Boyfriend from Hell (Saturn's Daughters) Page 8

  This was just too weird. “Milo, don’t go anywhere,” I warned, insensibly. Heck, if chimps could understand me, why not cats?

  I shut Ernesto’s—our—door and returned to greet the Geek, who probably thought I was nuts by now. But if he knew Andre, he was used to it, probably more so than me. I’d learned to tolerate weird behavior in objects—but shape-shifting chimps, not so much.

  If things like this happened frequently down here, Andre was right: I’d been clueless. I kinda thought I’d like to remain that way.

  The cavernous dark lounge smelled of cheap beer, not precisely an office environment but probably suitable for this transaction.

  “Hi, I’m Tina Clancy.” Preferring to maintain my professional persona, I stuck out my hand to the muscularly deficient, middle-aged nerd not more than a few inches taller than I. I felt safe calling him a nerd, because he so obviously wanted to be one, from the thick eyeglasses to the pocket protector—in a T-shirt pocket. I mean, who has pockets in their T-shirts? The eyeglasses, those I understood. No one notices us bespectacled types.

  “Boris the Geek,” he said, taking my hand. “Best not to know more about me than that. Andre says you wanted to see me?”

  I would have liked to use my new office about now, but no way was I taking him back there if Sarah was morphing into a human video game. “I have a question that probably can’t be answered without doing something illegal,” I said cautiously. “If you have a problem with that, then thanks for stopping by, but I don’t want you involved.”

  His dark bushy eyebrows rose above his steel glasses frames. “Just a question answered? I wouldn’t have to do anything actively illegal? Other than hacking,” he amended.

  I could swear one of the wall mural nudes was leaning closer to listen.

  I lifted a chair from one of the bilious green tables in the middle of the room, away from the walls, and offered it to him, taking another for myself so we could talk privately. “Are there different levels of illegality in hacking?”

  “Different levels of difficulty, but it’s all illegal. Me? I just figure if the feds can do it without permission, then we all ought to have freedom of information.”

  “That’s warped logic, but I won’t argue with it. What about a bank?”

  He glanced over my shoulder, and I turned around to see Sarah—in her normal big-breasted form—easing out of Ernesto’s office. She threw a nervous look to us and hurried over to her broom.

  “She’s off-limits,” I said, bringing his attention back to me.

  “I just looked.” He still appeared a little shame-faced. A man didn’t go into a club called Chesty’s and not look at the scenery. “Banks are pretty high on the difficulty scale. It will cost you.”

  Of course it would. Dang. I sat there and thought about it, remembering those poor kids and that expensive car. I couldn’t do anything about Max, so I really needed to do something about those kids.

  “Maybe we can barter services,” I suggested slowly, letting the idea develop. “Do you need any bookkeeping?”

  He looked wary. “I need cash more.”

  “Don’t we all?” I frowned at the table. “Maybe I can come up with another part-time job. If I tell you what I need, can you quote me a price so I know how much I have to earn?”

  “Can’t you just ask Andre for the money? I can’t believe he makes his girlfriend work!”

  I scowled. “I am so not his girlfriend. I’m an independent contractor. He doesn’t even pay my payroll taxes.” Neither did I; Andre paid me in cash. It wasn’t as if I expected to ever collect social security.

  Andre must have put the rush on him to get him down here this quickly. Boris didn’t look as if he believed me, but he apologized and we got down to business while Sarah swept the floor and put chairs back. By the time we were done, Cora and several of the others had arrived with their deposits. They all looked disappointed that I wasn’t entertaining them in my new office.

  I kind of liked using the lounge. It was less claustrophobic than a cubicle. After Boris left, I set a stool behind the counter as I’d always done and began counting the day’s receipts and tallying them against the cash register tapes. I didn’t see the point of the desk for counting cash.

  During a lull, Sarah crouched down behind the bar to dust the shelves and bottles. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She was well hidden down there. Even I couldn’t see her.

  “For what?” I wrapped a band around a stack of twenties. Credit cards, obviously, did not respond well to the Zone’s bugginess. “Because I’m a clueless idiot?”

