Authors: Flo Fitzpatrick

Hot Stuff (23 page)

BOOK: Hot Stuff

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If Asha showed up, tailing Brig around Bombay might be fun. But Nancy Drew had deserted me. The whole thing now seemed silly.

Which is why the actions I took were even sillier. The darkcolored sedan sat in the spot next to the old Jeep. We'd planned to hide in the sedan until Brig brought back the convertible, then tail him once he set out in the Jeep. I had no key. Asha did. And since, unlike certain Irishmen or Jersey girls I could name, I had no skills in picking locks or hot-wiring cars, I had no way to get into the sedan and start her up.

Instead of waiting in the dark for Brig to leave, instead of waiting in the limo for Asha to show and tell her that Brig left already, I waited until Brig stooped to pick up the keys he'd dropped on the floor of the garage. Then I executed a high hurdle right into the back seat of the Jeep and hid as far under the seat as my body allowed.

Within seconds, Brig was in the driver's seat. I heard the key turn and the radio turn on. We backed out of the garage, then wheeled onto the dirt lot that ran beside it. The bumpy, rocky, pitted dirt lot. My rear end screamed, “Ooch, ouch, owie, ow!” but I kept my mouth shut.

We reached the paved road after what seemed like hours. By that time, my bruises had bruises. I made a silent memo to myself to bribe Reena for a costume that would have enough material to cover purple elbows and knees. Thankfully, my rear end wouldn't be seen.

We were now gliding down the open road. The two of us. Briggan O'Brien, the man preparing to sell a cursed statue, and Tempe Walsh, half of the new girl detective team known only as Kumar and Walsh. Tempe Walsh, stowaway.

Chapter 30

The radio blasted out disco tunes from the seventies sung by Hindu vocalists. The night air felt cool for India in August. It would have been a nice night for a drive, if one were indeed driving and not cowering under a seat.

“Are you planning on staying there all night getting cramped or would you prefer the passenger seat next to me?”

“Oh crap.”

“Hello to you too, darlin'. Come on up, Tempe. It can't be a comfortable position you're in. And for the life of me, I don't know why you're in it.”

I crawled over the passenger seat's back and sank down into the seat itself. If Brig had stopped the Jeep, I would have thrown myself out the door. Humiliation. Embarrassment. Mortification. Stupidity. Waves of them all flowed over me.

“Hi, Brig. Um. I guess I need to explain, don't I?”

“Pretty much. It's rude not to, you know.”

“Yes. Well.”

I related the convoluted and twisted steps Asha and I had taken to reach our conclusion that Brig planned to sell Shiva's Diva this night. Steps that now made about as much sense as my hiding in the Jeep. Brig stayed silent even after I finished.

I opened my mouth again and said, “You can just drop me at the nearest rail station. If there is one. I'll catch a train and a cab back to the Vivek lot.”

He shook his head. “You are so quick to jump to conclusions. I've no intention of dumping you at some filthy train depot at this time of night. What kind of rotten fiendish lout do you take me for? And what makes you think I don't want your beautiful face sitting beside me on this fine evening?”

“Because Asha and I were nuts to think you'd be joyriding around Bombay and parts north to retrieve Shiva's Diva and sell her tonight.”

“Well, you're both right and wrong on that little assumption, luv. And not terribly brilliant about your execution of that assumption.”

“What do you mean?”

“I
am
on my way to rescue the Diva. You and Asha got that right. I don't want the statue sitting in one place longer than a day, what with the various bloodhounds sniffing about for her.” He glanced at me and smiled. “Including two snoopy females who should know better.”

“Oops.”

“It's all right. I know Asha. She gets a thought stuck in her head and the devil's own brigade can't budge her. And you're still thinking this is some grand adventure instead of the deadly game it is. So you're letting Asha talk you into playing Charlie's Angels. Badly, I might add. I knew you were in the Jeep long before I ever got in.”

“Oh.”

I seemed incapable of uttering anything but one-syllable exclamations. Or prepositions. Or whatever “oops” and “oh” constituted since I didn't remember those words covered in Linguistics 101.

Red faced, I looked up at Brig's profile. He focused his concentration toward getting past two huge trucks that were hogging two full lanes and driving at speeds under twenty miles per hour. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something. So I did.

“Um. How did you know I was in here?”

“Your scent. I know that scent. It's a heady scent, Tempe Walsh, far stronger than any Paris perfume. It's filled my senses for the last week. And I'm not referring to any musk left over from Jake's maid's quarters.”

“Oh.”

I was back to a one-syllable word but with a different meaning this time. I settled back in the passenger seat and took a deep breath. He didn't sound angry. Amused, yes, but not angry.

“Brig? Where were youânow weâgoing? Where did you stash the statue?”

“Mahalaxmi Racetrack.”

I stared at him. “Wait. I know that name. I read about it in my guidebook. It sounded like a fun place to see. But I thought it closed summers and was only open for the winter season. You hid the statue there? Where? I mean, the in-plain-sight thing worked at Jake's with all his little statuettes and idols and dust collectors, but at a racetrack? Even if they have trophies, I don't imagine they have Hindu gods and goddesses resting in the case.”

“As to the first question, yes. And no. The track is closed until November. Which is perfect. No tourists, no business tycoons or die-hard gamblers swarming around. No one except groundskeepers and a few hosts to show the tourists around. And I didn't hide it in an awards case.”

“No?”

He patted my hand. “You'll see.”

“As long as it's not resting under a bundle of hay filled with horse, uh, hosties.” I thought about that. “No. I can't see you stashing our beloved goddess in a nasty place.”

“No horse stalls.” He inclined his head as he continued to weave in and out of what had now turned into traffic on the order of commuter hell in any big city.

