Courted by Karma (The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod) (40 page)

Stella
excitedly started relating all the crazy stuff that’s occurred and soon had a mesmerized, exclaiming audience. Layla wasn’t patiently patronizing Stella any longer. Instead, her jaw had fallen open to the lit disco floor of the limo.

I
sprawled back to relax. Sipping on this second Bailey’s, I was assuring myself it was the same as drinking a milk shake. I have no intentions of getting anywhere near tipsy tonight. That wouldn’t be setting a good example to show up to rescue Blanca at midnight with a buzz on and no shirt. The idea of being shirtless made me think of Luke, but I pushed him out of my mind because I was damn sick and tired of him invading my thoughts every five minutes.

Listening to Stella
rattling off nonstop to her gawking audience, I tried not to listen. I’ve heard it said that people in Special Forces and those types of units in the armed services don’t talk about their exploits unless they’re assholes. I have a new respect for that. Not that I was a hero like these people that put their lives on the line every day, but I felt like an asshole when anyone wanted to talk about my part in the events of the past weekend.

“
It all started when Larissa, a staff member at Bel’s Books, was attacked in the store last Saturday by her ex when he got out of jail. Bel came in and kicked him in the balls until he cried! It was awesome! Then she shot his partner’s van up when he tried to kill us later that night!”

Celeste breathed with round eyes, “
Fuckin’ A, you weren’t fooling about Northfield, Layla. It really is a frontier town!”

Stella nodded with a laugh. “Yep, you’d think so, right?
”

Zestfully, my niece continued on telling the rest of the bizarre events occurring in our lives up until, oh about, three o’clock today when Mike stormed out of my office at Bel’s.

My phone vibrated. It was a relief to have something else to concentrate on besides the fact my apartment was now a kill zone and probably haunted, and hearing the Cliff notes of my love life publically revealed through the eyes of a pregnant eighteen-year-old.

That rising feeling of hysteria
was trying to burst out of me again at Stella’s story of the last few days and the dumbfounded expression on the faces of the Florida women. Actually, even the Minnesota women were looking a little stunned by Stella’s swashbuckling and bloody recounting of this tale. I was afraid if I ever let this hysteria get a foothold, I may never stop laughing until I broke down weeping uncontrollably over how my life has gone so far off the rails.

The call
was from Jamie. I scooted away and put my back to the girls to speak quietly.

“Bel, another guy was asking
the same kind of questions here at Rueb’s about fifteen minutes ago. I wasn’t at the bar, but the new bartender did good and called me at home. He left before they could get a picture, though. Sorry about that, honey.”

“Geez, do
that many men troll for foreign hookers through local bartenders, Jamie?” I asked in wonderment, feeling my naiveté.

My godmother laughed. “It happens, but not so much to
us female bartenders. It’s more of a man to man thing. The female bartenders get flat out propositioned like we
are
the hookers.”

We snorted,
but she said, “Actually, this guy didn’t come out and ask for Russian prostitutes. He was casually asking my bartender more details about Northfield in general, but spoke with an accent that sounded Russian. You didn’t specify that any followers of that bastard Ron Hansen’s cult could be foreign, but I figured why not?”

I agreed,
shaking my head bemusedly over how the human brain made leaps of logic from word recognition and then something serendipitous like this happened. This guy sounded much more like a troublemaker than the younger guy spotted in Faribault.

Jamie
described the man before we hung up. This description was more specific because the man had some stand-out characteristics. He has white hair, a distinctive skull tattoo on his neck, and speaks with the Russian accent.

I contemplated if this man could be a viable threat to Luke. If
Skull Neck was the enforcer of Svettie’s criminal ex-boyfriend’s boss, then didn’t asking questions in the local bars mean the enforcer didn’t know about Luke? Maybe they have only traced Svettie to this area and thought she could be holed up with some of the local Russians here. I thought about calling my Ukrainian friend Elena Zlenko, but decided to wait before alarming her whole family.

I had an enjoyable
, if cold-blooded, five second fantasy of casually dropping Svettie’s current location onto the local grapevine the next time she was hanging around the bookstore. I may never like or trust the lisping woman, but I don’t think I really wanted her captured by a murdering enforcer…did I?

I
was relieved, too, when my phone vibrated in my hand again and I didn’t have to truthfully answer that question.

It
was a text from Luke.
Damaris says she wants a daughter like you.