  That silenced her for a bit. I heard a few bottles clanging around. I couldn’t admit that I was curious, not after she had looked so hangdog. Maybe Sarah was one of those things Andre would explain tonight.

  “I can’t help it,” she whispered semi-defensively. “It just happens when I’m startled or scared. Men scare me.”

  I was gonna just have to go with the flow. “So you camouflage yourself by turning into one of them.” I snickered at my own humor and started on the next deposit. “Shame you’re not big enough to be an ape.”

  I thought I heard her snort in some semblance of amusement. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. . . . It’s kind of embarrassing.”

  “Well, yeah, men scratch their bellies and speak gibberish and would still be swinging from trees if we lived in jungles. They probably wouldn’t bathe and would still be picking nits, too, except the ones with small weenies learned they could make money to compete in the testosterone wars and civilization happened.”

  Sarah was just starting to laugh when a heavy hand fell on my shoulder and a masculine voice intruded on our private party.

  “Clancy’s theory of evolution?” Andre asked dryly. “Why aren’t you back at your desk where you belong? Anyone could have sneaked up on you here. I did.”

  I didn’t like how his hand disturbed me. That kiss earlier had opened prospects I’d never really considered. Andre was way out of my league in so many ways that he might as well be from another planet.

  Playing it cool, I finished writing down a total, then swung on the stool to face him. His face was too refined to resemble Max’s smashed-nose look, but the fire in his eyes reminded me a lot of him. I fought a stirring below my belly in response, especially when he stroked my newly modified hair with a knowing look I immediately detested. I shook him off.

  “I’m not any safer in a dark cubicle than out here where I can see who’s walking in. And I’m not real terrified of reporters. Want me to break your arm and show you why?”

  “You have to learn quicker response times if you want to break arms. You need to learn street fighting instead of that wimpy martial arts crap. You too, Sarah. If you’re living down here, you have to be tough.”

  Sarah popped up from behind the bar, stared with big blue eyes, then popped back down to finish her dusting.

  “Right, and I have time for that,” I said sarcastically. “You have something against me getting sleep?”

  “How long have you been hiding in classrooms?” he asked with equal sarcasm. “Keep it up and you’ll be the world’s oldest student.”

  “Jealous, Andre?” I taunted. “You did finish school, didn’t you? After all, I’m the one counting your cash, not you.”

  “Not fast enough,” he countered. “Do you have the deposit ready for the bank yet?”

  “I thought Cora was taking it. And no, it isn’t ready.”

  Milo leaped to a chair and over to the bar, strutting down the polished counter to paw at my deposit bag. Andre started to lift him down, and Milo snarled, his back arching and his tail stub shooting up.

  “What’s with the cat?” Andre asked, backing off. “Where did it come from?”

  “Courtesy of the invisible thief,” I said recklessly, rather pleased that my kitty had told off the head honcho. And if I had to believe in monkey girls, I could have invisible crooks, too. “Now go suck someone else’s blood and let me finish here. I’ll deliver
it to the bank.”

  “No, you damned well won’t.” He grabbed the collar of my halter-top sundress and hauled me off the stool, dragging my skirt up my scarred thighs in the process. “Just look outside and use your head, will you?” He shoved me across the room, toward the narrow window beside the front door.

  I peered through the one sliver of daylight allowed in Ernesto’s cave.

  A black limo sat across the street. The blue-jeaned kid was leaning against a pole, talking into his phone. The gray-haired loony from Lily’s shambled down the street. Cora’s boss, Frank, was aiming a handheld camcorder at the kid, the car, the bar, and generally anything that moved. An unlabeled van had parked in the lot, and a pair of dudes in suits talked to each other on the corner.

  Nothing overtly suspicious for any busy city street. Except this was the Zone. No one was ever out there at this hour except Leibowitz, who was oddly absent.

  “I don’t suppose the limo over there has diplomatic plates,” I said casually, hiding my tension. They couldn’t all really want me, could they? Why?

  “Not this time,” Andre said, revealing he’d heard about my side investigation. “Frank’s catching them all on film so we can try to identify them. My guess is at least half of them are media.”

