“Yeah. You know, C-4, napalm, stuff like that. You’d be surprised the kind of market there is out there for…”
Stavros made a chopping motion with his hand, cutting off whatever spin Keaton was planning to put on the rest of that statement. Keeping this guy on track was like trying to herd hyperactive squirrels.
“What in the name of all that’s holy makes you think your explosives guys can cook ecstasy?”
Keaton appeared genuinely confused by that question. “Um. They’re chemists. I give them the formula, they crank out the drugs. No problem.”
Again, there was a twisted logic there. Stavros forced himself to take a long, deep, cleansing breath, then let it out on a ten-count. Centered once more, he swept his arm toward the door, indicating that Keaton should precede him.
Whatever the level of frustration, Stavros couldn’t afford to have this operation go sideways. If that meant that explosives makers became ecstasy cooks, so be it. At least it was something for him to do for the next ninety minutes. He did not want to end up seeing the animal porn.
How was Stavros supposed to argue with a plan B like this?
* * *
An arm slid into the middle of the trio of painted girls and grabbed for Allie’s hand. Allie snatched it and held on for dear life. She didn’t know to whom it belonged to, and at this point she didn’t really care. Stabilizing herself with the help of the unexpected support, Allie managed to untangle herself from the sexual Bermuda Triangle she’d gotten trapped inside of.
The hand kept pulling, taking her right out of the triangle of women and into…Josh’s arms. It was his hand that had rescued her. He moved her away from the girls, doing what he could to keep her protected from the wall of dancing human flesh around them both.
His face had that expression on it that Allie had seen many, many times before. The one that said he was embarrassed. He’d probably pulled too hard and hadn’t meant for the near-hug to happen. Sure enough, Josh was putting distance between them once more, mouthing what looked to be an apology. And just when she’d been starting to enjoy the close contact.
Within seconds, though, she was dodging a group of…well, she wasn’t exactly sure. Each of them looked like they had picked an animal and just gone with it. The paint, the shredding of their clothes, even their movements seemed to embrace some aspect of the animal kingdom.
There was what looked like a dog or a wolf, a jungle cat, and…was that a shark? Yep. Definitely a shark. The guy had stripped off his shirt, strapped a fin onto his back, and was cruising the foam. Allie wondered just what he would do to his prey once he managed to catch them. And then she decided that she really didn’t want to know.
The music was a central theme around which everything else seemed to revolve, creating a canvas upon which the dancers traced their patterns, weaving in and out in a terrifying and somehow beautiful cacophony of movement.
The problem with all of it was that it was all done in some kind of random motif, and it was clear that Allie and Josh did not fit in. Where others seemed to just flow through the space, Allie felt like she was caught up in that Night at the Roxbury movie, bounced back and forth between complete idiots.
And the smells? Some familiar, some completely foreign. There was the scent of sweat, as well as the sweetness of the cracked oil fog that was being cranked into the garage.
Mingling with the fog was a burnt pine scent that she couldn’t quite identify. Was that pot? She just didn’t have enough experience with it to know. How much should she be worried about a contact high? And would it be enough to show up on a drug test?
The thump of the bass rattled inside her skull. This was supposed to be so cool, but all she could think about was how much damage she was doing to her hearing. How cool was it going to be when she was stone deaf at forty? She was sure that hearing aid sticking out of her ear canal would be super sexy.
From what she could tell, Josh wasn’t faring much better. He had a perma-scowl on his face and would rub at his forehead every so often, smearing neon in streaks across it. It made him look like some kind of primitive neon warrior.
The only time his expression lightened up was when he was looking at her. That had to be a good sign, right? Allie’s heart beat in a rhythm that was just off the thud of the music, pounding in the fact that she didn’t belong there.
Seven, finally showing up, looking like he was a fish in water.
“Told you this was off the hook!”
Just like it did with the other clubbers, the party seemed to flow around him, never striking or threatening his movements in any way. He was like some crazy jellyfish with glowing paint splattered all over him.
