rocco said, “You and Cristina managed this?”

  “Cleo was at the symphony.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “And she was out of buckshot anyway.”

  Jackson was all bug-eyed. “Damn, girl.”

  I thought steam would come out of Rocco’s ears. He blew air instead.

  “Thank Max for me. I owe him for this one.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  My fox-killing client suspected her fiancé was cheating on her. But there wasn’t time for 8x10 glossies. The caterers were already frosting the cake. I wouldn’t be able to tell Sylvia what Garret was up to last week. But I could give him the chance to man-up tonight. He could prove to Sylvia that he loves her. Or not.

  I cracked out the serious ammo—sassy, sexy, and just a half-inch short of slutty.

  I tromped into the Bernice’s Tavern a little after four in red-hot stilettos and a little black dress. The dress was a Roxanne Barbara original and a study in leg and cleavage. Guaranteed to smoke out guys who aren’t blind, committed, or gay.

  Or, you know, getting married Friday.

  I recognized Sylvia’s piece of shit fiancé from the hunky beach blanket photo she showed me in Billy’s office. His steel-gray eyes caught mine in the bar mirror. I looked away. He nearly whiplashed his fine self rubbernecking around.

  I sat at a small table in line with the mirror over the bar and slid a gold cigarette lighter beside me. The “lighter” was a voice activated recorder—a gift from the much hunkier Savino.

  I glanced at the drink menu. When I looked up, the piece of shit fiancé hovered over me. Two drinks in his hand.

  “Hi, gorgeous. If you’re waiting for someone, here I am.”

  Seriously? Did Sylvia actually fall for such a cheesy line?

  “I have a date,” I said. “He’s late.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “It is if he wants to get laid.”

  “I like that. You’ve got fire.”

  Was this guy for real? I had to wonder how someone—even my loony tunes, fox-killing client—got mixed up with this hustler.

  “Let’s make him jealous.” He dropped his bum in a chair and slid us both a martini. “Why waste a perfectly good happy hour just because your date is a—”

  “Putz?”

  He wrapped his arm around the back of my chair. “I’m Garret.”

  “Cat.” I traced a finger on the rim of my glass. “The last stranger who bought me a drink turned out to be married.”

  “Not guilty.” He held up his left hand.

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Can I answer that in the morning?” His fingertips danced along my arm.

  Gag me. The thought of spending the night with him made me want to hurl.

  Garret leaned close and his lips twitched a smile. “The night is young. Who knows how it will end?”

  Actually, I did. And so did he. He was going home to Sylvia. She owned the big house, and she paid the bills. Her grieving money probably bought the martinis on the table. The only thing I didn’t know was if I’d get out of there before smacking the creepy grin off his face.

  I downed my drink and flexed my fingers. A few more of those and I’d go for his throat.

  With an intimate gesture, Garret pulled two cigarettes from a pack and held one to my lips. I shook my head.

  “I don’t smoke.”

  His curious gaze dropped to the gold lighter on the table.

  “I’m quitting. The lighter’s like a familiar friend.” I scooped it up quickly and stood.

  “You’re not leaving?”

  “I am.”

  Garret’s hand restrained me. “Wait. How can I reach you?”

  “We could meet here Friday,” I said all straight-faced.

  Like between the wedding and the reception.

  He exaggerated a sigh. “Unfortunately, I’m leaving on a business trip this weekend. I’d like to call you when I get back. You and me, we got something special here.”

  “Do we?”

  “We do.” He drained his glass. “I got a feeling the gods are smiling on me tonight.”

  “Yeah?”

  I dropped the lighter in my bag and slung it on my shoulder. Leaning low, I whispered in his ear.

  “Cuz I got a feeling the gods are laughing their socks off.”

  ***

  I slid behind the wheel and the smell of sausages filled my nostrils. I wasn’t alone. Fear froze everything but my eyeballs. A distinct wheezing sound came from the backseat. Inga was at grandma’s. And she didn’t have sinus troubles. But I knew who did.

  My gaze whipped to my rearview mirror and I jumped.

  Devin waved a sausage at me.

  I opened my mouth twice before a sound came out. Then I reached over the backseat and slugged him with my bag.

  “Get out. You scared the crap out of me.”

  Devin snorted a laugh. I put the bag away. He clambered over the seat and plopped down beside me.

  “I was just released from treatment. They let me out early for good behavior.”

  I could smell the stench of cheap alcohol on his breath. I put the key in the ignition and rolled down the windows. The treatment did wonders.

  “Yeah, right. They don’t let you out of rehab for good behavior, dumb ass. You escaped.”

  Devin twisted his mouth. “You DeLucas think you’re so effin’ perfect.”

  “Seriously? Have you met my effin’ perfect family?” I closed my eyes and counted to ten. When I opened them again he was still there. “Why are you here, Devin?”

  “I want to make things right between us.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  He threw me a look. “You’re not helping me with this situation here. I think it’s the least you could do.”

  I bit my tongue. “Really? Please, continue.”

  “I can’t remember much about that night—”

  “That’s convenient.”

  “I’m guessing things ended pretty badly.”

  He waited for me to say something. I pressed my lips together to keep from screeching like a crazy person.

