Tell Me No Spies (24 page)

Dave shot one more
venomous glare at Randy’s pale face before he turned and put his
arm around me again. “Nobody calls my girlfriend a whore,” he
spat.

I hustled him out the
door. “Calm down,” I whispered. “And hurry up.”

Once in the car I
drove rapidly, taking as circuitous a route as possible. With a
safe distance between us and the gym I pulled over, shaking, and
blew out a long breath. I stared through the windshield for a few
moments, trying to summon up some tact.

“Jeez, Dave, what were
you thinking?” I burst out. “What if that clerk had called the
cops?”

Oops. Failed at tact.
As usual.

He scowled and crossed
his arms as he slouched down in the passenger seat. “Nobody calls
you that. Nobody.”

“Dave, I don’t give a
shit. They can call me frickin’ anything they want. We can’t afford
to attract that kind of attention.”

He gave me an
obstinate glare. “Not gonna apologize for that. You don’t talk that
way about a lady.”

I stared back at him
in frustration, teeth clenched to prevent me from saying something
I’d regret. It wasn’t worth the trouble to point out that I was
about as far from being a lady as I was from being his girlfriend.
He clearly wasn’t in the mood to listen to reason.

“Just don’t do that
again, okay?” I gritted finally. “No matter what.”

Dave said nothing,
just stared out the windshield with his lips pressed together.

I blew out another
breath and steered the car toward our pickup point.

I shifted impatiently
in the seat and looked at my watch for the sixth time in about ten
seconds. The clanging of the warning bells at the train crossing
matched the jangling of my nerves while the train dragged its
interminable ass across the road.

I looked at my watch
again. “Jesus Christ!” I burst out. “Could you go any fucking
slower, buddy?”

Dave shot me a worried
look. “It’s okay, we’re only a couple of minutes late.”

“Yeah, but what if he
needs us? Or what if he’s waiting, and he decides we’re not coming,
and then he goes away for another hour…” I realized my voice was
rising rapidly and bit off the rest of the sentence. And glanced at
my watch. Again, for chrissake.

At last, the train
cleared the crossing and the guard-arms lifted. I bumped over the
tracks a little more quickly than absolutely necessary. “What the
hell were they thinking putting a train track through the middle of
a residential neighbourhood, anyway?” I muttered.

Dave wisely made no
response.

I pulled in at the
curb, gazing anxiously around. There was no sign of life except a
ragged elderly man shuffling along in the next block, pushing a
shopping cart full of bottles and cans.

Heart pounding, I
glanced at my watch, then around the neighbourhood again.

“How long are you
gonna wait?” Dave asked.

“Just a bit longer.
Just in case he’s running late.” I caught sight of my glowing white
knuckles, and peeled my fingers off the steering wheel.

“We better go,” Dave
muttered after a few minutes.

I was just reaching
for the shifter with a shaking hand when a bulky figure limped out
of the alley toward us.

“Oh my God!”

I bailed out of the
car fast. Hellhound swiped a hand across his eyes and squinted at
me. “Hey, darlin’, let’s get outta here,” he mumbled.

His face was a mask of
blood, and his hands and shirt were so blood-caked I couldn’t tell
whether he had other injuries or not. Dave opened the back door and
I guided Arnie toward it. He pulled his arm away from me
impatiently.

“Get drivin’,
darlin’,” he muttered as he stumbled to the car and fell into the
back seat. Dave and I exchanged frightened glances, and I dove back
into the driver’s seat and got us out of there.

Hellhound hauled
himself upright and slumped against the door.

“Where are you hurt?”
I demanded. “Dave, look him over, find out where he’s hurt.”

“I’m fine, darlin’,”
Hellhound mumbled thickly. “Just a busted nose. No big deal.”

I eyed him worriedly
in the rear-view mirror. “That looks like a gash in your forehead,
too.”

“Yeah, I got a couple
little bumps and bruises.”

Dave peered over the
seat at him. “Head for the hospital,” he advised. “Gonna have to
get that nose straightened out.”

“Nah,” Hellhound
disagreed. “Don’t wanna attract attention, an’ I been able to fix
that since I was a kid.” He wiped some more blood out of his eyes
and scrubbed his hands against the torn T-shirt before reaching for
his nose.

“Since you were a
kid?” Dave demanded.

“Yeah.” Hellhound
snorted, sending a fine spray of fresh blood over the grisly
T-shirt. “First thing I ever remember about Jim, that fuckin’
asshole. Him tellin’ me to shut up an’ yankin’ on my nose. Learned
how to do it myself after that.”

