Tell Me No Spies (28 page)

Dave and I exchanged a
sheepish look. “No.”

Hellhound shrugged.
“No problem.” He pulled a knife out of his boot and scooped some
potato salad out on the blade. He tipped the salad into his mouth
and offered me the knife.

“I’m good.” I delved
into my waist pouch and pulled out my own sturdy folding knife.

Dave eyed me with
askance as I tore off the other drumstick and dug into the potato
salad. “How many weapons do you carry?” he asked diffidently.

“Just these.” I
carefully ate the salad off the razor-sharp blade. “Oh, and I have
another jackknife with some tools in it.”

He nodded, looking
uncertain, and dug into his pocket to come up with a penknife.
Hellhound shot him a pitying glance and pulled the knife out of his
other boot. “Ya want a real one?”

Dave’s gaze tracked
from the boot, to the knife, and back to the boot again. “No.
Thanks.”

Hellhound shrugged and
stowed the knife again, and we all settled in to devour our food
while Weasel hovered, apparently fascinated.

“Any luck, darlin’?”
Hellhound inquired at last.

“Made contact.” I
reached over to wipe my greasy hands on the cleaner part of his
makeshift kilt, nobly refraining from leaning over a little farther
to sneak a peek between his widespread knees. I took a deep swallow
of beer. “I’ll need to go back later tonight.”

“Shit.”

We finished eating,
and when I drained the last of my beer, Weasel took the empty
bottle out of my hand, his grubby fingers brushing mine.
“Another?”

“No, I have to drive
later.”

“What time’re ya gonna
go?” Arnie asked.

“Around ten, I think.
That’ll give Spider enough time to find out what I want.”

Weasel rested his
elbows on the back of my chair and leaned into my personal space to
eye me inquisitively. “Spider? Friend of yours?”

I kept myself from
recoiling from the miasma of stale cigarette smoke that surrounded
him, and gave him my best dead-fish eyeball. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” He leaned a
little closer. “Damn, you smell good.”

Hellhound shot him a
menacing glare. “Back off.”

Weasel straightened
and shuffled his feet. “Uh, guess I’ve got work to do.” He
meandered toward the LeSabre. “I could use a hand,” he threw over
his shoulder.

“The less we know
about what you’re doin’, the better,” Hellhound growled. “All I
know is, you’re workin’ on a car. Let’s leave it at that.”

Weasel bobbed his
head. “Okay. That’s cool, man.”

We turned our backs on
him as the din of pneumatic tools filled the bay.

Several hours later,
my head was pounding. The air was polluted from Weasel’s
chain-smoking. Conversation was sporadic between the bouts of noise
from his efforts, and there really wasn’t much to talk about
anyway.

Both Dave and
Hellhound had helped themselves to a couple more beers, so I was
reasonably certain they were enjoying themselves more than I was.
Other than the fact that they were both probably in quite a bit of
pain. I didn’t envy them that.

When the hands on my
ancient watch finally dragged around to ten o’clock, I got to my
feet gratefully. “Time to go.”

“…’Kay.” Dave tried to
struggle out of his chair and failed. He frowned, shuffled forward
in the seat, and hauled himself onto his feet, his back still
bent.

I took his arm and
helped him straighten slowly. Furrows of pain etched his face, and
he rested a heavy hand on my shoulder, staggering sideways a
half-step.

I grabbed him around
the waist, and he turned in my grasp, his eyes unfocused. “God,
you’re byoo’ful,” he slurred. “Th… think I love you…” He staggered
again and wrapped his arms around me. “Le’s go…” he muttered into
my neck. “Le’s go an’… an’…”

His knees buckled, and
I jerked my arms tighter to keep him from falling. His back popped
under my grip and he cried out in agony.

“Help!” I strained
against his dead weight as he slithered toward the floor.

“Got him! Get him to
the couch.” Hellhound jerked his chin in that direction, and
together we half-dragged, half-carried Dave over to it.

As we laid him out, he
peered up at us through half-closed eyes and giggled. “Beauty… an’…
an’ the Beasht…”

“Fuck, Dave, how much
did ya drink?” Hellhound demanded.

“Didn’… Jush a
couple…” Dave blinked and screwed one eye shut, apparently
concentrating intensely. “Took… some pills… Oopssssh…” His other
eye slid closed and he started to snore.

Hellhound glared down
at him, fists on hips. “Shit.”

