“He makes great coffee, everyone’s talkin’ about it,” Duke said.
Finally, a real piece of good news.
When Duke spoke again, his gravelly voice sounded from right above me and my eyes popped open again.
“You’re doin’ a good thing by him. No man can live his life surrounded by cats, never leavin’ his block.”
I nodded again and said, “Outside of the gunshot wound, he’s fit as a fiddle. He threw me through a window and you saw what he did on stage at BJ’s. He’s in good shape, at least physically. Mentally is still up for debate.”
“Yeah,” Duke replied, then looked out the window. “Ain’t none of my concern but I gotta tell you, it’s good to see you and Lee aren’t circlin’ each other anymore. Your grandmother used to say that you were two souls separated in heaven. She mainly meant you were both trouble and deserved each other.”
Great.
Duke went on. “She’d be f**kin’ thrilled if she was still alive.”
I felt my throat close up. When it reopened, I said quietly, “Thanks, Duke.”
“When we close, I’m walkin’ you home.”
It wasn’t a question. I did, of course, have Chowleena with me but I didn’t think bad guys would be scared off by a Chow with fur chaps and attitude.
“Okay,” I agreed.
* * * * *
When I got home, I called Marianne and set up a time to meet at The Hornet. Then I called Lee to tell him I was home. He was at the hospital checking on Luke. I was glad I didn’t have a ride-along on that one or my Denial Zone would be obliterated.
I gave Chowleena some kibbles and water. She put her nose up at the kibbles so I gave her a doggie biscuit. Then she gave me her pathetic look so I gave her another one. Then she pranced into the living room, curly tail swaying in the air, jumped up on my new couch, circled about twenty times, flopped down and settled in.
I jumped into the shower and did my Indy Out for the Night Preparations complete with leg shave. I didn’t really feel up to it, I was tired and hadn’t had a Disco Nap. However, there was a possibility Lee was going to meet us at The Hornet and his receptionist looked like she stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. I thought it best to put some effort into it.
I grabbed my dress that was just a thick band of stretchy black from which fell a swath of olive green gauzy material swirled through with cream and black. The band fit above my br**sts, the gauze fell in a scarf-like hem to above the knee. I put on a droopy black belt with a big circular silver buckle and bloused the dress over it, making it mini. I fluffed out my hair, pawed through the dregs at the back of my makeup drawer and slapped on some makeup, put on a pair of big silver hoop earrings, a bunch of bangles on my wrist, a bunch of silver rings on my fingers and pulled on my black cowboy boots. I shoved some stuff into a black purse and headed out the door.
I walked to The Hornet, which was only four blocks away. I didn’t waste any time, Rosie was found, Pepper Rick and Sandy Pete were out of the picture and the hit man was behind bars. I was likely relatively safe but I wasn’t going to take any chances.
Marianne was there when I got there, sitting on a stool at the bar. I’d asked Ally to join us but she had a shift at Brother’s. I’d braved the pissed off brute and asked Eddie if he wanted to come but he was going to be bogged down in paperwork.
“I wish I could wear a dress like that,” Marianne told me when I slid on the booth next to her.
Marianne used to be a size four. Her hair changed color with her mood, so much so that I didn’t remember what it was when it started out. Now it was brunette. She had big gray eyes. She was always pretty and regardless of the weight, she still was a looker. She’d been popular, being so dainty and cute, boys flocked to her. Her divorce had taken its toll, it was ugly, she still wasn’t over it and she was eating through the pain.
I had no response for her and ordered a spiced rum and diet and excused myself and called Lee, again, to tell him I was at The Hornet. Marianne didn’t question this, she’d been an innocent bystander in one of my shootouts and anyway, Lee was hot.
“Well?” Marianne asked when I flipped my phone shut.
I sighed.
“Lee doesn’t take the bows from bras or panties, at least not anymore,” I said.
Marianne’s eyes lit up.
“Is he good?”
The way she asked it wasn’t gossipy or voyeuristic, it was a friend asking a friend about her sex life, which in my circle of friends was a natural thing. We weren’t exactly Sex in the City but we shared. It also meant our conversation wasn’t going to be e-mailed to half of the greater Denver Metropolitan Area by midnight.
So I answered her. “He’s good.”
“How good?” she asked.