In Deep Shitake (A Humorous Romantic Suspense) (26 page)

Gulp.

“Maybe I am hungry after all. Could we both get an order of wings?” Mo asked.

“I am good host,”
Kubikov
said, snapping his fingers in the air.

Joe came forward. The Russian mumbled a few words Mo didn’t hear. Joe nodded and walked away.

“Why are you ordering dinner when he’s threatening my life?” Ross whispered to her.

“He’s threatening me too, you know. Besides, it got one of the henchmen to leave.”

“Come now, Dagger,”
Kubikov
said, impatiently. “I no want to kill you. I am businessman. I come to country to live American dream just like you, big film star. Just give me my documents.”

“I don’t have documents. How would I get your documents?”

“Good question. I wonder same thing.”

“I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” Ross said.

“Come now, Dagger. Just give what you owe me. Give back what you take. No hard feelings. I get my American dream and you get your American dream. Everybody happy. I think fair, don’t you?”

“Exceedingly fair,” Ross said to the mobster before leaning toward Mo. “I think we need to get out of here now. It seems to me we’ve found out about all we can without being killed.”

“Yeah, let’s see what we can do,” Mo whispered back. “Be ready to drop to the floor.”

“What are you going to do, Mo?”

“Hopefully create a distraction.”

“You have discussed enough,”
Kubikov
said. “Now give.”

“Could we order drinks first?” Mo asked as loudly as she could. “I know Stephen Dagger appreciates his fans.”

Kubikov’s
eyes widened when she hopped up on the bench. “Hey, y’all, Stephen Dagger is buying drinks and signing autographs for the first twenty fans to get themselves over to his table.”

Mo’s words acted like a starter’s pistol. And whether brought on by the promise of free booze or by the precious signatures, a melee of people rushed the table.
Kubikov
and his henchmen turned as one to confront the crowd. Unnoticed, Mo and Ross dropped to the floor and then crawled through the forest of legs.

In the
treetops
above them, insults and warnings screeched out. Glasses spilled and punches were thrown. Glass broke. Bodies were pushed, pulled, pounded. Beer, chicken wings, cheese covered nachos—and indeterminate substances—fell from the
treetops
onto their heads and backs. Mo and Ross reached a clear space and then leapt up.

As they sprinted for the door, a voice came from behind them. “Where is Stephen Dagger? He owes me a drink.”

Mo and Ross rounded the half-wall. The bouncer they’d encountered earlier remained at his post, blocking their path.

“What’s going on in there?” the bouncer asked.

“There are some drunks demanding free drinks,” Mo answered. “You better go in and help calm them down.”

“Again?” The bouncer headed into the club’s interior.

Mo grabbed Ross’s hand and they ran for the door. Even in the parking lot, she didn’t look back. Not until they were in the Mercedes and driving away, did she give a sigh of relief. When she glanced in the side mirror, she didn’t see anyone emerge from the club.

“I don’t see anyone behind us,” Ross said.

“I don’t either. We aren’t being followed. That’s a good sign isn’t it?”

“I see nothing good about this situation.”

Neither did Mo.

Chapter Twelve

Clarence slammed his apartment door shut behind him and leaned against it, catching his breath. According to Mo,
Kubikov
hadn’t paid. Worse, his goons might have seen Clarence while he had been staking out her house. They might be out front waiting for him right now.

Crossing to the closet, he took the phone from his pocket and punched in his girl’s number. He grabbed the suitcase from the floor, threw it on the bed, and opened the top.

“Baby,” he said when she answered. “I’m leaving town. Can you meet me here in thirty?” He nabbed an armful of clothes—hangers and all—and shoved them into the case.

“Do you have the money?” she asked.

Pausing, Clarence winced. “No,” he said in a whisper. “He didn’t pay. He just sent his goons to ransack the drop point.”

“Then what are you calling for?” she demanded. “We need that half mil to make a new life. I can't get the money on my own or I would.”

“We can leave town and start over anywhere,” he urged. “We can do without the money.”

“Start over with nothing? Are you kidding? You’re as useless as my husband,” she said, her voice shrill. After a moment, she asked, “Is
Kubikov
onto you?”

Yes
, he thought. “No,” he answered.

“That’s something good at least,” she replied.

“Will you come over?” he pleaded. “Or I could meet you at a hotel. Please, baby. You know how I crave your body.”

Perhaps he could convince her to leave town with him if they were together in person. He could do without the money if he had her. Surely she would feel the same when she thought about it.

“Not tonight. I’m busy. I’ll come by tomorrow.”

“Okay, babe. Love you,” he said even though she had already hung up.

