Biting Nixie (4 page)

And why, if Elena didn't believe me, no one would.

“Someone must have cleaned it up.” I felt bewildered. It was
here
. “Wouldn't there still be traces? Isn't there something you can use to make the blood pop? Please, Elena?”

She rolled her chocolate eyes. “Saints preserve us from TV detectives. Yeah, this.” She brought out a pump bottle. “Luminol.” She sprayed the sidewalk with quick, sure sprays. I waited for the flash of fluorescence spatter to show.

Nothing.

“It was
there
. We were
attacked
. Maybe it's too bright to see the reaction—”

“Nixie. I'm not saying you're imagining things. But…” Elena shrugged and left the rest hanging.

“Blood was splashing. I heard it!”

“Uh-huh.” She rose to her feet. “And how well did you
see
it?”

“Well…” I couldn't meet her eyes, and not just because they were nine inches above mine. “Emerson pushed me behind him and…he's kind of big.”

“Julian Emerson?”

At the clear surprise in Elena's voice, I looked up. A frown flashed across her forehead, gone instantly.

Then she shrugged. “Maybe Emerson was faking a fight. Guys do that sometimes to impress a woman.”

“Hardly. Emerson's
way
too arrogant to fake anything.” Besides, he was Suitguy. Defender of the Hidebound, Righteous Protector of the Old School Tie. He would never try to wow punk little ol' me. “
Someone
attacked us. Three someones.”

Elena busied herself with her bag, putting away the bottle. “And Julian Emerson fought them. Three of them. Yet there wasn't a scratch on him?”

“Well…”

“Or any blood?”

I thought of that strange fuzzing out thing. Had that zapped the blood somehow? Fixed any wounds? “I don't think he was injured.”

“Nixie.” Elena gave me the full benefit of her intelligent dark stare. “You're saying an attorney, a man whose most demanding activity is filing briefs, fought
three
men—and won? Not only won, but didn't have a single injury?”

It sounded impossible, put like that. “He's pretty tall…” I mumbled.

“Nixie, honey.” Elena clasped my shoulders warmly. “To you,
everyone
is ‘pretty tall'.”

“Fine.” I kicked at the stupidly clean sidewalk. Stubbed my toe for my trouble. “So what should I do?”

Elena shouldered her bag. “Well, you could report it. But there's no evidence. And you didn't really see anything. So it wouldn't do much good.”

“I suppose not.”

“However. I
would
be careful. Going out after dark.”

“What? Oh, come on now.” First Julian, and now Elena. I put my hands on my beruffled hips. “This is Meiers Corners, not Chicago.”

“Yeah, but—hey, do you want to grab breakfast? You'll feel better with some food.” Elena started off on her long, strong legs. “How about we go to the Caffeine Café?”

“Don't try to change the subject.” I trotted to keep up. “Yeah but what?”

“I'm not changing subjects. You get crabby if you go too long without eating. That tiny body of yours.”

“Yeah—but—what?”

“Damn, you're persistent. I can't believe you're not an older sister.”

“I babysat. Last chance. Why shouldn't I go out after dark?”

Elena shrugged, looked a little uncomfortable. “With the Coterie moving to annex us, Meiers Corners has drawn attention. And not just from the businessmen and politicians, I'm afraid.”

“Who else has noticed—” I stopped dead. “You mean
real
gangs? Like Vice Lords? Or one of the Popes? The 12
^th
Street Players?”

Elena shrugged again. “Probably none of those. But Bo's fielded some threats.”

I ran to catch up. “Bo has gotten threats?” Her husband, Bo Strongwell, managed an apartment building on the upper east side. “Why Bo? Why not the police, or the mayor?”

Strangely, that made Elena look even more uncomfortable. “Bo does this neighborhood watch thing. I think that's why he got involved.”

I was confused. “What does a neighborhood watch have to do with gangs from Chicago?”

Elena's eyes wouldn't meet mine. “Well…I think it's part of a larger network. Bo's, uh, neighborhood watch.”

Yeah,
I thought.
Suuure.
I could practically hear Jon Lovitz saying, “That's the ticket
.
”
Elena might be telling some part of the truth but by no means all of it.

