In Deep Shitake (A Humorous Romantic Suspense)

by Patricia Mason

  Chapter Ten

  Kubikov leaned back in the chair with his feet resting on the desktop. Alone in the office, he finally had the chance to read through the monthly profit and loss statement prepared by his accountant. This version wouldn't be shown to the IRS in an audit.

  His black brows converged in a frown. Not enough profit. Never enough profit.

  The pounding music from the next room matched the rhythm in his temple and he found himself absently massaging the spot.

  The cell phone in his pocket rang. Kubikov pulled it out and glanced at the face: Betsy. Grumbling, he tossed it onto the desk unanswered. Kubikov didn’t need to talk to her right now.

  The office landline phone rang. Seizing the receiver he answered. “Da.”

  “Boss,” Ivan said. “I do as you tell me.”

  The cell phone beeped, drawing his attention. “Hold on,” he said to his brother as he examined the face of the phone and found a text: When are you coming home? I’m not going to be stuck with a crying baby all night by myself. I practically gave up my career for you and this kid. I’m coming to the club to perform my act tonight.

  “Career?” Kubikov made a sound between a chuckle and a huff. Stripping wasn't something the mother of his child was going to do ever again.

  A knock sounded on the office door. “Come,” he called. The door burst open. Its knob hit the wall before bouncing back on the three men entering. One man held it open for the others to come through. Two stupid morons— he couldn't remember their names—and the alligator food between them.

  “Boss,” Moron One said after closing the door behind them.

  Kubikov held up a hand. “Shut up. I’m on phone.”

  “...And that what happened,” Ivan finished, his voice coming across the cell phone. Then he fell silent.

  Kubikov clenched his teeth. “Repeat what you said. I did not hear.” He glared at the threesome standing on the other side of his desk.

  “I go to the home of Dagger's girlfriend. But I find nothing. And that what happened.”

  “But you got the man, right?" Without waiting to hear Ivan's response, he continued. "Bring Dagger here and I question him.” Kubikov slammed down the receiver. He jumped to his feet, stomped to the alligator food and then examined him up and down. The guy—Bruno—appeared healthy except for the Band-Aids on his chest.

  Kubikov withdrew the Glock from the waistband of his suit pants.“What are you doing here alive?” he waved the gun at his employees. "He supposed to be in some gator stomach by now.”

  “The alligators wouldn’t eat him. They just nicked him with their teeth,” Moron Number Two said, pointing to the Band-Aids on Bruno’s chest.

  “I told you. Get chicken. Tie around neck.”

  Moron Number One nodded. “We did. We got the best chicken in town. That special Cajun style fried from that place on Bull Street.”

  Kubikov stared at them, mouth agape. “I meant raw chicken, gloopee.”

  “But the alligator liked the chicken, he ate it.”

  “Shut up. Why do you argue with me, stupid?” Kubikov tore at his hair in frustration.

  The two men nodded and hung their heads.

  The landline phone rang again and Kubikov snatched the receiver up. “Da.”

  “Boss.” Ivan again. “I need tell you. I not have guy.”

  “What?” Kubikov didn’t think he could’ve heard right.

  “I think you should just pay the blackmail,” Ivan continued.

  “Don’t think anything,” Kubikov said. “Just do as I say.” He hung up and threw the phone on the desk.

  My Way played as the cell phone wiggled. Kubikov could see the ID: Betsy again. He grabbed it and snapped it open. “Leave me alone, woman! I’m working.” He tossed the closed phone onto the desk again.

  Kubikov turned back to the three morons in the room. “I not have time for you now. Get out!”

  “Am I still on the payroll?” Bruno asked.

  Kubikov rolled his eyes. “Nyet.” He pulled the Glock, pointing it at Bruno. He squeezed the trigger. A round ripped through the flesh on Bruno’s arm. He screamed, clutching the wound.

  “Now try the gators.”

  The two morons stood gaping at him.

  “Get the gator food out of here before I shoot all of you.”

  The morons finally came to their senses and grabbed Bruno. They dragged him toward the door that led into the building’s lobby.

