Friends and Lovers Trilogy 02 - Charmed (17 page)

Murphy stood, wondering if he was supposed to be intimidated by a novelty product, and more, what exactly was Eugene’s schtick. “Can’t do that.”

Jingles gawked at him. “Do you want Lulu to get written up?”

“Forget Lulu,” Raven said. “What about Rupert?”

“Oh, hell!” Trixie pivoted, hands on hips. “That blockhead’s late again. That’s three times this month. His ass is so outta here.”

“Who?” Lulu flew out of the adjoining room lacing up some corset type contraption. Her breasts nearly spilled over the metallic gold cups, and yes, those bloomers were sheer. You didn’t have to look too damn hard to make out the French-cut, sequined-gold briefs beneath.

Murphy ran a hand over his buzz cut, hoping his head didn’t explode as he took in what little there was of her costume.

“Who are you talking about?” Lulu repeated.

“Rupert.” Gloved hands clasped behind his back, head down, Enri paced back and forth, a comedic blur who spoke with an exaggerated, clipped French accent. “I spoke to him last night. I know he knew about the time change.
Ooh
! Said he was going to catch a ride with Jean-Pierre.
Merde!”

“They must’ve had a flat or something,” Trixie said. “Unlike Rupert, JP’s never late.”

Lulu shot Murphy a panicked look.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Not that it didn’t deserve a call. Murphy snagged his cell out of his inner jacket pocket.

Mortimer clapped his hands together, demanding attention.
“Hellooo,
people. Peterson will be here in five minutes.”

“Great,” Jingles grumbled while adjusting the foam pads inside of her sequined bustier. “We’ve got an outsider in here and one of our own is missing.”

“Rupert can’t afford to lose this job,” Enri said as he paced by.

“Solutions are us.” Trixie snagged the cell out of Murphy’s hand, tossed it to Lulu, and nudged Murphy toward a door marked
Juggalos
(as in
Gigolòs?).

Eugene gave her the thumbs up. “Excellent, Trix.”

The team concurred.

“Don’t sweat it,” Raven said with an ornery twinkle in her spidery-lashed eyes. “No makeup or circus skills required. Rupert’s the casino mascot.”

Catching their drift, Murphy stood his ground. “Not just no, but
hell,
no.”

Wizard, who’d been silent up until now, lifted his sorcerer mask and zapped Murphy with the challenging gaze of a wise elder. “I don’t know about you, but we take care of our own.”

His Marine mentality swallowed that sentiment whole. “Damn.”

Cell phone to her ear, Lulu quirked a not-so-sorry smile as Trixie and Mortimer dragged him toward the men’s dressing area. “You should’ve waited in the concourse.”

Jean-Pierre was home safe, sulking. According to Rudy they’d had a tiff, and though Lulu wasn’t happy about that, she was delirious that the cause of his absence wasn’t more dire. Rudy made sure Sofie got to the Carnevale safely, and then took off for a run to Freehold to pick up a queen for Oz. After learning his butt was covered, Rupert was more than happy to play hooky.

Murphy …
Murphy
was more than a trooper. He was an amazing human being. In order to cover for their co-worker he’d donned a full-body fat suit made of heavy duty foam rubber, and the grotesque (in an adorable sort of way) head of a troll. Beady gold eyes, long pointy ears, a bulbous nose, and a too-wide, too-fleshy mouth. Decked out in royal blue and gold seventeenth-century finery, Murphy, or rather, Tupilo the Troll, was mega-ugly-cute. A glitzy, Venetian version of Yoda.

Lulu had cringed when she’d learned that they were scheduled to appear at the local hospital’s pediatric ward. Apparently the president of the Carnevale had been impressed by a recent article, not that she knew anything about it since she never read the newspaper.

Knowing Murphy had a history with disadvantaged children, and knowing it caused him distress, she worried that he’d have one of those meltdowns when faced with all those sick children, many of whom were terminally ill. As it was, Lulu had had to excuse herself three times to pull it together.
Tupilo
had been the hit of the show, spending equal time with each child, dispersing tickles and hugs.

She still hadn’t quite recovered from the heart-wrenching experience. Two hours later and back in the shuttle, she grabbed Murphy’s oversized, squishy gloved-hand. “That was … You were …”

“Man, it’s hot in here. The fan system choked twenty-minutes ago.” He lifted the oversized troll head, trying to let in some air.

Lulu knocked away his hand so that the top portion of the costume fell back into place effectively shielding his identity. “I’m sorry. Rupert must’ve forgotten to recharge the battery, but you have to stay covered until we get back to the dressing room. If Peterson finds out about this switch we’re all dead meat.”

“Sounds like a real hard-ass.”

“He’s all right. Just strict.”

“He’s a hard-ass,” the rest of the characters chimed.

The shuttle rolled up to the porte cochere. The cast poured out of the shuttle. Forming a protective circle around Murphy, they hustled toward the hotel lobby. If they didn’t move fast, they’d be stopped by patron after patron wanting to rub Tupilo the Troll for luck.

As
bad
luck would have it they weren’t thwarted by patrons, but Peterson. “While you’re here, why don’t you go ahead and do a lobby set.”

“He’s got to be kidding,” Murphy mumbled from under his big-eared, beady-eyed head.

