Think Before You Speak (19 page)

“Have we reverted back to carrier pigeons
instead of texts now?” I asked.

“There’s the Victoria I know and love.”

I groaned and sat up, sleep drifting far into
the lusty recesses of my mind – until I remembered that bedroom
furniture meant a higher probability of breaking it in sooner
rather than later with a certain radio personality. This time I was
talking reality instead of fantasy.

“When will it arrive?” I asked more fully
awake.

“It’s coming freight, so I’m anticipating
seeing it no later than Thursday,” Reggie promised. “If everything
is in order, we could make final set-up for Friday or Saturday if
that works for you.”

“Just in time for Sunday.”

“What is Sunday?”

Did I say that out loud? “Uh…so I can watch
preseason football in bed.”

A low chuckle then Reggie reverted to his
manly voice sans the false accent. “The Cowboys preseason home
opener is next Sunday. Why aren’t you
going
?”

“Hey, I’m impressed you know that.”

“Another one of my many secrets.”

“It just so happens I may be going, but
that’s not important right now.” I really didn’t want to think
anymore about what might have been last night. There was also the
fact that I had to wait a whole freaking week to try again.

His voice lost the playfulness. “Listen, I’m
sorry about the early morning call, but I wanted to talk to you
before any of the staff showed up. Have you discovered anything on
your end?”

Besides virtually nothing? I dragged my sorry
carcass from the mattress with a sigh and stumbled to the kitchen
to start a pot of coffee. Tracking down a blackmailer proved to be
a hell of a lot harder than what I’d gone through to discover a
murderer – well, except for the whole almost-getting-killed thing.
“First off, I should probably tell you that I brought my best
friend in on this to help me.”

“Janine De’Laruse?” His voice returned to the
rafters. “Are you crazy?”

“Hey,” I retorted. “Janine wouldn’t betray a
flea to a can of Raid. Besides, I didn’t exactly tell her who I was
helping.”

However, I sure as hell wasn’t going to
explain that I probably gave her just enough information for a
woman of her intelligence to figure it out faster than she could
choose a dress for Sunday services. But Janine could be discreet
when she tried. Sort of. Maybe. At least as long as her mother
didn’t get ahold of her with
the look
.

“But that doesn’t change the fact she’s still
a De’Laruse,” Reggie argued.

“Exactly,” I said, dumping two heaping
spoonfuls of sugar into a mug. “She’s involved in the elitist of
the elite circles. All I asked her to do is listen in on the local
chatter about anything to do with money and blackmail.”

“That covers pretty much everyone in
that
particular class of the population.”

Ouch! But I had to give Reggie that one,
especially when calculating in my own emotional blackmail of the
sperm donor after discovering his phallic photographic
portfolio.

Ew. Not something I wanted to contemplate at
this too-early hour.

Then there was also Janine’s arm-twisting to
get me to help her with Bobby’s church fundraiser Sunday morning.
Hmm. I guess when it came to
that
particular class,
blackmail could come in many forms.

“Don’t worry about Janine,” I reassured, then
took a sip of soothing and caffeinated nectar.

“If only.”

“On another note, I had a run-in with
Lorraine Padget down at the post office. Seems she was returning
some pillows.”

“Padget…” Reggie mused aloud. “Oh yes, the
Summers account. She’s his new buyer or something.”

“Fiancé,” I corrected.

I pictured the hinges of his jaw swinging
loose in shock and surprise as the dead silence dragged on for all
of ten seconds. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Now that they’ve set a date, it seems
Mr. Summers has opened up his pocketbook.”

“Curious pairing,” Reggie said. “Isn’t he
like a hundred?”

“From what I’ve heard, he’s younger than he
appears. Probably somewhere closer to seventy when you factor in
all those years of smoking.”

“That’s still a huge age gap.”

“But not unheard of in today’s meat market.
And when you add money to the mix, you can attract all sorts of
flies.”

Flies like former beauty queens fluttering
around a piece of sausage left out in the sun too long. Or in
Lorraine’s case it was the has-been beauty queen
looking
like an overstuffed sausage casing. Okay, maybe that was a little
mean.

