Do Wah Diddy Die

by Pauline Baird Jones

  Mickey patted his pockets, looking for his aspirin bottle as the headache made an abrupt return. “I don’t see—”

  She frowned, her expression turning thoughtful as she added Velma’s name to the others on her question mark.

  “What?”

  “Velma.” Luci traced her name with the pen. “There’s something just not right with her.”

  There was, in Mickey’s opinion, more than a mere “something” not right with Velma. There was a host of “somethings” not right with this whole case. He’d be lucky to get through it without something going wrong with him.

  “Gracie noticed it, too,” Luci said, as if this were the clincher.

  Mickey flinched. He had to. He didn’t want to believe her when she said Gracie was dead, but it was something easy to prove or disprove, unlike, say, her theories on the relationship between marriage and murder. If Gracie was dead, Delaney was in serious trouble. Mickey hadn’t seen him this smitten since...well, fact was he’d never seen him this smitten.

  Pain did a tap dance on his temples, apparently immune to the aspirin he’d ingested. He had to get back, warn him—something. He dug out his wallet, found some cash for the tip and tossed it onto the table. It wasn’t until he stood up that he realized Luci was studying him, her gaze unreadable.

  “He’ll get over it,” she said, then stood up, bringing her face almost even with his. The compassion in her eyes was mixed with something that could have been regret.

  “What?”

  “Gracie. Seymour women. Men fall for us, but they get over it. Or they kill us.” Without being asked, she started for the exit.

  “Do you read minds?”

  “Just faces. Yours isn’t exactly poker.”

  “Oh.” He followed her, frustration giving him some protection against the sight of her graceful, sexy body and glorious legs. Some, but not nearly enough. Not when her scent trailed after her, filling his nose and fogging his brain. Regret for Delaney and for himself cut through the fog, leaving too many questions to rise to the surface of his mind. He tried to call it back, but one escaped from his mouth. “Why don’t the Seymour women marry?”

  His question took her by surprise. Where had that come from? She opened her mouth, stopped, then said with utter truth, “You know, I have no idea.”

  14

  “Max,” Dante said as he rocked back in his desk chair, hands clasped behind his head. “It’s a pity you weren’t here to meet Benny’s Jane. I’d have been interested in your opinion of the lady.” He waited for Max to look appropriately regretful, then asked, “You get everything taken care of?”

  “Yes, Mr. Dante. Henry won’t trouble you again.”

  “Good.” Dante frowned. “Miss Luci said I could bring Cloris to some party on Sunday. Think you’d better go with me, too. Keep your eyes open, let me know what you think. Oh, and Max?”

  “Yes, Mr. Dante?”

  “Find out all you can about the Seymours. She says the scam is her aunts’. They’re the ones with the body in the freezer.”

  “Right.” Max made a note.

  “Miss Luci tells me they’ve had another one turn up under some bushes. If they did do these guys—” Dante looked thoughtful. “Why don’t you put someone on to watch the place? Like to have a feel for the setup before we go in.”

  Fern and Donald picked up lunch at a walk-in joint across from where their quarry lunched. The food calmed Donald but left his determination to blow Luci Seymour away undiminished. As he stuffed food into his mouth, his brooding gaze never left the entrance to the restaurant. The busy street with its complicated restrictions on turning wasn’t suitable to their purpose, but after lunch, they followed them to a narrow quiet street and watched as they parked in front of an auto parts store.

  “All right. This is good, real good. Drive by slow so I can check it out, then turn round. When I give the word, hit it. Then get out of here.”

  Fern nodded, concentrating on getting the car into optimum position for the kill—and an easy escape. She was aware of the pain from her broken arm, but hovering just past the dingy rutted street was the vision of the Disney castle in all its glittering glory—

  The cop took the girl’s arm as they crossed the street.

  “Now?”

  “No, let’em get inside. Last time the cop saw us coming. This time he won’t see us ’til too late. I’ll frame them in that nice big window and cut ’em in half.”

  There was a brief glare as the light hit the open door, then it swished closed, shutting the pair inside.

