The Spia Family Presses On (31 page)

“You look like hell, sweetie,” Lisa said, as I hobbled up to the front door of Cougar’s. A wide grin spread across her perfectly made-up face.

My ass was aching, my shoulder still felt tight, my dress was essentially ruined, my red shoes were now the color of mud, and a fine layer of dirt had totally covered every inch of bare skin. Olive oil was great for dry skin, but not so great if you didn’t wipe off the excess. Everything clung to it, especially dirt.

Despite all of this, I was feeling somewhat optimistic that I could correct all of my cosmetic challenges with a quick stop in the ladies room.

“Yeah, but I found the black Tundra in the parking lot.”

“Get out.”

I nodded. “I parked right next to it.”

“We should call Nick right now and tell him.”

“Not yet,” I said. “I want to look around a little and narrow down the pool of suspects. If we call Nick and he picks up this guy, it’ll throw off our search for the killer. Let’s just see who might be inside.”

She gave me the once over. “But what if Mr. Tundra leaves? Maybe we should go out there right now and watch his truck. Do a little surveillance. I took a course on it a couple summers ago. I know just what to do, how to hide, where to locate your car in front of someone’s house. It’s fun, especially when you catch the bad guy doing something stupid.”

“Trust me. Mr. Tundra won’t be leaving any time soon. He wouldn’t take the chance of pulling that thing out on the road without having some kind of game in mind. I think he’ll stay put for awhile, at least until he does what he came to do.”

“And what might that be?”

“I don’t know, but whatever it is, I hope it doesn’t involve body parts or hand guns.”

“Okay, I won’t call Nick . . . yet, but what’s up with the limp?”

“I sat on something sharp.”

“You need a shot.”

“One won’t be enough. For or five might be better.”

“Not that kind of shot.”

“Oh, you mean like a tetanus shot? That’s no fun. I already had one of those last year when I scratched my arm on a rusty metal rake out in the orchard. I was hoping for a shot of something a bartender might pour, tequila preferably.”

I opened the front door of Cougar’s.

“Maybe this is a bad idea,” Lisa warned. “After the raid on your apartment, and now seeing the Tundra in the parking lot, you seem a little vulnerable.”

I turned to her and pasted on one of my mom’s phony smiles. She didn’t know the half of all that had happened today. “Moi? I’m a rock. All I need is a little soap and water and I’m as good as new.”

“Okay, but no shots.”

“Nothing but sparkling water, babe. We’ve got a killer to catch.”

I washed up in the ladies room as best I could, checked out my ass for a cut, which thankfully there wasn’t one, only a red mark, and popped a pain killer to ease all my body aches. Lisa applied a bit of her makeup to my now squeaky clean face. I re-clipped my hair in a more suitable fashion, brushed off my dress with some damp paper towels, brushed off my shoes, and fifteen minutes later as we made our way to the bar in the middle of the room, I was somewhat presentable, at least in the dark.

The place was noisy, and crowded, just the way I remembered it. The music was too loud, and the room smelled like a mixture of perspiration and booze.

I loved it.

I hadn’t been inside a bar of any kind in over two years, and with good reason. I could feel my resolve flowing out of me as we walked. All I needed was for one more thing to go wrong, and it was all over.

“On second thought, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. My resolve is waning,” I told her.

“We can go if you want, sweetie. We don’t have to stay. I’ll call Nick, tell him about the Tundra and
—
”

That was exactly what I needed to hear. “I’m feeling much better, besides I want to see Leo. I have an apology to make.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you apologize to Leo? Isn’t that game played the other way around?”

“Not this time.”

“I won’t ask, but whatever you need to do just let me know.” She led the way through the thick crowd, toward the glow emanating from the center of the room, which could only be the bar. I’d heard about it, but had never seen it before due to my two-year self-imposed bar restriction. Now, I was anxious to finally get to see it. My ass was better, so the limp was essentially gone and I was feeling a bit spunky as we walked closer to the bar.

On our way, we passed Jimmy yucking it up with Uncle Federico. I immediately thought it was odd that Jimmy would be there considering it was a Friday night and the man had his own bar to run in San Francisco. He never liked to stray too far from his “baby” on the weekends; at least he never did until tonight.

He nodded his recognition. I nodded back. Ships passing, or better still, warships passing in the night.

I wondered if the Tundra belonged to Jimmy, but immediately thought better of it. I mean, why he would he take the chance and drive the Tundra in from the city when he owned a perfectly fine BMW Roadster?

It just didn’t add up.

I was busy arguing with myself when turned to take another look and spotted her standing next to him, holding his hand, whispering something in his ear. Jade, Dickey’s Jade was hanging onto Jimmy, wearing a black, radically short, spandex dress, and strappy four-inch heels, your average borderline hooker attire. She sported long bangs, presumably to cover up that forehead bump. When she finally spotted me she gave me a slow finger wave, Dickey’s engagement ring prominently displayed.

I felt like a deer in the headlights, unable to move. What happened to that frightened girl sneaking home on a tour bus?

Lisa stopped walking and turned to me. “Isn’t that Jade?”

“None other,” I answered.

“What the hell is she doing here, and with Jimmy no less?”

I had a bad feeling about this as my mind raced to come up with some sort of reasonable answer.

“Picking up her car, perhaps?”

Lisa threw me a sarcastic look. “That chick and Jimmy were gaming us, big time.”

“Looks that way, doesn’t it? The girl seems to have a thing for older guys.”

“What happened to that Jay-Jay guy she was rushing home to see?”