Clarence plopped down on the bed, undecided whether to continue packing. He took the lipstick tube from his pocket and laid it on the bed next to his leg. As he continued to ponder his course, a knock sounded on his door. Must be his landlady.

He hesitated though. It could be one of
Kubikov's
goons...or the big man himself.

"Who is it?"

"It's me."

Relieved at the female voice he called, “Come in."

Almost immediately, the door opened and Heather Davies marched over the threshold.

“Why haven’t you returned my calls?” she demanded with one hand on her hip. “You must have those photos by now.”

“No.” He slumped further into the bed. “
Kubikov
didn’t pay up.” Clarence didn’t mention he’d pretty much abandoned getting the photos back anyway.

“No?” she screeched.

“
Shhhh
,” he said, jumping up to close the door. “What do you want me to do? I can’t make him give me the photos.”

“You realize that if those pornographic shots of me get to the tabloid, my career is finished, right?”

“You never know, they could make you even more famous.

“Forget it,” she cried. “I’d be ruined. I’m supposed to be the girl next door.”

“You are,” he said. “Lots of girls next door are porn stars.”

Heather sobbed as she paced the room. Even though she was crying, he saw no tears. If she weren’t his girlfriend’s sister, he would have nothing to do with this crazy ass woman.

“Those photos cannot get out,” she ranted. “My fiancé will break our engagement.”

“He might like the photos.” He’d tell her anything to get rid of her. Why wouldn't she leave?

“My life will be ruined.” She pointed an accusing finger. “And it’s all your fault. I could kill you.”

“Me?” he asked with arched eyebrows. “You’re the one who let the photos be taken.”

“When I was eighteen,” she defended, “I needed the money and my sister set the gig up.”

“She wouldn’t do that.” Clarence shook his head.

“Of course she would,” Heather said with a disgusted huff. “She’s a money-grubbing bitch.”

“Get out.” Clarence opened the door. “I’m not listening to that kind of talk about the woman I love.”

“You’re delusional,” Heather said as she walked out. When she got to the top of the stairs, she glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll be back for those photos and you better have them. Or else.”

“Or else what, you crazy harpy?”

She didn’t answer as she stomped down the stairs.

Clarence slammed the door to his apartment. Heather hadn’t been gone a minute before there was another knock on the door. What did the stupid woman want now?

Pulling open the door, he screamed, “What—“Then he spotted Mrs.
Truesberry
with an ugly scowl on her face. “Oh,
Truesy
. It’s you.” He tried to force a friendly smile.

“Don’t
Truesy
me,” she said. “I’m very angry with you, dear boy.”

“I know, I know.” He placed a hand on her arm. “I’m so sorry about the noise.”

“Noise and you know I don’t allow female visitors.” Her gimlet gaze narrowed. “You have a girlfriend,” she accused.

“Heather?” he said, eyes widening. Then he laughed. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s a very demanding client.”

“What about that lipstick?” she asked, pointing to the tube on the bed. “Why would she leave lipstick here if she wasn’t your girlfriend?”

The old lady was getting on his very last nerve. “You know I love only you,” he said with an insincere smile. “The lipstick belongs to a client. They left it at the office and I picked it up by mistake.”

“Can I have it?” she asked.

“No,” he said, his smile stiffening. “I have to take it to the client later.”

“Oh, I see,” she said seeming somewhat mollified. After a moment she asked, “What happened earlier? I thought you were going to take me to the conference with you.”

He’d completely forgotten his off-the-cuff remark. “I’m sorry. It turned out the agency wanted me to conduct some business while I was there, so I couldn’t take you.”

“That must be why your colleague and her friend were here earlier,” she said.

“My colleague?”

“Ms. Tuttle.”

“Yeah.” He cringed, thinking about how furious Mo must be. “Anyway, I’m
gonna
have to go back out now. More work you know." He continued trying to usher her out.

She walked in front of him. “I want to talk to you about something.”

“Tomorrow,
Truesy
,” he promised.

Nodding with a pasted smile on her face, she proceeded down the stairs. Clarence closed his door behind them and followed her down. No sense staying in his apartment waiting for
Kubikov’s
gang to bust in. At the front door, he stuck his head outside and scanned the street. The only person outside was a tall young man leaning against a Toyota and talking on a cell phone. Clarence decided the guy wasn’t a threat and headed out. Just as he was about to pass the car, the young man came around the bumper and grabbed him by the arm with an iron grip.

“Hey, Clarence,” the young man said. “Don’t you remember me?”

* * * * *

Ross slipped out the motel room door and then eased it shut behind him. Inside the room, Mo relaxed in a bath while Talley lay curled up on a pillow Ross had placed on the floor in the corner by a bowl of water.