Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series (26 page)

“Looks like your lady found some friends.” Tiger took a silver cigar cutter out of his pocket and snipped the end off a cigar, which troubled me. I hadn’t seen him discard the one he was just smoking. “You might be in for the long haul,” he warned. “Women like to talk.”

Bente certainly liked to talk. She was already in deep conversation. When she fanned out the bottom of her dress, I realised it was probably fashion-related and boring so I decided to stick with Tiger.

“What’s tonight in aid of, Tiger?” I asked. “I don’t know why you wanted us here.” I’d had no luck in getting any information out of him so far, and that wasn’t about to change. The doors swung open. The band had arrived, which pleased the partygoers no end. Even Grover Irwin started clapping and cheering. Old people can really whoop it up when they’re excited – but I’d known that for a while. All Grandma Nellie needed to become wild and antisocial was one stiff drink.

“Where do you want us?” asked a guy carrying the biggest upright base I’d ever seen.

“The stage is yours,” replied Tiger, pointing at it.

Three more people filed through the door, each carrying instruments, or parts of instruments. It took a couple of trips back and forth before they were set up, and before they started playing there was a bill to settle.

The singer approached Tiger while the sound check was going on. “We can take a cheque or cash,” she told him. “Cash is better.”

Tiger turned his attention to me. “Are you paying cash or cheque, kid?”

Deep down I wasn’t surprised that he’d hit me up for the bill; perhaps that’s why I couldn’t pretend to be outraged. I asked how much was owed.

“Five hundred and fifty dollars,” replied the singer.

I put my wallet back in my pocket. No one carries that kind of cash around, except my father. “It’ll be cheque then,” I told her. “I’m paying by cheque.”

Tiger didn’t say a word until the singer was on stage, gleefully waving my cheque at her band mates.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I think you’re a shrewd old bastard,” I told him.

He chomped his cigar, teeth gleaming. “It’ll be worth it,” he said. “Wait till you see this place come alive.”

42. HISTORY

Bente

This would have to go down in history as one of the strangest evenings I’d ever had. Clearly Ryan had no idea what we were in for when he accepted Tiger’s invitation, and I was glad. I don’t think we would’ve gone if he had. The band was wonderful, and they couldn’t have asked for a better audience. Despite their advanced age, every person in the room could dance.
Really
dance.

Ryan pretended to be upset when I dragged him away from Tiger and out onto the dance floor. “It’s not even a dance floor, Bente,” he grumbled.

I pressed myself against him and linked my arms around his neck. “It is tonight,” I replied, raising a smile.

“Did you know that the last time a band played on that stage was in 1982?” he asked.

“No.” I smiled. “How would I know that?”

“You wouldn’t.” He shook his head the tiniest bit. “Tiger just told me.”

Ryan stepped to the side, positioning me to glance across at Tiger. He was sitting at the poker table with cards in one hand, a cigar in the other, and a glass of whiskey in front of him.

“He’s owned this place since the late fifties,” Ryan continued. “Apparently it used to be the place to be back then.”

“So what happened?”

“I get the impression he’s a bit of a wheeler and dealer.” His low murmur tickled my ear. “And the dice haven’t rolled his way for a while.”

Probably since 1982.

I dropped my hold on his neck and put my hand on his shoulder. Ryan pulled us into a more traditional dance pose by taking my hand.

“But he won’t sell? Why?”

“Look around, sweetheart,” he urged. “This is his baby. It’s probably all he has left in the world.”

I took my time and glanced in every direction as Ryan danced us around the huge floor. “So who are all these people?”

“According to Tiger, they all used to frequent this club back in the day. See the lady in the purple dress?” He twirled me around so I’d get a better look. “Her name is Connie. She was the coat check girl in the sixties. The old broad next to her is Marta. She was a cocktail waitress.”

I could believe it. Marta was the lady who’d called me over. We’d had a long conversation about my dress. “Don’t be afraid to hitch up that skirt, princess,” she told me. “That boy looks like he could handle it.”

The run-down old club had a history older than Ryan and I put together. I felt strangely humble being there, and I wasn’t the only one who’d fallen under its spell. “I want to buy it so bad.” Ryan breathed the words into my hair.

“What would you do with it?”

He twirled me as he mulled over my question. “Bring her back from the dead,” he finally replied. I wondered how, but held off asking. Ryan didn’t look like he needed the torture. It was probably one of the first times he’d ever stumbled across something he couldn’t have.

I didn’t get a chance to console him. Marta spotted us looking at her, wandered over to us and cut in. “May I?” I think she was asking me, but it was hard to tell. She only had eyes for Ryan.

If Ryan was unhappy, he didn’t let on. He was at his best when charming, and Marta wasn’t hard to woo. Dancing was a sexy skill, and thanks to his private school education, Ryan could dance. The fact that he was gorgeous and debonair didn’t hurt either.

I wasn’t up to finding myself another dance partner. I avoided making eye contact with the old men checking me out from the sidelines and made my way to the stage instead. When the band wrapped up their version of “Tears On My Pillow” I asked the lead vocalist if they took requests. “Maybe a bit of Etta James?”

“You want to hear ‘At Last’? We get that a lot.”

I shook my head. “No, ‘Anything To Say You’re Mine’. Do you know it?”

On cue, the band started playing the song that had been mine for as long as I could remember. I was so excited to hear it that the next words tumbled out of my mouth in a rush. “I want to sing it.”

The lead singer didn’t seem too put out by my demand. She motioned to the microphone and stepped aside.

43
. LITTLE RED FIRECRACKER

Ryan

Some things are just wrong – like Bridget’s penchant for chicken nuggets and Tiger Malone’s disgusting cigar habit. But some things are
really
wrong, like the injustice of finally witnessing a live singing performance by my sexy-as-hell girlfriend while I was trapped in the arms of Marta the ancient cocktail waitress.

