War-N-Wit, Inc. - The Witch (14 page)

"So
you've lost one man in your whole career and he went to Mexico and died to get away from
you, remember? You are
not
losing
these skips!"

"The
Chapel's probably booked!"

"They
have four Chapels, plus an option that's never booked!"

"What?"

"The Tunnel of Love Drive-Thru.
Not much point in a drive-thru if
you have to book it, now is it?"

I'd never
thought to see Chad Garrett shocked at anything, but he was shocked close to
speechless.
But only close.

"You're
shittin' me, right?"

"No,
I'm not! I
knew
there was a reason to
go ahead and get the license! Now we're wasting time, get off at the next exit
and we'll get this done and get back on the road after them! I made sure I got
the license number, too. "

"The
rings are in the bags. At the
Venetian
!
With our clothes!"

"The
guy doesn't always have to have a ring at the
wedding,
I'll give you a private ceremony later! Just use my engagement ring! And what's
better than leather jackets and motorcycles for Vegas anyway? Now get this
thing on the road and freakin'
move it
,
will you?!"

He stared
at me a few seconds. "This is
not
going at all the way I planned," he said for the second time, placing his
feet back on the cycle and revving the motor.

We
backtracked to the exit and weaved our way over to

We entered the white columned drive,
covered by its deep blue canopy adorned with celestial cherubs playing harps
and lettering overhead proclaiming "I can't live without you." Not
one other wedding was in process and I took that as another sign. We rolled up
to the window.

"I do
not
believe you're making me do this!"

"You don't want to marry me?"

"Don't even go there, you know what I
mean!"

"Welcome to the Tunnel of Love at the
Little White Wedding Chapel!" sounded over the speaker. "License,
please?"

I pulled it out of my pocket.

"Will you be requiring
witnesses?"

"Yes," I said firmly.

"And as you're by yourselves, a
commemorative photo –"

"Yes, please, and can you mail
it?" I gave my address. I wasn't going to be there much longer but Stacy
was moving in so no problem.

"And do you have your own vows—"

"Standard and can you do the express
version? We're kind of in a hurry here."

I pulled my phone surreptitiously out of my
other jeans pocket and hit the camera button on the side. Chad's expressions through this
exchange were priceless and I intended to get at least a few of them.

The window's voice changed to one of alarm
and a head emerged through the glass.

"You're not in labor and on the way to
the hospital, are you?"

"On a
motorcycle
?
Of course not!"
Okay, that expression
I had to have. I raised my arm and snapped a quick one of my almost husband.

"We've seen stranger things, honey,
trust me! Okay, let's do this—"

I pulled the diamond off and thrust it into
Chad's
hand so he'd be ready at the appropriate point, snapping another expression of
his horror when the transfer was safely completed.

"…and by the power vested in me by the
State of Nevada,
I now pronounce you husband and wife! Okay, you can kiss the bride."

"Not for long you can't!" I
modified, giving him a quick peck. "Okay, where's your guy, camera,
action, let's go!"

The cameraman rushed out for our
commemorative photo.

"You got the address, right? Thanks!
It was a great wedding!" I punched Chad's back. "What are you
waiting for? Let's go!"

This time it was almost a moan. "This
isn't going at
all
the way I
planned."

We roared away from the Tunnel of Love
Drive-Thru and headed back to the Las Vegas Expressway.

I kept my eyes in motion once we passed the
last Vegas
exit,
trying to keep a view of both sides
of the roads to see if anything might have occasioned them pulling off. Chad
had to look ahead anyway, he was driving. About fifteen miles out of Vegas,
there was a ramshackle motel over on the right, set back a little from the
highway. And was that?—I couldn't tell, it was too far back, but too similar to
take a chance that it wasn't. I punched his back again and pointed over to the
right. We'd passed the exit, but there was that great thing about bikes again,
much more maneuverable than cars.

We pulled into the parking lot and Eureka! Yes, ULV0609.

"That's it," I said, pulling off
my helmet and swinging my leg over to dismount. "I love the 69 for the
hooker and the pimp, sort of personalized, don't you think?"

"Baby girl, that's more than likely a
stolen car, ULV is the personalized plate for University
of Nevada at Las Vegas. That plus the car plus the 69 just
screams that some college kid's going to walk out of his dorm and yell." Chad
kicked the kickstand out and got off,

"So we're doing some 69'er a good
turn, too. Go register."

"Excuse me?"

"Go. Register. We just got married,
remember?"

In fact, the speed of the cycle, the
vibrations of the big motor, the miles pressed against Chad's back like a
second skin—well, okay. You figure it out. I was hotter'n a pepper sprout.

"Here?"

"Don't you think they'll stay put an
hour or two? And you also have to figure out some way to get 'em back to Vegas,
don't you?"

"This is a
flop-house
, baby girl, have you
lost
your mind
?"

"So I figured. It's Nevada, prostitution's legal, isn't
it?"

"Only in licensed brothels—which I
promise you this is not—and under strict regulation and regular medical
screenings—which I promise you ain't happened for the girls who work this crib!
You're crazier than a loon if you think I'm going to
touch
you—"

I moved close, threw my arms around his
neck, and delivered a kiss that threatened his tonsils.

I pulled back. "I have never in my
life," I whispered, "done anything
wild
, anything
crazy
, anything
spontaneous.
Until you.
You reap what you sow, Magic Man. Give me this
wild, crazy
moment as the first
wild, crazy
moment of the rest of our
lives."

