Kiss Me in the Dark Anthology - Monica James Page 0,65
path through a series of tents, his battered houndstooth hat balanced precariously on the back of his head. It looks like it’ll fall off any second now, but he leaves it where it is. A foot and a half taller than him, I can see right down the back of Rabbie’s shirt, and the yellow ring of sweat that stains his once-white collar makes my skin itch.
Only a rookie would need to check behind them to see if Rabbie’s five friends are following. I don’t need to. Of course they’re following. Hanging back, I’m sure, but they’re all the same, tracking behind us like a pack of hungry wolves. I know how I’ll take each one of them out. In the brief second that I looked them over when Rabbie and Salinger were having their little tiff, I assessed them one by one and came up with my strategy.
“She doesn’t normally accept visits from outsiders, but she was taken by Mr. Holsan’s request,” Rabbie tells me, turning sideways to fit through a narrow gap between two ramshackle, lean-to tents with open fronts. A group of children in either tent, wide-eyed and staring, gawp at me as I follow after him, forcing my significantly larger frame through the opening.
“Admittedly, the money probably had something to do with it,” he adds. “Five grand for one session? That’s too much even for Shelta to turn down.”
“I don’t follow…” Jesus, this is beginning to sound bad. Charlie’s erratic at the best of times, but he does weird shit when he’s drunk or high. There’s a solid chance he was drunk and high last night. I’m going to flay the fucker alive if he sent me out here to screw a hooker as some kind of a joke.
Rabbie displays his rotten stumps of teeth again. “You’re following just fine from what I can see. Don’t think I could lose you even if I tried. You’re a tall motherfucker, aren’t you? Probably see over the tops of all of these tents, no?”
He knows I wasn’t being literal. I know he’s being obtuse. I ignore his pointless comment and reword my own. “What’s Charlie paid Shelta five grand for? And how does it involve me?” There’s enough piss and vinegar in my tone to curdle milk. Rabbie’s jesting smile sours. He stops abruptly in front of an elaborate purple tent and gestures to the flap that leads inside.
“Find out for yourself, gadjo. We ran out of coffee, so she’s breathing fire this morning. Good luck.”
I mentally tick off the weapons I’m carrying—a handgun tucked into the waistband of my jeans in the small of my back. Another strapped to my ribs, beneath my right arm. Knives at my belt. Knuckle dusters in the pocket of my leather jacket. My hands know instinctively where they are; I can pull any one of them without even having to think about it. If I wish it, this woman will be dead in the time it takes to snap your fingers, and I won’t suffer a moment’s guilt over it. Not for one second. Doesn’t matter that she’s a woman. Someone fucks with me and they wind up dead. It’s that simple.
I’m banking on the fact that it’s going to be dark inside the tent, so I peel back the heavy, thick canvas material and pause there in the entranceway for a second, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. The smell of lemon verbena and sage hits the back of nose, thick and cloying, and I resist the urge to cough. Whoever this bitch is, she went a little crazy on the incense this morning.
“He said you were a very punctual person. I had a feeling you were going to be late, though,” a husky female voice murmurs from the shadows. The accent…I can’t place it. The tamber, lilt and inflection sound like pieces of so many different accents, all rolled into one. There’s a distinct Irish brogue there, though.
“I didn’t realize I had an appointment,” I rumble. Now that I can see properly, I take in the interior of the tent—the Persian rug, and the small side table on the far side of the space. A well-worn cherry wood table, with two cups set out upon it. An overstuffed, flowery couch with a brocade fringe trim that’s seen better days and thousands of asses, by the looks of things.
And lurking by the entrance to what appears to be a secondary room, a tall woman with dark, thick,