  Donald nodded, his voice casual as he said, “Let’s do it. Real slow and real casual-like.”

  The Uzi was cradled in his lap. Light, easily handled, ready to become deadly with the flick of a switch.

  Fern idled the car into position, just for a second using her broken arm to hold the car steady while she brushed the sweat from her eyes.

  “Damn.” Donald rested the Uzi on the window frame as he peered at the shop.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Lights glaring on the glass—but I think—yes, got her!” He lifted the Uzi and released the safety, his finger tightening on the trigger.

  Luci placed her order for a starter, then turned and leaned against the counter. “This shouldn’t take too long—he seems to have a good grasp of his doohickeys and thingamajigs.”

  “So do you,” Mickey said, his voice wry. “Sure you’re not a mechanic in your other life?”

  “What I am in my other life would surprise you.”

  “What you are in this life surprises me.”

  Luci couldn’t stop the surprise, the delight or the smile that spread across her mouth. Dang, he was good. It would be wise to limit her contact with Detective Mickey Ross. She broke eye contact with an effort, her gaze bouncing to the car moving past the shop. Absently, she noted the window was down, the ominous barrel slightly protruding.

  Barrel? It was an effective distraction.

  No time to think or speak. Only time to act—

  She hit Mickey hard. It felt good, but there was no time to enjoy it as bullets smashed through the plate glass window, shattering it into hundreds of deadly missiles. The line of fire traced across the counter toward Mickey at chest height as Mickey staggered once, then went down with Luci attached to his chest.

  The sound, the fury, the smell of cordite mingling with the smell of auto shop in the enclosed space was overwhelming. She felt Mickey grope for his gun. The cold metal brushed chillingly against her bare thigh, then he rolled, reversing their positions. His gun flared and she couldn’t control a flinch. Funny, she thought as she stared at the column of his throat inches from her eyes, smelled his aftershave mingling with the smell of dust. She thought she’d been broke to the sound of a gun.

  “Damn!” Mickey looked down at her, his face grim. “Are you all right?”

  Luci fought against the adrenaline surging in her body, even as she felt the adrenal beat of Mickey’s body working against her good intentions.

  “We’ve really got to stop meeting like this.” Was that her voice, so throaty, so breathless? She saw the change of focus in his eyes first, then felt it in his body. But there wasn’t anything she could do about it. He was on top.

  “No, we’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he said and bent his head. In the distance, a siren began to wail, the sound getting louder and closer.

  His mouth tasted as good as it had looked, maybe better. So this was what all the shouting was about. No wonder people didn’t want to stop. No wonder her mother didn’t stop. Dimly, on the other side of pleasure, Luci heard the shop owner beating a frantic tattoo on the counter above them.

  “You see that, man? They just blew hell outta my store! That’s what I get for not paying protect! That’s what I get! I tole him I weren’t gonna pay no protect and now he try to kill me! Damn it to hell! This no time to be suckin’ face, man!”

  Mickey quit sucking face. Luci tried not to smile as he looked up and snapp
ed, “Call 911!”

  “I don’t want no police! They try to kill me again! I didn’t see nothing! I don’t know nothing! Beside, cain’t you hear? They coming! Oh, man, I’m dead!”

  “You are the police.” Luci felt impelled to point this out, since it appeared to have slipped his mind. “Shouldn’t you do something?”

  So he did something. He kissed her again. Not what she meant. But not bad. The second kiss was better than the first one—though that didn’t seem possible.

  “What the hell—Mickey?” A shrill voice, rising in disbelief, cut between them. Mickey looked up.

  “Caroline?”

  Through the dust—and the lust—Luci looked up, too. It was immediately obvious that Caroline was having a non-business response to the intimate arrangement of Luci and Mickey’s bodies. Her nostrils were flaring and her eyes were shooting glare bullets.

  “Is she your girlfriend?” Interestedly, she made note of the stocky well-endowed figure. She let her gaze linger deliberately on how well Caroline filled out her uniform and felt Mickey tense. Her gaze found the drawn weapon. In a semi-undertone, Luci asked, “Is it a good idea to cheat on someone who has her own gun and carte blanche to use it?”

