Froggy Style (4 page)

I
n the backseat of my stretch-limo pumpkin, I shut my eyes and considered the stripper’s accusation. Was it possible? Had I truly hired someone to off my future wife? And if so, how? I knew absolutely nothing about how to hire a killer. An escort with a pancake fetish, sure, but a killer? Where did one even begin to look? Kill-Mart? Murderers-R-Us? A National Woodsmen’s Meeting?

As hard as I racked my brain for an answer or even a glimmer of a memory, the only thing that came to mind was a rose entwined in wire, which made no sense unless I’d hired a sadistic garden gnome to off my fiancée.

“Sir,” Karl said. “What’re we going to do?”

Good question. I tapped my finger against my bottom lip, hoping for inspiration. Damn RJ and his revenge. This was his fault. I was fine with marrying Beauty.

Well, not fine exactly.

But I hadn’t subconsciously hired anyone to bash her head in until RJ showed up. Yet. And to think I’d sent him a gravy boat for a wedding present. Asia deserved better.

Asia! That’s it.
I scrolled through my p-Phone in search of her cell number, finally locating it under the folder “Chicks I’d Do if We Weren’t Related.” A fairly long list. I pressed Send and waited while the phone connected.

“Not a good time, Jean-Michel.” Asia’s warm voice crackled through the phone line.

“Put your husband on the line.”

“He’s a little preoccupied at the moment.” She yelled to someone on the other side of the phone. “Duck and cover, baby.”

“Damn it, Asia,” I yelled. “Put RJ on now!”

A loud crash followed my demand, and for a moment, I thought Asia had hung up. A few seconds later RJ picked up, breathing heavy. “What?!”

RJ had ruined my life, and all he could say was “What?” Rage replaced my attempted murder–induced stupor. I wanted to reach through the phone and choke the life out of my former villainous friend. “I hired someone to kill Beauty!”

RJ snorted. “You did?”

My lips curved into a frown. “Yes, I did. Because of you!”

“Oh yeah?” RJ said, distracted.

“Yes! Damn it!” I stomped my foot.

“Is that why you’re calling? Because I’m a little,” he yelped, “busy at the moment. Asia, honey, hand me those nail clippers.”

Asia’s muffled response drifted through the line, and it was neither sweet nor particularly loving. RJ laughed and then sobered as another voice boomed, “Fee-fi-fo-fum.”

“Shit.” RJ fumbled with the phone. “Jean-Michel, I don’t have time to listen to you whine right now. So spill whatever it is you want or I’m hanging up.”

“I have to stop Beauty’s murder.”

“So stop it.”

“You don’t understand.” I clutched the phone, panic lacing my every word. “I don’t remember anything about last night.”

“So?”

“So I don’t remember who I hired or even where to find him,” I explained through clenched teeth.

“Ah. I see.” RJ guffawed and then groaned. “Asia, quit that, sweetheart. You’re only making him madder.” RJ hesitated as Asia’s voice mumbled in retort. “What do you mean he’s the wrong giant?” RJ asked. “He’s green, right?”

I growled into the phone. Stupid RJ. We were talking about me now. But no, it’s always RJ, RJ, RJ. Even as a kid RJ could never focus on my problems.

“Yeah, I can see he’s not jolly,” RJ was saying to his bride. “But who’d be jolly when being chased by a villain with toenail clippers?”

“RJ!” I screamed into the phone. “Pay attention! This is a matter of life and death.”

“Oh, sorry, Jean-Michel. Forgot you were there.” RJ gave a trifling chuckle. “So you think you hired an assassin to kill your fiancée, but you don’t remember any of it. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I remember . . . a rose and grape lollipops.” My voice went cold. “That and my new tattoo. Remind me to thank you for it. A lot.”

“Well, there’s your answer.”

“What?”

“Sorry, mate. You’ll have to figure it out all on your own.” RJ laughed and then quickly sobered. “I gotta go. A husband’s work is never done,” he said and hung up the phone.

Damn villain. I’d show him. I’d find Beauty’s assassin and stop her impending murder. I didn’t need his help. I didn’t need anyone’s help.

“Karl, I need your help!”

“Sir?”

I replayed my conversation with RJ to Karl. When I finished, Karl bit his bottom lip and scratched his chin. His eyes grew distant; the pupils shrank as his mind wandered.

We could be here a while,
I thought, cracking open a window. A rush of hot air slipped into the air-conditioned limo. It smelled of stripper sweat and desperation. I took another whiff and grimaced. The stench wasn’t coming from the outside air.

“Well, sir,” Karl said with a sigh. “If we apply logic—”

“Are you mad? When has logic ever worked before? What I need is a miracle!” I pounded on the leather seat. Just then my miracle fell from my pocket in the form of my credit card. We still had two charges left to check.

I squinted at my credit card receipt and frowned as a voice-over sounded in my head.