He stared down at me, his mouth trying
desperately not to turn up into a grin I might take as encouragement.

"This is not going
at all
the way I planned." He
turned and walked toward what passed for the flop-house office.

Chapter Twenty

"You're crazy, you know," he
said, as he came out and headed down to Unit 6.

"Totally bonkers," I confirmed as
I followed. "You bring out the best in me. You're not carrying me over the
threshold?"

"I'll save that for home, if you don't
mind." He inserted the key—no modern update such as a pass card here—and
turned the lock. It squeaked. "Home in Quitman.
Holy.
Shit."

The door opened on a room probably
originally beige but now aged to just plain dirty. It was carpeted with thin,
industrial grade indoor-outdoor carpet, worn thin and stained from untold pairs
of shoes. Double beds sported mismatched spreads, one in an orange and brown
wave pattern, the other a red and yellow floral pattern. Both screamed
"Dollar Tree". I was pretty sure the brown plaid curtains had been in
place since their original debut into the room, long before the Dollar Tree
spreads took up residency. Two mismatched, scarred occasional tables topped
with mismatched lamps wearing ragged shades and a few cheap western prints
scattered on the walls completed the décor.
      

Chad
stood frozen in his tracks. I stepped on in and grabbed his hand to pull him
inside.

"Okay, lock it," I ordered.

He tried to comply but the actual lock on
the doorknob didn't cooperate. There was, however, a chain latch. He put it in
place and tried to actually lock the real lock again. It still didn't work. He
pulled on the door and it swung open in the confines of the chain latch
probably an inch and a half.

"Okay, that's it!" he exclaimed,
taking the chain off and attempting a hasty retreat.

"Oh,
hell
no!"
I stopped his hand and pulled the mismatched table closest to the
door flush up against it so at least there'd be some noise should any inquiring
soul open the door. "This is the greatest adventure I've ever had in my
life
! It's a good girl's dream fantasy!
A chance to be a hooker in a cheap motel! You're telling me any normal,
hot-blooded man hasn't fantasized about hookers in cheap motels? Give me a
break! I don't think so! Now you sit down over there and wait for me!" I
specified the bed on the far side of the room, so that at least it wouldn't be
in full view of the inch and a half immediate view afforded by the chain latch.
When he made no move forward, I pushed him toward the target area. He shook his
head and pulled back the Dollar Store spread to inspect the sheets. They looked
clean and smelled of detergent and fabric softener.

"See?" I said triumphantly.
"Not so bad. Now wait for me!"

I crossed over to the bathroom door and
went into the bare-essentials bathroom. I didn't bother to inspect the shower
stall—there was no tub—but the toilet and sink and tile actually appeared
spotless and of course, being tile and porcelain, would have been much easier
to keep clean than the cloth and fabric of the main room. And the towels were
clean, too. I started stripping and laying my clothes over the towel racks.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Necessary prep work," I called
back, sitting down on the toilet. I took off my high-heeled black boots and
removed my jeans and panties, pulled back on my boots, threw my previously
discarded black long-sleeved blouse over my shoulders, and walked out of the
bathroom towards him, working the blouse in an impromptu strip tease. His eyes
widened.

"Told you, darlin', it's fantasy time.
You telling me men don't fantasize about naked women in high-heeled boots
walking towards 'em?"

"
Merrrrccccyyyy
,"
he ground out, Roy Orbison style.

"Not in this lifetime," I said,
landing on top of him. "Not from this witch."

And I didn't give any. If that was a
problem for him, he didn't complain much, except when I tried to turn and flip
underneath him.

"Hell, no, your skin's not touching
these sheets any more than I can help!" he growled. I laughed.

"Paranoid
much?"

"Protective," he clarified,
devising a few ways to get me in position to accomplish his purposes—without
touching the sheets any more than he could help—with astounding creativeness.

"What about your skin?"

"Lots tougher than yours, baby girl,
I'll risk it. And bathe in surgical soap when we get back to the hotel.
The real one."

Lack of available positioning curtailed the
length of my hooker fantasy somewhat. I'd have liked for it to have continued a
bit longer, but then we did have two skips to get back to Vegas.
And then to Georgia.
I finally conceded and granted a small amount of mercy.

"What possessed you with the
boots?" he asked, watching me walk towards the bathroom to retrieve the
rest of my clothes.

"Are you
kiddin
'? Like I'm walking barefoot on
that
floor! So—how we gonna do this? Take the car and leave the
bike?"

"I leave that bike, I'm a dead man and
you're a widow. Spike'll kill me."

"So I drive the car back?"

"When hell freezes
over.
You're a
fledging
bounty hunter! We'll leave the damn car
here,
let the local guys come get it. Besides, all my gear's in the bags.
At the Venetian.
Don't have a gun on me, not that these
guy's gonna need one, but I don't even have a pair of handcuffs. I'm calling
Spike."

"What's he gonna do, go back to the
Venetian and ask to look in our luggage? And I'm sure he'll love getting hauled
into a bust, local pediatrician brings in pimp and hooker!"

"Actually," Chad grinned as he stood in the
door of the bathroom zooming down his Droid's contact list as I put myself back
together. "Actually, he's got his own. And he'll love this. Be just like
ole' times."