I did a quick
inventory of the empty beer bottles beside Dave’s chair. “He really
did only have a couple. The pills must’ve been pretty strong to
knock him out like that. Maybe it’s some prescription for his back
pain. We’d better check and find out what it was.”

Hellhound shrugged.
“Well, I sure as hell ain’t gonna put my hand in his pocket. That’s
more than I wanna know about him.”

“I’ll do it. We might
need to phone Poison Control or something.” I knelt beside the
couch and gingerly slipped my hand into the nearer pocket of Dave’s
jeans. He snorted and sighed, but didn’t wake. I came up empty, and
reached across him for the other pocket.

This time my fingers
contacted a jumble of change and other unidentifiable objects, and
I groped through them, hoping I’d be able to recognize the shape of
a pill container.

Dave let out an
aborted snore. “Yeah, honey…” he mumbled. “Lower… Don’ shtop…”

Hellhound snickered,
and I froze until Dave’s snoring resumed in a few seconds. Some
more careful exploration yielded a small pill bottle. I let out a
breath of relief at the sight of the label.

“They’re just
over-the-counter muscle relaxants. He should be fine. He’ll just
have a really good sleep.”

“An’ really good
dreams,” Hellhound snorted. “Lucky bastard. Well, darlin’, guess we
better get goin’. Lemme go get my pants.”

He turned to go, and I
stopped him with an outstretched hand. “Same logic applies as last
time. I really don’t want to attract attention.”

He frowned at me.
“Well, Dave’s outta the picture.”

“It’s no big deal.
I’ll just go by myself.”

“No.”

We eyed each other for
a few moments, and I could tell I was going to have to come up with
an alternative.

“Could Weasel come
with me?” I suggested finally. “You trust him, right?”

Arnie’s scowl
darkened. “I trust him not to rat us out. That’s it. I ain’t
sendin’ ya anywhere with him.”

“Well, it’s him or
nothing.” I gave him my best don’t-mess-with-me face.

He blew out an
irritable breath. “Weasel’s slime. He’s got some kinky tastes, an’
he doesn’t know how to take no for an answer. He just finished
doin’ time for sexual assault.”

I turned to stare in
Weasel’s direction, revulsion crawling over my skin. “He’s a
rapist?”

“Nah. He just doesn’t
know how to keep his hands to himself, an’ it got him in
trouble.”

I blew out a breath of
relief. “Well, that’s no big deal, then. I can deal with roaming
hands.”

Arnie frowned down at
me. “Darlin’, I know ya can take care of yourself, but-”

“Look,” I interrupted.
“I need to get going. I don’t know how long Spider will stay online
tonight. You decide whether you want me to go by myself or take
Weasel, but I’m leaving now.”

He scowled and said
nothing. I was turning away when he bellowed, “Weasel!”

“Yeah.” Weasel’s head
popped up from the other side of the car.

“Need ya to do
somethin’.”

“What, like drinking
all my goddamn beer isn’t enough?” Weasel complained. “Come on,
man, what do you think, I’m made of money or something?”

Hellhound shot him a
hard glance. “Yeah. That’s what I think. An’ I know a coupla people
that’d be interested in findin’ out how ya get it.”

“Aw, come on, man,”
Weasel whined. “Lighten up. I was just yanking your crank.”

“Like I’d let ya touch
my crank,” Hellhound retorted. “Not. Get over here.”

“Jeez,” Weasel griped
as he came around the car. “What got up your ass? What do you
want?”

“You’re gonna take Ay…
Jane wherever she wants to go tonight. You’re gonna watch her back
the whole time. You’re gonna keep your filthy fuckin’ hands to
yourself. An’ you’re gonna bring her back here, nice an’ safe an’
sound. Got it?”

Weasel eyed the
half-stripped LeSabre before turning back to Hellhound. “How long
is this gonna take?” he muttered. “I got work to do.”

“An hour; hour and a
half, tops,” I said.

Weasel tossed his
wrench onto the floor with a clatter. “Fine.” He shot a
contemptuous glance at the Caprice. “We’ll take my ride. Come on
out the front.”

As he turned to go,
Hellhound stepped in front of him, looming threateningly. “Just
wanna be clear. Ya do whatever it takes to keep Jane safe. Anythin’
she says, ya do. Anythin’ happens to her, an’ ya ain’t gonna live
to boost another car. Got it?”

“Jeez, man, chill. I
got it.”

Hellhound stepped
back, then added, “An’ we need cash. As much as ya can get.”

