by Linda Ladd
Bud grinned his cheesiest grin. “Just follow my lead and don’t say anything. And don’t pull your weapon if they ask you to try it on.”
“Shut up, Bud.”
We walked into Swank’s Couture, as uppity as that sounded, and I stamped snow off my combat boots on their white, velvety-looking rug. A white, three-tier fountain in the foyer made soft gurgles that made me look for the ladies’ room. Mannequins that made Boston high-society dames look friendly stood all around in various stages of undress. I immediately hated everything I saw.
Most all the walls were mirrored, with lots of recessed spotlights in alcoves illuminating lots of stuck-up dummies. And I don’t mean Bud and me.
A moment later the Ice Queen of Finland walked through some gold velvet tasseled draperies. She had the long shapely legs and proud carriage of Las Vegas showgirls. Bud noticed, stood straighter. His smile deepened; he drooled a little. She looked at us and said, “Hello, my name’s Brianna. May I help you find something?”
Her expression, quickly hidden, told me that she thought we desperately needed her help. She pulled herself together, “Oh, I remember you, sir. You came in just before Christmas and bought a gift certificate for some lucky girl.” She definitely had an accent, one which called to mind reindeer and Land of the Midnight Sun. What was with all the accents? Was this mid-Missouri or the United Nations?
I said, “Yes, ma’am, Brianna, that lucky girl would be me.”
Brianna dragged her eyes off Bud’s handsome eagerness and turned her attention on me, as if she hadn’t realized until that very moment that I was a girl. Maybe Bud was right getting me a dress. “Oh, hello. Please, what can I do to assist you?”
I presented the gift certificate, glad to get rid of it. “Okay, here’s the deal. I need a dress, but I don’t want anything with ruffles or lace, and no sequins or gaudy jewelry stuff sewed on it. No embroidery, either, and not sheer, and I don’t want any cleavage showing. And it’s got to be under three hundred dollars. And it’s got to be floor length to hide my ankle holster.”
Miss Finland blinked. She looked back at Bud. He shrugged, embarrassed, I guess. “She’s a tomboy,” he offered.
“Well, we can certainly deal with that,” she said, her eyes alight with the challenge of me.
“Uh-uh. No dealing with that, no way. I just need a simple dress to wear to that high-horse ball thing tonight. You know, tuxes and fancy dresses.”
Bud said, “Hey, Brianna, you know where they get that phrase ‘high horse’?”
Brianna beamed at him. “Actually, yes, I do. I believe ‘high horse’ comes from the olden days when knights rode big, tall steeds called chargers and everybody else had to ride on donkeys or regular horses. Thus high horse implies something worthy of nobility.”
Bud’s jaw dropped, then his eyes lit up with astonished admiration. He was in love, I feared. He said, “That’s right. How’d you know?”
“I have this wonderful book on the origins of popular sayings. It’s really fascinating reading.”
Boy, did that ever turn Bud on. I was afraid their hot looks and sappy grins were going to fuse them together for all eternity so I cleared my throat rather loudly. I had a dress to buy and time was a-wasting.
With some difficulty, Brianna broke her steamy, phrase-origins-induced eye lock with Bud. She forced herself to look at me, even though I didn’t give a damn about popular sayings. She said, “And this is a black-tie affair?”
“Yeah.” I actually knew what black tie meant, and white tie, too, but I let her feel superior. Not that she probably already didn’t.
“Please follow me.”
As she moved away, Bud leaned close and whispered into my ear. “I’m almost positive she’s got the hots for me.”
“You’ll have to melt her first.”
He smiled, pure confidence. “You think I can’t? I’m gonna ask her out on a date. She’s flirtin’ with me, big-time. I know when somebody’s interested in me, and she definitely is. And she’s read my favorite book. Wow, who would’ve thought somethin’ like this could happen right outta the blue?”
I figured she’d just been checking out his Whopper with Cheese breath.
“Just help me find a dress that doesn’t look stupid, okay?”
“Sure.”