We reached the Café. Before going in, Elena faced me. Her eyes were dark and serious. And lurking beneath, she might have even been worried. “Do me a favor, Nixie. Just be careful.”

Elena Strongwell, super cop. Worried. “Are you okay, Elena?”

“Dine and fandy.” She turned and pushed open the door.

I shut my mouth and followed. Elena had invoked the Dine and Fandy.

Dine and fandy was a mix-up of fine and dandy. It was what we said when shit was flying but we were coping. When we didn't want to talk about it.

So even though I was deathly curious, I dropped the subject. Besides, we were friends. I could always attack her later about Bo's mysterious neighborhood watch.

Elena made her way to a table in the corner. “So tell me about the fundraiser. Is Guns and Polkas playing?”

I groaned, remembering the manila Pack of Doom. “The band's playing. I guess.”

“You guess?” Elena grabbed a chair and put her back to the wall. A cop thing, probably. “Is something wrong?”

I sat opposite. “Yeah. I got mammomashed by the mayor.”

Sympathy immediately touched her face. “Tit in a wringer?”

“Yeah.”

I broke off as a beautiful, regal blonde sashayed in from the back room. To my surprise the woman immediately hurried over to us. To my further astonishment she rapidly laid gleaming silverware in front of Elena and me. To my absolute shock she smiled and said, “Your usual, Elena?”

This
was no barista.
This
was the proprietor of the Caffeine Café herself, Diana Prince. Diana was normally as majestic as her name. Her barstool was her throne. She rarely waited on customers and
never
personally came to a table.

Except, apparently, for Elena O'Rourke Strongwell.

Elena nodded. “My usual's fine. And whatever Nixie wants.”

I had expected to have to slog in line for my caffeine, to have plenty of time to figure my order out. “Uh,” I said, for a moment at a loss. “I guess I'll have a red eye. And a…a scone.”

“The orange frosted are very good today.” Diana's tone was actually
coaxing
.

“Uh, okay.”

“Shall I heat it?”

I blinked. “Yeah. That'd be great.”

As Diana the Princessy Proprietor glided away, I transferred my confused face to Elena. “What got into her?”

A blush stole over Elena's fair cheeks. “She, ah, owes Bo.”

“She must owe him her
life
to be
that
grateful…no. Not really?”

The flush deepened. “We don't talk about it. So tell me about the fundraiser. I heard it was to pay for that attorney you were talking about. Julian Emerson.”

Another thing about friends is that they don't play fair. Wanting to switch subjects, Elena had sucker-punched me. And she knew just where to hit. I launched into my own rant. “We have to raise five hundred thousand
dollars. Can you believe it? Half a million to pay for a snarky lawyer.”

“Some of that might be for legal research.” Elena toyed with her silverware, not looking at me. “And, uh, processing fees.”

“Maybe. But you can be sure most of it's going in Emerson's perfectly tailored pockets. There's a reason they're called sharks, you know.

“Oh, I don't know. Emerson seems nice.”

I think my jaw dropped. “Have you met him? He's not
nice
, Elena. He's a
lawyer
. The two terms are mutually exclusive. Like military intelligence. An oxymoron, emphasis on
moron
.”

“My father was a lawyer,” Elena said, turning stiff.

“That's way different. Your father didn't charge five-fucking-hundred dollars an hour.”

Elena picked up her fork. Thoughtfully balanced her knife between its tines. “If Emerson can fend off the Coterie, he'll have earned it.” Slowly, almost reluctantly she added, “And…I think he might donate some of his fee. To charity.”

“And he's kind to small dogs and pigeons. For goodness sake, Elena. Emerson's a bloodsucking monster in an old school tie. A fucking vampire, not a hero!”

The knife clattered to the table. Elena's face drained completely of blood. “A…a what?”

“A leech! A man who enriches himself on the pain and suffering of others. A
lawyer.
”

Her color returned. “I don't think Julian Emerson is like that. But,” she said, holding up a hand to stop any further argument from me, “it really doesn't matter. All that matters is that he keeps us safe from a takeover. And that we raise enough money to pay him.”