The last two charges were to a business called the Rose. A flicker of recognition buzzed in my head. Could it be that easy? Then again, what self-respecting assassin named his business something as girly as the Rose? Hell, the Three Guys in a Tub nightclub sounded less gay.

Unfortunately, name aside, I didn’t have a clue where to find the Rose, and the receipt didn’t help; it bore no address, only a smiley face after the neatly printed name.

“Now what?” I asked Karl.

“Try Wish Upon Star.” Karl pointed to the bright blue button on the dashboard of the limo with a large white star emblazoned across it.

I grinned and scrambled into the front seat, slamming my finger against the button. Instantly, a perky female voice responded, “Wish Upon Star, how can we help you tonight?”

“This might sound like an odd request,” I began.

“At
Wish Upon Star
no request is too anomalous, sir.”

“Right.” I cleared my throat. “Here’s the thing—”

“Why, just last week,” the chick on the other end of the button broke in, “I had to find a prostitute for one of our big, bad, and furrier clients.”

Big deal. This was Cin City, after all. Hookers were a dime a baker’s dozen. They came in all shapes and sizes, from Thumbelina to Jack Sprat’s overweight wife.

Ms. Perky added with a laugh, “The client wanted her to eat a basket of pastries while he watched. And I’m like, ‘hello, what self-respecting hooker eats carbs?’ ” She paused, as if gathering steam for another long-winded tale of debauchery and diet tips.

“Anyway,” I interrupted. “I need to find a business named,” my cheeks heated, “the Rose.”

“One moment, sir.” Ms. Perky blew out a breath. “Here we go. The Rose is located on Eighth and Fairily Way. It says here they specialize in tattoos, taxes, and taxidermy.” Well, I guess that explained my tramp stamp. But the more important question was, did the Rose also specialize in murder?

“B
ugger,” I yelped as a droplet of melting chocolate ice cream dribbled down my hand and onto my thousand-dollar silk shirt. I rubbed at the stain with the edge of my jacket. “Damn, this was one of my favorite shirts.”

Standing in the doorway of the Rose, Karl glowered at the growing brown stain across my chest and then at me. “I told you we shouldn’t have bought ice cream. That we should’ve come straight here to stop your fiancée’s murder. But you just had to have an icy treat.”

“I was hungry,” I said with a shrug. A prince had to eat, right? And I felt bad about the whole Beauty thing. Really. I’d messed up by hiring a killer, but in the scheme of things, was murdering my intended that big a deal?

“Yes!” Karl yelled. “Murder, by definition, is a big deal, sir.”

Oops. Hadn’t meant to ponder my withered morality aloud. My lack of principles always made Karl a wee bit nervous. Go figure.

But Karl wasn’t finished with his moral outrage. “A woman’s life is at stake. A woman you vowed to love, honor, and cherish.”

I stifled an eye roll, but just barely. Karl was blowing this whole thing out of proportion. It wasn’t like I purposely hired an assassin. Sure, I didn’t want to marry Beauty, or any woman, for that matter, but would I go as far as hiring an assassin? It had to be a mistake, like when one of the dwarfs “accidentally” caught Snow White coming out of the shower. These things happened. Sort of like a late-night booty call, but rather than a blow job, I got an assassin. I’d fix my mistake and everything would work out. It always did. It always would. I was the Frog Prince. Bulletproof, baby.

“Think of what could happen if, for some reason, you cannot stop Sleeping Beauty’s assassination.” Karl’s voice fell as he gestured to the shiny doorway of the Rose.

I glanced at Karl. “I never thought of it that way.”

He nodded. “It does give one pause.”

“Shit,” I said, the full weight of what I’d done rushing over me. “If I can’t stop Beauty’s murder, I very well might turn back into a frog.”

Karl stared at me as if I’d grown an extra head or perhaps frog legs. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound escaped. Finally he took a shuddering breath. “That wasn’t quite what I meant, sir.”

“Well, it’s a moot point anyway. Five minutes from now, Beauty will be safe and we’ll be on our way back to the hotel.” I grinned. “No one the wiser.”

“You can say that again, sir.”

I glared at my sarcastic servant and set my dripping ice cream cone in a trash can next to the doorway. In the reflection of the window, I adjusted the sleeve of my jacket and ran a hand through my black curls. The image of a rose wrapped in barbed wire graced the window, obscuring a part of my face.

This was the place.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said with a yawn.

Karl gave a diminutive shake of his head and opened the front door of the Rose. The sweet scent of fresh blood swept over us as we entered the dim interior of the shop. A sign on the wall stated “The Rose: We Cater to Your Every Happy Ending.” I grinned at the irony.

A dwarf with curly red hair and paint-by-numbers eyebrows glanced up from a stuffed Brer Rabbit in her hand. Cotton fibers leaked from its every orifice. “Can I help you?” she asked with a bored air embedded in the genetic code of a short hipster.

