Hot Stuff (26 page)

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Authors: Flo Fitzpatrick

BOOK: Hot Stuff
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I curled up in the passenger seat with the most-wanted statue in India in my lap and slept. I didn't even dream.
“Tempe. Better wake up.”
I hit awake before Brig finished “better.” I looked around me. We were not at my trailer. Or Brig's. Or Raj's or Asha's or anyone else's at the Vivek Studio lot. We were at the Sea Harbor Hotel where I'd spent my first night on the run with Brig.
The Tempe who'd slept there in a borrowed T-shirt from a man she'd met hours before would've asked a lot of questions as to why we weren't snug and safe at the studio, letting Jake's security guards do their job. But that Tempe had disappeared with the last punch thrown at Patel's mama.
I calmly asked, “What's up? Pursuers? Plan C? Someplace with better beds than the trailer?”
“Well, the last is true but not the others. I'm a bit flummoxed here. While you slept, I had the radio on. The news is full of the murder of an American businessman. An American who'd been staying at the prestigious Taj Mahal Hotel. An American found in an alleyway near a part of town where a certain fire alarm had disrupted the lives of a certain residence. A false alarm, they said.”
He didn't need to say more. American businessman. It had to be Raymond Decore.
“Ray's been murdered? Great God Ganesh, how did that happen? That's awful. I can't believe this. But, wait. Why does that mean we're not back at the studio?”
“Because the police are looking for two foreigners spotted near the residence who are wanted for questioning in the matter of setting off that alarm and also for Raymond Decore's untimely death.”
“Terrific. I've gone from businesswoman to stripper to film dancer to burglar to wanted killer in the space of one week. So we're back at the Sea Harbor? Sort of where we started. Why?”
Brig helped me from the car. We checked to be sure our statue hadn't fallen out of her snug niche in my little purse. Saraswati's lute and the snake head stuck out a good two inches, but with a baseball cap we'd found in the back seat of the Jeep, she easily passed for a souvenir bought by an American tourist too cheap to buy a big bag.
Brig patted the Diva. “It occurred to me that, strange as it seems, this hotel is the one place no one seems to have known where we were. At any time.”
He kissed me, then drew back and smiled. “Besides, it holds fond memories of the feisty lass who escaped with me after hiding out in a storeroom.”
“Hmmm. I remember that particular lass heading straight for the shower and then collapsing. But perhaps my exhausted state kept me sleeping through great moments of rolling around on the floor doing the he-ing, she-ing routine?”
Brig hugged me. “I do love you. You have a way of making the worst moments fun. And no, darlin', we did no he-in' or she-in' that night. Worse the luck. But the sight of you in the sari and the bare feet and the look of determination to survive? Well, it got to me. It did. Still does. And will.”
I couldn't answer. The words “I do love you” swirled through my exhausted psyche. They didn't mean anything. I knew this. How many times has a buddy said, “I do love you” when teasing a friend? But I clung to those words. I barely even heard the rest of what, in actuality, revealed much more of Brig's feelings.
I didn't know whether Brig had ever bothered to check out of this hotel. He escorted me and our precious cargo to the same room we'd shared a week ago. I felt just as tired as that night. But this time my attention was riveted to that bed. Then to Brig. It might be four in the morning, but his eyes shone with desire. The same desire was reflected in mine.
Brig locked the door. He tossed my purse bearing the goddess on a desk chair. Seconds later, we were on that one bed. And this time, there was a fair amount of he-in' and she-in' going on.
Chapter 34
Between us we managed about three hours' sleep. I awoke around nine
A.M
., snuggled next to Brig's solid chest. Shiva's Diva beamed at us from the dresser in the corner. Brig gently kissed me, then pointed to the statue.
“I don't know if I ever told you, but Saraswati is not just the goddess of speech, music, communication, and arts.”
“There's more? Blessing or curse?”
He threw me back on the pillows and didn't answer for the next twenty minutes or so. When we came up for air, he continued his lecture as though he'd never stopped.
“She's known for helping out in matters of fertility.”
“As in crops in the field?”
“As in babes in the womb.”
“Ah.” I grabbed my shirt from the chair next to the bed, then sat up in bed and eyed the goddess with new eyes.
“How long must one have the statue before she graces one with kiddies? Is this instantaneous?”
Brig laughed. The light from the window rippled over his chest and glinted in his dark hair. I didn't think he'd need any help from Saraswati in creating a few babes.
“I'm not certain of the rules of that legend, mind you. I believe one has to ask the favor as well. Unlike the other blessings. Or curses.”
I smothered him with my pillow. “I hope so. Just think. If Patel gets his hands on the lady again, we could have scores of little Patels running loose in Bombay within the year, all looking exactly like Seymour's mother. Yow!”
Brig tossed the pillow back at me. “Well, that's just more incentive for us to keep the Diva out of his nasty mitts, then, isn't it?”
“Oh, 'tis, Mr. O'Brien. 'Tis. But nasty is too nice a word for the murdering scumbag.”