Our orders came then. Diana laid cup and plate in front of each of us. Good smells wafted from mine. I was hungry. But I was more upset. As Diana sashayed away I dug a fork savagely into my scone. “I suppose that's all that matters to
you
.”

Elena smiled at me over her mocha latte. “Eat. You'll feel better. Not another word on snarky lawyers, okay? Now, tell me about the fundraiser.”

I gave her such a glare. “Damn, you're persistent. I can't believe you're not an annoying older sister. Oh, wait. You are.”

“Damn tootin'. So get a-shootin'.”

“Very funny.” I mashed scone crumbs onto the back of my fork. “But since you'll just hassle me to death if I don't…the fundraiser is more like a bunch of fundraisers. This thing's going to be Summerfest, Germanfest, and the Grand Ole Opry all rolled into one. Everything and anything that will raise money. Even cheese balls.” I squashed the scone a couple more times with my fork.

“You going to eat that thing or torture it to death?” Elena said, her tone amused.

I glared at her again. Honestly, she should have burst into flames by now. Since she didn't, I shoved mashed scone into my mouth.

Heaven burst on my tongue. Sweet, tart, tangy. Warm oozing frosting, moist scone. Five tons of mad simply…dripped away.

“Better?” Elena's smile turned smug.

I should have resented that self-satisfied smirk, but I did feel better. “Yeah.” I washed down heaven with my red-eye. Caffeine and sugar. Perfection.

“You're always a little crabby until someone feeds you.”

“Am not,” I objected through another mouthful of scone.

“Am too. So we'll have rides, like a county fair? And music tents?”

“No rides. Plenty of music, though. In fact, I'm auditioning bands tonight at the
Kosmopolitisch
.”

“But no rides. Huh. I think I'm disappointed.”

“For heaven's sake, Elena.” I swallowed. “It's almost winter. You want a bunch of kids slipping out of an icy Ferris Wheel and going splat on the pavement? We've got plenty of other attractions. A beauty pageant. Midway-style games with fussy little prizes. Fudge. Oh—and a sheepshead tournament. You should enter.”

“Oh, no.” Elena set down her fork. “I'm not playing
schafkopf
against you. You get a handful of fail and still slaughter your opponents.”

“
You
don't pick unless you have five queens.”

She sniffed, picked up her fork. “I'm just a conservative player.”

“Uh-huh. Well, the point is, we need to raise money every way we can. Music, dancing, food—”

“—and beer?”

“Duh, yeah. It's Meiers Corners. A whole tent is just for beer tasting. Five big-names and thirty microbreweries. Bock, pilsner, stout, even raspberry and chocolate. Twenty-five bucks to the public, all you can drink.”

“I hope you'll have plenty of porta-potties.”

“Um…yeah, sure.” I pulled a small spiral notebook out of my jacket pocket, made a note. Winced.
I was making lists
. Like my
mother
. Ye gods. I really was going to do this thing.

But if I was going down, I was taking Elena with me. “I want you to run the beauty pageant.”

Elena sprayed muffin. “You what?!”

“I want you to run the beauty contest,” I repeated, trying not to get a kick out of her shock. Elena's normally the ultimate of cop cool.

“
You
want me to run…?” She stared at me. “Oh, no. You're joking, right? Like someone died and made
you
Elvis.”

“Mayor Meier made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Well, I could refuse it, but I'd piss off every member of my band. 'Course, the mayor will probably wish
he'd
died when he sees how I run things.”

“Wait. You're really in charge?”

“I'm really in charge.” I flipped a page in the notebook, wrote “PAGEANT” at the top. “And I really want
you
to run the beauty pageant.”

“You're kidding. You've got to be.” Elena's brown eyes had gone a little wild. “You're either kidding, or you've gone insane. It's the only explanation.”

“Aw, c'mon, Elena. Your mom was a model, right?”

“My mother died when I was an infant, Nixie! I don't know anything about modeling.”

“It's in your genes. You'll be fine.”

“Nixie, I'm a
cop
. I don't know the first thing about a beauty pageant.” She took a slug of latte. Behind the steam rising from the cup her eyes bulged, and I didn't think it was just from the heat of the drink.

“Fine.” I shrugged, shutting the notebook. “I'll ask your partner, instead.”