The Vicarage Bench Anthology (20 page)

Thankfully, she still had her baseball cap and her favorite old soft flannel shirt of her father’s, which she’d used as a nightgown during the times the cold settled over the Montana plains back home. And she’d had her bat! Saved her before, and it sure came in handy tonight. No telling when a girl would need a bat to help get her point across.

Her mind wandered back to the time she’d last used her reliable weapon. Slaving away to look after three brothers and a father, all as useless as water to a plastic plant, she’d done everything—the housework, the garden, the cooking—the works. No thanks, no help, and no way she’d continue when the time came to move on. Her lazy family, crafty enough to know when they had it good, tried to physically detain her and her small suitcase, but they were helpless against “the wooden equalizer.”

The neighboring boys, who’d hung around with her brothers drinking and carousing, had no small part to play in her choice to leave. The Neanderthal bullies swarmed around her like drunks to a free bar, but their assumption that she’d be willing to scratch their horny itches incensed her, and her trusty bat convinced them that she was seriously offended. After a few well-connected swings, the stubborn jackasses allowed that she’d gotten her point across.

Sticks and stones became her riposte, as they tried calling her vile names to batter away at her determination. The experience left her hardened against the whole male species. After all the years of sweating in her large garden to have enough food put up for the winter, cleaning up after insensitive louts who had worse manner than the farm animals, and living in near-isolation with only one older English woman as a friend, Crystal had had it; she was done, finished. Fed up with enough male chauvinism to last her a lifetime, she left, vowing that never again would any man have control over her.

Ever!

Chapter Four

“Ash, lemme come up. I need to talk to you. It’s jush me, I promise.”

Joey’s drunken voice over the in-house phone pleaded, and Ash didn’t have the heart to refuse. After all, he had a score to settle with his little scumbag friend, and he wasn’t averse to looking after it now. Ever since last night, when Crystal had forced him from her apartment, his normally happy mood had been flipping between morose to unpredictably edgy. Using Joey as a punching bag might help release some of those gripping frustrations.

The woman had gotten under his skin. One moment she portrayed a lighthearted buddy, the next a coldhearted bitch. He didn’t get her, and putting her out of his mind wasn’t an option, either. She stuck like a fly to flypaper.

The loud thump on his office door heralded Joey’s arrival. With one hand Ash twisted the knob and yanked open the door. With the other, he reached out, snatched Joey’s shirtfront and, cantankerous as hell, pulled him into the room.

“Whoa there, bosh. Hold your horshes. I come in peash. In fact I have information, whish might interest you. It’s my way of saying—no bad feelings.”

Ashley let go of the drunken idiot. Looking down his nose into the widened, glassy-eyed stare of the smaller guy, he watched Joey’s hands go up in the don’t-hit-me position. Like a dog turning to show his belly, Joey portrayed no threat whatsoever. No threat and no fun to kick the stuffing out of, in his stumbling condition. Ash quickly lost his motivation. It would be way too easy.

“You’re pie-eyed,” Ash said, disgust apparent in his voice.

“Yeah, well, I knew I had to come here and talk to you, so I drank some liquid courage. Look, pal, I’m sorry you forshed me to get rough with you, man, but you have to understand where I’m coming from.” Joey took a big breath to clear his head.

The stench of whiskey almost knocked Ash to his knees.

Joey rambled on. “My job is all I care about, and you keep stealing the best chicks from our joint. Keep it up, an’ big Dave’ll fire me, an’ I’ll be with the poor chumps in the breadline. But, I didn’t come to rehash that problem; I come to tell you Arnie is on the warpath. Your little friend really did a number on him last night; now he’s stinkin’ mad an’ out for blood. Swears he’s gonna kill the bat-swinging piece of shit. He’ll do it, too.”

“What are you talking about? The bat hit him in the back of the legs. I saw it. It was no big deal.” The steeliness in Ash’s voice indicated an intense interest in the subject matter.

“I guess you didn’t see where he fell. Right over a garbage can, and his face schmucked the side of the brick building. He’s a mess and madder than hell. Says he won’t rest until he finds out who done it. Figures someone in the apartment buildings around the alley might have seen something. He’s gonna check it out, and he’ll get people to talk, trust me. His persuasion techniques are brutal.”

