by Olivia Rigal
“Sally says she’ll stay with him until I come back.”
The look of relief on Slider’s face is priceless. We’re all afraid of something, and it seems that Slider’s freaked out by the idea of being alone with a child. I won’t make fun of him. My weakness is the folding razor blade. The mere sight of it is enough to freeze me.
“I’ll try to get back as soon as possible, but I don’t think it’s happening tonight,” I say.
He shakes his head and throws up his hands in a those-are-the-odds gesture. We’ve been waiting for weeks for that bastard to come back here alone. We figured that while he and Suzy shared some quality time—him being tied up and blindfolded—we would go through his pockets and search his office. The plan was for one of us to carry out the search on the second floor while the other remained downstairs by the steps to make sure the searcher was undisturbed.
Instead, I get to ride back to Point Lookout hospital with a bunch of illegal substances. At least it’s not raining.
At the hospital, I park by the emergency-room door. In the middle of the night, the visitors’ parking lot is empty. Once I’m in the emergency ward, I zero in on the nurse who took charge of Josette when I dropped her off earlier. The nurse’s name is Patricia something. We were in high school together, and she and I had a thing way, way back then, but for the life of me, I can’t remember her last name.
“Here’s what she had in her bag,” I tell her, offering her the pouch. “Maybe the lab can identify what she took.”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” she says, shaking her head.
I slide everything back in my pocket. “She’s dead?” Fuck! I don’t even know if Toussaint has a father.
“No, but it’s been touch-and-go. Do you want to see her?” Patricia asks, putting a comforting hand on my arm. “I’m sure her sister won’t mind.”
“You found her sister?”
The nurse turns around without answering my stupid question. This probably isn’t Josette’s first rodeo. I bet her hospital file lists her sister as the person to call in case of an emergency. Patricia takes me to one of the isolated rooms in the emergency unit, knocks, and cracks the door open without waiting for an answer.
“Josette has a visitor,” she says and moves away to let me in.
Josette is on a bed. Despite the tube in her throat, her chest is barely moving. If not for the noise of the machine, I would swear she’s no longer breathing. Her skin has turned ashen, and the contrast against the ebony of her sister’s hand is striking. The woman is sitting next to Josette on the bed, caressing her cheek and whispering what must be sweet nothings in Créole.
She turns around and doesn’t try to hide her tears. She seems proud and defiant when she asks, “Who are you?”
The resemblance is amazing, yet it would be impossible to confuse them. Josette’s skeletal beauty pales in comparison to her sister’s. The other woman is breathtaking, and despite her tears, she’s vibrant with life. No matter what Sally says, I’m certain I’ve never seen her before—I would remember. She stirs something in me that makes me want to wipe her tears away and promise her that everything will be all right.
“Who are you?” she asks a little louder. Her tone is aggressive, as if she suspects me of being the one who fed drugs to her twin.
“He’s the man who brought your sister in,” the nurse answers.
“What do you want?”
From the hostility in her gaze, if looks could kill, I would probably be dead already. “I came to check on her and see how she’s doing.”
“He also brought in the drugs your sister had to help us understand what happened,” the nurse adds.
“Too little, too late.” The sister turns back to face Josette.
Patricia looks at me then leaves the room. I stand against a wall and remain silent. At first I think the woman is unaware of my presence.
She proves me wrong when, with her back to me, she asks “Why are you still here?” Her voice has softened, as if she’s trying not to startle her sister.
“Toussaint,” I say.
She jumps up and walks to me. She has the same feline grace that makes her sister an amazing dancer, but she has more flesh to her. She’s wearing flats, and she’s almost as tall as me. Either the drugs or the pregnancy must have stopped Josette’s growth in her teenage years.
“What about Toussaint?” she growls like a panther ready to fight for her cub. Of course, Toussaint’s not hers, but he may as well be. After all, he’s the child of her twin.
“When you’re ready to go,” I say as gently as I can, keeping my hands in the pockets of my leather jacket, “I’ll take you to him.”