I
was filled with a warm glow in my chest knowing Damaris liked me.

Since I
was also consumed with nervous misery over my soul issues due to this powerfully arrogant man, nobody should blame me for texting back:
Maybe
Reg could impregnate your mother? Sorry, I really like your mom, but with my father dead that’s the best deal I can come up with to help.

The next vibration I fully expected to be Luke, but
it was an incoming text from an unknown number:
Jazy did not believe me when I asked her to marry me.

‘So that’s what the weasel had been up to with my sister!’
I thought on a frowning laugh.

I texted back:
Thanks for the good news, you slimy snake.

Luke texted
:
You will be punished.

John texted:
You need YOUR ass sat down.

I texted them both:
Who is driving?

Luke
texted
: John.

John texted:
Luke.

Smirking, I looked up to see everyone
in the limo watching me.

I
blinked and pointed at Stella. “What she said?”

They laughed while I
slugged down my milk shake. Then they started in with the personal questions about Luke and Mike while a giggling Anna served another round.

I
swiftly countered and changed the subject by throwing out some factual statements debunking our modern culture’s mythical expectations of the American penis. The first was that the average length of the human male penis when erect was only five to five and one half inches long; no matter how small or big it was when flaccid. This topic was always good for a heated discussion.

We
arrived back at the apartment by nine twenty-five. After changing out of our airport costumes and taking turns primping in front of various mirrors, our merry band took off for a pub.

The Contented Cow
was across the street and north a couple of blocks from my building, so Boyd drove the limo alongside us while we walked on the sidewalk. Boyd was going to park the limo and be available by text whenever we needed him tonight. I could get used to a driver service real fast. Celeste and Misty were feeling quite brave exposing themselves to our harsh winter, even though we all laughed. It was a toasty thirty-six degrees with no wind. They found some piles of snow to play with on the way.

The Cow
was located on the banks of the Cannon River and has a great outside bar in the nicer weather months. Tonight, they’d probably have a local acoustic singer, but that was more for ambience. Northfield bars weren’t much for dancing, just schmoozing, drinks, and food. We’d go into Minneapolis for the dance scene this weekend.

We went downstairs and the low-ceiling bar and grill
was fairly packed. A large group at a corner bunch of tables hailed us over with a loud cheer when we entered. Off the top, I saw Reg, Crookie, Diego, Trent and Billy, Eric George and several of all their assorted friends and girlfriends. Rob, a man I had dated briefly but now basically went out with as friends to play cards with on most Wednesdays, was here with several of his single friends in tow. I shot him a grin.

We joined them
all and the confusion was boisterous as everyone exchanged greetings and got introduced to the Florida girls. Chairs were pulled out and realigned, and drink orders were placed.

The next
hour passed quickly. I did nothing but deflect questions about last weekend while everyone else was having fun loudly getting acquainted. Different people stopped by to chat and to be introduced, and I think the Florida girls were having a blast. They couldn’t keep up with the drinks being bought for them, although they were trying. Their faces were flushed from laughter and from all the attention they were getting. The Cow was only open until midnight on weekdays, so I didn’t suggest hitting another bar since the crowd was fun here.

After talking briefly with the bartenders on duty,
I’d chosen a chair that gave me the best view of the long bar. Sipping on my ginger ale, I talked with friends while watching almost everyone I know cuddling with someone around the tables. I watched Anna and Reg cuddle, watched Mac and Diego cuddle, watched Stella and Eric George cuddle, watched Trent try to cuddle with Misty, watched Tre J watch Celeste try to cuddle with the confused Crookie, and watched Layla getting cuddled on three sides by hopeful men that have no problems with her luxuriantly curling hair. Jazy wasn’t cuddling, of course, but she was flirting with just about every man present. She checked her watch and gave me significant looks about every fifteen minutes.

Jazy
was getting geared up for our rescue mission. This was way more exciting to her than the idea of cuddling with a man. My plan was for Jazy, Tre and Anna to come with me. We were taking Mac’s Honda again and grabbing Blanca. We’ll deliver Blanca over to Stella at her studio apartment. I was betting that for tonight the young girl would be scared, apprehensive, and exhausted. I was hoping Stella, as more her peer in age, would help her relax and feel reassured her life had taken a turn for the better, not worse. There would be time for Blanca and me to get to know one another and talk in the coming days.