Fin led us back through the spacious, sparkling shop, past lots more studied spotlights and mirrors and big palm trees and sparkling chandeliers and snurly-lipped mannequins. Some of them had cardigan sweaters tied around their shoulders over matching pullovers. I really hated people who tied sweaters around their shoulders over pullover sweaters. How fake is that? Just stuff the damn thing in a duffel bag or leave it in the car.
“Here we go, miss. Please have a seat in the viewing alcove and let me display some possible choices. Now what size are you? A six, perhaps? Four?”
I shrugged. “I wear a small in bulletproof vests.”
Fin laughed, an honest sound, and suddenly I liked her better. “I’ll look for something that’ll look good with Kevlar.”
I watched her move away toward some big mirrors that turned out to be a hidden door. “Hey, Bud, she knows what our vests are made out of. That’s a good sign, too. Better grab her up.”
We spent the wait quietly comparing notes about the status of our investigation, shoptalk, while she did her thing. When she appeared again, she was pushing a rolling rack lined with glittery floor-length gowns.
“Here we are, Miss Morgan. I’ve selected several different styles for you to try on.”
“How do you know my name?”
“It was written on the gift certificate you gave me. Do you see anything here that suits your fancy?”
Suits my fancy? “I don’t really need to try on anything.”
“Yes, you do.” That was Bud. “Got to, Claire.”
“Oh, get real, Bud. I don’t have time for this. Just pick one out and let’s go. I’ve got a briefing with Charlie.”
“We have a fashion salon in-house with a very talented makeup artist and hairstylist, if you’d be interested,” Fin offered hopefully. “You’d be surprised what a difference they can make.”
“Can they make me look like those snooty dummies?”
Brianna laughed again. What do you know, she finds me amusing. She glanced around and then lowered her voice. “This place comes off pretty pretentious, doesn’t it?”
I was liking her better and better, so I actually considered trying on a dress. Bud was picking through the dresses like Ralph Lauren or somebody, sliding them one by one across the rack. “What color you like, Claire? Here’s an aqua one that matches your eyes.”
“Nah, too aqua.”
“Okay, how about this golden-beige one that matches your hair?”
“Nah, too golden beige.”
Brianna took charge. “Miss Morgan, you strike me as a woman who’d go in for simplicity, which is always the best way to go, in my opinion. How about basic black? What about this one?”
She draped it over her arm and held it out for my perusal. I perused it for about ten seconds and said, “Okay, I’ll take it if it’s under three hundred bucks.”
Brianna lifted the price tag and read it aloud. “Well, it’s close. It’s three fifteen plus tax.”
“What else do you have?”
“Claire, for God’s sake, it’s just an extra twenty bucks.” Bud again.
“Okay, okay, wrap it up. I’ll pay the extra.”
Brianna smiled and took it to the cash register in a different little alcove that looked like a miniature Taj Mahal. It had a chandelier over the cash register so there’d be enough light for rich people to write big checks for little scraps of dresses that cost $315 plus tax.
I dug out the extra cash and handed it to her. She gave me my change and a big white smile. “You’ll look beautiful in black with your coloring. Very elegant. The two of you make a handsome couple.” She looked at Bud, all disappointed and sad that he was mine and not hers. It wasn’t every day
you met a good-looking guy that read the same book.
I decided to make her day. “I’m not going with Bud. I have another date. But Bud’s single and he thinks you’re pretty damn hot.”
Bud looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. Brianna perked up. “Really? Is that so?”
“Yeah, I guess I do,” Bud drawled out, leaning an elbow on the desk. “How about the two of us meeting for a drink sometime?”
“I’d love to. How about tonight? Six-thirty? You can pick me up here. That’s when I get off work.”
Bud’s mouth actually fell open. Brianna did that jaw-dropping stuff pretty well. But I liked a woman who took control. Brianna was all right. She had obviously fallen hard for Bud’s southern accent. Maybe she was from southern Scandinavia.
“Maybe she’ll go to the gala with you tonight, Bud. I bet she’s got a dress that’s suitable. Maybe we can double-date.”
