Liquid Courage

by K. S. Adkins

  “The Foxxx Den, why?”

  “I need –” he says and the phone went dead.

  Redialing him it went straight to voicemail. Muttering, “Shit,” I sit on the couch and start biting all twenty of my nails. Yes, I was that drunk.

  “He knows you’re here,” Dion says giving me a one arm hug. “Keep your phone on and if he calls again, we’ll be ready.”

  “He was a foster kid,” I say absently. “The conditions he lived in were deplorable, Dion. The state allowed multiple children to live in that shit hole. Pita was suffering and I couldn’t take it. I called it in, pulled some favors and expedited the authorities getting involved.”

  “Mercy, that was –”

  “I got all the kids out,” I say sadly. “Including Pita.”

  “And that’s bad because?”

  “Because he’s of age, they released him out into the wild with no means of defending himself.”

  “Fuck.”

  “He stayed in that house to look after those kids,” I whisper in despair. “He stayed because the alternative was living on the street. He stayed and suffered while those fucking ‘parents’ cashed his checks. Because of me, Pita struggles now, but in a different way. He tries so hard… He never mentions his parents or any family. He doesn’t even bring up his time in the system. So, if following me around filming my day to day makes him happy, he can have at it.”

  “He does it because he loves you, Mercy. And whether you think so or not, you got him and the others out of a horrible situation. Obviously, he’s done well for himself. Where does he live and work?”

  “He’s rooming with four other boys and works part time at a liquor store.”

  “He can work for me if he likes,” he says easily. “Having you both here and happy is even better.”

  “He won’t even let me pay him,” I groan. “That kid is so damn proud and don’t think I didn’t catch what you slipped in there. Ever hear of warp speed?”

  “He’ll see reason and you’ll come around,” he vows. “Now let’s get back to where we were.”

  I’m pretty sure I said finally but then I fell asleep so…

  Waking up to Mercy’s hand on my cock sent shocks through my entire body.

  Staying still, allowing her freedom to explore me, I quickly realized she was groping me in her sleep.

  And for that reason, I tucked her arm underneath the covers and used the bathroom.

  Pissing with a stiffy at six a.m. and not spraying the walls was a challenge.

  I was shuffling back to bed when she says, “What time is it?”

  “Six,” I mumble, crawling back in.

  “Ew,” she scrunches up her beautiful face and flips her wild hair. “Wake me up at noon.”

  And then she curled into me and sighed. Her hair was covering my chest, she had flung a leg over mine and she even tucked one hand under my back. This was Mercy’s way of keeping me close. And I loved it.

  I was just dozing back off when she huffs, “Okay, I’m up.” Yeah, I knew the feeling…” Do you have coffee?”

  “Kitchen.”

  “Creamer?”

  “No.”

  “Food?”

  “We’ll order in.”

  “I’ll go make coffee and let you sleep.”

  Somehow, I managed to doze back off for a while and when I woke it was to an apartment that smelled amazing.

  Shuffling to the kitchen, I stand in the door and watch her take lessons from Chaz, our chef.

  Wearing my shirt, bare feet and hair tied up, Mercy made my heart skip a beat.

  “If you eat it all there will be nothing left for Mr. Fox,” Chaz was laughing. While I wasn’t around much, I was around and never once had I seen the man smile let alone laugh. Also, if he didn’t work for me, I’d take issue with him standing so close to her. But he was married and valued his job and so instead of growling at him, I watched the two of them make magic.

  “I’m a growing girl,” she says popping something in her mouth. “Besides, he may hate eggs benedict.”

  “He’s a man, he eats what you put in front of him.”

  “Me too,” she snorts adorably. “What’s his favorite dish of yours?”

  “Well,” Chaz pauses. “I wouldn’t know, Miss Mercy.”

  “Just Mercy and I don’t buy that,” she says sincerely. “You make the best food I have ever tasted.”

  “Mercy,” he says carefully. “Mr. Fox doesn’t have a favorite dish because he’s never tasted my food.”