And if that wasn’t enough, a guy with hipster glasses which looked like they didn’t even have lenses and tattoos covering one whole side of his neck sidled up to their little trio and held out his hand. Inside his palm were three lavender-colored tablets, each one marked with a butterfly. He shouted to be heard over the warped bass.
“You guys want to really enjoy the party? First one’s on the house!”
Seven moved so fast that Allie barely saw his fingers as he snatched a pill. Three pills became two as Seven dry-swallowed his and yelled back at the dealer.
“Thanks, dude!”
Josh reached over and plucked up one of the pills, his face a question mark. Allie, more surprised than she would’ve thought that Josh was taking drugs, scooped the last of the pellets out of the man’s hand. The guy nodded at them, his gaze vague, before he wafted off in search of another group of noobies.
Josh was staring at Allie, the pill still held out in his palm.
“They think of everything!” He yelled at her.
Okay, Allie had no idea what Josh was talking about. “What?” she yelled back.
“The aspirin! For our headaches, right?”
She couldn’t help it. The laughter bubbled up inside of her from what felt like her toes and burst out of her like an erupting volcano. And the confused pout on Josh’s face only sent her into a further paroxysm of giggling.
After what felt like five minutes, she finally managed to get herself under control. She pointed to the pill nestled in Josh’s hand.
“It’s ecstasy, Josh. Drugs.”
Josh’s face went through a veritable smorgasbord of expressions, finally landing on what looked like horror. He looked down at the drugs in his hands, then back up at Allie. Then, as one, both of them tossed the pills over their shoulders as foam started chugging out of the spouts.
They both grinned and then burst into laughter. Josh wiped his hand against his once white shorts, as if trying to rid himself of the taint of the X.
And somehow, everything was well with Allie’s universe once more. Josh taking drugs was like a cat quacking like a duck. It just was not right.
Josh’s mouth was moving, but Allie had no idea what he was saying.
She leaned in closer. “What?!”
“I said, ‘I’m glad you’re here with me!’”
Allie felt a glow spread from her face all through her body. He might be having a good time, he might not. But he wanted her here. All of a sudden, the thumping bass wasn’t nearly so annoying.
The glow lasted all of five seconds, as Allie had to duck an elbow passing right through the space where her nose had been just moments before. This place was a death trap. She looked around for Josh and watched as he was jostled by a gang of…wow. Really stunning men. Stunning as in beautiful. Beautiful as in chiseled from head to toe. Seriously, these guys looked like they had been carved out of marble.
Even their latex paint was somehow more artfully placed than anyone else’s. They had somehow managed to get the splatters on them in a way that enhanced all of their features. Allie guessed they had taken over their own body painting a lot earlier than she and Josh had. These guys looked like they had stepped right out of an Abercrombie and Fitch ad. Well, one splattered by glowing latex paint, at any rate.
As the group passed by, l
iterally right in between the two of them, Allie noticed that they all seemed to have cut off their white shorts even shorter. What had started off as mid-thigh garments now looked like they just barely managed to cover their butts. That seemed an odd fashion choice…sure, women liked a man with a nice butt, but they typically avoided guys wearing daisy dukes.
Wait. Maybe that was the point?
Confirming her growing suspicions, she watched as one of the guys grabbed the man right next to him around the neck and pulled him in for a passionate kiss. If any doubt had lingered, that moment had put it to rest.
Allie glanced over at Josh to gauge his reaction and found him staring into the group with a look of…what exactly the expression was, Allie couldn’t say…on his face. It was intent, and maybe a little sad. He swiveled his eyes over to Allie, saw that she was watching, and dropped his gaze to the floor, that embarrassed look of his plastered all over his face.
What was that all about?
* * *
Keaton bounced his way toward the door, skirting a dead body on the way out. This was okay. He could salvage this. What had looked like almost certain disaster could be massaged into a beautiful business relationship…possibly more.
