Flirtinis with Flappers (9 page)

I shrugged. As if I could be expected to know "the plan." I didn't even know where Louise kept her toothbrush. Still, what was I supposed to tell the guy?
Uh, yeah, instead of swinging by your office I hid in your gin cellar and got it on with an Adonis who works for you.

Somehow I didn't think that would go over so well.

"It was…crazy," I explained, making it up as I went along. Luckily, as a reporter, I was used to ad-libbing. "Total chaos. There was no way I could make it to your apartment without the cops getting me. So I ended up taking off and going back to my place."

To my relief, Jack nodded his approval. "You're a smart girl," he said, ruffling my hair. "Don't want my baby here to get arrested. Especially not this week. As you know, we can't be drawin' a lot of attention to ourselves right now. Not with the plan all in place."

I raised my eyebrows. "Plan?" I said, hoping I didn't sound too eager. Was he talking about the St. Valentine's Day Massacre? Now we were getting somewhere.

"Louisey, what are you doing?" he asked suddenly, his face morphing into a frown. "You know what I like, baby. Don't hold out on me."

Uh…

"Why don't you tell me what you like, darling," I cooed. "I like to hear you say it."
Heh. Score one for Dora.

Jack grinned a toothy grin. "Yeah?" he asked, looking eager as a puppy dog. I tried not to wince as I imagined all sorts of disgusting acts that could make up what he liked. "Well, um…" He blushed a deep crimson, making me worry all the more what he was about to ask me. "I'd…I'd like you to suck on my toes."

Okay. That would be score one for Jack. Or maybe ten. Heck, I think Jack just won the whole kitty.

I stared at him, wide-eyed and horrified. Oh God. Please, please, please let "suck on my toes" be a code phrase for something else entirely. Preferably something that had absolutely nothing to do with the process of me wrapping my mouth around his dirty little piggies.

But it seemed my luck wasn't being a freaking lady tonight. I watched in horror as Jack leaned over me to start taking off his shoes.

Ew. Ew.
Ew.

Don't panic, Dora.
You're in an office with a man who has no problem shooting people in the head. If the guy wants his toes sucked, you'd better get on your knees and start sucking.

"Uh," I tried to form words as I watched him peel off his socks, revealing filthy feet with yellowed (probably fungus-ridden) toenails. "Uh…" It wasn't my most articulate moment, but I doubted anyone would blame me. I had already felt a bit nauseated when I woke up this morning. Now my stomach was starting to churn.

He wiggled his disgusting feet in my direction. "Suck them, baby," he said, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

"How about I…wash them first?" I suggested in sheer desperation. "I'll just go fill a bowl with warm water and soap. It'll feel really good, I promise."

Jack opened his eyes. "That sounds nice," he agreed. "You can get a bowl in the bathroom down the hall."

Breathing a sigh of extreme relief, I exited the office and found the bathroom. Hopefully he'd be satisfied with this amount of toe action, because there was no way I was sucking on those bad boys. I didn't care how much non-toe-suckage would change history. Even if that meant I'd never be born, like in the case of Marty McFly in
Back to the Future,
it'd almost be worth it just to avoid the dirty deed.

I reentered the office and walked over to Jack's desk. He was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed. Cursing the Men in Black and Nick the Prick for putting me in this position, I got down on my knees and set the bowl by his feet. I picked up one foot, then the other, and placed them in the bowl. He moaned in pleasure as I started scrubbing.

I
so
wanted to puke.

"So, um, this plan you mentioned?" I began. If I was stuck washing his feet, I needed to get some useful information out of the sacrifice. "What's the deal with that?"

"You forget again?" Jack chided. "Not much goin' on in that pretty little head of yours, is there
?
"

I suppressed a grimace. Poor Louise.

"You know me," I said, with a forced airhead giggle.

"Yes, I do." He smiled and leaned down to kiss the top of my head. "Well, as you know, Al and I have been warring with Bugs Moran and his Northside boys for a while. Al thinks it's a good time to strike."

Al as in the infamous Al Capone? How fascinating! I was living history here. That almost made foot washing worthwhile. Almost.