  He’d be right. I hadn’t been around enough to taste his dishes and judging by the smell, a serious error in judgement. Between Mercy’s naked body being covered by my oversized shirt and Chaz’s cooking, I was on sensory overload. I wasn’t sure what I wanted more. To be inside of Mercy or eat breakfast, I was that conflicted.

  “Well,” she says putting her hands on her tiny hips. “He’s going to have to try all of it!”

  “Come again?”

  “You’ve seen him, he’s a big guy, all muscly, hot and…never mind. Anyway, I’ll set it up, don’t you worry.”

  “If you say so,” he mumbles, not believing her.

  “How did you come to work here?” she asks thoughtfully. “I mean, with your talent you could work anywhere in the world.”

  “Actually, no I can’t,” he says softly. “I’m an ex-con, so I’m fortunate to have a job at all.”

  Most women would back away or ask what he was in for, but not Mercy, who was an ex-cop to boot. Leaning into him, she says, “We’re going to be friends, Chaz, you and me. Thanks for showing me the ropes this morning. Your wife is a lucky woman.”

  Clearly caught off guard, his eyes dart and he says, “If you’re going to take credit for this, I should go before Mr. Fox wakes up.”

  “I’m not taking credit for this,” she laughs. “And seriously, you don’t have to go.”

  Stepping into the room, Chaz notices me first and unaware he’d even done it, places himself in front of Mercy in an act of protection. For that alone, he’d be getting a raise. “Good morning, Chaz,” I say casually.

  “Good morning, Mr. Fox,” he mumbles uncomfortably.

  “Good morning, Mercy.”

  “Good morning, Dion,” she says poking her head out from behind his back where he had tucked her. “Chaz, he doesn’t bite. Well, he won’t bite you.”

  “You both cooked for me?”

  “For us,” she corrects. “You had no food so I used your phone and dialed kitchen. Next thing you know, this guy showed up with enough food for a month.”

  “And she can’t cook at all, so I offered to help,” he says defensively.

  “Well, it looks and smells amazing,” I praise him. “Please, sit and join us.”

  “Another time, if you don’t mind,” he says eyeing the door. “I need to prep for lunch.”

  “Chaz,” Mercy says giving him a hug around the middle. “You don’t have to run for it. But if you need to go, I understand.”

  “Thanks,” he says finding his way out. For a few moments, she stared at the door he exited before facing me.

  “So,” she says brightly. “Shall I serve you?”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “I snacked,” she says grabbing a plate. “What would you like? We’ve got –”

  I had her off her feet and in my lap before she finished her sentence. “I didn’t get my good morning kiss.”

  “And you want that?” she asks breathlessly and this woman in her natural skin was a dream come true.

  “Yeah, Mercy, I want that.” More than life itself.

  “I do too,” she whispers against my lips. “But first, I feed you.”

  Jumping from my lap, she piles the plate as high as it will allow before coming back to me. Putting her where she belonged, I nestled her ass perfectly and then took the food she offered me from her fork. “This is fucking delicious,” I moan in ecstasy.

  Softly she asks, “Why is Chaz afraid of you?”

 
“Open,” I order and when her mouth seals over the prongs…” I suppose it’s because I’m not very friendly with the staff.”

  “Your turn,” she says sliding breakfast into my mouth. “You should try it, because I happen to think you’re very friendly.”

  “Why didn’t you ask him what he was charged with?”

  “Because it doesn’t matter,” she says snagging a berry.

  “You were a cop, Mercy.”

  “So? Good people make mistakes too, Dion.”

  “How do you know he’s a good person?”

  “Just do,” she says feeding me another bite. “How do you know he’s a good person?”

  “I don’t,” I admit. “Roger hired him, not me.”

  “Why is your place so empty?”

  “I’m never here.”

  “If you’re not here, where do you go?”

  That’s when I heard her phone and when she heard it, flew from my lap to answer it.

  At this rate, I was never getting inside of her.

