Steve Martini - The Rule of Nine

Like a magnet, I turn my head, finding her lips with my own, rolling up onto my side as I grab her in my arms, pressing her body to my own, our legs intertwined, our tongues doing a dance.

Suddenly she pushes with her hands. I don’t want to let go. It feels so good to hold her, as if nature itself had reached a point of equilibrium, a tender balance of two human souls.

Suddenly she disengages. She’s back up on her knees. I lay there wanton, baffled and befuddled. Then I realize her need and she starts to pull the shirt over my head. While I’m finishing with the shirt, her frenzied hands go to work feverishly at my belt.

“Maybe I should take a shower,” I tell her.

“Later,” she says. “Unless you want me to leave, in which case you better make it a cold one.”

“Later would be best,” I tell her. Before the words clear my lips, she smothers them with an openmouthed kiss as she pulls my pants down. Together we finally shed them over the edge of the bed, where the red chemise and Joselyn’s thong join them.

She is back in my arms, the warm, tawny glow of her nakedness against my flesh. Her lips press to my ear in a husky, sensuous voice: “If Herman calls now, he won’t have to worry about Thorn. I will beat him to death with his own phone.”

What they say about hell and good intentions is true. I had intended to call Herman by ten o’clock.

When the phone rings, somewhere muffled and distant, I gaze over and the clock on the nightstand reads 9:10. I rouse from a deep sleep to the feel of her warm body against me. Joselyn’s tousled hair covers her face as it nuzzles into the cranny of my neck, her limp arm and sharp nails draped across my chest. Each time I move she sticks her claws in me like a cat.

When I see the sliver of bright light breaching the blackout curtains, I panic. “Oh, shit.” The phone is still ringing. But it’s not night, it’s the morning after.

I struggle to get up.

“Emmmmm!” Joselyn stirs and digs a fingernail into my nipple. “What time is it?”

“Morning,” I tell her. I free myself from the claw.

“Where are you going?” She yawns, covers her mouth, and stretches under the covers.

“Looking for my phone.” It’s not on the nightstand. When it rings again I realize it’s still strapped to the belt on my pants, down on the floor under the tangle of garments.

I lean over and fish my way through the red sexy thong and the chemise, trying to focus my eyes. I find my pants and feel for the phone, slide it out of the holster, and check the screen. It’s Herman. I push the green button. “Hello!”

“Where were you? Took you long enough,” he says.

“Couldn’t find my phone.”

“Hope you slept well, ’cause I’ve been up since six,” he says.

“Where are you?” I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and sit up.

“I been on the road since six thirty,” he says.

“You’re tailing Thorn?”

“Yeah, and you’re not gonna believe what I’m lookin’ at right now.”

“Where are you?”

Joselyn kneels up behind me on the bed and puts her arms around my chest, her chin on my shoulder from behind, and starts to graze me with her nails again. “What’s happening?”

“Stop it.”

“You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

“Is that who I think it is?” says Herman.

“Yeah. Tell me what’s going on.”

“You first,” he says.

“Never mind. Just tell me where you are.”

“Well, right now I’m on a narrow ledge of ground, on a hillside off a dirt road, lyin’ on my stomach lookin’ at some farmer’s field through a pair of binoculars,” says Herman. “According to the odometer, I’m about 12.8 miles south of Ponce and about a half mile east of the main highway. Thorn’s got himself a makeshift landing strip out here.”

“Is the plane there?”

“Yep. I’m looking at it right now. He’s got it tucked away under some camouflage netting and a bunch of equipment down there. He’s got one, two, three guys working with him. Looks like they’re getting ready to do some painting and one guy’s doing some welding.”

“How do I get out there?” I ask.

“You want me to come get ya?”

“No. Stay there. Keep an eye on Thorn. If he leaves, follow him. I’ll grab a taxi.”

“Not without me you won’t.” Joselyn pushes off behind me, pulls the top sheet off the bed, and wraps it around herself. Then, as if in a gown with a long trail, she parades toward the bathroom, where she closes the door.

“I need to take a shower,” I tell her.

“Go ahead, the door’s unlocked,” she hollers. “And you don’t have anything I haven’t already seen.”

“Sounds like you had a better night than I did,” says Herman.

“Yeah, well, what can I say?”

“You can give me a briefing,” he says.

“Later. First tell me how to get out there.” I grab a pen and the pad from the nightstand. Herman gives me detailed directions. I write it all down.

“Do me a favor,” he says. “Have the driver stop so you can get me a cup of coffee and somethin’ to eat. Thorn gets up early and he moves fast. I can smell military all over him,” says Herman. “I didn’t get any breakfast.”

“What do you want?”

“Steak and eggs, hash browns, side of pancakes, and a pot of coffee.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to have this catered?” I say.

Herman laughs. “Driver might know where there’s a good doughnut shop. Get me a big cup of coffee, one of those sixteen-ounce jobs, and a dozen doughnuts.”

“You know those aren’t good for you.”

“Have ’em throw in some tofu,” says Herman. “And make it two dozen if you guys are eatin’.”

I check my watch. “It’ll take me at least forty-five minutes to get there.”

“Hurry up. I’m hungry,” he says.

It takes us twenty minutes to shower, clean up, and get dressed. We grab a cab out in front and have him take us to a doughnut shop with a small market next door. Joselyn buys a couple small containers of fresh cut-up fruit and two plastic cartons of yogurt at the market while I get the doughnuts and three coffees.

She and I sit in the backseat of the taxi feasting on yogurt and fruit as we down our coffee. When I lift the lid on the doughnut box for an inspection, she slaps my hand and seals the box shut.

“You sapped my vital juices,” I tell her. “I need to keep up my strength.”

“Sounds like Superman needs Viagra,” she says. “There’s nothing in that box but kryptonite. I noticed last night that your speeding bullet is already a little too quick.” She glances at me sideways and smiles. How fast women become possessive.

“Is that so?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Maybe I just need more time at the range,” I tell her. “It could be that I’m out of practice.” I squeeze her thigh through her jeans and she jumps, dropping a piece of fruit off her plastic fork into her lap.

She starts to laugh, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Yeah, well, you start eating doughnuts and you’ll be shooting blanks,” she tells me. “And I got a flash for you. You won’t be jumping me in a single bound. Stick with me and I’ll keep you healthy,” she says.

“And what about happy?”

She turns to look at me. “I don’t know. You’ll have to judge that for yourself,” she says.

The taxi driver finds the dirt road and a few hundred feet in I see Herman’s rental car parked halfway into the brush off to the side.

We pull up. I pay the driver, grab Herman’s coffee and the doughnut box, and Joselyn and I get out.

“Over here!” I hear Herman’s voice beyond the brush.