We both sobered immediately. I saw it in his face. We'd been hit with the same thought at the same time. Ray Decore. Not a nice man. I still questioned whether he would have actually shot me, either that day in his hotel room or at the Flora Fountain. I honestly did not think so. Ray had turned into a crook, but I didn't think he'd have escalated to murderer. And even if his thoughts had been edging toward violence, he didn't deserve to end up in an alley in a foreign country with, what? Bullet holes in his back? A knife in his chest? A king cobra cozily curled up on his brow?
“Brig? Did the news say how Ray was killed?”
“Nope. I'm right with you. It might not even have been Patel who did the deed. Mahindra's been damned quiet the last day or so.”
“I can't really see him popping up in the middle of the night just to shoot Ray, but then, I'm not well acquainted enough with Kirk Mahindra's business practices to know if that's how he deals with rivals.”
Brig nodded. “Much as I'd love to spend the day right here in your arms, talkin' murder and Mahindra, then moving on to more pleasurable topics, there are things to do today that don't involve either talk or lovemaking. Sadly.”
“I know.” I oozed out of the bed again. “Oh poo.”
“Yes?”
“I'm due on the set! Like an hour ago. Phooey. For the big scene where Asha is running from the kidnappers and hitching the ride with the guy who ends up being worse than the ringmaster. The one who takes her to the Yacht Club and tries to seduce her.”
“I don't remember that part of the script.”
“The guys weren't in it, Brig. Just Asha and the girl dancers. Damn. I hate being irresponsible.”
Brig collapsed on the bed in near hysteria. “I don't think getting the Diva back and ducking murderous thugs quite makes you irresponsible. Besides, I called Jake around six and told him you might be delayed because of what we were doing.”
I lifted a brow. “I'll bet that entertained him.”
Brig grinned. “Only the doings that involved retrieving the statue. I stayed a gentleman. I did not tell him I had a howling, sweaty, back-clawing wench in my bed who'd barely let me alone long enough for me to make that phone call.”
“Thanks. Hey, wait! Sweaty?
Moi
? I'll have you know I glow, mister.” I smiled. “It's nice to know chivalry is not dead. As if I believe Jake didn't immediately turn to Ms. Kumar and speculate about what activities we were engaging in at six in the morning. Which was doubtless what the pair of them were doing as well.”
I headed toward the bathroom to take a quick shower, then turned. “So, what did Jake say? About the shoot?”
“He's working on the smaller scenes this morning. He wants you to lead the dancers down the road behind Asha, so he's holding off filming till late this afternoon.”
I paused before I closed the door. “You think it'll be safe for us to go back?”
“Not us, Tempe. You. I'm putting you on the train as soon as you're dressed. It'll be nearly a three-hour trip, but with the crowds you'll be fine. And I don't think the police are interested in you as much as me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“See some friends who might have a bit of influence with the local authorities and plead with them to convince the gents at the jail that I'm a lover, not a fighter.”
I tossed my shirt back over the chair with the ease of Tassels la Tour and stepped, topless, into the restroom.
“Feel free to give them my number, lad. I'll be more than happy to attest to exactly that fact.”
I shall spare everyone the details of the trip on the train to Vivek Studios. A trip that can be summed up in three words. Long, dirty, and noisy. Oh yeah. Two more. Crowded and unpleasant. By the time I got to the lot, I had no desire to go dancing around a set that consisted of a dirt road where cars came zipping by and not much else.
But, being a responsible person, I let Reena garb me in her latest concept of American dance queen (i.e., cutoff jeans and a red halter top). I went out and I performed the cartwheels, flips, and splits that had somehow become part of every dance scene Jake stuck me in. I whipped off a quadruple pirouette while standing in bare feet on pavement and didn't even flinch, because this particular responsible little actor/dancer had become a very distracted one.
Visions of Brig in, beg pardon, the brig, haunted me. Visions of Brig being rescued from the brig by a Kirk Mahindra who had unofficial grilling styles in mind made me clench my teeth so hard Jake had to ask if I'd been hurt.
He and Asha had pounced on me the instant I stepped out of the cab. The actors had been given an uncharacteristically long lunch break. I suspected Jake was being kind just so he and his intended could get caught up on the activities of the previous night. The first half anyway. I adored both Jake and Asha but I was not going to entertain them by providing details concerning bedding down with Brig O'Brien. An activity I knew damn well Asha craved to learn about in Technicolor and Dolby THX sound.
She had to settle for the other news. “Ray's dead?”
“Oh yeah. Unless he palmed his ID off on some other fifty-ish American with gray hair, a physique courtesy the best trainers in New York, and a thigh wound courtesy of whatever leftover weapon from your kidnap rescue got him.”
“Well, that pretty much nails it down,” Asha said. “Which bum bumped him off?”
I winced. I couldn't be quite as blasé about this as Asha. I actually had known the man. She'd just snuck out of his room, then yelled at him through a door.