  “Not that door. That one,” he said, pointing to the back door to the outside. “You don’t want someone to see, do you?”

  They shook their heads and changed directions.

  “Gloopees,” he muttered.

  Kubikov turned his back on them and phoned Ivan from the landline. His brother answered on the first ring.

  “Tell me I didn’t hear you right," Kubikov demanded. "You say you still don’t have Dagger and you can’t bring him to me?”

  There was a gulp on the other end. “No, sir.”

  He thumped the landline receiver on the desk, before putting the receiver to his mouth again. “Get me Stephen Dagger and his girlfriend,” he shouted into the mouthpiece. Kubikov thumped the receiver on the desk again until the hard plastic cracked and then crumbled, falling into pieces across the desk’s surface. The room finally fell silent. Kubikov wiped at the sweat on his brow and walked around the desk before collapsing into the chair.

  He breathed in and out, attempting to concentrate on the rhythm as he’d learned in his Buddhist meditation group. The notes of My Way began to play. Kubikov raised the Glock, squeezed the trigger, and blew the cell phone off the desk.

  * * * * *

  Mo and Ross were in his car heading away from her house when Mo's cell phone rang. She glanced at the face.

  "I can't believe it," she exclaimed, glancing at Ross. "It's Clarence."

  Ross, at the steering wheel, turned a corner. "Find out who the bloody hell he gave your address to."

  She nodded and answered the call. "I don't even know what to ask you first," she said.

  “Everything is definitely not virtuoso,” Clarence answered.

  “Really?” she asked. “I hadn’t noticed, except that somebody broke into my house and trashed it. I have a feeling you know who it was."

  “No money was dropped off?”

  “Are you completely insane?” she yelled. “Someone broke into my house. Why would they leave me money?”

  Clarence fell silent.

  “Come on,” she said. "Tell me what’s going on."

  Ross pulled his Mercedes to a stop before backing into a parallel parking place in front of his hotel. He switched off the engine and looked at Mo questioningly.

  The police had allowed them to re-enter the house once the official work was finished. After the locksmith had declared the front door secure, Mo tried to reach Leo on his cell phone. He didn’t answer so she left a message about the break-in. After showering, Mo slipped on some clothes that hadn’t been disturbed by the breakers. She offered Ross the use of her shower along with a pair of her brother’s jeans, a shirt and a jacket.

  Finally, with no sign of Leo, Mo had not felt safe alone so she and Talley had taken Ross up on his offer to spend the night in his hotel suite. He would sleep on the sofa, he’d assured her. What a gentleman. Where was a lecher when you really wanted one?

  “I tried to call you and tell you not to go back to your house,” Clarence said.

  “Yeah. Thanks for nothing, bagel-head.” Mo rolled her eyes. “I’m putting you on speaker so Ross can hear this.” Mo pressed the button on her phone so Clarence’s voice would fill the car.

  “Ross Grant is with you?” he asked, his voice squawky. “You shouldn’t go to his hotel tonight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Gotta go.”

  “Clarence,” Mo shouted, but he was already gone.

  “Now what?” Mo questioned. “If we can’t go to your hotel, what should we do?” She usually wasn’t at such a lo
ss, but the day had sucked away her ability to think clearly. She hoped Ross had a few brain cells left.

  “We’re already at my hotel. So I’m going to go inside and see if anyone’s been here. You stay in the car and I’ll call you if it’s safe to come up.”

  Without waiting for her response, Ross opened the driver’s side door and climbed out. Mo defied his instructions to stay in the car. She opened her own door and pulled Talley’s cat carrier from the seat behind her, before following after Ross.

  Their footsteps sounded against the pavement and he glanced over his shoulder and saw her.

  He stopped and turned. “What are you doing? I told you to stay."

  “Woof.”

  “What?”

  “Woof.”

  Ross looked at her, uncomprehending.

  “Well, you’re treating me like a dog, telling me to ‘stay’ so I thought I might as well bark like one.”

  “You are exasperating,”

  Mo marched forward. “Backatcha."

