He wouldn't start now. Constance was his, if he had to pay the schoolteacher's salary to keep her.
Noting a drunk and disorderly situation building to his left, Axell released some of his frustration by collaring the jerk and hauling him out to the local taxi. The drunk began yelling "Police brutality!" as Axell heaved him into the taxi's back seat. Another night, it might have amused him. With the mayor inside and his license on the line, the comment only seared more acid through his stomach.
Under the guise of retrieving a drink from the bar, the mayor was waiting for him when Axell returned.
"Your bartenders are pushing too many drinks," Ralph said coldly, rattling the ice in his glass. "This is a family town. Drunken disturbances won't be tolerated."
Axell was more than familiar with the Southern propensity to hide liquor behind closed doors. The vote to ban all alcohol sales had narrowly lost in the last election. Taking a swig of the mineral water his bartender handed him, Axell bit down on his temper. "You'll not have my license on that flimsy excuse, Ralph, and if you really want that school gone, you'd better find new tactics."
"That shopping center is more important to this community than any artsy liberal kindergarten," the mayor warned. "I'll do what it takes to take care of the people who elected me."
Axell snorted. "You'll do what it takes to take care of yourself, Ralph. I've got the schoolteacher. If you want my cooperation, you'll leave my bar alone."
"Scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours." Nodding approval, the mayor returned to his table.
Axell squeezed the plastic bottle in his hand until water squirted from the opening. How could he trade a school teacher for a liquor license?
* * *
"You could have moved in with me, you moron," Selene exclaimed over the phone line, "but I can't complain if you're sleeping with the enemy. That goes well beyond the line of duty."
Maya wrinkled her nose at Selene's commentary and watched as Matty proudly taped his creation to the vast barren space of the refrigerator door. He might not be good at letters yet, but he was definitely expressive in paint. "I wouldn't want to cramp your style, girl," she returned her attention to the conversation, "and I'll have you remember 'sleeping' is the only thing a woman in my delicate condition can do."
Selene clucked disapprovingly. "Shows how much you know. Does this mean we have a serious advocate on the city council?"
"For as long as it suits his purposes." Maya eased her weight onto a kitchen stool. If this baby wasn't born soon, her feet would be flatter than Matty's painting. "Axell's not half-bad, once you get to know him. Just kind of stiff and proper and accustomed to having his way." Remembering the clothes shopping incident, she figured that was the polite way of putting it. Domineering, was the better word.
"Well, you just keep pouring on the butter, and I'll work my end of it. I've got a party with a DOT board member tonight. Wish me well."
Maya grinned. She'd never seen Selene work one of her "parties," but she could imagine it. "Sweet talk him good, sugar. We'll have that nasty old shopping center installing underground parking yet."
"I'll not go that far. That's a flood zone out there. But we'll find something."
Selene hung up, leaving Maya to admire the artwork of her two talented charges. Matty was into dragons at the moment. Constance, apparently high on earlier praise, was painting more and more elaborate nurseries.
"Grandmother gave me a baby doll," she replied matter-of-factly when Maya asked about the infant in the picture. "But dolls aren't like real babies, are they?" Big, serious eyes watched Maya expectantly, with a trace of wariness behind them.
Maya felt as if she were on a witness stand, sworn to tell the truth. She didn't like being pinned down, but she couldn't lie to a child. "Dolls are pretend babies." She dodged the question agilely, sending a mental apology to Constance's grandmother. Sandra hadn't bought the crystal ball, after all. Apparently, she'd found a suitable doll elsewhere.
"You've got a real baby in your stomach." Constance pointed at the figure in the painting. "This is a real baby, like my mommy had in her stomach."
Oh dear. Deeper and deeper waters. She wished she'd taken more child psychology courses, but there'd never been enough time, or money. She leaned over and taped the picture to the refrigerator. "I'm sorry you lost your mommy