“I’d love to,” Brianna agreed without hesitation. Bud looked like he’d died and gone to heaven.
Once we were done and outside I shifted the big silver dress box under my arm and fumbled for the keys to my Explorer. “Boy, you got yourself something there, big boy. You got women throwing themselves at your feet.”
“How old do you think she is?”
“She looks legal, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Man, she’s a real looker. Blond, blue eyed, built.”
“Thanks for the help.”
“Hell, you picked out the first thing she showed you. You should’ve tried it on, I’m warnin’ you. You never know about clothes until you see how it looks in the mirror.”
“I never try on anything. It’ll fit. Listen, Black’ll be back from New York and picking me up around eight. We’ll meet you and Brianna out there. I want to snoop around the campus some while Jackass Johnstone is preening in front of the audience.”
“See you later.” Bud sauntered away, grinning and waving at Brianna, who still stood in the door watching him leave. What was it with him and women? It had to be the sexy drawl. Or the book. I wondered what Brianna would say when she found out his real name was Budweiser.
Later that evening I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, wishing to hell I’d tried on the dress. Or at least turned it over. I shifted slightly and stared at my back. Hell, I was gypped. They forgot to sew on the back half of the dress. The front was all demure and elegant and stuff, long sleeves, soft black velvet with a high turtleneck, but turn around, baby, and I was naked down to my waist. That meant no bra and no shoulder holster. Thank goodness, Harve got me that ankle holster for Christmas. And thank goodness, Black had brought me that fringed shawl from Gay Paree.
I propped a foot on the counter and noticed that the slit in the side of my skirt went way, way up my thigh so I strapped my weapon on the other ankle, just above the black patent stiletto heels, last seen castrating horny guys at a truck stop. But they were the most suitable thing I had to wear with this dress. Combat boots just didn’t cut it, nor did black-and-orange high-top Nikes. Besides, I didn’t want to embarrass Black.
Peering in the mirror, I fiddled with my hair for a minute then decided to just brush it straight back like Black wore his. Black’s hair gel was sitting there so I ran some through my hair. I had a pair of tiny diamond studs that Aunt Helen had given me a couple of years ago so I put those on. I looked down in dread at the Lancôme makeup kit Bud bought me two years ago for my birthday. I’d never opened it. Should I? Like I said, this was a fancy affair and I didn’t want to embarrass Black. On the other hand, I didn’t want to embarrass myself either, and slathering on a bunch of cosmetics was a good way to do it.
I opened it and picked out a tube of mascara. I coated my lashes, who probably wondered “What the hell?” Then I added some blush to my cheeks and a subdued shade of cinnamony lipstick. Holy crap, I hadn’t worn this much makeup since that one prom date I had. I felt dumb, but I know Black would’ve done the same for me.
When I heard him let himself in downstairs, I picked up the shawl and draped it around my shoulders. I took one last, disgruntled look in the mirror and wondered who the hell that woman was. Black must’ve wondered the same thing when I started down the steps because he froze where he stood and stared at me.
“Good God, Claire.” He had on a tux and looked damn good in it, too. Then he said, “You look beautiful.”
“Yeah, right.”
I came the rest of the way downstairs and he said, “I hardly recognize you without your weapon.”
“Think again.” I lifted my skirt and revealed my sweet little gun.
“I should’ve known.”
“How was New York?”
“Okay. Come over here. I’m turned on.”
“I don’t want you messing up my lipstick.”
“I can’t promise something like that.”
He messed it up all right but that’s okay. I had missed him, too. “Okay, Black, that’s gonna have to do it for now. We can’t be late. Charlie might be there.”
“As long as we can finish this up later.”
“Oh, one more thing.” I twirled around and showed him the purloined part of my gown, not wanting him to have a heart attack at the ball.
“Sweet Mary. Are you really going to wear that out in public?” But he was smiling. “I can’t promise to keep my hands off you, not with that much naked skin showing.”
“Thus, the cashmere shawl.”
Black took it and draped it around my shoulders. I felt like we were in some lame soap opera.
