To her complete irritation, Gun walked to the car and motioned for her to move into the passenger’s seat.
She shifted over to let him drive, seething with a dangerous mixture of anger and fear.
Topping it all off, he slowed the car down and honked, waving at the group as he drove by them.
“Gun! I’m going to try and describe what a big, dumb son-of-a-bitch you are!” He ignored her. What had she ever seen in him to make her think she was crazy for him? “What were you thinking? They were going to put a tag in your ear for the coroner.”
He laughed. “They were just blowing off steam.” He went around a car, driving too fast to suit her. “Pogo said there was a high-class dope dealer in the neighborhood. A Cuban or something like that.”
She was interested now. “Maybe a Colombian?”
“My thoughts exactly.” He touched her thigh. “Buckle up.”
Ali thought about telling him to watch his hands, but knew that would sound bitchy and insincere. Keep your mouth shut.
He hit the gas, and she fastened her seatbelt. He’d lit another cigar, but she didn’t mind. Things went more smoothly when she made a few concessions to him. Besides, she liked watching him enjoy his cigar, the way his lips looked as he drew on the cigar, all kissable and sexy as hell.
“Hey, Donavon.” He turned down a side street and parked in front of a gray, rundown, three-story tenement. “Let’s get out and knock on some doors.”
“Sure.” She put on her knit hat and gloves, none too eager to be hit by the icy wind again. They got out, and he locked the doors. “Want to split up, me on one side of the street and you take the other?”
He gave her a dark stare. “Fuck that. We stick together.”
She was floored. “What? Is this the king of ‘I’ll do it alone’ talking?”
He dropped his cigar in the crusty snow bank. “We don’t split up. Got it?”
“See that you remember that.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She gave the dreary surroundings a quick study, figuring out a quick exit if the need arose. The apartment building sat a foot or so away from the sidewalk on a postage stamp-sized yard. Three steps led up to the stoop. Garbage cans overflowed with trash where two stray dogs feasted on moldy pizza.
Gun growled at another pair of scavenging dogs that were fighting over a chicken carcass. They both ran away, the winner dragging the smelly prize through a hole in the screen of the stoop next door.
Touching Ali’s arm, Gun stopped her. “I’ll do the knocking. You keep the wolves off my back.”
“Check.”
Like he owned the place, Gun went inside the small foyer and opened the front door of the dingy-looking residence. He stopped in the hallway looking around, waiting for her.
She moved up behind him and put her hand on his back. She spoke softly. “The hall’s clean. Go.”
He knocked on the door, and she mentally prepared for trouble.
Ali rested her right hand on her weapon, her fingers curling around the grip. He rapped on the grimy door again and squared his shoulders. Seconds ticked by and then several minutes. He resorted to pounding on the flimsy wood barrier.
Ali’s blood pumped fast as the door opened a few inches. Half a face was visible in the narrow opening.
Gun forced the toe of his boot in the space and smiled at the wary guy. “Hey, man. Got a minute?”
“What you want?”
“A few directions, maybe?”
“I don’t know nuthin’.”
Gun pulled a roll of bills from his jeans pocket. “Will you spill for a hundred?”
The door squeaked open a bit more, and the guy’s face became fully visible. Pockmarks pitted his swarthy skin and a spider-web tattoo covered his shaved head. He nodded. “Maybe. Depends on what you wants to know.”
She usually had a cast-iron stomach. The odor drifting out from the apartment was a cross between rotting flesh and old sweat. She held her breath, the gag reflex threatening to make her retch. “What the hell are you cooking in there?”
Gun poked his head inside the room. “You from the Middle East, man?” He spoke over his shoulder to her. “Goat with lots of garlic.”
She looked inside the cluttered room and knew she didn’t want to go in. “I’ll take your word for it.”
The guy stared at her, then Gun, and held his hand out. She wanted to laugh. “He wants his payoff.”
He snorted with disgust. “No information, no money.”