  He stopped without explaining. I wasn’t into waiting patiently. The media didn’t drive limos. I limped away from the window and returned to my work. “And the other half?”

  “After that tornado incident, the other half mostly wants to know if you really might have been responsible for Max’s death.”

  10

  The world was not only a scary place, but it was growing creepier by the minute.

  I am not a particularly courageous person. In my experience, every time I got noticed, I got hurt. I’d taken martial arts training to prevent being beat up at every new school I attended. I hunkered down over my books because I didn’t want to have to deal with the inexplicable actions of the people around me.

  However, neither method would work if those people out on the street really wanted me. After the college riot fiasco, I preferred a no-commitment/no-involvement policy. Hell, I even stayed out of Max’s way and tolerated his absences for the same reason. I was not taking responsibility for media thugs and stupidity.

  “I did not raise a tornado,” I stated flatly. “If there’s a God, he objected to fighting during a religious service. For all I know, Max’s family are Satanists who called up demons. That’s my theory, anyhow.”

  “I don’t care if you’re an angel in rags and his family walks on hooves. Those men wouldn’t be out there if you weren’t in here,” Andre asserted cruelly. “Maybe it’s a slow news week. Maybe Max’s family has an ax to grind. Maybe the congressman hired goons to eliminate a witness to his carelessness. Whatever the excuse, you instigated it. I want them gone, and I want them gone now. They won’t leave if they think they can get at you.”

  Despite the embroidered vest, Andre didn’t look so much like an easygoing Jim Garner anymore. He looked prepared to bite my head off.

  Was he insinuating the local mob was interested in me? I’d sooner fight demons than AK-47s. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, fought my anxiety, and glared at him. “Fine, then I’ll go out there, shake hands, say my how-d’ya-dos, and they’ll all go away. Is that what you want?”

  “Not until we know what you are!” he shouted, grabbing my shoulders and nearly shaking me until I shrugged him off. He cooled off quickly, frowned, and strode toward the bar to pour himself a tonic.

  What I was?

  This was taking a few weirdnesses too far. As far as I knew, no one knew about Max in my mirror or that I’d damned him to hell—figuratively I hoped, because I thought my curse and the fireball had to be a coincidence. He was speeding. He went boom. Gas ignites. Not too far out there. Not my fault, right?

  Except now Max was talking in my head. Maybe I should start plugging in music and not listen to me.

  Ernesto sauntered in from the back, apparently avoiding the spectators in his front parking lot by trespassing on the officially marked EPA ground zero behind the restaurant. An entire encampment of the homeless had moved into the no-man’s-land along the burned-out harbor strip, and the original chain link blocking it off had been appropriated for other uses over the years, mostly as shells for makeshift shelters. Everyone used the contaminated alley these days.

  Ernesto cast me an evil eye but, seeing Andre, bit his unholy tongue. Assessing Andre’s scowl, he diverted his path, entered his office, and shut the door. The man was smarter than I’d thought.

  People, instead of walls, were giving me claustrophobia. My stress level was such that I almost understood Sarah’s need to turn into a chimp to escape.

  I returned to my cash counting, wondering what I was, too. “I assume you will explain that comment over dinner?” I asked icily.

  Even Sarah was looking at me warily now. Had I an ounce of backbone, I’d have slapped the back of Andre’s head to knock some sense into it, but, as I’ve said, I wasn’t into active protest anymore.

  “Yeah, yeah. Hurry up with the cash.” Andre sipped his drink in obvious disgruntlement. So much for the insouciant image he usually projected.

  He’d kissed me, and now he thought he was protecting me.

  “I have no reason to hide,” I taunted him.

  He didn’t respond, just gathered up my tallied cash and began stuffing it into the deposit bag.

  “I need a second job,” I told him. “I need some quick cash. Have you got anything?”

  I kept counting, unwilling to register his disbelief or scorn. If I focused on my goals, I’d get past him eventually.

  “Yeah, Ernesto always needs more help. Seems women don’t like working with him,” he said dryly. “Want me to put in a word for you?”