He positioned his
hands, and Dave and I both flinched at the unpleasant crunching
sound that followed. A fresh cascade of blood poured down. Arnie
wiped his hands on his T-shirt again and extracted a switchblade
knife from his jacket pocket, flicking it open to slice strips from
the cleaner part of his shirt.

I chose to ignore the
illegal weapon. “How old were you?” I asked.

“Dunno. Mom was still
alive, so maybe three or four.”

“Jeez, how many times
did you break your nose when you were a kid?” Dave gaped at him,
eyes round.

“Coupla times.”
Hellhound began to methodically pack his nostrils, stopping to
swipe away the steady trickle of blood from his forehead as it ran
into his eye.

“Didn’t your folks
take you to the hospital?” Dave persisted.

“Nah. Mom tried to fix
my face…” He shrugged and smeared his hand through the seeping
blood again.

I pulled the car into
an alley and parked so I could get into the back seat beside him.
“Where else are you hurt? Let me see.”

“Told ya, I’m fine,”
he muttered. “Keep drivin’. We gotta get ya outta here, fast.” He
cut off another chunk of T-shirt and pressed it against the torn
skin of his forehead. I winced at the sight of his swollen,
gouged-up knuckles.

“We go nowhere until
I’m sure you’re okay.”

“Aydan, get in the
goddam seat and get fuckin’ drivin’! Jim’s got a fuckin’ contract
out on ya. No tellin’ who’s after ya now. Move!”

A fresh wave of fear
washed over me, and I swallowed it with difficulty. “No. The sooner
you let me look at you, the sooner we’ll get on the road, so
cooperate.”

“Fuck, Dave, take
over!” Hellhound commanded. “Get us the hell outta here.”

Dave swung out the
passenger door with alacrity and froze, half doubled over, hissing
through his teeth.

“Aw, for chrissakes!”
Hellhound snapped. “Don’t tell me ya put your fuckin’ back out
again!”

“It’s fine,” Dave
gritted, and hobbled around to the driver’s side, still canted
over. He sank slowly into the car, the muscles in his jaw bunching
as he clenched his teeth. Seconds later, we were in motion.

I turned to Arnie.
“Now, tell me where you’re hurt. Or I’ll strip you naked and find
out for myself.”

His teeth flashed in a
lopsided grin through the gory mess. “Sounds good to me, darlin’.
Come an’ get it.”

“You asked for it.” I
leaned close and pulled his hand away from the gash on his
forehead. “You should probably have stitches.”

“It’ll heal up.”

“But not well.”

He shrugged. “It ain’t
gonna hurt my modellin’ career any.”

I examined the rest of
his head and face. His left eye was swollen half-shut, but the skin
didn’t seem to be broken. Hard to tell under the layer of drying
blood.

“Okay, let’s get your
jacket off.”

“I’m fine. Just lemme
be.”

“Now, soldier!” I
rapped out, and he started.

“Jeez, darlin’…”

“Move it!”

He blew out a
half-sigh, half-groan, and painfully leaned forward to remove his
jacket. I helped him work the sleeves off his arms, and reached
around behind him to lift it away. I froze when my hand contacted a
hard shape at the middle of his back.

“Arnie…?”

He shrugged and pulled
out the gun. “Just bein’ prepared.”

The car swerved
slightly as Dave peered at us in the mirror. “Where’d you get
that?”

Hellhound shrugged
again. “Found it.”

“Where?” Dave demanded
suspiciously.

“A guy kinda gave it
to me.”

“Kinda?” It was my
turn to fix him with a skeptical eye.

“Well, he didn’t
object,” Hellhound mumbled, not meeting my gaze. “Don’t think he’ll
report it missin’.” He stuffed it back into the waistband of his
jeans.

I opened my mouth to
admonish him, realized the futility, and sighed instead. A
once-over of his upper body revealed only bruises, providing an
unflattering background for his tattoos. I stopped again as I
worked my way down his legs.

“Just leave ‘em
there,” he muttered when I drew a wicked-looking knife out of each
boot and examined them.

“Nice.” I tucked them
back into place. “Rambo.”

He laid his head back
and closed his eyes. “Ain’t takin’ any chances. Ya still got your
stun gun, Dave?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Aydan, ya got
your gun, too?”

I sighed. “Yeah. But
I’m the only one who can use a weapon and get away with it. You
guys are going straight to jail if you do.”

Hellhound shrugged and
said nothing.