“Hard-ass,” Trixie said.

Lulu shushed them. “Let’s just get this over with.” She squeezed Murphy’s plush arm. “Trixie and I have to move over there to juggle and pass clubs. Jingles and Raven will keep an eye on you. If you feel overwhelmed give the ‘Save Me’ signal.”

“Which is?”

She smiled at the sarcasm in his voice. “Just catch one of the other characters’ attention and tug on your right ear. Not
your
ear, the troll’s ear. Oh, and remember Tupilo doesn’t speak. Just shake hands with people and let them rub you.”

“Rub me
where?”

“Wherever,” she teased. Not that he was in any real danger of being violated. His hunky body was safely shielded under layers of foam and fabric. Good-bye, ripped bodyguard. Hello, fat troll. She snickered. “Makes you think twice about breaking rules, huh?”

Not really,
Murphy thought as he watched Lulu skip off with Trixie. It just made him wonder why in the hell anyone would want to do this for a living. Although he had to admit making those pedi-children squeal with joy had been a definite rush. Every hug had reminded him of the better moments of those humanitarian ops.

Truth be told, aside from the fact that he was sweating his ass off and, because of the design of the troll head, suffering shit peripheral vision, he wasn’t all that miserable. Miserable was trudging through a one hundred and ten degree sand pit weighted down with one hundred and twenty-five pounds of body armor, weapons, and ammunition. In comparison, this was a cakewalk. He replayed the last three jam-packed days and smiled. This was one weird-ass assignment. Then he saw Sam Marlin hovering in a corner staring at Lulu and Trixie, and his mood instantly soured.

He breathed a little easier when Eugene cycled in between the two and started juggling those chickens. Ah, his schtick. Still, Murphy wanted closer proximity to Lulu. He shook hands with patrons, nodded his big ugly head in greeting, while trying to shuffle monster-sized, pointy-toed feet closer to Eugene and the girls. Problem was they were putting on a hell of show and had attracted a large crowd. Murphy accidentally bumped a man hard, and forgetting he wasn’t supposed to speak, mumbled, “Sorry about that, bro.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” was the reply.

The man turned full front.
Bogie.
He was dressed like a stereotypical South Philly boy, though his hair was un-typically long. He had some sort of funky facial hair thing happening, but hallelujah, it was Bogie. Alive and well.

“I knew you were around here somewhere,” he said, “but hell.”

Murphy nudged him toward the fringe of the crowd, careful to keep Lulu in his sights. Worried that their conversation might be overheard, he switched to Italian. Thanks to their dad, Manny, both he and Bogie were fluent. “You look the worse for wear.”

“Look who’s talking.” Bottom lip caught between teeth, he gave Murphy the once over, laughed low. “Man, this is what I call going above and beyond. I don’t even want to know where you hid your piece.”

Trying to look as nonchalant as a big-ass troll could look, Murphy angled his fat head closer to his friend. “Is that sick fuck here?”

“Yeah. He’s on the floor. Got a hot streak going or he’d be over here right now.”

Murphy squelched the urge to confront the bastard. “We need to talk.”

“Not here.”

“We’ve got a problem.”

Bogie cursed, glanced over his shoulder, and then spoke down at the floor. “All right. I’ll come to you.”

“When?”

“Tonight. I’ve gotta go, man.”

Murphy turned his head and saw Sam Marlin inching closer to Lulu and Trixie. He touched Bogie’s arm. “Wait. See that guy? The one with his hands in his pockets?” Murphy rattled a succinct description.

Bogie snorted. “What’s he whacking off over there?”

“Just do me a favor and go put the fear of God into him.”

“Done.”

The show ended and once again Murphy, or rather
Tupilo,
found himself in demand. He endured the sweat rolling down his face, the grabby shakes and rubs of eager patrons, certain he and the gang would be heading back to the dressing room any minute.

He smiled when he saw Bogie conversing with Marlin, smiled wider when Marlin slinked away. But then he shifted and saw Lulu heading for an olive-skinned, dark-haired man standing near a slot machine. Average height. Average weight. Early forties.
Dammit.

“On it.” Bogie breezed past Murphy. “Be cool.”

Wasn’t he always? It was Lulu he was worried about.
“In special instances I have been known to wig out.”
Given her purposeful stride this “instance” qualified.
Freaking-A.

Lulu apologized to Trixie for losing focus and almost clipping her in the nose with a misdirected club as she breezed by, a fake smile plastered on her face. That creepy sensation of being watched had distracted her, jerking her attention to a man in a suit.

The shark.

Fear and anger proved a lethal combination, robbing her of logic and launching her across the floor like a rocket. Confronting a mobster probably wasn’t a bright idea. But hey, they were in a crowded, well lit casino. What was he going to do? Shoot her? If he did he’d be arrested and put in jail—good riddance! All she could think was why the heck should she endure this insanity for another minute if she could end it now? This man had stalked her,
drugged
her! White noise roared in her ears as the red haze thickened.

She gripped her clubs, thinking she could use them as a weapon if absolutely necessary, and pondered the man’s startled expression as she neared. He
was
the right guy, wasn’t he? She ignored the other four thugs surrounding him and narrowed her eyes. “I saw you at the Ditelli party,” she said. “I also saw you night before last at Oz, right?”