“What?” Weasel yelped.
“Come on, man. What the fuck…”

“I’ll pay ya back.”
Hellhound glowered, and Weasel eyed him uncertainly, obviously
wondering whether that was a threat or a promise.

“Okay,” he muttered,
and made for the door as if afraid Hellhound would add more demands
to the list.

“Wait.”

Weasel stiffened at
the sound of Hellhound’s rasp, and we both turned.

“Here, darlin’,”
Hellhound said, and held out my hooded jacket. “Better put this on.
Ya forgot it last time.”

“Thanks.”

I took it from him in
exchange for a kiss, and he leaned down to mutter in my ear. “Don’t
let him get to ya. Don’t react, just ignore him if he gets
started.”

I pulled away. “I can
handle him. I’m armed, remember? See you later.”

He opened his mouth as
if to admonish me further, but I gave him a reassuring smile and
left before he could say anything else.

Weasel’s ride was a
pimped-out Tiburon, lowered to within an inch of the pavement. I
shot a look at the ultra-low-profile tires and slid into the car,
wondering how many rims he went through. He’d need new ones every
time he hit a dimple in the road. Then again, acquiring new parts
probably wasn’t a big deal for a guy like him.

Weasel lit up another
cigarette and started the car. The stereo boomed to life, making me
flinch. The bass resonated in my chest cavity, and the legs of my
jeans quivered under the assault. Some part of the car vibrated
with an irritating high-frequency buzz on each beat. I dug into my
waist pouch and extracted my earplugs.

With earplugs in
place, the noise was tolerable. I pulled the hood of my jacket over
my head and slouched in the seat. At least nobody would think to
look for me in a car like this with the stereo blaring. Talk about
hiding in plain sight.

Weasel’s hand skimmed
the air from my knee to high on the inside of my thigh, mere
molecules away. I started and jerked around to lip-read him over
the din.

“Where to?” he
asked.

I gripped his wrist
and pushed his hand back over to his side of the car before
reaching over to turn the volume knob down. “Do that again and I’ll
cut your hand off.” I pulled out my knife and turned it back and
forth, letting the light run along the blade.

His eyes widened.
“Jeez, you’re one crazy bitch. I never even touched you. Chill,
already.”

“Get the cash first.
Then take me to an internet cafe. Somewhere far from here.”

“All right, all
right.” He cranked the volume again and pulled out, bobbing his
head in time to the music and grinning when car alarms went off in
the vehicles parked beside the road.

After a stop at an
ATM, Weasel drove south and eventually pulled up in front of a
strip mall. When he turned the car off, the silence echoed. I
gingerly removed the earplugs.

“There you go,” he
said, waving an expansive hand toward the small cafe.

“No, there we go,” I
corrected. “You’re going to come in with me. You’re going to watch
my back and tell me if anybody is looking at me. You’re going to
stay with me until I’m done, and then we’re going to come back out
to the car together. If anything goes wrong, we’ll split up, and
I’ll meet you at the car later. If you take off on me, I’ll cut
your nuts off and shove them up your ass. Got it?”

“Christ, lady, I said
I’d help. You don’t have to make such a big fucking deal about it.”
He paused. “You’re thinking about my nuts?”

I ignored his last
question as I folded up the knife and tucked it back in my pouch.
“Just making sure we don’t have any misunderstandings. I don’t like
misunderstandings. Now give me the cash.”

“I’ll give it to
Hellhound when we get back.” His gaze didn’t quite meet mine.

“You’ll give it to me
right fucking now, or I’ll ventilate your spleen.” I lifted the
bottom of the jacket to display my gun, channelling Hollywood
gangsters for all I was worth.

He eyed me with an
utterly unconvincing expression of wounded innocence. “You don’t
trust me.”

“Hell, no, I don’t
trust you. Give me the goddamn cash.”

He hesitated for a
second before giving me a nicotine-stained grin. “I like you.
You’re fucking batshit crazy. And you wanna touch my nuts. That’s
totally hot.” He handed over the roll of bills, his fingertips
brushing my palm intimately. I hid my twitch of revulsion with an
effort.

“Let’s go.” I got out
of the car and waited for him to precede me into the cafe, making
sure he didn’t decide to bolt.

I sidled into the
dimly-lit space and chose a terminal in the corner. Weasel hovered,
and I nodded over to the counter. “Pay for it. I’m only going to be
a few minutes.”