CHAPTER SIX
By the time Jeanne-Michelle is done with the paperwork for her sister, it’s almost five in the morning. I’ve been following her like a puppy, fetching her coffee and a suspicious-looking donut from the cafeteria. Unlike her sister, Jeanne-Michelle eats. Her name is quite a mouthful, but she smiles every time I mispronounce it. That smile hits me in the gut every single time.
“Ready?” I ask.
She nods, all puffy-eyed. Josette is probably brain-dead, and Jeanne-Michelle needs to decide whether she’s bringing Toussaint to see his mother one more time or not. Of all the shitty decisions to have to make, I’m happy this one isn’t my call.
She follows me to my ride and accepts the windbreaker I pull from my saddlebag. I give her my helmet and resist my impulse to help her strap it under her chin. I have this urge to reach out for her. I want to touch her cheeks with my lips and see if her skin is as soft as it seems. But now is not a good time. My consolation is that soon enough, she’ll be hugging me anyway.
I’m happy she can’t see my grin when she sits behind me. The ease with which she finds the footrests tells me that this isn’t her first ride. When her arms wrap around my waist, my engine isn’t the only thing that roars to life. I regret the thickness of the leather jacket separating us. At each turn, I enjoy feeling her breasts pressing into my back. Down, boy, down.
The neons are no longer flashing when we arrive at the club, but the front door is still open. She removes the windbreaker and folds it perfectly before giving it back. She thanks me without making eye contact.
The main room is strangely silent and almost dark, except for a few nightspots over the bar. As my eyes adjust, I see Sally in her jeans and T-shirt, sleeping on one of the red velvety couches in the back. Her head rests on Slider’s lap. In the few seconds it takes for him to notice our presence and freeze, I notice the way he looks at Sally as he caresses the side of her face. The man has it bad.
He lifts her head and slides a cushion under her head to make her comfortable as he gets up. She moans softly in her sleep, and I can see that the sound gets to him. When he turns around, he’s wearing his bad-ass biker frown, and I wonder for a second if I didn’t imagine the soft and tender expression he had while looking at Sally.
So much for my idea of trying to date her at the end of this mission.
Slider greets Jeanne-Michelle with a nod. She nods back and follows him without a word. The three of us walk up the stairs, and Slider opens the door to his office. Toussaint is sleeping like a baby. Fuck! I hate the fact that when we wake him up, we’re going to tear his childhood apart. As of today, his life will never be the same. Ten is much too young to lose a parent. I know because that was about Lisa’s age when our father died in a car accident. Our mother was safe at home with us when it happened, but the accident crushed her as well. I hope Jeanne-Michelle will be able to do better with Toussaint than I did with Lisa.
She kneels by the sofa, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. She’s about to touch his forehead to wake him when she turns and gives us a look that is clearly an invitation to give her some space. Slider and I step out of the room, but I don’t walk far from the door.
“How is she?” Slider asks, keeping his voice low. I shake my head, and he sighs and says, “What a mess.”
Wh
en I look back into Slider’s office, Toussaint is sitting up and holding his aunt. They’re both crying, and I have to blink a few times to chase away the extra wetness in my eyes. Toussaint looks toward the door and sees me. He pulls an old-fashioned handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes his tears. He softly says something to his aunt, and Jeanne-Michelle breaks the hug to look at him. He has a determined expression, and under my very eyes, the little boy tries to turn into a small man as he uses his hankie to erase her tears.
I think Jeanne-Michelle sees the transformation too, because she’s bursting with pride. She holds his face and kisses his forehead. She gets back on her feet and folds the blanket while Toussaint puts on his shoes. When she’s done, she puts the blanket on the sofa and lays the pillow on top of it before turning to us.
“Your sister’s car is in the parking lot,” Slider says. “The keys are in Josette’s handbag, which is on the bar.”