The bigger man’s next move surprised them both. He had Joey by the throat, feet waving inches off the ground while Ash’s eyes glared fury. A quick shake engaged Joey’s full attention, and Ash’s words, gritted out between clenched teeth, kept that attention riveted to his face.

“If he so much as touches one hair on my friend’s head, I won’t only kill him, I’ll be coming after you, too. Do you understand this concept?” Another small shake for reinforcement. “You will keep me advised of whatever he plans, anytime, anywhere. Do you get it?” The last words were yelled. A few extra shakes to the hanging man added emphasis. “My little friend saved my bacon, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let anything bad happen because of it. You stick to that prick like glue, and you keep in touch with me every few hours, so I know what’s up. Got it?”

The purple face bobbed up and down until Ashley loosened his hold and threw the smaller man against the wall.

Choking and coughing kept Joey busy for a few moments, but not too busy to stumble around and put the desk between him and the furious man.

“Hey! Ash, buddy! I come out of the goodness of my heart to give you the heads up, and you freakin’ brutalize me. What’s up with that?” Joey sobered up quickly when he had to.

Ash moved so swiftly, Joey hadn’t a chance. As the big hands reached for him again, Joey twisted into a small ball and covered his neck. “Okay! Okay! I get it. I’ll tell you anything I find out. Don’t flip out on me again. I came here, didn’t I? I ratted out Arnie and I’ve agreed to be your snitch. Cool it! I feel kinda responsible for all this trouble, ya know.”

“You’re right. I’ll hold you responsible, never think I won’t. Get out, and keep your hustlin’ eyes on that murdering waste of skin. I want to know his every move.” Joey couldn’t get out fast enough. The door slamming behind him was one more barrier between him and the snarling grouch he’d just left.

The loud bang of that door sounded like a gunshot to the shaken man in the office. Within seconds, Ash headed for the stairs at a dead run. Something stopped him. An itch at the back of his neck, an ache in his gut, an understanding that, if Arnie was watching him, by running to her apartment he could be leading the killer right to her door. He slowed and flopped down on the next step. Dust, carpet fluff and dirty grime meant nothing to the man who, just moments earlier, wouldn’t have messed with the elegance of his faultless suit. He lowered his face onto his clenched hands and forced himself to stop and think.

He had to get in touch with her.

Warn her.

Protect her.

“Ha! I’ve got it!” His ecstatic murmur echoed in the empty stairwell.

She’d told him she worked nights and couldn’t see him because she was too tired after work. A brush-off if he ever heard one. It had unsettled Ash, whose normal pattern saw him pushing the chicks away. She’d hurt his feelings—hard to believe and even harder to admit. The irony passed him by.

In a flash, he remembered asking her how she’d known Joey. Replaying the answer, her words resounded in his brain. “He’s my boss,” she’d replied. His fist clenched and pumped in the air in front of him.

Yes!

He knew where to find his plucky heroine now. He would talk with her. Plead with her if he had to. He couldn’t bear the thought of what Arnie had in store for when—not if but when—he found her. He had no illusions about Arnie’s abilities to convince shut mouths to open and blab.

How he’d get through the rest of the day, he didn’t know, but he knew exactly where he’d be that evening. At the Starlight—watching, waiting and littering the place with beseeching prayers, which might have trouble getting through, given all the gamblers already talking to the “Big Guy” in the sky.

That night the crowds in the spectacular Starlight Hotel were bigger than usual, and the energy in the casinos and lounges surprised Ashley. Then he remembered the Starlight had a fancy new act, the envy of the Strip—Snowflake, or Snowball—he wasn’t sure exactly. An unknown, who’d begun to appear here a couple of months ago, had hit it big. Each week the crowds grew, and the significant publicity, garnered from mouth to mouth, couldn’t be bought. People came in droves to witness for themselves what everyone else raved about. A show that started out minuscule, then miraculously grew to spectacular overnight—every manager’s dream.

He’d been meaning to come and see the act for himself, once the pressures of his workload let up. But with Rhett and Cassie on vacation, the commodity of free time had diminished severely. The enticing extravaganza would have to be put off until the end of the week, when he expected his brother to return.

Meanwhile, he wandered the various venues, his eyes watchful for a beauty with exquisite blonde hair. The new animal skin motifs in each of the lounges he visited distracted him.