  After taking a few steps, Ross stopped. Mo prepared herself to meet whatever argument he had with belligerence. She couldn’t let him go into the hotel alone when there might be danger inside. How could she cower outside in the car and leave Ross to fend for himself?

  “Maybe you should wait out here,” he said in an ultra reasonable, borderline condescending, tone. “You don’t want to leave Talley alone in the car, do you?”

  The pizza-head obviously thought he could use her love for Talley to manipulate her.

  “You have a point,” Mo agreed, holding up the carrier. “That's why Talley is coming with us.”

  “Agh. Come on.” Ross held a hand to Mo’s elbow and urged her forward. The motion brought a Mmmmrrrrwwww from inside the carrier.

  Mo lifted the carrier to eye level. “Shush it, Talley. I’m not taking orders from you either.”

  “Wait.” Ross pulled her to a stop. What would he try this time? “Isn’t there anything I can say to persuade you to stay here with Talley?”

  She was shaking her head before he'd completed the entire sentence. Ross shrugged out of the jacket he wore and handed it to Mo. How sweet. His concern over her warmth touched her heart.

  “Here. Put this over your arm to hide the carrier. I don’t think they technically allow pets in this hotel.”

  Her heart rapidly deflated. He wasn’t being sweet, just practical.

  She accepted the jacket with a grimace. After covering the carrier, Mo walked forward.

  A hotel valet opened the door for Mo to enter.

  “Thank you,” she muttered.

  "Mmmmrrrwwww," Talley meowed.

  The valet fixed Ross, who had followed her through the open door, with a strange look.

  “Sorry,” he said, rubbing his midsection. "My stomach always growls like that when I’m hungry.”

  The spacious hotel lobby oozed luxury, with a vaulted atrium ceiling, and a clear glass enclosed elevator traveling upward. An elevator with one passenger: Gigantor.

  “Ross, look,” Mo said, pointing to where Gigantor stood with his back to them.

  “Yes, I see him. It seems our friend is involved in this mess with Clarence.”

  “It could be a coincidence that he’s here,” Mo said even though she didn’t believe it.

  “Could be, but it’s not.”

  The elevator came to a stop at the top floor and then Gigantor disappeared, apparently going down the hall.

  “Why do you say that?” Mo asked, still grasping for the last straw.

  “Because he just got off on the floor for my suite.”

  * * * * *

  The hotel bar included café style seating on the periphery of the lobby. From her position at one of the tables, Mo achieved a trifecta. She could: observe Ross who was talking to the desk clerk, monitor the elevator for the return of Gigantor, and enjoy a nice drink. Although Mo didn’t drink much, a large glass of anything alcoholic sounded perfect right about now. Better yet, something to eat. This place must serve some kind of burger.

  So far none of the wait staff had visited her table, which was ridiculous since there was only one other customer in the place. A shadowed figure sat in one of the inside booths, but Mo couldn’t quite make out his face.

  A wraith-like young man, a waiter dressed in a uniform, fiddled with clearing a nearby table. But as far as she could tell, he did nothing but move dishes around on the tabletop. With several piercings in his ears, and a faint green tinge to his hair, he had the look of a goth trying to pass as conservative for the sake of his job. Mo just wished he’d stop fiddling around with the dirty dishes long enough to take her order.

  She caught his eye and motioned to him. He lumbered over.

  “Yes, miss?” He asked the question in a sour tone.

  “I’d like to order. Do you serve food?”

  “Yes, but my shift is almost over.”

  Mo stared at him.

  “Another waiter will be on duty in ten minutes," he grumbled.

  She fixed him with a narrow-eyed stare.

  “Oh, all right. I’ll get you a menu.”

  “Thanks.”

  Turning on his heel, he trudged away.

  Across the hotel, Ross talked to the desk clerk while making animated gestures. The desk clerk said something and then Ross reacted by waving his arms again. Uh oh, the problem had to be something pretty bad for a British man like him to be behaving that way.

  “Here,” the waiter said grudgingly. He thrust the menu, a laminated piece of paper, at her. “I’m off duty in eight minutes.”