"So we called up Moran's men. Told 'em we was a bootlegger from Canada with a big shipment, going cheap. They're gonna meet the men over on Clark Street, Valentine's Day morning. Then, our men are gonna dress up as cops and bust 'em. Except that, of course, what we're really gonna do is shoot them dead. When Bugs Moran takes his dying breath, he's gonna think he was shot by a copper. It's a beautiful thing, really."

"Right." I suppressed a grimace. I mean, I knew that was the plan, but hearing it told with such gusto was a tad disturbing.

"Of course the Feds are gonna expect that Al and I are behind any kind of hit on Moran. They've already been poking their noses around too much lately as it is. That raid last night? I mean, what was that? Half of Chicago's finest were in that joint already, having a gin. The other half comes to bust the joint? Doesn't make sense tah me." He shook his head. "Anyway, Al's already headed down to Florida so he won't be nearby. And you, my little turtledove, are going to be my alibi," he said, ruffling my hair again. It was going to look like I'd been through a wind tunnel by the time he was done with me.

"I am?"

"Yeah, three days from now we're going to check in to the Stevens Hotel. To celebrate Valentine's Day, you know? We'll dine out and go to the theater. We'll be seen everywhere except the scene of the crime. Then, if the Feds come askin' questions, I can just say I was with my best girl."

"Sounds like a good plan,'' I ventured cautiously. "Um, has anyone come to you suggesting you change it at all?" Maybe Nick was one of McGurn or Capone's hitmen and would suggest a change in plans in order to ensure Bugs Moran woke up in time to get killed with the rest of them.

Jack shook his head. "Ain't no one gonna change the plan, doll. It was set up by me and Al. And what's set up by me and Al, stays set up."

"Well, that's good then." At least it appeared Nick would have his work cut out for him.

"Look, sweetheart, don't go worrying your pretty little head about all of these details," Jack said, reaching down to ruffle the hair on the head in question for a third time. God, that was getting annoying. Didn't he have any other gestures of endearment to spice things up? One that would allow me to keep my hair in a halfway presentable state? "It's all going to be fine. We'll whack Bugs and his Northsiders and be rewarded by Capone. You'll see. All you have to do is give me a weekend of your attention so I can wine and dine you like you deserve."

I smiled sweetly. "I'm looking forward to it, darling."

Jack grinned, evidently happy to have sated me. Then, to my utter horror, he once again wiggled his toes in my direction.

"My feet are clean, Louise. How about you suck on my toes now? You know I love when you do that, baby."

I stared at his toes. The last thing in the known universe I wanted to do was put my mouth on those appendages. At the same time, it would be counterproductive to the mission to run out of the room screaming.

Nope. I'd have to do it. The future of the world as we knew it was depending on my ability to suck. But ew! There better be a freaking good stipend waiting for me back in the twenty-first century for all these sacrifices I was making. Hopefully this got him off quick and wasn't an hour-long kink.

I pulled his foot onto my knee and leaned down to take his toes into my mouth. But even after my extensive washing, they still reeked. My eyes watered, and my stomach churned. Especially when, from my up-close vantage point, I noticed black fungus growing under several nails.

Just do it, Dora. You have to do it.

I opened my mouth. Closed my eyes…

Oh God. My stomach gave out as my mouth came in contact with his big toe. I tried to pull away, but it was too late.

Yes, I, Dora Duncan, vomited on the mob boss's bare feet.

Jack let out a roar of outrage as he yanked his foot away. He plunged it in the bowl of water, which had also, unfortunately, been the recipient of much of my puke and thus didn't have a lot in the way of cleaning potential.

"What did you do that for, Louise?" the mobster cried, his face practically purple with rage. I jumped up and backed away, just in time to avoid being punched in the mouth. Yikes.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," I cried, my hands flying in front of my face to ward off any more attempted blows. As if they'd really provide any protection from an angry mobster covered in puke. "I didn't mean—my stomach…oh!"

This was worse than that time in college when I drank a few too many frozen strawberry margaritas at a party and, on the way home, threw up in the lap of the guy I had a crush on. Ken, at least, saw humor in the admittedly unpleasant situation and still wanted to date me. Jack, on the other hand, looked like he'd sooner tear out my insides and feed them to hungry pigs than go for dinner and a movie anytime soon.

