Wendy Rosnau - The Spy With The Silver Lining

She pulled out her phone. “I don’t think a martini is a good idea right now, Mama. At the moment we need to keep our wits about us.”

“My wits are always sharpened after a martini. Even better after two. When I get to number three—”

“I know what happens after number three, Mama. If you need to lie down in here, you could start a riot. No martinis.”

“But I’ve acquired quite a thirst, Cassie. We’ve seen half of the city from the backseat of a taxicab, and we haven’t been here an hour. That cabdriver must have been on speed. Did you see how many red lights he ran? And what about our luggage?”

“I need to make a phone call.”

“To Mr. Fourtier?”

Never, Casmir thought. Not even if she was stranded in a snake pit with an alligator gnawing on her ankle. “I’m calling…my boss. Are you going to be all right sitting here for a few minutes?”

“Of course. About our luggage…”

“Later, Mama.” Casmir got up and rounded the table. There was a hall with a flashing sign above it indicating the restrooms. “Don’t move from this table. Do you hear, Mama? I want you sitting right here when I get back.”

“I don’t think I could move if I wanted to. Don’t worry. My butt is glue.”

Pierce walked through the front door of the Glitterbug at the same time as Lazie came through the back door. His jaw was set, but Saber—who was used to the shit hitting the fan on the hour—was wearing a wide grin. His old friend was in his element when he was knee-deep in sewage digging for treasure at the bottom.

They met at the bar. “Good to see you, mon ami. It’s been a while. You’re lookin’ fit for a man in bed with the government. At the moment it looks like your mood could be better—” he shrugged “—but women can have that affect on a man, oui. We’ll find dem, no worries.”

“We better or Merrick is going to send me to Greenland naked to count snowflakes. You said they took off when they saw you?”

“Dat’s right. Say, who’s da hot cookie dat’s with your lady? I ain’t seen nothin’ dat shiny and sweet in years.”

“That’s the mother.” Pierce ignored Lazie’s goofy grin. It was rare to see Saber in a bad mood, even when a bucket of shit was raining down on his parade. Only this time it was his parade, and Merrick wasn’t going to be happy if he learned he’d lost the bait out of the starting gate.

He said, “You take this side of the street, and I’ll take the—”

“Cookie!”

“What?”

Lazie had turned around to lean against the bar. He was looking out past the crowd of men who had come to enjoy the afternoon strip show. Pierce turned his head, and there in the far corner of the room sat an attractive woman in her early fifties.

“Is that Balasi’s mother?”

“It is, mon ami.” Lazie’s grin widened. “What did you say her name was?”

“I didn’t. You sure that’s her?”

“Dat’s da maman. And look, she’s a spirited ange, too.”

Pierce watched as a waitress set a martini down in front of the woman.

Lazie put his hand over his heart. “I’m in love, mon ami. Tell me mon coeur’s name?”

“Snap out of it, Lazie. Ruza Balasi isn’t your type.”

“Ruza-a…” Lazie let the name hang on his silver, Southern tongue. “Ma douce amie.”

“She’s not your love.” Pierce scanned the room looking for Casmir. “She wouldn’t leave her mother,” he muttered, thinking out loud. “No luggage. On foot. Strange city. What would she do? Oui, I know. She’d make a call to Polax.”

The music was loud and the catcalls the stripper was getting added to the noise. Pierce glanced at the hall leading to the restrooms, thought a moment.

He grabbed Lazie by the front of his shirt. “Get your eyes back in your head and your mind off your dick. And put your hand down. It looks like your having a heart attack.”

“Mais, yeah. It’s true. My heart has been attacked by Ruza-a…”

“One of these days I’ll enlighten you about sweet Ruza Balasi, but right now this is what you’re going to do.”

Pierce leaned close and whispered his plan into Lazie’s pierced ear.

Ruza sensed a pair of eyes watching her. She shoved her dark glasses to the end of her nose and scanned the room. There, at the bar. It was the shady-looking character who needed a haircut.

As he began to swagger over to the table, she wondered what was taking Cassie so long. She wasn’t up for conversation with a stranger. She was simply too exhausted.

She took a gulp of her martini to fortify the upcoming confrontation.

“Oui, a fine-lookin’ woman, Cookie. A classy maman, who looks like she’s lived a life of experience, no?”

“It’s true,” she answered. “I wasn’t born yesterday, so before this gets awkward, I’ll say no, thank you. Now run along.”

“Oui, a spirited maman. I enjoy a woman who can teach an old dog a new trick on all four.”

Ruza lifted her glass to her lips again. “Well, Mr. Dog, you must have a hearing problem. I said, run along.”

Instead of moving off, he chuckled. “So you like my place, do you, mon coeur?”

Ruza removed her glasses, momentarily forgetting about her black eye. “I have no—”

“Ma douce amie, you’ve been injured. Who has hurt you, my sweet? I’ll kill the bastard.”

She arched her shapely gray eyebrows above her damaged eye. “You said you’re the owner of—” she looked toward the stage “—this cheap acting den?”

“Oui. The very one. Saber Lazie at your service, mon coeur.” He pulled out a chair and sat. “I haven’t seen you here before. Have you come to my city on business or seeking pleasure?”

“That would be my business.”

Another chuckle. “Oui, a spirited woman, with a snake’s bite. The man who hurt you, does he still have his legs?”

She studied him a moment, got a whiff of his cologne, but couldn’t recognize it. It smelled familiar. That was odd.

“All you need to know—Lazie—is that I’m not ripe for plucking. I’m waiting for my daughter. You’re sitting in her chair. As you can see, I’ve bought a drink from your lacking establishment, so I’m not loitering.”

“Ruza-a…do you dance?”

“How do you know my name?”

He stood. “It’s a fittin’ name, for one so lovely. I like slender women, and memorable names. You’re a feast for a man’s eyes and his imagination.”

His sharp eyes drifted to her chest.

Ruza considering going for the mace in her handbag, which lay on the table. Not yet, she thought. He still hadn’t explained how he knew her name.

She emptied her martini glass, then asked again, “Who told you my name?”

He shrugged, checked his watch. “It’s time to go.”

She saw him step around the table. Then his hand was on the back of her chair. With a sudden jerk he pulled it away from the table, and then lifted Ruza off her chair and tossed her over his shoulder. It happened so quickly she had no time to react or reach for her mace.

The bar crowd was too busy watching the stage to notice Ruza being carried out the back door. She began to pound her fists into his kidneys as he stepped out into the back alley.

Screaming, she fought harder, but the man was stronger than he looked. He ignored her blows as he rolled her inside the trunk of the car parked next to the building.

“Don worry, Cookie. I’ll let you out soon.”

Then he slammed down the trunk and the car’s engine roared to life.

Ruza started to scream again. Maybe someone would hear her. That hope turned to dust as the radio speaker inside the car began to vibrate and drowned out her cries.

The car sped away as Aaron Neville began to sing “Use Me.”