  “That’s bloody brilliant.” Ross’s shout wafted over to her.

  Son of a brisket, what had happened now?

  Mo’s attention returned to the waiter. The little Pop-Tart stood, tapping his foot at her.

  “Seven minutes,” the waiter said.

  “I’d like to at least glance at the menu before I order,” she drawled.

  He glared at her and she glared back.

  “Oh all right,” he said with a pout. “I’ll come back.” His feet never lifted off the hotel flooring as he shuffled away.

  The menu had the usual fare of burgers and sandwiches. In her starved condition, Mo didn’t know what to order.

  Ross marched to the chair across from hers. He pulled and lifted it back before pounding it down into place. He plopped onto the seat, making an audible huffing sound.

  “That sodding desk clerk called the police and they refused to come. They said as far as they could tell, no crime had occurred here yet.”

  “Do the police know Gigantor assaulted us earlier and probably broke into my house?”

  His eyebrow arched with a “Do you think I’m an idiot?” question emanating from him silently.

  “Of course you told them.”

  “Yes, but the sodding clerk didn’t explain the matter to them properly. He seemed more concerned about getting an autograph.”

  “Why don’t we call and leave a message for your fans, Officers Tim and Dan? Maybe they can help us.”

  “Those two brainiacs?”

  “They’re better than nothing.”

  The waiter returned. “My shift ends in four minutes. Do you want to order something or not?”

  “Yes, I’m absolutely famished.” Ross took the menu from Mo. “What do you have?”

  “It’s all on the menu, mister. Listen, Larry isn’t here yet, and the manager won’t let me leave until you order,” he said with a sullen pout. “My shift ends in three minutes. So you better order fast.”

  “Who’s Larry?”

  “Larry is the waiter with the next shift.”

  “It doesn’t matter who Larry is,” the waiter shouted. “Would you just order? My shift ends in two minutes. Jeez."

  When Ross glanced her way, Mo shrugged.

  "You think you’re so clever. Mr. Superspy. Yeah.” The waiter slammed his hands down on the table, bringing his face mere inches from Ross’s “I recognize you, Stephen Dagger. You ce
lebrities think you can be as rude as you please and the little people can’t do anything about it. Well, I’m going to do something about it. My shift is over.”

  “What did I do?” Ross asked, glancing at Mo with genuine confusion.

  The waiter untied the pocketed, black apron from around his waist, walked to the bar, and then tossed it at the bartender on his way by.

  Oh pickles. Now they couldn’t order anything to eat… or drink.

  “Fab.” Ross tossed the menu down. He stood. “I’m going to talk to that desk clerk again. I was so irritated I forgot to ask him if I had any messages or deliveries.”

  When Ross had reached a point almost halfway across the hotel, Mo saw a familiar figure enter the elevator on the top floor and then begin his descent. On the ground floor, Gigantor exited the elevator before walking across the hotel lobby in a direct path toward Mo.

  She grabbed the menu to hold it up in front of her face. Maybe the brute hadn’t spotted her yet. Peeping over the top of the menu, she saw Gigantor coming, coming, coming. Should she try to run?

  He passed her and continued into the bar’s depths. She turned to watch the large man as he walked through the bar to the booth where the shadowed figure waited.

  “The hotel doesn’t allow pets, ma'am." A voice came out of nowhere.

  Mo jumped about a foot out off her chair while switching her gaze to the new waiter who had crept up to her table. The shift change had finally occurred.

  “I don’t have a pet,” she said, directing her attention back to the booth. She still couldn’t see the occupant’s face.

  “You have a pet right there in that carrier at your feet, ma'am.” The new waiter's toe tapping caught her peripheral vision.

  “I presume you allow service animals as required by law?" Mo asked.

  “Yes of course we do, but—”

  “This is my seeing eye dog.”

  “Ma'am, I can plainly see that is a cat,” The waiter almost spit out the words in annoyance. “Not a dog.”

  “Really? I didn’t know. Being blind and all. And quit calling me ma'am.”