  He finally said, “This is awkward.”

  I screeched like Cleo. “Awkward? You tried to kill me. You crashed my thirtieth birthday party. I didn’t get cake!”

  “Chill, Cat. I’ll buy you a cake. I’ve changed.”

  “Changed? You haven’t changed. You stole cars and ran a chop shop before they hauled you off to treatment. Then when you break out, the first thing you do is break into Tino’s car.”

  “This is Tino’s car?” He looked like he was going to be sick.

  “You ate my dog’s food. Dog food.”

  He gagged.

  “If Jack wasn’t your uncle I’d shoot you myself.”

  It’s hell to find a good mechanic.

  “No, you wouldn’t.” Devin grinned. “Besides you didn’t bring your gun. I can tell.”

  He got me. My 9mm was at home in my lingerie drawer, keeping them safe.

  “We grew up together, Cat. You wouldn’t whack me.”

  “I would whack you in a hot minute. You ruined my three-hundred dollar dress! I wore it two hours. And don’t even get me started on my Valentino metallic stilettos!” My voice reached a near fervent pitch.

  “Ha!” Devin barked. “Three hundred dollars for a dress? You are such a bonehead. That’s a hundred-fifty ya-yos an hour.”

  I made a sputtering sound that would terrify small children.

  He reached into the backseat and pulled out a couple bottles of soda from my surveillance cooler. He handed me one, and I hit him with it.

  He laughed and rubbed his arm.

&nb
sp; “Anyway, when I was away, I had a lot of time to think about our, uh, misunderstanding. He cleared his throat. “I wanted to say—I…uh… uhm…”

  “Yes?”

  “I was uh—well…”

  “Come on—”

  “What I am trying to say is…”

  “You can’t say it, can you?”

  “I can say it. I’m—”

  “You can do it. Spit it out, Devin.”

  “I’m spitting already. I’m…I’m…”

  “Sor–ry.” I prompted. “Just say it.”

  He did a mean goldfish imitation.

  “Un-flipping-believable.”

  “Oh—just shut up and get over it, Cat!” Devin got out his flask from his inside jacket pocket and took a hefty pull.

  “I don’t know how far you got with the twelve steps. But you didn’t stay in the program long enough for the one where you ask forgiveness for trying to kill people.

  Devin shot a sullen look. I inspected his mouth. There was a white powdery substance around his lips.

  Powdered sugar.

  “You got into Mama’s cannoli? My God! Is nothing off limits to you?”

  He opened the door. “We’ll talk later. You’re being a raging bitch right now. Aunt Flo must be visiting.”

  I lunged for him as he jumped outside laughing. I caught a flash of something in his hand.

  I couldn’t wrench my jaws apart. “That’s my mama’s Tupperware,” I said through gritted teeth.

  He winked. “I’ll finish these off and return the container myself. I bet your mama makes me supper.”

  I watched as Devin disappeared into the night.

  I pounded the steering wheel with my fists, took a few deep, balancing breaths. I closed my eyes and felt healing energy wash over me as I visualized slowly choking the life out of Devin.

  I was ready to face my next hurdle. I punched Cleo’s number on my phone.

  She answered on the first ring. “Hey, girlfriend.”

  “So, whatcha doin’?”

  “I took Cristina and Halah out to dinner, and we’re on our way to a movie. Halah wants to see some weird vampire flick.”

  I heard Halah giggling in the background. She seemed happier now. More like a fifteen year old should be. In theory, anyway.

  “You’re scared of vampires, Cleo.”

  “And zombies. Well, all dead men walking, really.” I heard her shudder.

  “You should be.” I laughed. “Drop the girls off at the theatre and give them cab fare. We’re working tonight. We have a murder to solve.”

  Cleo tried to infuse regret in her voice. “Sorry to ditch ya. The Pants On Fire Detective Agency is hot on the trail of a killer!”

  “We wanna come,” I heard Cristina say.

  Cleo’s voice came back. “Cristina said—”

  I cut her off. “Trust me. Cristina will be safer with the vampires.”

  ***

  I removed a recorder from my glove box, put in the tape, and plugged in the cord from my cigarette lighter. I had one more call to make. In my business, I make a lot of these. They don’t get easier.

  Sylvia answered on the first ring. She had to be staring at the phone.

  “Okay, Cat. What happened? Tell me all the details. And don’t hold back. Please. Cat? Are you there? Hello?”

  “I will tell you everything, if you will just listen,” I breathed in deep. Softening my voice I continued. “I met Garrett at Bernice’s Tavern. I had a little quality time with him before his friend showed up.”

  “Dammit, Cat, don’t beat around the bush. What did he say about me? Did he show you that picture of us on the beach?”

  “Uh…no.”

  “Did he tell you he was engaged?”

  “Sylvia,” I sighed. “Please just shut up for a minute and listen to me. I recorded our conversation, so you will be able to hear our whole encounter. I’ll play it for you.”

  I heard her take a deep breath and hold it. I wondered if she’d stopped breathing.

  I pressed Play. She was oddly quiet through the entire exchange.

  “That’s it,” I said when it was over.

  Silence.

