Off the Beaten Path. John Schlarbaum
Читать онлайн книгу.know I didn’t give him a private dance or anything like that.”
This was going nowhere fast. “Do you wear any necklaces?”
“We’re back to that again?” she asked exasperated. “The answer is no. I don’t have your stupid necklace.”
“A gold charm in the shape of a heart, maybe?”
“And we’re done. Can I go back to freshening up? I have a big spender coming to pick me up in 20 minutes.”
I cocked my head in response. “A date, huh? And what would his name be?”
“If his name were Brian, not Ryan, would that be of any interest?”
“Maybe. Deviants often use a new name that sounds like their own, so they don’t get confused if things go sideways.”
“To be honest, I have no idea what his name is. All I know is he paid the owners up front. Maybe his last name is Money. Brian Money. That would be kinda funny, right?”
“Hilarious,” I stated without emotion, putting the picture away and heading down to street level. “It was a pleasure to meet the three of you, Terri. Take care of yourself and that new boyfriend of yours.”
At the base of the stairs, I heard rushed footfalls coming up the alley. Poor bastard is probably paying by the minute and is worried he’s late, I thought. I stepped around the corner and figured I’d have a little fun to end my night. “She’s all primed and ready for you, sailor,” I said to the startled man who was now blocking my path.
Wearing a dark overcoat with the collar up and his hands in his pockets, he reminded me of a superhero looking for a place to change into his tights and cape. Yet on closer inspection, I knew this wasn’t the case. Ryan Hartford was a mild-mannered accountant, with no visible abnormal super powers.
“What did you say?” Ryan asked nervously, not knowing if he should stop to chat or keep quiet and proceed to the second floor.
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to amateur night at The Cougar Trap.
I ignored his question and asked one of my own. “Do you know you talk in your sleep? You’d make a really poor spy.”
“W-w-w-hat?”
“And you’re aware that necklace you are clutching in your pocket is ultimately going to contribute to your social, personal and professional failure, right?”
“Who are you and how do you know–”
“Everything? How do I know everything, Ryan Hartford? It’s a gift. It’s a curse. It’s who I am, I suppose.” My prey appeared to weeble then wobble but refused to fall down.
“Is this a robbery? I’ll give you everything I have. Money. Credit cards.”
“He wants the necklace and a heart of gold,” a heavenly female voice from above shouted. “Just give him the damn thing and get up here now! I don’t have all night.”
Oh, how he wanted to run. To the untrained eye, this had all the earmarks of a classic set-up. Lure the naïve target into a dark alley with the promise of sex and then rob him blind. Ryan’s eyes were wide with fear and his face turned a ghastly shade of oatmeal.
“Take it! Here!” he cried out, removing his left hand from his pocket and tossing something shiny over my head. As I involuntarily followed its trajectory, Ryan busted a move in the opposite direction, rounding the side of the building, out of view.
“Are you kidding me?” Terri screamed down over the fire escape railing. “You’re going to be sorry you did that,” she continued. “That’s him. That’s the guy who wanted to beat me up for a lousy $20!” she lied. “Well I’m not that kind of girl, Sicko Steve!”
Within seconds, a small army of very large bouncer-types were careening down the steps, racing to see which one could land the first deadly blow to my tender solar plexus.
Note to self: Comparison shop for nunchucks at the mall.
I snagged my prized booty off the ground and hightailed it out of the area with the sole aim of not becoming another unsolved murder statistic. My would-be welcoming committee were huge, muscular men, the kind who strike fear into the hearts of unruly club patrons. They weren’t, however, very scary or athletic when challenged to a sprint. As I easily outdistanced them block by block, one by one, they ran out of stamina and were left gasping for precious air in the middle of Drake Road.
I found my van still intact in the well-lit lot of an all-night pizzeria where I’d left it earlier, knowing it might be useful to have some witnesses to relate exactly how I was killed. I believe it’s easier on those left behind to know how their loved one’s last breath was taken, regardless how grotesque the crime scene might be.
“A dead body is always better than no body,” a homicide detective once told me.
Pulling off the lot, I checked my mirrors and blind spots for any incoming winded gorillas. None had survived the mini marathon. With this all-clear sign, I draped my client’s necklace over the rearview mirror and admired the attached heart of gold charm. As it gently swung to and fro, streetlights and oncoming headlights illuminated it as if it were somehow alive.
“Another job well done,” I stated to my smiling doppelganger in the mirror. “Your girlfriend better appreciate your effort tonight to help make this vacation one to remember.”
I was soon home, quietly slipping into bed, trying not to disturb Dawn’s slumber. Consciously or unconsciously, her mind instructed her body to gradually push against mine, allowing us to form the perfect spooning position.
“Are you okay?” she whispered sleepily.
“I am now,” I said. “Night, you.”
“Night, you too.”
Chapter Two
A quick rule of thumb for everyone involved in a serious relationship: trouble is looming when your partner begins to introduce you as their insignificant other. They’ll say they were just joking and you need to lighten up but without a doubt, it’s one of the first fiery shots across your heart’s bow.
Trust me on this. I know things.
However, there are always exceptions to the rule, with Dawn being one of them.
The best part of our evolving courtship is we can pretty much say anything to the other knowing there’s never malice behind the words, even when the literal definition sounds mean spirited. Maybe it’s the age difference or my insecurity. I might overstep the boundaries of acceptable humour to make Dawn laugh, although it’s only because I know she’s smart enough to see how desperate this older man is to keep her around. Of course, that’s enduring and pathetic at the same time - two qualities often attributed to me by the fairer sex. Why she remains with me is one mystery I don’t intend to investigate. She could choose from a line-up of younger, wealthier and more debonair men than yours truly, yet every night she returns to my house. A real leave-with-the-one-that-brought-you type of girl, so far. This scenario suits me just fine. I could use some positive romantic energy after a lifetime of failed dalliances that included a marriage, one-night stands and long distance relationships. Then there was that short-lived engagement to a librarian, which ended when the female associate I was having an affair with was killed during a botched martial investigation.
Sucks to be with me, right?
Dawn entered my life after I threw myself a drunken pity party at the local Sunsetter Pub & Eatery where she works as a waitress. When it comes to women, I don’t have a type, per se. If I did, Dawn’s killer smile, curvy small build and curly brown hair that rests easily on her shoulders would surely be checked off a “Steve’s To Do” list.
We’re an unlikely pair. I’m by no means a curmudgeon when it comes to trying something new; still, I don’t go out of my way to find anything new to do either. For example, I have no issue with checking out a happening