P. Parrish - The Little Death

God damn Dickie Lyons.

She had always known he was a brute, a man with no taste or appreciation for anything of grace. And sometimes she felt a twinge of pity for Tink, although the woman certainly brought on some of her own misery.

But this time, Lyons had broken something of hers, something she had invested a lot of time and money in, something she had made blossom into a thing of beauty.

She started to dab at his face with the towel, but Byrne pushed it away. As he tried to sit up, he winced and held his right wrist.

“I think it’s broken,” he said.

She rose. “Let me get you another Percocet.”

“No,” he said quickly. “I just want to go home.”

“I told you, Byrne, it’s not safe. Tink said he’s looking for you. She says he’s got a gun.”

She was lying; she had no idea where Dickie Lyons was, and she hadn’t talked to Tink at all. The truth was, she didn’t know what the hell was going on anymore. All she knew was that she had to keep Byrne here.

“What about my money?” Byrne asked.

“You’ll get it, I promise.”

“I just want my money, Bianca,” he said. “I just want my money so I can get out of here. You told me this would be easy. You didn’t say I’d get beat up. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Byrne, please, listen to me. Everything will be all right.”

He closed his eyes and turned away.

She glanced at her watch. Where the hell was Carolyn?

When she called the Osborn house this morning, Greg told her that Carolyn was on her way to Aspen. But he had managed to reach her at the airport, and once Bianca explained what had happened, Carolyn had canceled her trip.

Calm down, Bianca. I’ll take care of it.

You better, Carolyn. We can’t let this happen again.

Bianca went back to the window and looked down on the street again. The rain was coming down hard now.

Damn, she didn’t want to lose Byrne. He was special. He was so sweet, much sweeter than the others. She had spotted him down at the yacht basin. It didn’t take much to convince him; he was broke, and he was so trusting. He had been patient when she took him to the tailor, the stylist, and the manicurist. He was even willing to change what soap he used.

No more Lifebuoy, Byrne, it’s Clive Christian for you from now on.

And when she had taken him to bed that first time-as she had done to evaluate all of the others-she knew he could service the fantasies of anyone.

He could have made so much money. That’s why he had agreed to do this, so he could make enough to buy a sailboat and go off to Key West. He could have made a fortune, for himself and for her.

But now he wanted out. He wanted what he was owed for his night with Tink and wanted to go home and feed his cat. She could have just given him the two grand; she had enough in the register downstairs. She could have let him drift away just like all the others had after the season was over and the women had tired of them. But after what had happened to Mark Durand, she couldn’t take any chances.

Bianca let out an angry sigh. She had really screwed that one up. She had misjudged him.

God damn Durand .

The first time she saw him sitting at the bar in Ta-boo, she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him. And she was desperate to find a new boy, because Justin had decided suddenly to go back to Los Angeles, so she had no one to finish out the season. She had approached Mark that same night, and on impulse, she had given him her special card, the cream-colored one with the fleur-de-lis and the private phone number. It was only later she found out he was trying to be a walker.

A walker…

Even now, it seemed ridiculous. Maybe Mark was living with that old fool Kent, but once she got Mark in her bed, it was clear he wasn’t gay. It was clear, too, that he was willing to do anything to make money. If he was too rough, well, some of her women liked that.

She signed him up that night. She got greedy. She got impatient. She didn’t vet him.

And then someone murdered him.

Bianca glanced back at Byrne. She couldn’t let what had happened to Mark happen to Byrne. She had to keep him here, no matter what it took.

She looked again at her watch and back out at the rain. There was nothing to do now but wait until the others got here.

The blue Camry pulled up to the curb and stopped. Carolyn looked out through the driving rain to the door of Fleur de Lee.

“Do you want me to wait for you?”

Carolyn turned to Greg. “No,” she said. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be. And you know what to do.”

Greg was gripping the steering wheel, his eyes intense. Carolyn reached over and put her hand over his. “Don’t put this in my planner,” she said softly.

“You don’t have to tell me that,” he whispered.

She smiled wanly. “I know.”

“I never put any of them in your book.”

“I know that, too.”

Greg looked out the rain-splattered windshield.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” Carolyn said. “Please don’t worry about me.”

“What about-?”

Carolyn glanced over her shoulder. Tink was curled in the corner of the backseat, staring vacantly out the window.

“I’ll take care of Tink,” Carolyn said softly. “We don’t know where Dickie is. I don’t want her to go home right now.”

Greg nodded. Carolyn reached over and touched his cheek. “Thank you,” she said. Then she pulled up the collar of her raincoat and got out of the car.

She opened the back door and helped Tink out. Huddled together, they hurried through the rain.

There were no lights on inside Fleur de Lee, and the CLOSED sign hung in the window. But the door was unlocked, and Carolyn slipped inside, ushering Tink in ahead of her. In the dark, there was nothing to see. But the smell was overwhelming: the sweet, heady scent of hundreds of flowers.

Tink stayed by the door, a thin figure in a too-large trench coat, arms wrapped across her chest, like she was trying to hold herself together.

Carolyn shut her eyes, like that would help her hold herself together as well. Because that was what she needed to do right now. If she didn’t, the whole thing was going to blow up.

Tink was weeping.

“Tink,” Carolyn said softly. “Stop crying.”

“He’s gone. He’s never going to come back, and he was the only one, the only one that I loved, and he’s never coming back.”

Carolyn let out a tired breath. There was no sense in trying to reason with Tink when she got like this, when she got confused and started talking about the men like they were from her past. It was better if she knew nothing about Byrne right now.

“What took you so long?”

Carolyn turned and spotted Bianca standing in the far shadows.

“I had to go get Tink. She’s in bad shape,” she said.

Bianca looked at Tink and back at Carolyn. “Why did you bring her here?”

“I couldn’t leave her at home,” Carolyn said. “I couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t call the police again. And I don’t trust Dickie.”

“What about Tucker?”

“I don’t know where he is.”

The smell of the flowers was giving Carolyn a headache. She glanced back at the door. The rain was coming down hard, and she doubted anyone was out on the avenue tonight, but they couldn’t take any chances.

“Let’s go in the back,” she said.

Tink didn’t seem to be listening, so Carolyn linked her arm through Tink’s, and they followed Bianca to the small storage room in the back. Bianca closed the curtain that divided the back room from the front of the shop.

Carolyn led Tink to a chair, and she dropped down onto it, hanging her head. Bianca switched on a small lamp, and when Carolyn saw her face, she realized Bianca was scared. It was unexpected in Bianca, and it made Carolyn angry. She had trusted this woman, given her control of everything. And control was not something she gave easily to others.