Our server came up
to me and delivered a ginger ale refill. She whispered near my ear, “The bartender, Steve wants me to tell you there’s a white-haired man at the bar. He’s sitting way down at the end by the door. He said you’d know what I meant.”

Nodding, I tipped her and thought for a second.
Standing up, I paused to whisper to Celeste and Misty on my way to the restroom. I casually walked past the white-haired man sitting at the end of the bar. My all-encompassing look passed over him without stopping. I was an expert at this from years of checking out men without letting them see any interest on my part. He was chatting with the other bartender. The man’s eyes were also gazing into the mirror behind the bar and skimming over the crowd reflected behind him. I’d never seen him before, but he did fit Jamie’s description to a T. In his open necked shirt, I could plainly see the dark outline of his skull tattoo. It looked sinister.

It wasn’t two minutes before Celeste and Misty came int
o the empty bathroom behind me, eyes lit up with excitement. In fact, they were lit, but not too far gone to be helpful. Leaning my back against the main door to keep out any other women for a minute, I told the girls what I needed them to do to get information. Keeping to the short script about Ron Hansen’s followers as the explanation, I hoped the fibbing gods wouldn’t decide I was creating bad karma. After all, my lies were for the good cause of keeping my fake boyfriend alive and unharmed. Pink with excitement over their covert mission, they took off.

When they
’d left, I quickly used one of the bathroom stalls. Washing my hands, I looked up to see Tre J leaning against the tiled wall beside me, one leg bent with a booted foot flat on the wall.

Tre J
was not a moody woman; but the opposite. It was a rare sight to see her scowling and dejected. It’s amazing what havoc having a real attraction towards a man can play on a girl’s moods, and I sympathized.

“You know I can keep a secret, right?” I asked the beautiful blonde Goddess.

Her pale blue eyes were nervous when she answered, “Of course I know you can.”

“Do you feel like telling me anything about what’s bugging you?” I prompted
gently. “I won’t laugh or tease you, Scout’s honor.”

Tre J
smiled a little. “You were never a Girl Scout, Bel, remember?”

“Of course I remember! Ugh—those uniforms. I meant Scout from “To Kill a Mockingbird.” Now there
was a girl who understood the concept of honor.”

She laughed loudly in spite of her bad mood, and
then looked away for a few seconds with indecision clearly written on her perfect features. I waited patiently. If Tre didn’t want to talk, that was fine. I simply hated seeing her so bummed when she’s always been such a good friend to me. Especially, when I can help her resolve the situation if she was willing to admit what she wanted.

Tre J’s
shoulders slumped and she said, “She’s your cousin’s friend and I love Layla, but I’m ashamed to admit I’m jealous of that Celeste.”

Looking at my hair in the mirror,
I was looking decidedly medieval tonight from the rippling waves caused by the Indian braids. I inquired offhandedly, “Oh yeah, why are you jealous?”

She looked down at the tiled floor and frowned darkly, not answering immediately. I got out my lip stain and applied it slowly, loving the feel of the rich, creamy moistness. I took a quick
lick with the tip of my tongue, verifying it still tasted good, too.

Tre J held up her head and her eyes were defiant and determined. “I have a thing for Bob Crookston, but I’ve felt like some kind of sick bitch since his wife was just found dead three days ago. Now all of a sudden
, Celeste is all over him and Crooks seems to like her.” She added with a sad smile, “I don’t feel like I can compete with a cute girl sleeping in the same place that’s obviously ready and willing, no strings attached. What should I say? Hi there Crookie, would you mind keeping your pants zipped over whatever size your penis is? I’d like you to take things slow with me and see if we’d like each other as much as I think we could?”

Giggling, I noticed m
y nose was looking a little shiny, so I took out my powder compact and dabbed.

“So, what you want
, Tre, is a chance to see where things could go with Crookie? Would it be a deal breaker if he has some fun with Celeste this weekend first?”

Tre crossed her arms and
thundered, “The fuck YES it would, Bel! I mean, come on!”

I chuckled and snapped my compact closed before whirling to face my friend. “Good! It would be for me, too, but so many girls are
crazy these days. They’ll put up with all sorts of crap to have a man.”

“True,”
Tre J agreed with a rueful grimace. Then she stood up straight. “Since I’m a twenty-six-year-old virgin, I think it’s safe to say I don’t put up with much crap.”