Thinking ahead, Keaton envisioned him and Stavros hanging out, Keaton acting as Stavros’s wingman. Actually, Stavros probably didn’t even need a wingman. Keaton would be more of a quality control guy. And then, later, they could compare notes. Or, you know, Keaton could listen.
Perfect.
Of course, before any of that had a chance of coming to pass, Keaton had to convince two guys whose only interest in life was blowing things up or setting them on fire to switch over to making a drug that made people get all lovey-dovey. At least until the next shift showed up.
No problem. What could possibly go wrong?
Keaton hustled down the hallway, looking to stay far enough ahead of Stavros that he could avoid any unpleasant conversations en route. But, once again, Stavros’s perfect BMI foiled Keaton’s plans. The taller man kept pace with him step for step. And Stavros didn’t seem all that inclined to stay silent.
“Is there anyone you can think of who might have a grudge against you? I can’t imagine your whole team of chemists managed to create enemies for themselves locked up in here.”
Keaton bridled at the implied insult. “Hey, hey. No locking.” Then, off Stavros’s probing stare—man those hazel eyes of his could dig deep—Keaton modified a bit. “Well, okay, I lock them in, but it’s not like I lock them in, you know? They are anti-fraternization devices. And no, I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt the Keatonator. I’m a people person. Everybody loves me.”
“Really? No enemies whatsoever?”
“No. Nobody.” Keaton thought hard for a second. “Well, there was that one guy…but that was a long time ago. I’m sure he doesn’t even remember.”
Stavros’s face went tight and he pressed the bridge of his nose. He’d done that several times this evening. Keaton should ask him if he was having nasal passage issues. There was the aromatherapy neti pot micro they could stop by… maybe Keaton could get back into Stavros’s good graces with some product demonstrations.
But before he had the chance to bring it up, Stavros had his arm out, pointing ahead of them in the hall.
“One of your micro-businesses’ doors is open.”
Keaton laughed, but then looked where Stavros was indicating, and his laugh turned into a choking cough. Sure enough, the door to the Etsy crafts micro was swung wide for the world to see. This was awkward.
“Aw, man! The knitting group’s flown the coop again. I’ve gotta start taking their screwdrivers away from them.”
Keaton rushed forward, rounding the corner to the room only to come up short in the doorway. Stavros appeared right over his shoulder, his natural scent augmented with a light scent, slightly spicy with undertones of musk. Sandalwood and pine? Nice choice. Keaton shook his head and returned his attention to the room. This was not good. This was not good at all.
There was blood everywhere.
The crafts stations had been obliterated. Yarn and scraps of felt were scattered in and amongst the decoupage supplies, and gold leafing and vintage photos were spattered with the life blood of the women—and one older bachelor—who were lying on the ground, a knitting needle protruding from the chest of each and every one.
“Okay, okay…” Keaton ran a hand through his hair. This didn’t have to be a disaster. When life handed you hydrochloric acid, you started a metal etching micro, right? “This is a good news-bad news situation.”
Stavros turned a stunned glance his way. “And what about this could possibly be good news?”
“Well, getting in on this micro’s a steal now, at only one-hundred ninety-eight bucks.”
CHAPTER 5
Stavros let out a growl of frustration that backed Keaton up several steps. It was time to be done here at the Hive. As important as this operation was, it was going to have to take a back seat to staying alive, which seemed to be a bit of an issue here, at this particular juncture.
“That’s it. Time for me to leave.”
Keaton stepped in front of him, waving his hands. Stavros had to give the guy credit. He had stones the size of bowling balls. “No, no, no. Don’t go yet. Seriously, this was one of my smallest micros. Not really that much of a loss.” Keaton seemed to think that one through for a moment, then added a caveat. “Not that it couldn’t have grown. You know, with the right investor.”
“Keaton. Stop. People are dying. This can’t be random happenstance anymore. Someone is targeting your businesses here.”