I glanced at Brig. “Do you mind if I ask why, if you planned on moving the Diva tonight, you didn't just hide her better the first time after the sex-toy guy brought her back? Oh hell. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that to sound as snotty as it came out. I just meant, uh . . .”

“I know what you meant. Why not just find a place to conceal the goddess that's a mite more permanent? So I don't have to keep running all over the city hiding, then out of the city, rehiding. If that's a word.”

“I'll look it up sometime. So?”

“Simple really. I didn't want to alarm any of our gallant band of Shiva retrieversâthat's you, Asha, and Jakeâbut last night someone followed me from about midway across Bombay all the way out to the trailers on the lot.”

“Oh, terrific. Could you tell which one of our dogs sniffed out your trail? I assume it was one of the three. Please don't tell me we've managed to attract a fourth. Or maybe Khan has reentered the hunt?”

He nodded. “No, no. It's still one of the Terrible Trio. I can't be absolutely certain, but I'd say it was Mahindra. Whoever it was had hired a cab. Mahindra's smart enough to do that, knowing I wouldn't be able to see who was in it.”

“Do you think he tailed you to the racetrack?”

“Honestly? No. I did a stupid thing, though. After I stashed the Diva at Mahalaxmi, I headed into Bombay for a stop at Claire's. The lady you met earlier this week at the restaurant, remember?”

My heart took a dive deeper than the statues resting in the lakes and bays of Bombay. Claire. Well. How honest of him to tell me he'd seen her. But the fact that he'd visited her first, then headed over to my trailer to do what we'd done all night?

Every thought and feeling I had was leading me back to another one-syllable four-letter word. An extremely unprintable one ladies aren't supposed to use. I substituted “ouch” in my own mind instead.

I tried to focus on Brig's actual words and eagerly honed in on the mention of “pot of tea.” That sounded pretty innocent.

“So, you think he followed you from Claire's? Right? Um. Where does she live?”

“This isn't a permanent residence for her. She doesn't live in Bombay. I drove to her hotel.”

Double ouch. A hotel. Around midnight? The hour for romance. I had to stop thinking this way.

“Um. Where is she from? The permanent home, I mean.”

He didn't answer. Instead he pointed just ahead of us around a curve. “Mahalaxmi Racetrack.”

I squinted into the darkness until I caught a decent glimpse of well-kept grounds and a luxurious clubhouse. Row after row of trees I couldn't even name (other than palm or banyan) bordered the entrance to the parking area.

“Oh, Brig! This is nice. I'm not a betting person, but I love watching the Derby races on TV, and I visited Hot Springs, Arkansas, one time during a college break. Just seeing the horses that close while they're running is a thrill. Gorgeous creatures. I wish the track was open.”

Brig smiled. “Did you bet at all? Down at Hot Springs?”

“Three dollars on the daily double. I lost. So much for the career of a budding gambler.”

I peered out into the night at the track. Quiet. Dark. Peaceful. A total switch from our usual nightspots.

“Hey! We passed the parking area. Where you going?”

He pointed to another building about a quarter mile away from the road. “There.”

“Is that part of the track? Stables or something? Doesn't look big enough. Wait. Is it a clubhouse?”

“Tempe, um, don't get mad now. First, let me explain that when I got back this evening, I
did
go to your trailer to tell you I'd be off to retrieve our Diva. I wanted to ask you to be patient and not to come with me. For damn good reasons, darlin'.”

“Uh oh. I don't like the sound of this.”

“You won't like the rest either. It gets worse. Last night I hid Shiva's Diva in a new club for gentlemen. Brand-new. I heard about it from one of the dancers on
Carnival of Lust
while we were balancing on our heads.”

“Is this another ladies club? Faux strip joint?”

He nodded. “Not so faux. It's sort of theme based on the Masala movies. Posters of various films all over the place, music from the soundtracks as well.”

I brightened. “That doesn't sound too bad. You know me and movies. What's the name of the club?”

“Acchaa Nasal Garam Cheez
. And I'm no expert in Hindi, but loosely translated I believe it means âHot Things Thoroughbreds. ' Or more simply, âHot Mares.' ”

“Well, that makes sense around the racetrack.”

“Tempe. Now listen to me. You do not want to go in there. I promise you. Which creates a bit of a problem.”

“Why? It sounds kind of fun. For a strip joint I mean. Like a fan club for film buffs and horse lovers.”

“You're thinking of C.C. Curry's. Women in saris wriggling and not really doing much else. This place is about four steps removed. Just like their clothing. Think New York. Eighth Avenue. The old Forty-Second Street hangouts. Before it got Disneyfied a few years back.”

“Oh. We're talkin' down to the skivvies then?”

Brig laughed. “You might say so. Skivvied and then some.”

“Well, maybe I'd just better hang out by the Jeep. Do my nails. Keep the radio on and sing âMacArthur Park' along with Donna Summer's Hindu duplicate in Bombay.”

Brig assumed his brogue. That meant trouble coming.

“We'el, that's where that problem comes in. From my understandin' of it, you see, some of the, er, clientele here like to take the girls out and do a bit more than just look. I might have to be sluggin' a few faces who thought you had a âFor Sale' sign on you just because you're outside hangin' by a car.”

“Ah. In that case, I'll go in with you. Hang tight to your manly coattails and we can make it quite clear that I'm already sold. So to speak. Will that work?”

He smiled. “Perhaps. And I would feel better with you by my side. I always do. I might also be sayin' you're by far the grittiest lass I believe I've ever had the pleasure of knowin' all my thirty years on this earth.”

I beamed. It might not be the most romantic declaration of love, but I felt warm all over and not just from the summer night.

I leapt out of the Jeep. “Lead on, O'Brien.”

BOOK: Hot Stuff

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