We both started laughing and I patted my tall friend’s shoulder consolingly. “I believe Crookie is interested in you, too. Will you trust me a little to help you out?”

“You do?” Tre J beamed in her relief. She let out a gusty breath. “I would be so relieved for you to help me out. I’ve never felt this way for a man before. I’m tied up in knots inside trying to figure out what’s the right thing to do. I mean, do I hint around and show interest? Or would that make him think I’m a terrible person and not sensitive to his loss of his wife?”

I nodded. “I do see why it’s different for you compared to CeCe
. She gets to fly into town without a care for Crookie’s pain at what Cheryl’s done to him, or at her death. I sincerely believe Crookie hasn’t loved Cheryl for a long time, and he’s a very lonely man.”

Tre’s tender heart was in her eyes at these words and she said wistfully, “I’d love to be the one to comfort him.”

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal.” I laughed at myself, since this seems to be my refrain today.

I find it
’s a good practice to not give anyone something for nothing. Not that I wouldn’t freely give Tre my last dollar or my last breath, but humans tend to value things more that cost them versus things that were freely given.

D
idn’t you find it true that where accepting help in life was concerned, it was often a pride issue? Nobody wanted to be beholden to anyone or be perceived as a burden. I totally understood that concept and never wanted my friends to feel beholden to me or, heaven forbid, feel the need to kiss my ass. If I ever won the lottery, my friends would all be given a lump sum each year to pay their own way, all nice and legal.

Since my friends and family all tend
ed to be strong, independent people, the difficulty of these deals was finding something important to me that cost them enough to salve their pride, without costing them anything.

Tre J
’s known me for twenty years, so she nodded trustingly. “You name it, Bel.”

“If you marry Crookie and bear his children, I get to name your third child.”

“What!” Tre J exclaimed incredulously, laughing. “Why the third child?”

“Well, it’s only fair you and Crookie each get a turn with the first two,” I allowed magnanimously
. “Plus, the third child is always the well-adjusted, independent offspring. They can take whatever name I dish out without getting all warped for life.” I smiled softly. “Don’t worry about Celeste, okay? I guarantee she won’t put a spoke in your love chariot, my Viking Queen.”

I noted with approval that
Tre J was looking like an immortal again, instead of merely impossibly beautiful, as she laughingly agreed to my terms. Her alabaster cheeks were blooming with roses and her perfect profile was no longer sadly downturned. We were starting to leave the Ladies room when the door burst inward and hit me in the frontal bone. Falling back into Tre J with a groan, I realized I’d been too optimistic when thinking my luck was on an upward spiral and getting my head bashed every two hours was a thing of the past. Rubbing my poor noggin, I took in Layla’s white face and unfocused, wild eyes.

She clutched my shoulders. “Jesus, there you are,
Cuz’n Anabel!”

“What’s wrong?” I
demanded, steadying her precariously swaying body with my hands at her elbows and ignoring my throbbing forehead.

Layla hiccupped, and the sound
was between a cry and a laugh. I realized how liquored up my cousin was even as she shouted, “Celeste and Misty have been arrested for prostitution!”

Tre J
’s voice was awestruck, “Bel, even for you that’s fast work!”

I
snickered, and then passed Layla over to her care while I rushed out to see what the hell had gone wrong with Plan A. I’d asked the girls to flirt with the white-haired man to see how he reacted. If he blew off those two girls, I figured he was up to something shady and I would implement Plan B. How had they possibly got arrested in five minutes?

Running into Jazy in the hallway, she said, “
The bartender told me the man at the bar was an undercover cop. He saw him badge and cuff the girls. Then he marched them out of here with one hand while he talked in his radio and requested a car to pick them up with his other! They went along, laughing and giggling. Nobody even noticed anything was going on!” Jazy’s face exploded in a big grin. “What the hell are they up to, Bel?”

Whipping out my phone, I texted Boyd to bring the limo around while saying, “It’s my fault. Come on, it’s 11:15. We
’ve got to get this taken care of before it’s time to rescue Blanca. Let’s get everyone and follow them to the police station.”

Tre J and Layla came stumbling after us. Tre was moving
my cousin along by the scruff of her neck, or so it appeared. Layla’s feet were barely touching the ground, as she smiled and waved to her new friends while wiping the tears from her eyes. She was moaning something about Papa Josef fitting her for a pair of cement shoes for letting him down.