ARC: Peacemaker (13 page)

Chapter Eighteen

“And your plan is?” asked Sixkiller.

The strobe effect of the traffic and city lights on his face during the taxi ride to the Western Quarter didn’t hide the odd expression on his face. I knew that look.

“What?” I demanded.

“Answering a question with a question is bad manners,” he said.

“Staring at what someone is wearing is also bad manners. It’s just a dress, OK?”

I swear he bit his lip right then, but it could have been the play of the fluorescents as they cast their fleeting patterns.

And then the taxi driver veered off the Park Ringway and onto the Western Quarter spur road, and we both stared out the windows taking in the mad frizz of
Saloon
and
Beer
and
Girls
signs.

“My plan is to get upstairs in the diner to check out the apartments opposite above the club.”

“Why not go straight in through the club itself?”

“Countless reasons, not the least of being that their security is tight and they hate any type of law enforcement. You’ve got it stamped on your forehead. And me… well I’m too well known in these parts. What number is it?”

“Apartment 5. What will you be able to see from upstairs?”

“They’re old, narrow terrace houses, so the apartments all have windows. I should be able to just count along and find the right one?”

“Terraced?”He looked confused.

“Built very close together,” I said.

“How do we get in?”

I raised my eyebrows. “We go across, of course.”

“Across?”

“It’s only a twenty foot drop.”

“You won’t go after him without me.”That was not a question by any means.

“Unlikely, the way I’m feeling. But you’ll need to run interference on the stairs while I look around first. Chef Dab
–
the owner
–
runs a closed house on the upstairs section on these occasions. A few drinks and people who go searching out privacy end up stealing the silverware.”

“Privacy for what?”

“It’s a party in the Quarter with gallons of vodka. You work it out.”

“You mean they’re looking for places to… be carnal.”

“If that’s what you call it in Virginia.”

Our conversation hit a major road block about then and neither of us spoke again until the taxi turned right onto Virgil Earp Way and pulled into the loading zone outside Dabrowski’s Diner.

As I gave the cabbie my One Card, my phone beeped an incoming text; Caro was already outside, waiting.

Sixkiller spotted her before I could get my thumbs free to reply, and unfolded himself from the car to stroll over.

I retrieved my card from the cabbie.

“Busy out tonight,” he said. “You be wantin’ a ride home? Might be best to book now.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m not sure what time I’ll be leaving.”

He held up his I-code anyway.

I scanned it politely with my phone. “I’ll beep you if I get stuck.”

“Sure,” he said.

Then I was out the door and he was pulling back into the traffic.

“A dress, Virgin, how sweet.“

“Corah?” I turned to see the psychic standing behind me dressed in a figure-hugging black elastin dress and killer peep-toe heels. Her hair was floaty and almost at her waist, and huge circular silver earrings dangled from her lobes. Without the earrings she would have looked like a high class escort; with them, the outfit screamed gypsy chic.

To add to the mystery she had a bright circular red mark on her forehead. Last time I checked, there was nothing remotely South-Asian in her ancestry, but it completed an intriguing image.

“I’ve clearly been spending too much time–”

“In the company of criminals?” I finished for her.

She screwed up her face. “So judgmental.”

I bit my tongue on that. No point of getting into it with her on the sidewalk. The evening had a long way to go, and I was already feeling light-headed.

“Whatever. I got you your invite, now you don’t expect me to hold your hand all evening do you?”

I moved towards the small queue of people having their ID checked at the door. Caro and Sixkiller stood slightly to one side.

“I’m a big girl. But you will introduce me to
him
, won’t you?”

With that, Corah cut right in front of me and slinked straight up to Sixkiller. Her loose hair flicked Caro in the face as she swung it back over her shoulder and tilted her head upward.

“I’m Corah, and
you
are delicious.”

Caro’s eyes bugged in disbelief, and she took an involuntary step backward.

“At ease, Corah,” I said.

But the Marshall had already taken her hand and seemed in danger of drowning in whatever moist emotion Corah exuded from her stare.

“Caro Jenae and Marshall Nate Sixkiller,” I said by way of introduction. “Meet… um... Corah.”

“
Marshall
Sixkiller. What a shame… all the best men are always in law enforcement,” she said, completely ignoring Caro.

“Well I take that as a compliment, ma’am,” said Sixkiller in his broadest drawl. “And hope you don’t hold it ag’in me.”

“I’d like to hold many things ag’in you Marshall. Perhaps I could make you a list.”

Sixkiller chuckled. A downright, out-loud warm chuckle that sent my irritation levels sky-rocketing. All this man had given me so far was grief and a superior lip curl. And Corah’s sex scent had him
chuckling
.

I stepped right through the middle of their handholding huddle, knocking them apart.

“Let’s go,” I said over my shoulder. “I need vodka.”

Caro was right at my shoulder as we passed security and inside.

“Virgin?” she whispered. “Who the f–”

“Later,” I said.

A tray of shot glasses spun past and I retrieved one each for Caro and I. Sixkiller could get his own damn drink. I knocked it back in a gulp, hoping it would ease the knot in my gut. Corah had always had the power to twist me up.

As the waitress and tray reversed her trajectory through the crowd, I secured another couple.

“Steady there, girl,” said Caro. “You’re barely upright as it is. You keep doing that and you’ll be sailing more vodka in your veins than blood.”

I ignored her and downed them both. The alcohol burned away the tension in my stomach but left me a little dizzy.