“Jay-Jay was Jimmy’s childhood name. I never thought he
—
”

“So who the hell is this chick? And what’s her story? And if she and Dickey were pretending to be engaged, was Jimmy in on it all along? And why didn’t she show up at the freedom party? Was she telling you the truth about Dickey going off without her?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. She seemed genuinely concerned over Dickey’s disappearance, but with this family it’s all about who’s gaming who, and right now I’d say Jade has the upper hand and she’s flaunting it.”

“Let’s go over there and talk to that girl. I have a few hundred questions,” Lisa said. She looked angry and I knew if we confronted Jade now while she was flanked by Jimmy and Federico we wouldn’t get the truth.

I pulled Lisa back. “Let’s hold off for now and I’ll try to get her alone, later.”

We stood there gawking at the loving couple. Jimmy intently listening to everything Federico had to say, while Jade held onto Jimmy’s hand looking bored with the conversation.

“You’re not getting anyone alone later. Wherever you go tonight, I’m right behind you. Especially when it comes to Jimmy. I don’t trust that dude. Besides, Mr. Tundra is lurking around here somewhere. Neither one of us should be alone tonight. Maybe we should hang with my brother. He drove me in.”

I’d guessed right. “Your brother’s here?”

“Yeah, but he’s probably already itching to leave. He gets bored at these things pretty quickly. He never was one for the bar scene.”

“The exact reason why I never dated him. Maybe I ought to reconsider now that I’m sober.”

“Too late. He’s engaged. Spring wedding. I’m a bridesmaid.”

I had no idea. “We really need to keep in touch.”

“The phone works both ways,” Lisa countered.

“I’ll try to remember that when you don’t return my phone calls for weeks at a time.”

She winced. “Guilty, but I was under a deadline and . . . that’s no excuse. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, promise.”

“It’s because of my drinking. I know how much you hated it. But I’m sober now and I intend to stay that way.” I didn’t want to tell her I was tempted every other minute, especially after the day I had and more especially in this place. “Now, where’s that damn bar I’ve heard so much about?”

Lisa giggled. “Follow me.”

She took my hand and she weaved us through the crowd, the glowing colored lights getting more intense as we neared the bar itself. Soon the gyrating horde parted and there in front of us stood my nirvana, the famed square bar at Cougar’s. I swear angels sang and I could hear harps playing. I stood in awe of the miracle that was all things alcohol.

She pulled me forward, saying something about empty seats, but I couldn’t really hear her over the angels’ sweet hymn. . . or it could have been Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody vibrating the room from the surround sound speakers, but at that moment I wasn’t entirely sure.

We settled on our stools at the altar
—
or bar
—
depending on your point of view. Lucky for my sore ass, the stools were thickly padded.

The actual bar was a huge square with some kind of a clear resin top that glowed with colored lights that slowly faded into each other. The center of the square held all the booze in a tiered arrangement with coordinated lighting emanating from the center, like some gigantic mood ring that cycled between calm blue and intense red every few minutes. The ever-so-eager-to-please bartenders, about eight of them, six amazingly sexy looking men and two chic women, were dressed entirely in black, resembling disciples of a religious cult.

It felt as if I was bellied up to a liquor shrine and any moment we would begin praying to the God of all things fermented.

My mind raced. My palms were moist. My heart thrummed against my ribs. This was my nirvana, only I couldn’t partake. That right there had to be some kind of sacrilege. But I was sure the God of fermentation would forgive me if I offered up a sacrifice.

I turned to Lisa. “Don’t mind me. Go ahead and drink till you drop.”

She crinkled her forehead. “Are you all right? You look a little pink.”

“It’s the lighting.”

She tilted her head, narrowed her eyes and stared at me. “Maybe we should go.”

“And leave all this?” I opened my arms wide, embracing the glorious moment. Queen’s Mamma Mia, Mamma Mia reverberated through me.

“You’re scaring me.”

I took hold of my emotions, allowing the song to wash over me and sat up straight, breathing in the smells of all that was sacred. “You’re simply reacting to the intense red colors. Look, we’re blue now.”

And we were. Calm, mellow blue.

She gave me a skeptical look, but then settled on her barstool, while I let out a long slow breath. Of course it was difficult when Queen kept reminding me of murder and mayhem.

Will not let me go . . . for me . . . for me.

I took in another deep breath, but the music just kept pounding its way into my brain.

Then the words nothing really matters ended the song and I was suddenly okay. Better now. Blue helped. Green was also a calming color. I could handle my emotions with green.

Red and gold, not so much.

Abruptly. some repetitive beat blasted its way through the building, no words, no real melody, just a pulsating sound.

But I felt much better, wondering now if Bohemian Rhapsody had merely been something I imagined. I considered asking Lisa if she’d heard it, but then thought she might think I’d gone off the deep end for sure.

Instead, I focused on the edge of the bar, closest to the bartenders. It was lined with those baby martini glasses prepped and ready to be filled with any variety of concoction. A few of them were rimmed with tiny chopped black olives, while Mary’s Pizza Shack served up a bite of pizza on a stick, along with an Asiago cheese stuffed olive. Saddles Steakhouse served up an olive that was coconut battered, stuffed with Jack cheese then deep fried. I knew all this because of the info cards set out in front of the rows of glasses.

Lisa chose a simple cucumber-wrapped olive in her glass.

“Can I see the olive?” I asked.

“Knock yourself out.” She handed me the glass with the speared olive.

At once I knew it was a Picholine olive from France because of the pinched, elongated ends and the brownish-green color flesh.

“This is one of our olives,” I told her. “It’s a mild tasting olive with a slightly nutty taste. When we press it for oil, it has a nice anis finish. A good choice.”

One of the bartenders stopped in front of us. His eyes sparkled and his grin said, I like what I see. “How are you girls tonight?”

I liked that he called us “girls.”