HERO
Iwoke up hungover. I hadn’t had a hangover in a long time. Why had I thought that drinking so much was a good idea? Also, why was I awake when the best thing for this blurry, out-of-control headache was to go back to sleep?
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Someone was pounding on the gates. I tried to get up, but couldn’t because a pair of legs were draped over mine. I looked down, and the big, hairy legs that ended in split toe nails looked back at me. Those weren’t my legs. I followed the legs up nondescript clothing to a vaguely familiar man’s face surrounded by long hair.
I pointed at him as a blurry memory surfaced. Scooby Doo. He was someone from the band who had agreed to play the dog on last night’s post-concert villainous ramble, which was more sleuthing than wicked.
I pushed his legs off me and stumbled around the sunken conversation area in the basement until I’d found the stairs. No, this wasn’t hungover, mostly still drunk. I made my way up the hideous main stairs lined with alcohol art into the very bright central space that ended in a drop off the infinity pool outside.Where was the pounding coming from? It wasn’t just my head, I was almost sure of it.
I went outside on the deck, and walked past the pool, standing near a palm tree so I could look outside the gate.
A very serious Nix and a pissed off Jezebel stared back at me. We studied each other for a long time until my phone rang, and I realized that Nix had one in his hand. I could probably yell at him, but this would be better for my head.
I answered my phone. “Hey.” I hadn’t sounded so bad in ages.
“Are you coming in to work today?”
“Do we have work today?”
“It’s Thursday before the big race, you know, the Three-Hundred. Tomorrow.”
The Three-Hundred was such a big deal, so why was I still drunk? I squinted at him. “Three-Hundred what?”
“Miles.”
Jezebel grabbed his phone and spat into the receiver, “Bullets!”
He took it away, frowned at her and then continued more moderately in his slow southern drawl. “Do you know what happened to Pinkie? Jezebel’s gotten so attached to her, and I admit that I was looking forward to her finishing the paperwork that she’s so good at.”
I stared at them, confused until I looked down at my left hand where a very nice platinum band with embedded diamonds rested on that most telling finger. I raised my hand, finger up like I was flipping them off.
Jezebel snarled, but then she froze. Nix took one look at my hand and then turned and walked off, ending the call as he headed towards whatever helped him get over his own commitment issues.
“You married her? What kind of a low-down yeller hustler do you think you are?” she yelled. “You don’t get married in Vegas unless you left your class at home! That girl’s so classy, she was born with good posture!” That’s when she pulled her gun.
I hit the deck fast. She shot, but everything went over me, because she was just letting off steam, and the deck was in the way.
“I’ll be back, you green-eared yellow-bellied marmot, and I’ll bring my lawyer with me to undo whatever foolishness you’ve done!” After a few more gunshots, she left, taking her gun with her.
Her reaction seemed strong, even for her stage presence. She must actually like Pinkie, and I couldn’t blame her.
Speaking of, where was Princess Pink? I could have tracked her using the beacon I’d embedded when I’d had Roger take out the bullet, but it seemed slightly inappropriate to do that kind of thing with someone you married. Not that I’d take it out of her. No, we were playing villains. The ordinary rules of chivalry were out, replaced by strange things like no sex after marriage until she’d had sufficient therapy. How was I supposed to not be seduced by Daniela if she really thought that’s what she wanted? No idea, but the rules of villainy insisted.
I searched the house and finally found Daniela sleeping in the tub surrounded by water, cocooned in a very nice down duvet. That’s right. I’d wrapped her in it because she was going to emerge like a butterfly this morning. Or something. I carefully eased out of the room without falling in the water. She needed to rest. She needed a long break where she could let someone else do the difficult things, like find out what kind of fallout our legal, public marriage had caused.
I went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of something nasty that was supposed to detox a person, then headed back out onto the patio to collapse into a chair.
I dialed and let the phone ring a few times before Horse answered.
“You’re up. How’s Pinkie?” He sounded hungover, as well as grumpy.
I smiled at the memory of her wrapped in a pink duvet. “Safe. Sleeping. Any news?”
“Depends on what you’d call news. After you two drove away so gaily, I got in a little scuffle with Clint and lost track of Trixie. She hasn’t shown up today, so who knows what happened to her. Not that I’m worried. She can take care of herself.”
He was definitely worried.