  “Sylvia, are you there?”

  Her voice caught. “The caterers are gonna be pissed.”

  ***

  Cleo and I pushed through the Irish Pub’s heavy oak doors, tromped past the bar and two other servers, and took a table in the back where the woman I remembered waited tables.

  She breezed over and slapped a couple menus on the table. “I’m Katie,” she said in case we couldn’t read her nametag. “May I bring you ladies something from the bar?”

  “I’ll have a Manhattan,” I said.

  Snapping closed her menu, Cleo said, “A martini. And I’d like to start with an appetizer. What’s good?”

  “The Corned Beef Rolls are a favorite. I like the Pear and Bleu Cheese Salad. The Guinness BBQ Wings are the best I’ve found anywhere.”

  Cleo dropped the menu. “We’ll take them all. I’m famished.”

  I waited until Katie returned with our drinks to plop my camera-purse on the table. She did a double take.

  “I know that purse.”

  “You do,” I said.

  She squinted, peering closely at my face. “Same green eyes. Wow. I wouldn’t have recognized you.”

  “Cat’s incognito,” Cleo blabbed. “If your boss sees her…”

  Cleo seized her butter knife and mock-sliced her throat.

  “Smooth, Cleo,” I said. “Next time, you can wait in the car with Inga.”

  Katie’s eyes swept the room. “She’s right. You do not want Kyle to find you here. We’re supposed to tell him if we see you.”

  I slipped a C-note from my purse pocket. “You didn’t.”

  She palmed it. “Ben’s a good friend of mine.”

  “What about Cristina? Your old bartender from a few years back.”

  “Not so much.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead.”

  “Cristina’s not dead.”

  “The boss hasn’t found her yet.”

  Cleo reached in my bag and dragged out another Benjamin. “Another good friend might loosen your tongue.”

  Katie smiled and took it saying, “You can’t have too many friends. Cristina didn’t work here long. She started in the kitchen, slept with the boss, next day was promoted to bartender.

  “I guess you know about the shooting. The cops closed the bar for a week. We all came back except Cristina. Maybe she figured once the boss was gone, the perks she got sleeping with him were gone, too.”

  I shrugged. “Or maybe she left because she was traumatized by the shooting. She worked that night. It’s possible she saw something.”

  “Cristina’s a drama queen. You got that right. But she didn’t work that night. She was on the schedule, but she traded shifts with another bartender.”

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire,” Cleo said.

  The server looked taken aback. “She means Cristina,” I said. “Thanks for the information.”

  She turned to leave, then twisted around again.

  “You know if my boss finds out I talked to you…”

  I crossed my heart, finger-locked my lips, and threw the key away.

  “Mmuaymmm,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “Her lips are sealed,” the one with the big mouth said.

  “I don’t know what happened between Cristina and Kyle. But I can tell you this. The only time I’ve seen the boss this mad, someone was ripping him off.” And Katie was gone.

  We finished off the appetizers and kept the drinks coming. Cleo laughed and flirted shamelessly with a guy bussing tables.

  Cleo
’s on a roll in the dating department. Walter, the salesman from Toledo, my crazy cousin Frankie, and the busboy. She was really reachin’ for the stars.

  The energy in the room shifted as I felt a hostile presence from across the room close in on me. The hair on the back of my neck rose. I tugged at my short skirt, wishing I’d worn slacks or a nun’s habit. I was the gazelle, and I felt the lion salivate before I could see him coming.

  I tossed down my drink and stared at my empty glass. I didn’t meet his icy gaze until he plopped his butt down at our table.

  “Caterina DeLuca. What an unexpected surprise.”

  “You’re mistaken,” I said, my voice disguised to a squeak.

  “No.” He smiled, his eyes rolling slowly over my body. “I recognized those legs when you walked in my door. They’re a work of art.”

  “The better to kick you with,” I snarled.

  He smiled, amused.

  “What are you doing here, Cat?”

  “I’m investigating your sorry ass, Kyle Tierney. I’m gathering evidence. You killed Billy Bonham and you’re not getting away with it.”

  A chill seeped into his face and his voice was dangerously soft. “If you were a man, I’d have dealt with you long ago.”

  “Like you dealt with Billy Bonham?” Cleo piped in.

  Tierney looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. “I know you from somewhere. You danced at one of my clubs, didn’t you?”

  “She did not!” I elbow-slugged her. “Did you?”

  He glanced down at her legs. “My mistake.”

  “You’re a pig, Tierney,” I said.

  “These are fabulous legs,” Cleo snapped. “They could dance the shit out of your sleazy night clubs.”

  He snapped his fingers and aimed his pointy finger at Cleo. “Got it! You’re the crazy woman on the video. You whacked your husband last summer.”

  Her face twitched. I slapped a hand on her bag before she threw herself over the table and smacked him with it.

  “The charges against Cleo were dropped,” I said.

  “Right.” He winked.

  He held up a hand and wriggled a finger. One of his stooges fell over himself sprinting over. “Sir?”

  “Bring these women a bottle of Jameson Whiskey from my personal collection.”

  He scooted away and Tierney flashed a cool smile. “You see? I’m not the monster you think I am.”