Authors: Flo Fitzpatrick
Hot Stuff (28 page)
I'm ashamed to admit I wondered, for only a brief second, if Brig would bother to show up at Hot Harry's at midnight. Then I remembered two nights spent in his arms. Earthshaking, back-clawing, sweat-soaking nights.
Mahindra put his hand on my elbow. I shrugged it off, but he entwined his fingers through mine as he steered me toward the exit doors of the Yacht Club, waving greetings to one and all. After the initial disgust of feeling his touch, I barely noticed. I thought of those nights with Brig and I knew. My rescue was already in motion.
Chapter 37
Symmetry. That's what Mahindra had called it. But when I found myself seated at the same table where I'd watched bullets whizzing by and felt the force of one remove an earring, I had a few other words I could've used for Mahindra's choice of venues. All of them were words that would have caused my paternal grandmother to grab the nearest bar of soap and rinse out daughter Tempe's mouth. I shudder.
I touched the new earrings Brig had bought for me. I hadn't taken them off except to sleep or to bathe. I tilted my chin in defiance of the situation. Brig would be here. He would save me.
The tables at Hot Harry's had been turned back to upright positions. Chairs had been neatly placed at those tables. Glass had been swept away and the odor of booze had been replaced with scents of spicy incense. I did spot a candy wrapper on the floor but charitably concluded Hot Harry himself might have dropped it. If indeed Harry existed.
The saloon wasn't exactly back in business, but the cleanup seemed to be in the last stages of completion before Harry started welcoming paying customers again. I squinted. The sail from my earring lay under the table where I'd sat with the Ray Decore less than a week ago.
Mahindra and I had arrived at the saloon at 11:45 P.M. Time enough for Kirk's boys to check all exits, entrances, and storerooms in case Brig and a contingent of gun-toting Irishmen waited to liberate me and make off with the statue. Leaving Mahindra without his prize once again.
Mahindra even remembered the trapdoor leading to the cellar. He probably still felt the bruises on his butt caused when Brig had flung that door open and toppled him.
Reports from all business associates indicated that no one matching Brig's description crouched behind the bar, hid inside a barrel, lit up a chandelier, or clung to the underside of a table like a tick to a dog.
Mahindra sat in the chair where Ray had been sitting only a week ago. No pineapple sodas or bourbon-filled drinks were on the table tonight. There was no hooded Strider in the corner. No Strider anywhere in sight.
Midnight. Nothing. No big, handsome Irish pirate came breezing through the saloon door holding a statue and screaming, “Unhand my woman, you fiend!” Or even a succinct, sweet, “Tempe,
tar
!” (Come.)
tar
!” (Come.)
Twelve-thirty. Mahindra began pacing and caressing the gun he'd taken out of his coat pocket. I have no idea what the gun laws are in Bombay, but Mahindra did not seem concerned that he carried a concealed weapon on him the way most men carry a wallet.
One o'clock. Kirk Mahindra's patience dried up. And my hopes and time were pretty much in the trash. I began to imagine something that might explain why Brig O' Brien had failed to show at the appointed time.
Scenario number one. Seymour Patel had been released from jail (bail by Mommy?) and had been waiting for Brig on the ground when he'd slithered down the wall of the Sea Harbor Hotel. Patel had slit Brig's throat and grabbed the Diva.
No. Not realistic. Patel doubtless remained in the pokey making friends with large, bisexual gentlemen as ugly as his mother. Gentlemen who admired him, if you get my drift.
Number two. Brig had managed to get the Diva to whomever he'd intended selling her to all along. He was now working on getting a credit return. “Look, I'll give you this bloody marvelous horse trophy instead. And really, you believe Saraswati will bless you? Ha! Imagine that grace tripled. A woman's life for the statue. A life belonging to my love, a lass as fair as the mist rising above the moor on a moonlit night.”
In that scene, Brig was still trying to wrest or charm the statue away from this anonymous buyer. He'd lost his watch and didn't know midnight had come and gone. Simple. Not great, but easy to understand.
Number three. Brig had decided that the fling with the American babe he'd met in a darkened storeroom had been a grand thing, to be sure, but not worth the price of ivory. So he'd snuck out of the hotel, Diva in hand, then boarded Flight 703 to everyone's favorite spotâPago Pago. With Claire or Asha or that little dancer who'd been winking at him all week from the bottom of the roller coaster.
Number four. I never got to number four. Mahindra stared at me and I knew he could see my thoughts. Every damn one of them. He probably even knew the flight number to Pago Pago and the name of the dancer.
Mahindra took a deep breath. It did not calm him down. He began screaming curses at Brig, Brig's mother, Brig's father (who apparently had not married Brig's mother according to the translation I gleaned), Brig's ancestors and, if he had one, Brig's dog. I caught Hindi versions of snake and altar, followed by fire. Those words spoken in the same phrase worried me.