Nah.

“Mr. Summers is an old-school oilman,” Reggie
said. “Which means he’s looking to cash in on something. If it’s
not love, what do you think he’s getting in return for his
investment?”

Reality said a man only opened his wallet
after getting one thing, but I still had a difficult time imagining
those two tangled in the throes of intimacy. If I couldn’t imagine
it, how could I speak it aloud?

“Well,” I offered, “the coffers were opened
probably shortly after she opened her legs.”

There. I’d said it. Couldn’t take it back.
But now I felt like I had breath like Slinky after a thorough butt
licking. I needed something to wash away the taste. Oreos for
breakfast coming right up.

Reggie chuckled. Then he descended into a
downright belly laugh that soon subsided into a sigh. “Returning to
my conundrum, the money was in the post office box when I checked
it last night.”

That little informational tidbit could’ve
dropped Lorraine to second place on my short list – if I didn’t
know her better. Just because she hadn’t picked up the cash
yesterday didn’t mean she hadn’t intended to, which kept her firmly
entrenched in the number one suspect category.

With Lorraine’s devious personality and
temperament – emphasis on the temper – it’d be like her to use
blackmail to get what she wanted. Might go a long way in explaining
her relationship with Mr. Summers too. Since Janine and I had
interrupted her gone-postal moment, she’d need another excuse to
return to the post office. In the meantime, there was still one
person I’d yet to approach.

“There’s still Switch,” I said around cookie
crumbs.

Reggie went all silent on me again. I could
almost hear his knees knocking before he finally spoke up. “In all
likelihood, he’s dead.”

“My sources say he’s still alive.”

The other end of the line quieted. A couple
of bites later, Reggie responded. “Are these
sources
reliable?”

“This particular one is,” I assured. “I even
have a phone number.”

Another hesitation. “Have you called it?”

“Not yet, but it’s on my list of things to do
today.”

“On second thought, Victoria,” Reggie
whispered. “Don’t.”

***

Following commands, demands, and orders isn’t
one of my strong suits. I’d have made one lousy excuse as a member
of the military. With that foot-in-mouth disease plaguing me into
adulthood, I’d have been court-martialed on the first day of boot
camp after complaining about the uniform. Olive drab does nothing
for me, not to mention those hideous and clunky boots.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m a big supporter of
the military and good ol’ American might. I’d be first in line to
welcome our boys home from overseas – pucker up boys and let me lay
it on you. It’s just those early morning bugle calls, bad food,
being told what to do, when to do it, and where to go would not
only have my superiors constantly dishing it out but me shoveling
it right back at ‘em. Knowing my luck, I’d be stationed somewhere
like the Sahara where I’d be certain to shrivel up and die from
heat stroke.

Did I also mention the uniform? Yeah,
definitely not my style. I’m more the one to help some hunky Marine
out
of uniform instead of dressing
in
one.

Which returned thoughts to what I wanted to
do to Radioman. Which made me think of my conversation with Reggie.
Which brought me back to Switch.

Like Reggie, I was a bit nervous about
contacting the aging head of a tough gang to question him about who
might or might not be involved in some blackmail scheme. Hey, it
wasn’t like calling up your best friend and asking for a lunch
date. It wasn’t even close to calling an attorney to get you out of
a jam. Or your accountant. Or an old sleeping companion to make
sure he knew it was over between you.

Which reminded me, I really needed to call
Nick to make sure he knew it was time we moved on from – well,
whatever we’d had.

Okay, so I wasn’t necessarily a
little
nervous about setting up the meeting – I was
a lot
nervous.
Like I really wanted a root canal more than I didn’t want to do
this nervous. But Ambassador Juarez had gone through the trouble of
sneaking past Jimmy-the-Super and completely blowing by my brand
spanking new security system to provide the phone number. The least
I could do was make one simple phone call.