  I tallied the last deposit, slapped it on top of the bag he was holding, and, without answering his taunt, marched over to Ernesto’s office—I couldn’t really call it our office, since I’d yet to use it. I didn’t hesitate at the door but limped in.

  The scumbucket glanced up, glowered, and waited. I think one of his chrome desk ornaments skittered away and hid in a drawer.

  Undaunted, I stated my case. “I need to earn some extra cash. Andre says you might have an opening. I don’t dance. I can waitress, hostess, tend bar, and handle cash. I have a résumé if you need one.”

  “I need a kitchen flunky. You don’t look the part of our front-end personnel.” He smirked.

  “Fine. I’m having dinner with Andre tonight. I can start anytime after that. When do you need me?”

  Like I had time for flunky. I’d hoped for a waitress job so I could earn enough tips to work this off quickly, but Ernesto had a point. I didn’t have big hooters. And as the evening progressed, I would start limping like a three-legged dog—not what the customers wanted.

  “Tomorrow,” Ernesto responded, “starting when I say, until Cook says to go home. If you quit after the first night, you don’t get paid.”

  Beggars couldn’t be choosers. I walked out, closing the door after me. Andre had already left with the deposit bag.

  I tasted the sourness of defeat but didn’t show it when Sarah sent me a look of sympathy. My brains and efficiency were pretty much wasted in a kitchen. It was my choice not to look elsewhere. I glanced at my watch. The five o’clock bus had gone. I might as well hang around to see what Andre had to say.

  My stomach twisted uneasily, and I wasn’t in the least hungry. I’d almost rather have gone home and berated imaginary Max some more.

  I rummaged in my bag to see if I’d left the compact there from the other night. Dinner was dinner, and I was female enough to powder my nose and put on lipstick before a date. It was nice not having to mess with the hair.

  I flipped open the compact, glanced in the mirror, and nearly tossed it before I recovered my senses.

  Max stared back at me, almost as startled as I was.

  “Lookin’ good, babe. Did
n’t think I could pull this one off. Your mirror connection is way stronger here,” he murmured inside my head before fading away.

  I sat down on a stool and snapped the compact shut. What was I? increasingly seemed a more and more valid question under the circumstances—one I couldn’t answer.

  Customers began filing in just before six. Sarah had disappeared into the kitchen before the first customer entered. Ernesto’s current mistress, Maria, in black miniskirt and plunging neckline, took her station at the door. The model-tall bartender with flowing blond hair began polishing glasses. I’d take Bill’s bar any day, but then, I didn’t possess the requisite equipment to appreciate this place.

  I took a booth in a dark back corner, switched off the little table lantern that provided the only light, and, succumbing to my new obsession, watched everyone entering. The blue-jeaned kid sauntered in, trying to look cool. Maria zeroed in on him, and he forgot being cool or a reporter or whatever he was. With his gaze firmly on her nearly bare assets, he couldn’t see me.

  Fortunately, the wall nudes had stopped moving, but I could see Andre’s point about keeping the lookyloos out of the Zone.

  A few industrial workers marched in, obviously regular customers who didn’t even notice the newly green tables. A scantily clad waitress sidled up to take their orders.

  A big bloke already looking half loaded staggered up to the bar. He pinched the rear of one of the dancers on her way back to the dressing rooms. She hauled off and whacked him one, but he just laughed, as if they’d been flirting. I grimaced at the byplay.

  I didn’t have issues with sexual exploitation—it worked both ways, the way I saw it. But years of being tyrannized by thugs bigger than me had instilled an active dislike of bullies, and a childhood spent watching Clint Eastwood westerns had given me an over-inflated sense of justice. I took an instant dislike to the blowhard and wanted him gone. I wanted to be a bouncer, but the crippled leg had diminished my martial arts skills, and I didn’t own a gun.

  I wasn’t sure what Andre meant for me to learn by hanging out down here, but once I got past the bully, I will admit I was amused when a couple of business suits entered, looking wary. I expected them to tug on their white shirt collars in discomfort. We didn’t get suits in the Zone. The suits were the people Andre was really concerned about.