He finally reverted to English and lowered his volume to announce, “Enough! We have waited an hour for this scoundrel to uphold his end of this ghastly transaction.”
Not good. Exit honored guest, babe of my heart, and future mama of Mahindras. Enter ghastly transaction. Bottom end of a deal gone bad.
“Tempe. I am truly sorry. You are a delightful, beautiful, young lady and I had great hopes for us. I foresaw a long future together with the blessings of the goddess. But I cannot break my word. Ever. I can promise you, however, the method of death will be painless.”
He couldn't be serious. Even Mahindra had to think twice before killing me. So he had buddies on the Bombay police force. He needed to understand that Americans don't take kindly to having one of their citizens, especially an innocent female tourist type, being (a) shot, (b) stabbed, or (c) poisoned, then left to rot in the corner of a dive like Hot Harry's Saloon.
Ray's death had made the national news of India. Ray's friend headed up a very prestigious law firm. A law firm that doubtless had half of NYPD and Interpol already checking into Ray's murder. No matter how low I might be on the ladder of Tucker, Harrison and Deville, Esquires, nonetheless, my toes did cling to a rung or two.
I tried to explain this to Mahindra. He didn't care. The curse of the Diva had overtaken him in at least one way. His ability to understand clear communication with another human being had diminished. He waved away my words about my job and my boss and the swarms of angry New York cops who would stomp him into the ground once they discovered darling Tempe Walsh hadn't made it back to Manhattan.
Mahindra lifted his gun. I shut up.
He sighed. “I am what you Americans call a crack shot. If you stay still, Miss Walsh, the bullet will enter your skull correctly and you will feel only a twinge. Again, this saddens me to end our relationship.”
How he'd reckoned the “only a twinge” bit eluded me. Maybe he'd met his fate the same way in a previous incarnation? It didn't matter. Twinge or no, I was not going gently, quietly, or with a damn brass band into this night.
I tipped my chair back and fell to the floor. I slammed the bottle Mahindra had been so unwise as to leave on the table across the sandaled foot of a goon hovering nearby.
In the middle of getting to my own feet, I heard a noise. I looked up at what had once been a door leading to the roof of Hot Harry's and was treated to the spectacular view of Briggan O'Brien crashing through, screaming Gaelic curses at the top of those magnificent lungs.
He landed directly on top of Mr. Fat Goon (the one I'd imagined wearing my cute outfit with the conch belt). The goon shouted as Brig hit him in the mouth with a tote bag.
Brig turned to me with, “Tempe, lass, how are you?”
“I'm okay. Nice entrance, by the way. You must show Jake. He could use it in the sequence in the ringmaster's den. You know, where Asha has to swing from the chandelier?”
“Ah. Good. I was hopin' to impress you.”
“Well, you did. By the way, what's in the bag you thwapped villain number one with?”
“That would be the entire lot of the sex toys our friendly vendor delivered with the Diva.”
“Hmmm. Smart idea.”
“Ready to go?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“
Tar
, lass!”
Tar
, lass!”
Mind you, we hadn't been conducting this reunion on the floor while sipping tea. As soon as Brig landed on Fat Ugly Goon, I began looking for a way to elude Mahindra and his gun. Fortunately, Kirk had remained a bit stunned after witnessing Brig's swashbuckling entrance. So, I stayed on the floor, grabbed the nearest chair by its legs, then thwacked Kirk's elbow from my position underneath. I hit his funny bone right where it hurts the worst. He dropped the gun.
Brig ran to me, bestowed a quick kiss on my lips, then the pair of us turned to see who was doing what. A skinny hooligan, who looked like Stan Laurel to Fat Ugly Goon's Oliver Hardy, fired his gun in the air, then aimed it at Brig. Brig knocked it out of his hand using a swift chop on the wrist, then he punched “Stan” in the nose and turned to see who was the next idiot with a weapon.
That would be Fat Ugly Goon again. He raised his knife and threw it inches from my feet, then smiled at me. Great. Guns had been fired. Knives had been thrown. Hot Harry's had sparkled again with blazing bullets and flashing blades. I reached up to see if the earrings Brig had given me were still in place and unharmed. They were.
Brig yelled, “
Ais
!” (Back.) We were of one accord. Time to leave before Mahindra and company recovered.
Ais
!” (Back.) We were of one accord. Time to leave before Mahindra and company recovered.
Symmetry. It had worked last week, so I vaulted over the counter again, grabbed the top of the chandelier, swung out, and ended up in the storeroom.
This time Brig swung in right beside me. We looked at the barrels that had been broken and strewn around the floor. Not a single barrel remained intact, and we saw nothing we could stand on to help us through that window leading to the alley.
We heard a war cry that chilled my blood, then the sound of glass shattering. I had a feeling Miss April had not survived this current destruction of the bar counter. Mahindra screamed, “Give me the statue and I will let you live!”