There were vivid black and white zebra stripes mixed with vibrant reds in the piano room; black, white, and gold leopard skin designs with bright turquoise seating and lamp covers in the cabaret; and in the nightclub, flamboyant tiger stripes in gold and black, highlighted by hundreds of mirrored balls hanging from the ceiling, drew his attention. Redecorating had taken place in the tired old hotel. Joey, it turned out, was a better manager than Ash had given him credit for.

Turning his attention to the women around him, he scrutinized each girl with a loaded drink or cigarette tray as they passed, calling out their wares to the customers. Not wanting to bring attention to himself, he refrained from pestering everyone in sight about a girl called Crystal.

Desperate, his patience finally snapped. He beckoned to an attractive seller wearing a pair of black fishnet tights covered by a tiger-skinned, short-and-sexy outfit. He bought a package of Lucky Strikes and casually dropped his query.

“I’m looking for Crystal Davis. Have you seen her tonight?”

“Sure, you’ll find her in the Ice Pavilion in about ten minutes. The show begins then.”

His eyebrows did their thing, letting her see her answer made no sense to him at all. “Ice Pavilion?”

“It’s the new name for the old theatre. Ever since the Ice Princess act started we have to refer to it as the Ice Pavilion. The customers get off on it.” She shrugged her shoulders and smiled conspiratorially at him. It became obvious she’d identified him from her ingratiating smile. His mechanical nod and “thank you” in return did nothing for her self-esteem.

To keep him talking, ammunition for bragging later to the other girls, she added. “Our, ah, icy new star is ‘picky,’ if you know what I mean?”

“Uh-huh!” He wanted to get away, but his old-world politeness stopped him from leaving the girl. After all she’d helped him.

Encouraged, she leaned toward him. “Ice Princess is the perfect name for her. Or that’s what the frustrated, put-down men have been saying after she hands them back their broken hearts. Movie stars! High rollers! Big shots! Most of them rich—some of them gorgeous.” Her features settled into a rueful grin, and she nodded. “Yeppers! She treats all those smitten in one of two ways—either polite-like or, worse, she ignores them altogether.”

“Right, I’ll check out her show sometime.”

“If you’re looking for Crystal…”

“Thanks.” He turned away before she could start up again, and made his way to the renovated showroom.

The Ice Pavilion stunned Ashley. The stage featured snowy mountains that gleamed and twinkled from the reflected light of spectacular chandeliers. Fake snow that looked to be full of diamonds packed the stage, the orchestra gallery, and worked its way down to the floor like an avalanche. Pale blues melded into the whiteness to perfect the stunning icy image. Whoever decorated this room should be pinned “Genius.”

Pandemonium, from the customers packed into the limited space, reverberated with laughter and loud voices. Palpable excitement, like a huge gigantic heartbeat, pulsed. A group of ladies in their beaded finery entered, furs clutched close over low cleavages, followed by their suitably attired escorts. Glasses full of liquor clinked and added to the party atmosphere while billows of smoke from many cigarettes dimmed the large space.

Accepting, as his due, a free pass into the place from one of the older hosts at the door who recognized him, Ashley followed the man to a small exclusive table in the front, prepared to slip the required twenty-spot into the normally expectant palm.

“Can’t take it, Mr. Parks, but thank you all the same. You hired my Doris last week after she got thrown out of here, accused of stealing. Never stole a thing in her life. Says you asked her some questions, stared her in the eye, and took her word she’d been framed. It’s a pleasure to do you a favor—anytime.”

“Thank you, Fred.” Ash had read the nametag on the man’s tuxedo. He pulled out a cigarette and tilted toward the lighter magically appearing in the older man’s hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Parks.”

The lights dimmed before Ash could question Fred about Crystal. The blaring show began, and the noise level made it impossible to hear anything. He sat back and peered through his curling smoke. His eyes shifted in every direction, searching for his blonde-haired angel among the girls working the floor.

A haunting voice had the crowd on their feet, and the orchestra played a huge lead-up to a singer not yet visible. A moon slowly rose from behind the ice-capped mountains, making its way to the middle of the stage. Perched on the shining golden surface sat his Crystal. Her costume, a sheer silvery work of art, flew behind her as the moon swung back and forth in tandem with the song she performed. The whole visage took a person’s breath away—the music, the voice, and the beautiful, shimmery girl.