  On one side, Caroline glared at Mickey while snapping questions at Luci. She ignored him while an EMT attempted to determine who was bleeding and who was merely bled upon.

  After a period of probing and poking while the ache in Mickey’s head got worse and the pain in his side built, the EMT patted Luci’s knee and said, “Well, doll, you lucked out. Minimal damage.”

  The EMT taped a final bandage over a gash in her arm, grinning in a way that made Mickey want to smash in the guy’s teeth. Not because he was jealous. He just wanted to hit someone. To vent a little.

  Luci’s smile was too sunny, too friendly. She was getting back at him, and for what? A couple of kisses that were little enough recompense for all the pain and suffering she’d caused him? She wasn’t that good. Well, yeah, she was. Who’d have thought a mouth that straight could taste that good?

  “It’s amazing,” her mouth said now. “After the week I’ve had, I should be dead. This is my second drive-by shooting this week, not to mention the nosedive off that escalator. And almost getting hit by that car back in Butt Had.”

  Caroline’s whole face twitched and Mickey bit back a grin. Luci was right about one thing. Caroline wasn’t a good person to piss off.

  The EMT turned with obvious reluctance to Mickey.

  Caroline turned to Luci with even more obvious reluctance. “You saw the car first?”

  Luci nodded. The EMT poked around in Mickey’s gash with cheerful callousness.

  “What did you do?” Caroline asked through gritted teeth.

  “I jumped on Mickey—”

  “What?” Caroline’s voice rose to an ear-painful pitch.

  The EMT poked harder, eager to finish his work.

  “Only to save his life,” Luci said reassuringly.

  “Nasty, painful, but not serious. You’re gonna need a few stitches plus your head x-rayed.” The EMT stepped back.

  Mickey felt Caroline’s unspoken but emphatic agreement hit him in waves.

  “You might have a concussion—” the EMT added.

  “I doubt it. He’s got a hard head.”

  Mickey looked up and found Delaney standing in the doorway, surveying the scene with a resigned expression.

  “I can’t let you go anywhere alone, Ross.”

  Mickey grinned weakly. Finally someone to protect him from the women.

  “And the kiss?” Caroline snapped. “What was that?”

  Luci was quiet for a moment, then brightened. “Mouth-to-mouth?”

  Caroline gave a low growl. Delaney leaned close to Mickey. “I wouldn’t count on her for a ride to work anymore, bubba.”

  “Do you have any aspirin?” Mickey asked the EMT.

  Luci insisted on collecting and paying for her thingamajig—even though the store no longer had a cash register—before she would allow Delaney to convey them to the hospital. The irony of Delaney’s car escaping the recent carnage didn’t escape Mickey’s notice as he slid inside.

  “How’d you get here so fast?”

  “Hopped a patrol car. Wanted to make sure you hadn’t got my car shot to pieces. Glad to see you kept it out of the line of fire.”

  When the hospital finished with them, Delaney took Luci home first. It took less energy to follow Delaney and Luci to the Nash than to argue. They both had orders from the doctor to rest. Mickey leaned against the Nash’s fender and watched Delaney and Luci install the new starter through a haze of exhaustion that went deeper than his soul.

  Not that tired stopped him from appreciating the sight of Luci bent over the front fender, one exquisite leg bent as she subdued the Nash’s innards. It was obvious God had made her too cute to kill to protect her from herself. A thing of beauty was a joy forever—from a safe distance, he decided, then moved a step closer when Luci exchanged the fender for a seat behind the wheel.

  He didn’t want to lose sight of her legs. Who knew how long they’d be where he could see them? She’d go back to Butt Had after the wedding. And he’d be glad. Really. Okay, not glad, but relieved. Definitely relieved.

  Luci clicked the key once, then again, but the engine still didn’t respond. Delaney poked his head around the edge of the hood. “Try it now.”

  Luci did. “Nope.”