Brig began tossing broken barrels in front of the door to the storeroom. Someone, probably Mahindra, was now kicking that door. Since it was made of steel, that wasn't going to help, but I felt sure a few bullets in the keyhole would solve the problem of unlocking it.
That back exit opened. We were trapped. Mahindra had doubtless figured out that he could bust in via the curtain behind the bar counter. And I fully expected at least two of Mahindra's brute suits to be standing in that back door with guns, knives, or forks. I shut my eyes, preferring not to know which weapon or utensil would hit me first.
“Yo! Tempe! Good to see you, girl. We missed you at the shoot after tea.”
I opened my eyes. Asha Kumar stood in the doorway. Under her feet squirmed a male last seen this evening in the company of Kirk Mahindra. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be napping. I looked back at Asha. In her right hand she held a familiar-looking gold object. A trophy engraved with one wordâ“Miscommunication.”
Chapter 38
“Asha! Watch out!”
The thug at Asha's feet reached for her ankle. She thwacked him again with the trophy, then nudged him with her foot. He twitched once, then wisely quit moving. Asha grinned at me. I grinned back.
I felt arms surround me and turned to bury my face into Brig's broad chest. We clung to each other until a bullet whizzed over my head. Mahindra had discovered the curtain.
Brig released me, then grabbed my hand. “Time to go. We'll be havin' a fine reunion later. If we live.”
We landed in the alley where Brig and I had exchanged names a week ago. This time none of us stopped for pleasantries. Asha took off at a nice clip. Brig and I ran after her toward a familiar vehicle. The Jeep.
“Jake! Bless you, man!”
“Tempe. I'm so glad you are unharmed. We were very worried when Brig called us to say Mahindra had taken you. And right in front of your trailer. I'm so sorry. I thought you were better protected at the studio lots.”
I quickly hugged the worried director. Brig interrupted any further discussion. “Asha? Take the wheel, will you? I have to attend to my woman. I haven't seen her all day.”
He kissed me thoroughly, then softly whispered, “I thought I'd lost you, lass. And that I couldn't bear. The damn statue is priceless, but you, my love, are irreplaceable.”
“Briggan O'Brien, I would gladly go back into the fray just to hear those words from you again.” I kissed him again, then we held each other tightly and wordlessly.
Asha and Jake had wisely refrained from commenting on the action in the back seat. I don't think their silence had been intended as polite noninterference. It was drive-for-your-life time while maintaining focus. Asha dodged, weaved, and knocked down stalls all to get clear of the area near Hot Harry's. Jake watched his sweet beloved drive with a look of horror on his face.
Brig lifted a fold of the now-torn sage green sari and stroked the material. “Cute outfit, luv.”
I patted the shreds of the garment that clung to my chest. “Airy” accurately summed up the fashion statement.
“What? This old thing? Latest in victim fashions. Mahindra seemed determined I would not join the murdered Mr. Decore this evening in the cutoffs and halter top Reena squeezed me into earlier. A bit risqué for the Yacht Club and all. No offense to your costumer, Jake.”
Jake nodded. “None taken. Anyway, I do believe I've heard somewhere it's considered bad karma to die in a costume from a Masala film set.”
Brig ignored this exchange. His mouth set in a thin line. “Yacht Club. Kirk Mahindra took you to the Yacht Club? Dressed in that?”
“He did indeed. Wanted to impress his captive with the food there. I'm sure it's tasty, though I don't remember much of it. I kept wondering if any of the government nabobs I met would have cared to know they were talking to a girl who was in the throes of a kidnapping.”
Brig shook his head. “Corrupt maggots. Every one of them. At least if they were on first-name basis with that heathen scum Kirkee.”
He drew me toward him again and held me. I did not resist. His voice grew soft. “Damn, Tempe. I truly panicked when Mahindra's boy pounced on me after my little stay at the police station this afternoon and told me he'd nabbed you. I should have wrung his sorry neck on the spot. It's all my fault for leaving you alone.”
I beamed at him and said, “Brig. Listen. Neither of us knew Mahindra was poking from the pockets of the police. Or vice versa. Whatever. Or that he'd arrange for you to get arrested for Ray's murder. And I hadn't been alone all day till I went for the bathroom break. I should have stayed on the lot instead of going over to my trailer.”
I touched a bruise over Brig's right eye. “Mahindra's pals or your fellow inmates at the jail?”
“The former. The lads at the pokey were a decent lot. Seemed quite intrigued to have the Irish mug in with them. I regaled them with tales of banshees and wee folk and pots of gold under rainbows. I believe I may have promised more than a few I'd be mailin' a leprechaun to Bombay the next time one of the little blighters jumped into my knapsack.”