The threat pried the guy’s tongue loose, and he couldn’t talk fast enough. A hundred dollars could buy a lot of booze and some weed. “What do you want to know?” He grabbed for his prize.
Gun held the money away from the suddenly talkative man. “Not so fast, buddy.”
Ali heard a sound she identified as rutting. She looked up to see a couple having sex on the stair landing. “Holy shit!”
Neither of the pair wore clothes, and they had a built-in audience of a wino sitting on the floor, gazing at them with alcohol-reddened eyes. They didn’t pose a threat, and she looked around to make sure no one sneaked out the door at the end of the hall.
Gun was too busy to check out the sideshow. He showed the informant a picture of Conteguez and several of his thugs. Ali wasn’t surprised to hear their target had been hanging around a strip joint late at night, looking for hookers. She could hear the guy spilling his guts and asking for more cash.
The crescendo sounds of ecstasy from the stairway finally caught Gun’s attention. He shook his head and looked at the guy smelling the hundred he had slipped him. “They know each other?”
The man shrugged. “She’s a whore.”
“No kidding.” Gun stepped away from the door. “Thanks, man.”
The door slammed in his face, and Ali laughed. “Grateful, wasn’t he?”
She couldn’t believe her mouthy partner remained so quiet while the couple up the stairs was reaching what sounded like a hell of a climax. At the moment, they were pounding into the wall. She heard Gun’s low whistle and comment.
“He’s going for it.”
A long, guttural curse of excitement from the male of the couple upstairs filled the hall.
“Let’s get out of here.” Ali couldn’t wait to get a breath of fresh air.
He followed her down the steps, stopping to look at his watch. “We’ll try the address the lying bastard gave us.”
The wind had taken a cruel, northerly shift and screamed straight out from the Canadian border. She pulled her jacket closer and nodded, hurrying to get into the car. “Where to?” She turned the heater vents downward to warm her toes.
Gun tossed her his neck scarf as he drove away from the tenement building. “There’s a good chance somebody in the local bars deals with Conteguez. We’ll try the strip joints, too.”
She responded with an eye-roll and a grimace. His stare forced her to explain her reaction. “I have a cousin who strips. For fun.”
Gun wore a knowing grin. “She’s the bad one?”
“She’s the hot-pants one.”
Ali hadn’t thought about her devious young cousin in a while. Not since she’d met Gun. He’d fulfilled every need in her life, and the past didn’t matter. Now, she wasn’t sure of the future.
Gun reached over to take her hand. “She did you a favor.”
She met his steady gaze. “Yes. She did.”
Because Gun knew all about her slutty cousin, she wasn’t embarrassed to talk about her cousin’s part in the break-up of her engagement.
The way she had opened up to Gun amazed Ali. He knew more about her than her own mother. She knew he still kept things from her. His nightmares came infrequently these days, and his temper had cooled some.
Thinking back to their initial meeting, she wouldn’t have given them a chance of being friends, much less lovers.
Okay. So that was as good as it would ever get. No surprises, no tears. He had never lied to her about his philosophy of never being halt
er-broken by another woman.
The slowing of the car brought her back to the present. He pulled over to the curb and parked.
He gestured to a blinking neon sign on a nondescript building with shutters on all of the windows. “There’s the joint, Pussy Galore. What a fucking name.”
Ali smirked. “You love it.” I love you, but you don’t want to hear that from me. “Okay, let’s go see who’s in there.”
They picked their way through beer cans and liquor bottles strewn over the cracked sidewalk to get inside the club.
Illumination must have been low on the priority list for management of the bar. The place was dark and smelled of spilled drinks and bodily functions. A half-dozen patrons sat at the bar and tables, hunched over drinks and talking to themselves. Two dancers entertained their captive audience from the low stage.
Ali nudged Gun’s arm. “I’ll stick to bottled soda.”
“Got it.” Gun led her to the end of the bar and kept her close to his side. She kept a watch on the dark corners and exits, listening while Gun chatted with the barmaid.