  “There’s a wire hanging down from under the dash,” Mickey said, figuring he ought to do something to move this forward or he’d never get gone. He crouched down and grabbed the wire. “It looks like it should be plugged into something.”

  “Really?” Luci slid her legs to one side. “I was sure I plugged everything in before I left. Can you get it?”

  “Sure.” Mickey forced his attention away from her legs and groped for, but failed to find, the other side of the connection. With some difficulty, he got his head under the wheel and a partial view of the under-the-dash area. “Ah, there it is.”

  He made the connection. “Try it now.”

  Luci’s leg brushed against his cheek as she applied gentle pressure to the gas pedal. Above his head she turned the key and the engine caught. Out of the darkness of the under dash, two numbers glowed red. Six. Zero. Then five, nine. It took him five more seconds to realize what he was seeing.

  “Shit!” He hit his head on the wheel, trying to get clear. “Get out of the car!”

  “What—” Luci looked at him, confusion visible in her wonderful eyes.

  Delaney strolled around the side, wiping his hands on a rag. “What’s wrong?”

  Mickey managed upright and pulled Luci off the seat. “Bomb!”

  Delaney grabbed her other arm.

  Luci looked at Mickey, then Delaney. Saw the same thing in their eyes. Urgency. Fear. It was contagious. She started to run, stretching her legs to match their frantic race toward the dubious cover of Delaney’s parked car.

  They dove, a tumble of arms and legs and bodies as the Nash went up like a rocket. The explosion, which lifted the front end of the Nash off the ground, vibrated through the gelatinous swamp and shattered the windows of Delaney’s car. Glass pelted them, and fire, reaching out from the blast, scorched across their backs for a searing moment. Then there was only the sound of fire and metal hitting the ground.

  “What—” Luci, who’d landed on top, started to look up.

  “Wait.” Mickey held her down as a second explosion rocked the street, this time from the Nash’s gas tank.

  Luci, her ears ringing, shook her head, then extricated herself from her rescuers and stood up. The heat from the blazing car sent her back a pace.

  “I never had a starter do that before.”

  With a rough jerk, Mickey turned her to face him, his face as angry as she’d ever seen it.

  “So? Tell me, Miss Seymour, just who the hell is pissed at you?”

  Artie heard and felt the explosion. He smiled his deli
ght as he bent to unlock the door to his car. He’d stopped to buy Band-Aids for his numerous cuts and scrapes and they now liberally adorned his face. Good thing his new shoes were without flaw, he decided with a sigh of contentment. Things were really starting to look up. He raised his gaze to give thanks and saw something falling out of the sky toward him. What—

  There was just time to identify it as a large, old-style steering wheel before it wrapped itself around his neck. His skull still ringing from the impact, he saw stars and blood dripping on his new shoes.

  15

  “We did it, Fernie! I’m sure of it this time! Break out the beer. Let’s celebrate!” Donald tossed the Uzi on one bed and did a half-leap onto the bed next to it. With hands clasped behind his head, he grinned so wide she saw the gums above his plates.

  Fern nodded abstractedly as she bent over the cooler. She was wondering if she would be able to get her picture taken with Mickey Mouse. She’d have to keep Donald away from Winnie the Pooh. They were built too much alike to be photographed together, but she couldn’t tell that to Donald. He loved that bear.

  In honor of the occasion, Donald shook the first two beers and sprayed her with one. She sprayed him, then they fell on the bed, laughing like a couple of kids until Donald got jabbed in the privates with the Uzi.

  “Disney World here we come!” He staggered over to the sorry TV and fumbled with the dials until a fuzzy picture formed on the screen. “I want to see them haul her outta there in one of them black body bags.”

  “News won’t be on for awhile.”

  “Someone’s liable to have one of them news break things soon.” He turned through the three channels until a plastic newsman highlighting the top stories filled the screen.

  “Violence again broke out in the streets of New Orleans this afternoon. An auto parts store in downtown New Orleans was the target of a drive-by shooting. Police have no motive for the incident which left two people, one an NOPD detective, with minor injuries—”