“I think I like you dressed like this. Even better than your prostitute costume.”
“Flatterer.”
“You smell great, too.”
“That’s your Irish Spring. I found it in the shower. C’mon, let’s go. I hope you left the heater on in your car. They must’ve made this dress for hot-natured Brazilians.”
I picked up my sheriff’s parka and draped it over my fancy getup. I wasn’t going to freeze my buns off, just to show off my skimpy new dress.
I stepped outside my door and stopped in my tracks. “Awesome, Black.”
“Thought you’d like it.”
It was a new Humvee, black and chrome, big and butch. Not the new little ones now sold on car lots, but the huge original one used in Iraq and other battlegrounds. Black didn’t do little.
“When did you get it?”
“I ordered it last week. They had to drive it down from South Bend. It’ll come in handy in these hills. So you like it?”
“You kidding me?”
“Want to drive?”
“What do you think?”
He opened the driver’s door, and I got in. The motor was running. A little screen showed where we were—a frickin’ GPS device. It looked like the cockpit of a Boeing 727. I love it. I want one.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Black said, sliding in the opposite side, which was pretty far away from me. The vehicle was big, I tell you.
“Can I have it?”
“Yes.”
Unfortunately, I think he was kidding. It drove like a car, a big, wide, macho car, just the kind I liked. I felt invincible. Except for my dress.
Dark Angels
It took the hunter three weeks to rot. They left him in the tree but went back to check on him every day. There was a search party out after him; they’d heard about it on the radio but the police concentrated on the national forest land where he always hunted. Uriel didn’t feel bad about him, not even when he saw his wife and three little kids crying on television. The hunter shouldn’t ever have broken the law and come onto Uriel’s grandma’s property, or he’d still be alive.
The older Uriel grew, the better he liked the woods. He and Gabriel had lots of money now, too, and they ordered a couple of Egyptian fat-tailed scorpions to raise and the most wonderful poisonous spiders from Australia that hid in water bubbles on the bottom of swimming pools so when somebody stepped on them, they’d bite and the victims would be dead in ten minutes. It was fun. T
hey’d gotten some pit vipers from Africa and a pair of king cobras from India to breed, and a baby python they put in a pit in the cave to see how big it’d grow. It was wonderful learning about all these exotic creatures and how they killed people.
Gabriel supplied the money. He was dealing drugs now, to other kids and to some adult junkies, too. They never peddled in their own county but drove north or south along the Interstate and sold on playgrounds and alleyways near teenage hangouts. It was easy money, and it just came rolling in. Sometimes Gabriel and Uriel took drugs, too, before they went looking for people they could send to heaven. But they had to be careful and not get caught. As soon as Uriel was of age, they would kill his grandma so he could live in the house alone. It would be better for both of them. What kind of life did she have anyway, always sleeping in her bed? He already stashed some of his spiders in his room there. Even now, when his grandma was awake, she was afraid of Uriel. She’d drink her tea and go to her bedroom and lock her door and not come out. And that’s the way Uriel liked it.
One night when they were in the cave together, dissecting the remains of the hunter with newly sharpened scalpels, they heard noises outside in the old hunting lodge above the cave. Terrified the police had found them out, they took their new Remington shotguns and crept through the tunnel to the trapdoor. Outside, they could hear loud heavy-metal music. People were laughing and talking and yelling at each other.
“Ssh, Uriel. You can’t make a sound,” Gabriel whispered, putting one forefinger to his lips. He climbed the short ladder and slid the inside bolt, then he lifted the trapdoor and peered stealthily into the boiler room. It was empty. The noises were coming from the other end of the lodge. They eased through the trapdoor and tiptoed outside. It was well after midnight but they could see a light flickering inside one room. They inched around to where they could see about half a dozen kids drinking booze and smoking pot.
“We need to kill them, right, Gabriel?” Uriel whispered, his heart beginning to race with excitement.
Gabriel said, “Sure, if you want to.”
“Oh, I want to. Let’s put ’em in the pit with some timber rattlers.”