  And once she hung up with the kid, she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

  He didn’t even blink when I slapped him upside the head. Clearly, I was losing my touch with the kid because all he could do was grin at my meltdown.

  “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” I warn Pita. Did I care it’s been almost two days since he called to tell me he needed a phone charger? No, I didn’t. Because I had thought the worst. In my mind, he was tied up in a ditch or dying of starvation in a closet. Instead, he lost his charger and was wanting to use mine. Kids today really had to prioritize what constituted an emergency. And since I was his unofficial guardian, I was going to need pills.

  “I said I was sorry, twice. Moving on, what’s on the books for today?” he asks, stealing my cucumber.

  “I’m trailing another cheater.”

  That, and I was avoiding Dion. It was a chicken shit thing to do but his intensity and surety about us was hard to wrap my head around. He speaks of our future as if it’s a done deal and we haven’t dated, let alone had sex yet.

  The one sexless night with him was spent with Dion constantly pressing me for more, and while I wasn’t necessarily opposed to it, I wanted the chance to think it through. I mean, is it too much to ask that we grab a pizza first? Maybe run a background check and devise a pros and cons spreadsheet? At the very least, I need to see what’s behind his slacks. What woman goes all in without touching the merchandise?

  Plus, all my life I’ve lacked impulse control. While it’s served me well in some cases, in others it’s blown up in my face. If I wasn’t careful… this had nuclear disaster written all over it.

  Because I liked Dion, I liked spending time with him. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to spend all my time with him. Because I was a free bird, a man clipping my wings wouldn’t work for me or him. Before I left, he had outlined all the things he wanted together. As in, this week. And I freaked out, internally. Externally though, I played it cool.

  Plus, I did have jobs to finish and dealing with my feelings would have to wait.

  “We are trailing a cheater,” he wags his eyebrows at me. From what I knew so far, the man in question was harmless. I mean yes, he was a cheating pig, but a harmless one. Giving in to Pita I say, “Fine you can come.”

  “Yes!”

  “But, it’s to observe. Think of it as a training exercise.”

  “Whatever you say, boss lady.”

  After paying the bill, we climb into my car and head toward the tip I was given. The wife who hired me had dug up so much on her husband, I nearly offered her a job. Seriously, pissed off women get shit done.

  Twenty minutes into surveillance, and Pita was already antsy. He was changing the radio station every three seconds and tapping his foot. The kid would need to learn patience if he ever wanted to make it in this business.

  “Stop fidgeting,” I snap at him because it was making me fidget.

  When a song he liked came on, he started rapping and I wondered how hard it would be to get blood off the upholstery. “Pita. Pita. Pita, Pita, Pita, Pita. I got broads in Atlanta, twistin’ dope, lean and the fanta –”

  “What in the hell are you saying?”

  “It’s called Panda but I changed it to Pita. Do you like it?”

  Turning it off, I explain, “I can’t like what I don’t understand.”

  “I’m sweaty,” he complains still fidgeting. “Why does your car smell like feet?”

  “Excuse me,” I point at the floor. “But that smell is coming from your feet.”

  “Oh,” he mumbles leaning down to get a whiff. “My bad. Anyway, we followed him here, watched him go inside with a woman who is not his wife and we haven’t busted him yet. What are you waiting for? The second coming of Christ?”

  “While the odds are slim, it is possible she is not the other woman. Yes, my gut says I have all I need but, his wife will require actual proof. This is not a job where people take you at your word. You bust your ass and give them as much information as you can so they can never turn the tables and blame you. Especially when it comes to marriages. People do crazy shit when hearts and alimony are involved.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like sticking by the cheater, looking the other way, choosing denial and accusing you of wrong doing even though they called you in the first place. Divorces are confusing and painful. You convince yourself the person you loved was good and finding out they’re not can mess with your head. For some, they cut ties and move on. For others, they can’t. They go back and spend the rest of their lives…wondering.”

  “Did you do that?” he asks randomly. “Go back?”

  “No,” I say staring out of the window unwilling to dwell on my past or talk about it. “I didn’t go back.”