The two girls on stage used the metal poles as non-participating sex partners, humping and grinding the inanimate objects, then started on each other.
Leaning closer to Gun, she made a caustic observation. “Such talent is wasted on this crowd.” Ali took the bottle from Gun and sipped. “Did this lady have anything to say?”
He dug in his pocket for cash and tossed several bills on the bar. “She says this Mexican guy comes in here late, several times a week, just before closing time. He always takes a couple of girls home with him.”
She set her bottle on the bar. “Then he’s still here?”
“She hasn’t seen him for a few days. He may have given us the slip.”
“Shit!”
“Relax. Could be the snowstorm keeping him at home.”
Ali spun around to face the person tapping her on the shoulder, hand on her weapon. The pair of naked dancers stood looking at her. The blonde one did the talking.
“We get off work in a few minutes. You and good-looking want to have a party with us?”
Ali put her arm around Gun’s waist. “Thanks for asking, but me and good-looking only do each other.”
The girl brazenly played with her own over-enhanced breasts and shrugged. “Change your mind, let us know.”
He squeezed Ali’s waist. “She’s all I can handle at one time. Anytime.” He couldn’t possibly know how much his touch affected her. She forced the sweet, warm sensation away, discreetly moving his hand off her waist.
Chapter 41
Ali had to be as tired as he was. Gun didn’t miss her scowl of impatience. She wanted him to get out of her suite. Hell, it was two in the morning. Like it or not, he was going to make sure her rooms were clear of uninvited guests before he turned in.
She leaned against the door and yawned while he made a sweep around the place, checking in the closet and behind the shower door.
“Okay, lady. You can go to bed now.” She looked sleepy with her half-closed eyes, and all too feminine. He couldn’t stop the foolish words that formed on his tongue. “Come sleep with me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Gun, go to bed so I can.”
“I wasn’t trying to get in your pants. I’d just feel better knowing you weren’t alone.”
Her independence flared as she pushed him toward the door. “I’ve spent plenty of nights alone. You, of all people, should know that.”
He wanted to shake her for that damned stubborn streak. “You didn’t have a freak after your head.”
She pointed to the door. “Take off.”
The truce was over. He leaned against the door and shook his head. “No. After this mission is finished, you can run naked with the wolves if that’s what you want, but not until we have that fucker in a cage!”
She made her “you suck” face and flipped him the bird. “You finished?”
“No. I sleep in here, or you come to my room. Your choice.”
As if he wasn’t there, she began to strip, tossing her sweatshirt and undershirt back at him. “Suit yourself. Take the wingback chair, and goodnight.”
Gun wanted to grab the sweet, naked body she paraded so casually in front of him. Damn, she turned him inside out and into a fireball of sex drive. “Donavon, don’t go to bed yet. I’m going to my room and pick up my gear. I’ll be right back.”
She answered into the pillows. “Hurry up.”
He went to the door. “Lock this after I leave.”
She wasn’t happy with his idea and slammed the door so hard, he felt the wind hit his back. Gun didn’t care if she was pissed off. The door was locked.
In his room, he hurried to gather his toothbrush and lounge pants, rolling them into a tight bundle. Hearing a sound coming from the room next door, he stopped to look at the double walnut panels behind a fancy privacy screen.
What the hell? He’d promised himself to keep away from the connecting doors, but this was necessary. He liked the idea of sleeping in a bed and not in a damned chair.
He rapped on the door and called her name. “Donavon. I’m coming in.”
He didn’t like her answer.
“I’m in bed.”
Shit. He pushed the fancy brass handles down, and the doors swung open. “We’ll leave these open from now on.”
Her muffled response sounded like she was really excited. “Whatever.”
Donavon must be tired, not locking the door between them.
Accustomed to sketchy sleep, he read the comp newspaper and broke into the mini bar. Yeah, this was going to cost him, but worth every cent.
