every wet bump and sinew of him. My legs had landed astride him, and my crotch was crushed against the hardness between his hips.
He leaned forward and moaned into my ear, and as he did my mouth grazed his jaw. I tasted salty blood and smelled sweat and strung-out, dirty man. A thousand butterflies danced down my spine and landed in the pit of my stomach. My nipples puckered involuntarily, and the ensuing flash of self-disgust galvanized me to action.
I arched back but he was not to be deterred. He lifted one long arm seamlessly to bring me closer again. As he did, I caught a glimpse of the red gold hair of his underarm, flat brown nipples and a whorl of hair south of his belly button that led…
I twisted off him and leaped up with the instinct born of a thousand karate classes, ramming the heel of one calf-high black boot into the most sensitive place on his chest.
I opened my mouth to say “hands up, asshole”, but two things happened.
First, my mouth wouldn’t form the words, and second he collapsed back onto the linoleum floor as though his stealth attack on me, and my response, had sapped whatever strength he had. Those indigo eyes fluttered shut and he groaned softly.
Okay, so that wasn’t all.
Third, and worst of all, I knelt down to him again, removing my foot from its sensible resting place on his chest. My traitorous hand snaked out to stroke his red-gold hair, like some freakin’ Florence Nightingale. Luckily, my two-way barked at me. It was Aldus, and a welcome distraction. “Rania,” he croaked across the grainy line. “Whassup?”
“Ah…” I wasn’t sure where to start.
“Anything to do with the dead blonde and the fish?”
At the words, the beautiful man in my arms was suddenly taut, alert. “She’s dead?” His eyes lost the blur, and became almost black, locking onto mine like a gate clanging shut.
I spun away, needing some space to think, holding him as best as I could with one hand and holding the two-way and the Glock with the other. “You know her? The dead blonde?”
But before I could get an answer, he had jerked out of my arms with the strength of a boxer. He was up, and back in the shower. For a brief second, I got the full beauty of him, long and compact under the streaming water. He looked right into me as he opened his mouth and sung one low, perfect note. A note I knew too well from another time and a faraway place.
And then he was gone.
A tiny blue-green fish flapped frantically on the shower floor. And I was alone, with another mermaid puzzle to solve.
11:30pm
There are only two bars in Dirtwater. The Dirty Boar, and The End of Days, a fine establishment I prefer for three reasons. Firstly, it has this dark, ironic feel. Like a bad detective novel. Second, it’s one of the few places in town not named after dirt. Third, it’s where my good buddy (and the coroner) Larry Kramer likes to go to drop off the radar once in a while.
I needed a drink, but more importantly, I needed to find Larry. And given that he hadn’t been answering his cell phone all night, I was pretty sure I knew where to find him. When he goes AWOL, it’s usually because he’s fallen off the wagon.
And, for Larry, The End of Days is the softest place to fall.
I pushed through those swing doors that remind me of an old saloon, rubbing my stinging eyes and popping a No Doz on the way in. It wasn’t just the late call-out, the dead blonde and the naked babe, either. It was the dreams. Insomnia and crazy dreams are nothing new for me, but it wasn’t just the fire any more. It was other stuff. Stuff I can’t remember when I wake up, but that leaves me slick with sweat and panting. Like I’m being hunted.
I’ve been waking up wondering why I don’t get a different job.
Three weeks, I could do anything. I could do nothing.
I could do nothing on a beach. With a drink with an umbrella in it.
So why was I still working? And why the hell was I getting involved in something that was looking messier and messier by the minute?
I found Larry pouring drinks, and he looked happy rather than hammered. Marty, the usual barkeep, was kicking back, reading the sports section. “Dunno why you don’t give up the scalpel