“Thank you. I’ll need to drive Toussaint home to change before school,” she says. “After school, I’ll take him to the hospital.”
The doubts I have about that being the right thing to do must be clear because she glares at me, daring me to question her decision.
“He needs to understand what drugs do to a person,” she says softly to me. Not softly enough.
“I already know that,” Toussaint whispers. “But I really want to hug her again.” Toussaint walks to me.
I hug him, my eyes very wet. “I’m going to miss you, buddy.”
“I will miss you too, David,” he says. “Mimi’s good in math, but she doesn’t make it as fun as you do.”
I chuckle. “You can always call me here if you need me.”
When I let him go, I see a new softness in Jeanne-Michelle’s eyes. I like the fact that she’s beginning to understand that I’m not one of the bad guys. I realize it’s absurd, since I’ll probably never see her again, but I’m happy she no longer seems to hate me.
She picks up Toussaint’s backpack and walks down the stairs, holding the young boy’s hand. Slider and I walk with them to the bar where she picks up her sister’s handbag.
As they leave, Slider says, “You know the door is always open, Mimi. Anytime you want to come back, we’ll be glad to have you.”
Mimi? That’s kinda cute. Without turning around, she makes a gesture with her hands that I understand to mean something like “when pigs will fly.”
“She’s a dancer too?” I ask.
Slider looks at me. “You have no idea what sexy is until you’ve seen her strip.”
“But she’s so innocent looking,” I protest.
He laughs. “That’s the spice of it. Every single time, it looks as if she’s doing it for the first time. The johns love it. They go absolutely crazy with the tips even though she doesn’t do lap dances or private dates.”
“Oh, I see.” I try to imagine Mimi stripping, and I chase away the image of her doing it in a room full of other guys. That thought is much too unpleasant. Does Slider feel the same way when Sally strips? “What’s with you and Sally?”
Slider looks away and indirectly answers my question. “Crap, I was going to lock up with her still in the room. Why don’t you go? I’ll wake her up and send her home.”
“You sure?” I tease. “I could take her off your hands.”
“No messing around with the talent,” he growls and walks back in.
“Says who?” I taunt because I’m feeling evil. I can’t have Sally because Slider’s got dibs, and I’ve just watched a damn fine woman walk away with no intention of ever coming back.
Slider flips me a bird, and it’s my turn to laugh.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“The bitch ain’t gonna cut it,” Slider mutters to no one in particular.
The crowd is totally ignoring the new girl on stage. She’s got okay moves, shaking her voluminous breasts and her lovely ass, but it’s not enough to capture their attention. Obviously there’s more to being a stripper than having a luscious body and swinging around a pole in lascivious fashion.
When she’s done with her exhibition and reached the bar, Slider says, “Kitten, I’m going to give you one week to get your act together. If you don’t do better than this by the end of the week, you’re gone no matter who recommended you.”
Kitten turns around and goes back on the stage with a frown.
Slider’s been trying a different girl every other night since we lost Josette, but no one works. He’s been unable to replace our black panther or our missing blonde, so on weeknights, the place is running with just Kim, Suzy, and Sally. We have a few more on weekend. It’s a good thing Slider can get loan from other clubs.
Turning to me he says, “We need Mimi real bad.”
“We do?” The woman’s been haunting my dreams for two weeks. I sure want to see her again, but here wouldn’t be my first choice. Not that I’d mind watching her undress slowly, but I would rather she do it for me in private, not in front of a bunch of rowdy men.
“I’m surprised she’s not back already,” he says. “She can’t be making enough with her French tutoring and her bartending to support herself and the kid while going to college. That’s why she caved and came back to work for me the last time Josette was in the hospital.”
“I went to see her last week,” I say.
Slider looks away from the dancer onstage and silently asks for more information by raising his eyebrows at me.
“Josette, not Mimi,” I say.
He seems disappointed. “How is she?”
“Scary!” It’s the best word I can come up with. “She’s wasting away. She was thin before, but now, she’s just skin and bones. She looks grey. I hope Toussaint never sees her like that.”