Caro took my hand and led me to booth, where I steadied myself and looked around.

The diner had experienced some kind of makeover in the couple of days since I’d been there. The vinyl seats, plastic leader boards, rectangular fluorescent lights and cigarette-cauterised cafe stools had gone in favour of miniature chandeliers, freshly-carpeted booths and self-regenerating gerbras in pots. Dabrowski’s signature giant sausage still hung above the bar though, and the smell of sauerkraut lingered.

I felt like I’d walked into a seriously messed up food dream. The kind you had after eating cool whip on a pickle.

But the clientele was lapping it up. The Western Quarter loved a novelty look that didn’t include upturned horseshoes and stirrup irons.

“You scared me to death, Virgin,” said a voice at my shoulder.

Totes slipped into the booth alongside me.

“Hey,” I said and held out my fist so we could knuckle five.

He set his long glass non-alcoholic fruity extravaganza on the table in front of him and sucked with gusto through the straw. “I wanted to come to the hospital but Bull wouldn’t let me leave work.”

“Nothing you could have done other than send the medivac for me. Thanks by the way. Sorry I was so…”

He shrugged. “You’re you, Virgin. That’s all I ever want you to be.”

Caro eye-rolled and mimicked a finger-gag while he was looking down into his drink.

“I’m still mad at you for bugging my apartment,” I said.

“But now you’re really grateful really ’cause it proved you didn’t kill that dude.”

I sighed. “Yes. But Totes… why?”

“I… just… you know… want you to be safe.”

“You invaded my privacy. It’s… creepy.”

His face fell. “I’m sorry.”

“Just don’t do anything like that again. OK?”

He perked up at signs of forgiveness. “On my dolls, I swear!”

“Right. Now get out of my face.”

He gave me a salute, slopping his mocktail everywhere as he left.

“Cute,” said Caro in a dry voice.

“Whatever.”

Totes made a beeline for the food, passing by Sixkiller who had made it to the bar according to his hat which I picked out in the crowd. Corah’s auburn crown of hair was just visible above his shoulder.

I looked away for them, searching out Chef Dab. He was holding court from the newly outfitted open-windowed kitchen, his belly resting on the vast stainless steel bench in front of him. Some kind of chopping demonstration was going on which involved a lump of meat, a wooden board and a giant cleaver. His audience was mainly business suits and cocktail dresses. I recognized some of the faces in them as corporate high flyers – the CEO of the Australis moon shuttle company; an actor from the reality TV show,
Wasters
; and Parks Southern’s very own boss
man
. Then there was a judge or two, some lauded barristers.

Dabs food had always had a broad appeal, even if for some it was a case of slumming it.

Corah had moved and was standing with the judges watching Dab’s antics from over their shoulders. Seems she’d dispensed with Sixkiller already. She wasn’t one to dwell.

“You want some
koreczki?” asked a nasal voice in my ear.

Greta stood dressed in a tight-fitting satin shift, lace-up boots and wearing a floral wreath with trailing ribbons in her hair.

“Nice head thingy,” I said.

“Chef’s having an Andy Warhol moment,” she replied sourly.

I gave her a quizzical stare.

“Pop Culture meets stupid old traditions – instead of advertising. It’s…”She used her free hand to gesture down her clothes. “…supposed to signify I’m a waiter
and
a maiden.”

“What’s a maiden?” I asked.

“You serious, Virgin?” said Caro. “Maidens are unmarried women.”

“That’s sexist,” I said, ”and just plain gross.”

“You gonna tell him that?” said Greta, dipping the tray so we could both seize some skewered cheese from it.

“Not while he’s wielding a weapon of mass destruction.”

“Wait till he does his knife juggling demonstration,” she said and tottered off.

Caro blew on the steaming hot cheese cubes. “Now tell me about that dreadful woman. Is that why you want me here? To keep her away from
Sixkiller
? I’d be happy to trip her up and accidentally step on her.”

I savoured the image. “
That woman
is a psychic from Divine Province. We went to school together.”

Caro’s eyes widened. “She’s the one you used to school-share with who–”

“Left smoke in our desk and got me busted. Yeah, that’s her.”

“Ahaa. Good to know my instant dislike was justified.”

I could grin now after three shots of vodka and a bite of fried cheese. “I owed her a favour and she wanted an invite to this.”

“Why so?”

I shrugged, not really caring right now.

“You don’t have the nose for a story do you, Ginny? I mean, there’s got to be something going on for her to want to come uptown for a diner re-launch. Could be newsworthy.”

“I got my own stuff to deal with, and Corah stopped being interesting to me the year we graduated.”

“Fair enough,” said Caro, but her eyes narrowed with preoccupation.

“I’m here because we’ve found a lead on the guy who attacked me in my apartment,” I said, trying to drag her attention back. It worked.

“And?”

“He was living in an apartment above Jusco’s.”

“Next door?”

I nodded. “I’m going to take a look from the first floor. Can you help
Sixkiller
and me by keeping anyone from coming up after me?”

“Might not be the only thing the Marshall needs a hand with – your friend has her suction pads set to warp.”

I wanted to laugh at that but strong wave of nausea swept through me. Maybe I wasn’t so good after all. “I’m going to say hello to Dab then I want you to distract the bouncer on the stairs so I can get past.”

“Fine. But why don’t you just ask Chef if you can look around. You’re on good terms.”

“I could, but then he’d know what I was doing. I really don’t want this coming back on him. You know the detective on the case is a bulldog.”