"I'll, um, get you something to clean that up," I stammered, backing away toward the door.
Way to fit in, Dora. Way not to cause a scene.

"Don't bother. Just get out of here," the mobster growled. "And send Tommy in here to clean up this mess."

"Um, okay. I'm really sorry," I said, making backward steps toward the door, hoping I didn't trip or do anything else that would prolong my hasty exodus. It was a hope that soon vanished, as I proceeded to accidentally back into a wall—right into a very expensive-looking painting. I whirled around, trying to save it, but the painting crashed to the ground. The sound of glass shattering drowned out my cry of surprise and dismay.

But not Jack's. Not by a long shot.

"Get out!" Jack bellowed. "You dumb Dora!"

Dumb Dora?

Dora?

I stopped dead in my tracks, fear dripping like melting icicles down my backside. Oh. My. God. He just called me by my twenty-first-century name. Was my cover blown? Did he know who I really was? How could he? Unless…

Was Nick hiding out in this mobster's body all along? Telling me to suck his toes, just to see if I'd do it? Was he really clued in to me this whole time? Bastard!

"Nick?" I ventured softly, still staring at the smashed painting and not daring to turn around.

Turn around and he may shoot.

Then again, he may shoot anyway.

"Who is Nick?"

Oh. Thank God.
I released the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Of course. I was being completely ridiculous. This guy wasn't Nick. There was no way this gross, disgusting creature was the dashing war correspondent Nick Fitzgerald. No way was this grumpy garlic-and-onions-smelling gangster was my handsome, funny ex-boyfriend inside. What was I thinking?

"Uh, nothing. Forget it. I was just…did you call me Dora?" Of course, I had to be sure. Even if this guy wasn't Nick, maybe he knew Nick. Maybe Nick had been here already and had blown my cover.

"It's an expression, genius. Dumb Dora. As in 'stupid little girl who evidently needs to be bought a dictionary for her birthday.'"

Oh. Wow. I don't think I've ever in my entire life been so happy to be called stupid.

"Right, of course," I babbled as my hand slipped around the doorknob. My escape route revealed itself with a loud creak. "Sorry. My mistake. I'll just…get out of your hair now. Go wash up… Lie down. 'Cause, you know, I'm obviously sick and all."

I stepped out of the room and yanked the door closed behind me. Leaning against the hallway wall, I let out a long sigh of frustration. This time-travel stuff was hard. Day two and I'd already managed to run for my life from the cops, make out with the wrong man, exchange jabs with a talking rat, and throw up on a gangster's feet after refusing to suck on his toes. Could things get any crazier?

And the worst thing was, I still had zero clue as to whose body Nick was hiding in and what his world-changing plan entailed. Great. I was doing a stellar job at this whole time-travel secret agent thing.

I headed for the bathroom—didn't want to walk around with puke breath the rest of the day. I found toothpaste in the cabinet, encased in what appeared to be a lead tube. Now there was a health hazard if I ever saw one. Buy teeth cleanser, get a side of lead poisoning for free.

I debated whether to use it, then decided to take a chance. After all, one brushing couldn't hurt. And my breath smelled really, really bad. Besides, it'd be poor Louise that had to suffer the after-effects, not me.

I squeezed out a dollop and finger-brushed my teeth, not trusting the random used toothbrushes sitting on the counter. I didn't know which one, if any, belonged to Louise, and I wasn't taking any chances. In fact, even if I knew which one was hers, I also knew where her mouth had been and was safer using a finger.

After washing up, I clumped down the narrow flight of stairs and opened the door that led back into the club and out to freedom. As I stepped into the main ballroom, a man jumped out in front of me, blocking my path. I looked up.

Sam.

"Hiya, again," he said cockily, taking off his fedora and bowing slightly. I raised an eyebrow. He certainly was a confident one, wasn't he?

"What do you want now?" I growled, annoyed that his very presence made all the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and my fingers tremble. Lousy, traitorous fingers. I shoved them behind my back.

"How's your
boyfriend?"
Sam asked, a mocking twinkle in his devastating blue-green eyes.

"He's great, actually. Really great."

Or
he will be as soon as he wipes all the vomit from between his toes.
Not that I was going to inform Sam of that little technicality. I wondered if my breath still smelled bad. He was definitely close enough to know.