“Um . . . yes,” Karl began. “My employer, Jean-Michel La Grenouille—”

“Who?” the dwarf asked.

A woman wearing a white tank top and black leather pants, her arms colored with enough ink to cover Mother Goose and her whole gander twice, walked out from the back room. Her opaque, nearly black eyes met mine and she smirked. “What can we do for his lordship?”

I took a step back, surprised by the beauty in front of me. This woman was beyond gorgeous. Blue-black ringlets of silken hair fell around her shoulders and down her back. Silver hoop earrings, six in all, lined her earlobes. I imagined her long legs wrapped around me, and my mouth went dry.

She tilted her head to the side. “What’s the matter? Did an Isty Bitsy Spider crawl up your waterspout?”

Her words penetrated my fantasy. My eyes narrowed on the leather-clad chick. “Mademoiselle, I assure you, my waterspout is in perfect working condition.”

The beauty snickered. “Mademoiselle? How formal.” Her hand hovered over her heart. “Call me Lollie. Lollie Bliss. I own this tattoo shop.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your name.” I chortled. “It’s obviously a fake.”

Her lips curled into a frown. “Oh, and Jean-Michel La Grenouille isn’t?”

Touché. I considered the pale beauty with a small diamond chip sparkling on the right side of her nose. She looked vaguely familiar, but from where? Was she here last night? Was that why the curve of her lips and her mysterious dark-eyed gaze sent a shiver down my spine? Or was there something more? A connection of sorts. Like two equally attractive sexually active ships passing in a one-night stand?

The red-haired midget jumped from her chair and came around the reception desk. She looked at the brunette and then shot a glare my way. “What is it you want?” she growled.

“Well, my lady,” I sneered. “I believe I was here last evening . . . on a business matter of . . .”

“Grave importance?” the taller woman suggested with a grin.

“One might say that.” I nodded. “As I was saying—”

Lollie held up a hand. “Sorry, I’ve never seen your pretty-boy face before. You?” She nodded to the midget, who answered with a grunt.

“Perhaps another person in your employ?”

“Nope.”

“But I have a receipt from last night, for a two-hundred-dollar charge, and then there’s another, much larger cash advance.” Enough of a cash advance to hire a killer and have a little bit left over for a nice steak afterward. “The credit card company said both charges originated here.” I yanked the paper from my pocket and shoved it toward her. “Care to explain?”

“Explain what? A receipt? Yeah,” her lips thinned, “you charged something somewhere. By the smell of you, I’m guessing a brothel. But it wasn’t here.”

“But—”

“Listen,” her eyes skimmed over me with indifference, as if my superior manly form was of little consequence, “I’ve never seen you before and we closed up shop early last night. Are we done here?”

My eyes narrowed. Something wasn’t right, something besides her obviously poor eyesight. This had to be the place. Had to. The sign on the door. The vague familiarity of the bitchy brunette. She was lying for some unexplainable reason. Perhaps meeting me last evening had ruined her for all men. Ah, the peril of being me.

“Then explain this.” I twirled around and yanked my pants down.

“Sir,” Karl said, “I don’t think—”

I held up my hand for quiet, waiting for the woman to speak, to acknowledge our association, or at the very least apologize for the large girly flowers tattooed across the small of my back. When she failed to respond, I ventured, “Well?”

“The tattoo’s nice,” she said, and then motioned to the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”

“Mademoiselle, you don’t understand—” I spun back around to glare at her. “This is a matter of life and death. If you refuse to aid me, I’ll be forced to take action. . . .” I let my threat trail off.

“Oh, I understand plenty, Kermit.” Her eyes shrank to slits. “Now get out of my shop before I take some actions of my own.” Sadly, her threat carried much more weight, in the form of a Fairyville Slugger wooden bat that she picked up from underneath the reception desk.

Using the bat like a cattle prod, she pushed me toward the door. The wood dug into my spine, bruising my already multicolored back. “This isn’t the last you’ve heard from Jean-Michel La . . . ,” I said as my feet hit the sidewalk. “Oh, forget it.”

Karl followed, his knees scraping the cement as the woman shoved him out of the door after me. She waved the bat in good-bye and then slammed the door in my face.

“Sir, I guess we were mistaken about your final stop last evening,” he said.

“Not quite.”

Karl’s eyes narrowed. “Huh? The woman . . . Ms. Bliss . . . she said she didn’t remember you. Vehemently, I might add.”

“That’s what she said, all right.”

“Then why do you look so pleased?” His brow knit in confusion. “We’re no closer to stopping Princess Beauty’s murder.”

“Not true.” I helped my manservant from the sidewalk and watched with disgust as he dusted off his tights.

“I don’t understand, sir,” Karl said. “What did I miss?”

“She called me Kermit.”