Dave shot me an avid
glance over his shoulder. “I knew it. You have a double-oh-seven
license, don’t you?”

I winced. “No,
Dave.”

“Then how’d you get
away with killing those four guys?”

Hellhound’s eyes
snapped open. “Four?” He regarded me sharply. “Ya only told me
about one.”

“Um, yeah,” I mumbled.
“Sorry, need-to-know. And anyway, Dave, I told you, it was
self-defence. It wasn’t James Bond stuff. Pull in here!”

Dave slammed on the
brakes and took a hard right into a strip mall. “Where?”

I pointed. “We need
some first-aid stuff, some more food, and Arnie needs a couple of
shirts.”

He parked, and I
started to get out of the car. Arnie grabbed my wrist. “Wrong,
darlin’. Let Dave go. Ya got two separate bunches a’ guys tryin’ to
kill ya. You’re gonna stay here where I can keep an eye on ya.”

“Right,” Dave agreed.
He eyed Hellhound. “What size do you need?”

“Extra-large. Double-X
if they got it.”

“Get some frozen peas
or something, too, if you can,” I told Dave. “A couple of bags. One
for his face and one for his hand. And some bottled water and a
towel so we can get him cleaned up.”

“Got it.” Dave swung
the door open. He eased one leg out of the car before stiffening
into immobility with a gasp. I could hear the faint grinding of his
teeth as he lifted his other leg out with both hands. By the time
he had his feet on the ground, I got around to the door and helped
him stand while he straightened by degrees.

“Guess I twisted it
again messing with Randy,” he grated. “Back in a bit.” He hobbled
slowly across the parking lot.

“I’m gonna get in the
front,” Hellhound mumbled around his packing. “He’s gonna need to
stretch out. Come an’ stand in fronta me so nobody sees the
blood.”

He got out of the car
with slightly more grace than Dave, but I could tell he was feeling
the effects of all those bruises. As he sank into the front seat,
he transferred the gun to the front of his jeans and pulled his
jacket over top. He eyed me for a moment. “Ya might as well get in
the driver’s seat again. An’ then we gotta have a talk. While
Dave’s in the store.”

I got back in the car
and shot him a look. The wound in his forehead was still oozing
steadily, and his beard and moustache were so encrusted with
clotted blood that he looked barely human. “Are you really okay?” I
asked before he could speak. “Tell me the truth, now that you don’t
have to put on a front for Dave.”

Hellhound made a noise
that probably would have been a snort if not for the packing in his
nose. “I don’t give a shit what he thinks,” he growled. “I got
nothin’ to prove. An’ I’m fine. But we gotta talk about Dave. Who’s
Randy, and why’s he messin’ with him? What’d ya do while ya were
waitin’ for me?”

“We went to the Y and
had showers. Dave ran into this guy, Randy, that he knew from work.
Randy made some crack about me, and Dave grabbed Randy and
threatened him. Made a scene, and I had to drag him out before
anybody got excited and called the police.”

“Fuck. The guy’s a
fuckin’ walkin’ mid-life crisis,” Hellhound spat. “He ain’t
thinkin’ straight, he’s got a giant hard-on for ya -”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I
interrupted, hoping to distract him. “It was big, but I wouldn’t
say it was giant.”

Arnie snickered. “Hope
it ain’t bigger’n mine.”

“I’m not sure. Let me
get my calipers.” I rubbed my fingertips together and reached for
him, bouncing my eyebrows.

He laughed out loud,
the sound incongruous with his horror-show face. “Glad ya got your
priorities straight. But seriously, darlin’, ol’ Dave thinks he’s
in loooove, an’ he wants to be a fuckin’ hero. He’s gonna get us
all killed.”

I sighed. “I know. Any
suggestions?”

“Drive away. Right
fuckin’ now.”

“You know I can’t do
that.”

“Why not?”

“Arnie, you know I
can’t. You wouldn’t either. He’s trying to help, he’s put his ass
on the line for us, and we can’t just abandon him.”

“He put his ass on the
line for you, not us.” I glared at him, and he blew out a sigh.
“Yeah, I know, darlin’, you’re right. I just don’t wanna see him
puttin’ ya in any more danger than ya are already. He’s just a dumb
civilian.”

“So are we.”

He eyed me
thoughtfully, working his fingers through his crusty beard. “I
don’t think so, darlin’. Four guys?” He frowned, winced when the
wound in his forehead opened up, and surveyed me levelly as he
pressed the sodden wad of cotton against his brow again. “Why’d ya
tell Dave that?”