Slider turns back to the stage and mumbles, “That’s the problem with children. They get to you.”
So that’s what his issue is—some kid stole his heart. I’ve heard about couples like that, where the guy sticks around long after he stops caring for the woman simply because he’s fallen in love with being a father to her kid.
The new girl walks off the stage as one shy person applauds. Oh well, at least she’s got one fan. I join in and clap because I’m a sucker for the underdog, and I’m a bit cynical too. I appreciate that her number is so lame I’ll never have to worry about clients getting too crazy.
“Wanna come with me?” Slider asks.
I have no clue what he’s talking about, so I ask, “Where to?”
“Pay Mimi a visit. Toussaint likes you, and you could have a chat with him while I try to talk Mimi into coming back, at least until we find a replacement.”
I was about to ask if he has her address, but for once, I keep my stupid question to myself. He obviously does. “Sure, just let me know when.”
“Saturday, eleven. She’s been hired at the restaurant in the new tower in town.”
“You mean the Central Hotel?”
He nods.
“And the kid’s gonna be there?” I ask.
“Yeah, Toussaint comes and has lunch with her on Saturdays, then he hangs out on the beach waiting for her.”
“How do you know all that?”
“Sally’s seen her on campus, and I’ve had one of the prospects for the Category Five Knights following her for a week.” I frown, and he says, “It’s not as creepy as you think. I’m making sure she’s safe.”
I shake my head in appreciation of Slider’s forethought. He’s right. Now that Mimi has Toussaint with her, Josette’s dealers could confuse the sisters and come shake Mimi up for whatever her twin owes.
Slider hangs out by the bar to watch Sally do her cowgirl number. She ties and unties herself to the pole with a lasso, and she ends up wearing very little more than a Stetson and her boots. Her number is cute and sexy. I’ve got to hand it to her—she’s got imagination! From the corner of my eye, I observe the way Slider’s hands roll into fists when one of the clients pats Sally’s butt after sliding a bill in her G-string. He’s got it really bad for her. I get
that he won’t do anything about it because his life is complicated enough. He’s totally invested in a long-term undercover operation, which isn’t the right place to be to start a meaningful relationship. Too bad, because Sally’s a sweet girl.
Slider goes back to his office and leaves me to man the floor. The rest of the night drags on with less than my usual share of drunks. It sort of makes up for the crazy nights and the bachelor parties that are thrown here periodically.
A couple of the Knights’ full-patched members arrive and hang out at the bar next to me. They’re regulars, and they never give me a hard time. As always, Dmitry, the sergeant-at-arms, tries to talk me into joining the club. The Russian giant doesn’t need to sell me on the brotherhood aspect though—Ernest and Brian convinced me of the beauty of that ages ago. But Dmitry’s trying really hard. He says they even agreed that I wouldn’t have to go through the prospect phase. Are they that badly in need of new members?
I’m running out of excuses to explain why I won’t apply. I can’t very tell him that I’m a police officer and that if I was ever going to join a MC, I would pick the Iron Tornadoes.
Dmitry would actually be a good fit for the Tornadoes. He’s about as vicious as Brian’s father. The Russian tries to compensate for his lack of hair by sporting a beard that makes him look about as mean as he really is. I observed him once in a fist fight that he’d had the courtesy to take outside, and he’d scared the shit out of me. Possibly because his favorite weapon was the folded blade.
But no matter how much sense it would make, merging the two clubs isn’t about to happen. First because the Iron Tornadoes don’t discriminate—their members belong to all races. Second because the two MCs have some bad blood. I don’t know the origin of it, and I guess most of the members don’t either, but if a Knight ever fell in love with an Iron Tornado, we would have a Floridian version of Romeo and Juliet. We could even complicate it a bit by having a Knight fall for one of the daughters of a Latino member… then he’d be in trouble with the Tornadoes and also with his own crew for stepping on forbidden grounds.