I wrestled free and bowed out.

“You watch your little red firecracker,” permitted Marta, patting my chest. “You know where I’ll be when you’re ready.”

I wasn’t likely to ever be ready for Marta, but I nodded and thanked her. I would’ve helped her to a seat if I’d had the will to move but I couldn’t tear my eyes from the stage.

Bente’s raspy voice was liquid gold. The way she leaned into the microphone and absently gestured was gorgeous too. I wasn’t the only one who thought so. By the time she was midway through her song, all eyes were on her. Even the poker players took a break to watch.

There wasn’t a hint of nervousness about her, which proved her mind was elsewhere and she was unaware of the attention she was receiving. The rare lack of inhibition made for the sexiest display I’d ever seen. The desire to get her home and naked was strong, but not the prime emotion. I felt proud, lucky – and completely and utterly in love.

Marta was right. At that moment she was a little red firecracker, but I enjoyed the other side of Bente more – the soft, bright, forgiving woman who chose to overlook my terrible past indiscretions in favour of loving me.

I didn’t notice Tiger beside me until he spoke. “Did you know she could sing like that?”

I glanced at him and smiled. “Yeah. She doesn’t do it often, though.”

“You should encourage her more,” he urged, staring at the stage. “The bright lights suit her. Nothing grows in the shade.”

***

The second the song ended, I took Bente in my arms and lifted her off the stage. She seemed embarrassed by her audience’s chants for an encore, and my weird caveman response was to save her.

“Are you going to carry me out of here, Ryan?” she asked.

“I might.” I lowered her to her feet.

Bente turned back to the band and thanked them, and I leaned across to speak to the singer. “What time are you finishing?”

“You paid us until midnight.”

It was just after ten. I grabbed all the money I had in my wallet. “Play until two,” I told her.

She looked at the handful of elderly rockers, still dancing although the music had ended. “Do you think they’ll last that long?” she teased.

I grinned up at her. “I think they’ll out-dance your singing.”

The girl straightened, smiling. “Challenge accepted.”

I practically dragged Bente toward the door. The music started again and I was hopeful the distraction would make for a clean getaway.

“Where’s the fire?” Bente joked, nearly running to keep up.

“In places you can’t even imagine, sweetheart.”

Her x-rated laugh did little to help the situation but having Tiger stop us at the door quickly put the fire out. “I want you to come back on Monday,” he instructed.

“I can’t, Tiger. I have restaurants to run.”

“You’ll be here,” he said knowingly. “At three. Not a minute later.”

I didn’t stop to argue. All my focus was on getting my little red firecracker home.

***

I had nothing to gain by going back to the club. I would’ve been well within my rights to ignore Tiger’s demand; the only reason I went was to show it to Bridget. If anyone would get a kick out of the glittery dust and flowery carpet, it was her.

“Then can we go to the park?” she asked.

I trailed behind as she climbed the steps. It took forever to reach the door but I didn’t complain. I was getting used to spending the hours between two and five moving at Bridget speed. “If we’ve got time,” I promised

“I have my finder in my boot today.” She held the iron balustrade and wiggled her foot at me. “I don’t have any pockets.”

“What else do you keep in those boots, Bridge?”

She looked down. “Just toes and feet.”

My ensuing laugh was cut short when the front door swung open. Bridget got such a fright that she stumbled backward off the top step. I scooped her up in the nick of time.

I couldn’t blame her for being frightened. Tiger Malone cut a menacing form, standing in the doorway puffing smoke like an old dragon.

“Does Ginger know you’re seeing other broads?” he asked, grinning at Bridget. Bridget buried her head in the crook of my neck.

“How are you, Tiger?” I asked, intentionally ignoring his question.

Bridget lifted her head to whisper in my ear, “Is he really a tiger?”

Mr Malone might have been old, but there was nothing wrong with his hearing. “I’m not really a tiger.” His low tone was probably designed to calm her. In truth, it sounded more menacing than his normal voice – but it paled in comparison to the horror of his next move. He whipped out his teeth and waved them at Bridget. “Do these look like the teeth of a tiger?” he garbled.

A normal child would’ve screamed in horror. Malibu Denison scared Bridget, but a toothless old man did not. She giggled – softly at first – but when Tiger started guffawing she lost the plot completely, cackling as hard as I’d ever heard her.

“What’s your name?” he asked, pulling himself together and putting his teeth back in.

“Bridget Décarie.”

“Bridget, huh? Are you French?”

The attempt at being funny was wasted on her. She answered honestly. “Sometimes.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He laughed again. “A baby Bardot.”

They were fast friends after that. Tiger even gave her a special backstage tour, which was further than I’d ever got. I even managed to talk him into stubbing out his cigar. “Oh, right,” he agreed. “Not good for the baby.”

She was hardly a baby but I didn’t argue. He called me kid, for crying out loud.

I carried Bridget as Tiger led us to the dressing room. “I can walk,” she protested.

“I’d rather carry you.” I was worried that she’d fall through a rotten floorboard.

“Are you scared, Ry?” she whispered, pressing her hands to my cheeks.

“No,” I whispered back. “Are you?”

“No.”

She should’ve been. We seemed to be walking downhill as we made our way down the poorly lit corridor. The small white door creaked as Tiger pushed it open, adding to the unease. He flicked on the light before venturing inside. “A treasure trove of delights,” he announced, stretching his arms wide. “Come and see.”

As reluctant as I was to let her go, I lowered Bridget to her feet. She pretended to take her time looking around. She held her hands behind her back, presumably to stop herself from touching anything. I knew Bridget well. The urge to reach out and grab the sparkly wares on offer must have been killing her.