Which brought my tangled thoughts around to a
certain Texas Ranger. Had the ambassador found out from Zeke about
my late night jaunt into gang territory? I’d also mentioned
Switch’s name to Jimmy and Bobby, but they didn’t have the
connections that came with carrying a badge. I hadn’t told Grady,
but then he talked to Zeke on a regular basis. Why would my antics
be up for discussion when they had a drug war to covertly fight?
And why would Juarez give a crap about helping me do something that
would obviously tick off the Ranger?

‘Cause Juarez hadn’t told him. I smiled. That
meant Zeke had no idea about Juarez’s visit to my apartment. Or the
phone number. And with all of the appreciation Juarez had graced me
with for discovering his daughter’s killer, the visit with Tomas
Ricardo – AKA Switch, AKA a notorious drug dealer and gang leader –
was probably sanctioned. Which meant I’d be safe.

Probably.

Sort of.

Maybe?

Maybe not.

On a typical Monday off from the bar, I
usually spent my day cleaning house, running errands – you know,
the typical routine most normal people did on the weekends. Since
my schedule was anything
but
normal, Mondays were errand day
for me. I zipped through stores with little to no lines and
finished all my chores in under two hours. That left time for
visiting with friends, watching a movie, or reading a good
book.

Hey, I read. Thrillers. Horror. Not the usual
fare you’d find on someone like Janine’s bookshelf – at least when
she had time to read more than textbooks. Just call my tastes
eclectic.

After calling and making an appointment to
see
Mr.
Ricardo, as I was instructed to call him, and
receiving no response to several texts to Janine, my day dragged
toward the evening like the proverbial tortoise toward the finish
line. Plus, since it had been less than twenty-four hours after the
date with Radioman, I didn’t want to be the first to break the
silence and come off needy.

Dating 101 time, ladies. Let the man be the
one to contact you after the first date. Makes ‘em feel more in
control of the relational flow. The worst thing you could do is
flood a man with texts, phone calls, and messages. Sends a clear
cut signal of desperation and clinginess that will send a guy
packing ASAP.

And I’m not talking about
what
he’s
packing. You’ll get to find that out for yourself later on, or in
my usual case sooner, but only if you’re smart in how you play the
game.

However, Radioman’s response toward me last
night – namely his flat-out refusal to hitch a ride on the
Vickiwagon
– made me wonder if I’d hear from him again at
all. The conversation had flowed, along with ample alcohol which
usually worked in my favor. The kissing had inflamed me faster than
a firecracker fuse on the Fourth. Then a thought punched me right
in the kisser.

Sure
I’d
felt the fire, but had
he
? Kissing was an art form – you either had the gift or you
didn’t. The response I’d earned from every guy I’d kissed since I
was fourteen – and trust me, it wasn’t
hard
to discern –
kissing and I went hand-in-hand. Or mouth-on-mouth. Or
mouth-to…

Vicki!

I’d never considered the possibility that a
guy might not like
my
kissing. Nah, that couldn’t be the
problem, ‘cause Radioman had already asked for another date. The
guy was still into me. He had to be. But the fact I hadn’t
successfully lured him to my bed – er, mattress – sent my
confidence tilting a little off-kilter.

For the first time in my dating life, I
understood the desperate pull other women experienced. My fingers
ached to dance over the phone keypad. Multiple times I dredged up
Radioman’s phone number and fought off the urge to click
call
. How could I solve this conundrum without falling prey
to contacting Radioman first? I did what any typical, red-blooded,
American girl would do.

I grabbed a coke and a package of Oreos and
cuddled up with the cat to watch a blood and gore slasher movie.
Okay, okay, so I’m not so typical. Most girls would watch some
romance crap, but hey, I was trying to get my mind
off
of
romance.

Or at least the sex part. Work with me,
folks.

By six o’clock, I was ready to bounce off the
walls like a caffeinated critter. For the life of me I couldn’t
focus, and the horror movie got me thinking of what I might be
going through in a few short hours with Switch – excuse me, Mr.
Ricardo. I needed some calming conversation and lulling
libations.

So I made a beeline for the bar.

The night at Grady’s had barely begun, but
the regular after work crowd had arrived and waved as I entered.
Rochelle plopped a cold one down on the bar top before I even sat
down.