I might have known Brig would have every felon in the jail inviting him to come visit should he, or they, get out anytime soon. He'd probably made good use of his day by taking the names and addresses of every black marketeering fence in India and jotting them in a little black book.
I said as much. He grinned.
“Handheld electronic black book. I may not like the wireless phones, but the palm-size are very nice for addresses plus playing games on long flights. I hate flying. Too boring and no chance to do anything physical.”
I snuggled against his chest. My relief about escaping from Mahindra and his minions was so great I didn't even flinch when Asha hit a police van parked on the side of the road. Fortunately, the cop was too busy stopping a brawl in front of a bar to notice the speeding Jeep or the fact that his vehicle just lost a side mirror.
“Asha? Where are we going? And excuse me, but has anyone noticed that Mahindra is about two cars behind us in his limo? He must be upset. He's actually doing the driving instead of Mr. Perfect Chauffeur. Damn. He got to his car really fast.”
Brig answered me. “I noticed. Mahindra and two others were out the front door the minute you and I hit the storeroom. He didn't know I'd restaged Robin Hood saving Maid Marian with the help of Little John and Friar Tuck here, but I'm damn sure he knew there'd be a car involved.”
Asha turned and stuck her tongue out at Brig. “Friar Tuck? Huh? Just who you calling Friar Tuck?”
“Hush, Asha! It was figurative for the rescue of my lovely Maid Marian here.”
“Humph. Well, the good monkette is about to lose the bad Sheriff back in the forest. Fasten your caps, chaps. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.”
“Thank you, Margo Channing,” I said.
Brig grinned. “This is good. Asha will lose the bloody fiend up around the Churchgate Rail Station. She's a much faster driver. And Kirk's not used to taking the wheel himself. Probably hasn't driven in twenty years. Look. He's already dropped back by another five cars.”
Asha again turned and wrinkled her nose at me. I quickly told her to keep that nose and her eyes aimed at the road.
She sighed, “You asked where we were headed. I'm telling you. We're going back to the studio lot.”
I almost jumped out of the Jeep. “You're not serious! Hell, Mahindra knows those lots better than I do. He's managed to get in and out of there and knock on the door of every trailer I've been in for the last three days. He's been on the lot more times than Raj Ravi this week!”
Brig reached for me again and pulled me back against his chest. “It's fine. Believe me. Kirk will assume we'll be heading for Jake's or Asha's place. And there's a score of actors staying on the lot tonight plus security guards. Mahindra will find it difficult to get through now, if he even wants to make the attempt. He may figure I ditched the statue since I showed up determined to make the rescue instead of the exchange.”
“That reminds me. Where is the Diva? I assume you never had time to make a delivery this afternoon.”
Brig reached down on the floor of the back seat. He pulled out a spanking new tote bag advertising the film to be released this spring by Jake Roshan, starring Asha Kumar and Raj Ravi.
Carnival of Lust
. The silk-screened print on the front showed a nearly unclad Asha crooning to a couple of snakes. Behind her, atop an elephant, perched Raj Ravi. A cast of dancers posed by a fountain. I squinted. In the background stood a Ferris wheel. On the top of the wheel, a redheaded girl balanced on her head. Me.
Carnival of Lust
. The silk-screened print on the front showed a nearly unclad Asha crooning to a couple of snakes. Behind her, atop an elephant, perched Raj Ravi. A cast of dancers posed by a fountain. I squinted. In the background stood a Ferris wheel. On the top of the wheel, a redheaded girl balanced on her head. Me.
“Cool! I can't believe you got this picture so fast! Wow. I'm on a tote bag! My mother will love this. She'll order at least a hundred for Christmas presents.”
Laughter burst from all three of the other occupants.
“What? You don't believe me? Quit laughing. I'm serious. She will. She's spent her whole life upset I didn't become a Broadway star. This is the closest I'll get. She'll be thrilled. My father'll have a fit, but it's time he knew who I really am and what I
really
want.”
really
want.”
Brig hugged me. “Are you ever going to tell your mother what's inside that promo tote bag right now?”
“Shiva's Diva? The goddess who nearly cost her baby's life?” I smiled. “I may give that one some thought. Mom still has every strand of her gorgeous auburn hair. I don't want it to turn gray all at once.”
Brig smiled. “So this is what I get to look forward to, is it? A howling, back-clawing, sweatyâoops, sorryâ
glowing
red-haired vixen causing trouble even when she's a senior citizen?”
glowing
red-haired vixen causing trouble even when she's a senior citizen?”
I couldn't speak. Briggan O'Brien had just made a statement that very strongly implied a future together. With me. A long future. The women on both sides of my family don't turn gray until they're in their nineties.
When I felt sure I could use my vocal chords without heading up a full octave, I croaked, “Did you just say look forward to? With me? Is that what you said?”
He didn't get a chance to answer.
Brig sank. His blood soaked the seat. Everywhere.
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