The small bottle of red wine went down smoothly and warmed his belly. He glanced at Donavon’s door, wondering if he should ask her to have some wine. She was in the process of shutting the door to keep him out of her life, and he would leave her alone, no matter how it hurt.
Okay. Get yourself together. Taking care of Donavon is your only job and your only thought until Conteguez is exterminated.
Gun reached for his weapon and checked the ammo. Full clip and ready for vermin hunting.
Traffic noise drew his attention. He got up to look out the window. Did these people ever sleep? Across the street, a gang of young people partied in front of a bistro that stayed open all night.
He was hit with his own actions, running the streets all night when he was a kid, drag racing and screwing someone else’s girlfriend. He never hooked up with one girl, until he went to college. Love hit him hard and then hit him in the mouth.
Now look at you, man. Right back in the soup, and the lady of choice is pitching you out.
Donavon coughed, and he went to check on her. She’d kicked off the comforter and lay bare-assed in the middle of the bed.
Being as quiet as possible, Gun picked up the comforter and covered her, tucking her in like a kid. She mumbled, and he patted her back like she was a baby. He grinned when she quieted and went back to sleep.
Damn. How had he fallen into this trap again? Fuck it. He wasn’t going to let his guard down just to take another ass-kicking and, in turn, make another woman crazy because of his wild ways.
With that in mind, Gun finished his wine and flopped into bed, facing Donavon’s room. Rolling onto his back, he let reality take over his mind. Maybe he’d call his parents tomorrow if he got time.
He didn’t go to sleep, witnessed the bleary slashes of dawn creeping into his room, and catnapped until Donavon coughed again.
“Hey, Donavon, you coming down with something?”
He got up to see if she was awake. Ali sat up and rubbed her face, answering in a gravelly voice.
“I need coffee. No, make that tea and honey.”
Hell, now she was sick, and he had wanted to move fast today. “I’ll call room service.” He picked up the phone, pointing at her with impatience. “Cover up.”
She coughed. “Go to hell.”
“That’s my girl.”
Ali got up to
go to the bathroom, dragging a blanket with her. Where the hell had she gotten a cold? Couldn’t be from all the lowlifes she’d been around. Coming down with anything infuriated her.
Ali’s reflection startled her. Hair gone crazy, standing in a bird’s-nest haystack around her flushed face. My God, you’re a mess. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Gun staring at her from the doorway.
“Gun!”
“Well, hell. Don’t shoot me.”
Ali swiped at her hair, flustered under his scrutiny. “Shut the door and let me get ready.”
“What’s the idea? I’ve seen you look like that before.”
She faced him, embarrassment making her quick-tempered. “Do me a favor. Just stay in your room.” She talked over the splash of water filling the washbowl. “I’m going down to get a bite before we take off. You don’t need to go with me if you’d rather sleep for a while.”
He tossed a cotton ball at her. “Forget that. I’m hot on you like tar on a country road in July.”
She ignored him and brushed her teeth. When she looked up, he was gone.
After a quick shower, she found the mundane job of drying her hair a struggle. Heavy and curly, her hair had never been too much to handle, until today. The truth was, it had been going on for several weeks. She had taken to wearing it up in a casual French knot most of the time.
“Screw it,” she grumbled and tossed her brush and curling iron aside.
He pushed the door open and poked his head inside. He glanced at the cluttered vanity. “When did the storm blow through here?” He carried a tray with a pot of hot tea that room service had brought and set it on her vanity.
She wrapped a bath sheet closer to her body. “That would be me. My hair has gone to crap, and I can’t find my razor.”
He grinned and pointed to her hips. “Put on a couple of pounds, too. Better hit the gym.”
Ali wanted to evaporate with embarrassment. “I’ll do that, right after you see about that hair loss.”
“What?” Gun automatically touched the top of his head. “You mad or something?”
“Or something.” Ali pushed her way past him, and went into her bedroom. “Please haul your svelte carcass out of here so I can dress.”
1606010948-Palace-of-the-Jaguar-Womack.doc Page 27