“We don’t know that for sure. Those crafty women can get downright nasty. It totally could’ve been a catfight gone south.” The micro-preneur peered into Stavros’s face, and must not have liked what he saw there. “Okay, okay. We’ll go. But let’s at least try to grab the explosives guys. The room’s right on the way out. Mostly.”
Stavros’s danger senses were firing on all pistons. He was pretty sure they needed to get out, and now. But if there was even the smallest chance that he could salvage something from this crazy night, it might not be the worst idea ever. He needed that ecstasy, damn it.
Keaton beamed at him. “Good choice, man. We can still make this happen. You feel it, right?” Keaton gestured back and forth from himself to Stavros. “This thing that’s passing back and forth here between us. We’re coming together in crisis, dude.”
“Let’s just get the chemists and get out, shall we?” Stavros motioned for Keaton to take the lead once more.
“Yeah, yeah. No problem. Feelings gotta take a back seat to action. Gotcha. Totally, man.”
This time, moving through the narrow hallways of the old rambler, Stavros picked up on another scent that hadn’t been there before. It was a scent he was intimately familiar with. It was there to some extent in almost every meeting he held with a potential supplier or rival dealer.
Fear.
It added depth to the shadows around them, gave added strength and speed to the beat of Stavros’s heart, made the hairs at the nape of his neck stand on end. This was bad, and getting worse.
Maybe making even this small stop was a bad idea.
But the point was moot. Keaton was stopped in front of a metal door, pulling his keys out to open the lock. Wait. Metal?
Keaton saw the look and raised his eyebrows. “Dude. Explosives. Do I have to say more?” He turned back to his key ring.
While Keaton searched for the right key to the room, Stavros looked at the door. Was it his imagination, or…? He placed a hand on the steel entrance and pushed. It swung open. The rattling keys in Keaton’s hand stilled suddenly as he glanced up and froze.
The door caught in its swing for a moment, long enough for Stavros to look down and see a wire stretching out across the floor. The wire that was breaking even as he watched.
Wire.
Explosives.
This was not good.
&nb
sp; Stavros leapt to the side, taking Keaton down with him in a heap on the floor. To the side, the doorway they had just vacated erupted in a searing blast of fire and sound. Shrapnel from what must have once been tools and objects inside the room embedded themselves in the far wall, passing right through the space they had inhabited moments earlier.
And there lay Stavros and Keaton, locked in an uncomfortable embrace, watching the random bits of burning wall slowly go out and began to smoke. Stavros shook his head to get rid of the dull ringing that was permeating his skull.
He stood, brushing himself off, making sure there was no permanent damage anywhere. Stavros reached out a hand to help Keaton up, and they walked over to the smoking door.
Inside, the room was a charnel house. A charnel house that had been blown all to holy hell. Bits of flesh and bone protruded out from the layer of blood that covered the entire room. In addition to the iron smell of blood, there was an uncomfortably pleasant smell of charred meat.
Keaton turned to face Stavros, and in a small voice asked, “You don’t think it could’ve been an accident with the C-4, do you?”
The headache was a given now. It had moved out from behind his eyes and was now invading the whole front side of his skull. And Stavros was pretty sure it wasn’t going away any time soon.
* * *
Josh had felt jealousy a few times in his life. There was the moment his younger brother had been invited by his friend’s family to go with them to Disneyland. The time his big sister had gotten the brand new iPod for Christmas when all Josh had received was a stupid suit…something about him needing something nice to wear when he started passing the sacrament that next spring. There was even the day that he had been forced to stay home from Raging Waters due to a severe case of walking pneumonia.
None of that compared to what he was feeling right now.
Okay, yeah, the guys were obviously hot. Even he could see that. But that was still no excuse for Allie to be gawking at them like she had never seen a man before in her life. He stared into the group, trying to see what Allie saw in them that she clearly didn’t see in him.
Down & Dirty: A McCray Crime Collection Page 40