  “You’re too bad ass for that, Boss.”

  “But I haven’t moved on either.”

  “Why not?”

  Just then the man and woman in question exited the building hand-in-hand saving me from saying shit I shouldn’t be saying. Honestly, I don’t know what prompted me up to open my mouth at all.

  Wait, yes I do.

  Dion.

  The man who I want but do not deserve.

  “Mercy?” he asks bringing me back to the present.

  “Sorry,” I say grabbing the camera and taking as many photos as possible from the car. Zooming in, I capture him kissing her and noticed he was sloppy, rushed and not wearing his ring. He kissed nothing like Dion. Ugh, I needed to focus. Once she drove off, I waited for him to do the same and when he passed by us, I leaned out of my window snagging a photo of his plate before he got inside of his car.

  “Stay here,” I advise Pita, using my boss voice.

  “Where are you going?” he questions anyway.

  “Just stay put,” I growl. “And make sure my car doesn’t get stolen.”

  Crossing the street, I walk inside of the building and straight to the front desk. Showing my badge, I ask the clerk who the couple was. The initial hesitation was taken care of when I slid two tickets for the Lions game across the desk. It’s a thing I do. I’ve got tickets for everything, good tickets. I also have vouchers for strip clubs, bars and private events. Huh. Maybe I should get Dion in on this.

  The tickets of course, did the trick because the kid couldn’t wait to spill.

  “Thanks,” I say offering a fist bump and I no sooner cleared the door, he was on the phone sharing his luck.

  I had just handed Pita my camera when a force hit me lifting me off the ground sending me straight to my back.

  With an oomph, I went splat but refused to stay down and play vulnerable.

  Quickly coming to my feet, I loosen up my arms, taking a defensive stance.

  “That bitch hired you to follow me,” he spews. Well, so much for being harmless.

  “I have never seen you before in my life,” I lie.

  “I saw you taking photos of me.”

  “Sorry,” I shrug. “If I was taking ph
otos it wasn’t of you. Let’s be honest, the camera doesn’t love you.”

  “Give it to me,” he orders.

  “About that,” I say stepping forward. “I’m going with no.”

  “You will give me that camera or –”

  “Or what? You’ll wait until I’m not looking to ransack me again?”

  “I want that camera!” he roars lunging forward.

  Clamping down on his wrist, I twist, applying pressure at the same time. When he squeals, taking a knee, I give him another tweak before jacking him in the nuts. Keeling over, I yell to Pita, “Camera.”

  Tossing it to me, I snap this man's bad luck at every angle. Camera in hand, I squat next to him and tsk. “When will you men learn; no means no?”

  “Do-you-,” he likely coughs up a testicle. “Know who I am?”

  “I’m thinking broke, divorced, and pissing sideways. Would you like to add an assault charge?”

  “—Pay for this,” he threatens weakly.

  “Maybe,” I shrug. “But not today, man-whore. Buh-bye now.”

  My final scene was zapping his ass for good measure. Leaving him flopping around in the road, I slide into my car handing Pita the camera. “File’s in the door. Send everything to the wife within the next hour.”

  “Holy shit,” he wheezes with round eyes. Dammit, that scene was not supposed to happen in front of him. Actually, it shouldn’t have happened at all.

  “An hour, Pita, can you do that?”

  “Duh,” he says sarcastically. “But when are we going to talk about the smackdown you just gave back there?”

  “Let me check the time. Oh, we’re not.”

  “Like hell we’re not,” he argues. “How did you learn to do that?”

  “It’s called practice and patience,” I explain. “Two things you have absolutely zero of.”

  “You gotta teach me!” he begs bouncing in his seat.

  “I don’t gotta do anything,” I say, making a right and heading to my office. “But, if you can get that file out in time, I’ll consider showing you a move or two.”

  Pulling in, I grab my bag, leaving the rest to Pita. Waving to Ember who was giving advice to a customer, I yanked Pita with me when he stopped to be nosey. “Move it, pervert.”