Ray and I had boarded a plane in New York less than a week ago. We'd even enjoyed a few hours of nice conversation during the times I'd been awake and he hadn't tried making a pass. Ray had been a friend of Jeremy, my boss. Although Ray had apparently lost his mind and adopted a penchant for criminal behavior, I still hated for the man to have died alone in an alley in a foreign country as his killer stood over him watching as his life oozed away. Well, that might be over-romanticizing both the man and his demise.
His death wasn't a joke. I sent up a silent prayer that Ray would find peace in a better place.
And a cooler one. The Bombay heat combined with rehearsing had me sweaty and thirsty. I inhaled four two-liter-sized bottles of imported French water in less time than it takes to drink one cup of tea. Then I started in on the tea as well. Five cups in all.
It should come as no surprise then, that after finishing the first sequence of steps for the princess-hitching-a-ride scene, including that quadruple pirouette, I might need to use the facilities. I've never been fond of Porta-Potty restrooms, so I hiked a half mile to my own trailer. The one where I'd enjoyed about three hours' sleep two nights ago. The one where I'd enjoyed the other four that same night with Brig.
The one where, this day, like our own Shiva's Diva, I got bagged.
Chapter 35
It was obvious to all parties involved in
l'affaire
Shiva's Diva that Brig and I had a thing going. I'd been seen with him in enough situations to allow Kirk Mahindra to figure out that Brig meant more to me than a chance to meet Jake Roshan, break into films, and become a Masala movie star. Mahindra had seen sparks flying between Mr. O'Brien and Miss Walsh long before Miss Walsh admitted they were sparks of desire and not just the flash of bullets or knives whizzing by.
So Kirkee decided the way to get to Brig was to get me. He explained this while I sat, hands tied behind my back, in his luxurious white stretch limo that cruised easily out of Vivek Studios.
“You must understand, my dear Miss Walsh, that I believe coming to you is the quickest course of action to take following Patel's wretched deeds of last night. I refer, of course, to the death of Raymond Decore.”
I sighed. “I somehow figured Patel had been the scum who'd sent Ray to meet his Maker. Didn't seem your style. Not that I'm really up on your style. But you seem to have more class than dispatching people in alleys.”
Mahindra inclined his head, then patted my knee. I tried not to visibly shudder. The man might be a gentleman thief and kidnapper, but he still possessed a quick trigger finger. I wasn't exactly comfortable riding with him.
Kirk stated, “As well as being beautiful, you are a wise and perceptive lady. If I had been the one to decide that Ray Decore did not need to live, I would have sent one of my business associates to his hotel room with instructions to increase his morphine dosage. Patel is indeed a pig. But a knife in the stomach in a filthy alley? Tasteless. Low class. Messy. Inept.”
Not to mention damn rough on the knifee's guts. I managed to refrain from vocalizing this thought.
Mahindra continued, “I must say, however, that Patel's actions during the Ganesh festival in seizing Miss Kumar then offering up her release in exchange for the Saraswati statue was nothing short of genius. It gave me the idea to do much the same with you. And I have no doubt, having seen you interact with Mr. O'Brien more than once, that he will trip over himself with great speed to rescue you with the goddess in hand.”
He stared at me. “One goddess for another. Very fitting.”
“Mr. Mahindra, I'm not so sure Brig even has the statue anymore. I believe there are a few other parties involved. People you may not even be aware of. Other buyers.”
He waved his hand, brushing off those pesky others. “I know of several interested buyers. But I have taken steps to insure that Mr. O'Brien will be too busy today to notify anyone that he has the statue. He is currently dealing with inspectors at the police station. He has no time to sell the Shiva's Diva, as you call her. Why that name, I must confess, I am still unclear.”
“You saw Brig at the station?”
“Wearing handcuffs and looking most unhappy. Indian jails are not pleasant places. Especially for the foreigners. I rather doubt Mr. O'Brien will be so pretty the next time you see him.”
“But if he's in jail, how are you supposed to exchange me for her? The statue, that is?”
He glanced at his watch. A Rolex.
“By this time, proof that Mr. O'Brien had nothing to do with Raymond Decore's murder will have been handed to the lead inspector on the case. A good man. I've known him for many years. We were at school together and played on the cricket team.”
This did not surprise me in the least. Mom raised me on too many wiseguy movies where the mobster is best buds with the police commissioner. She and I spent many marathon weekends watching Cagney, Bogart, Pacino, and De Niro play nicey-nicey with the feds. But this particular scene I was playing seemed more reminiscent of the Sheriff of Nottingham holding Maid Marian hostage to ensnare Robin Hood than of any gangster flick.
“Let me see if I've got this straight so far. One of your filthy goo—excuse me,
business associates,
arranged for Brig to be arrested. After Brig has had enough time in jail for the thugs to beat the, uh, charm out of him, you'll send in the next wave. The cavalry arrives with proof that Brig busied himself with other activities far, far away during the time Ray met his sad fate. Correct?”
Mahindra brightened as though envisioning the whole scene with sadistic delight.
“Precisely, Miss Walsh. At this moment, so I have been told, Mr. O'Brien is walking to the parking lot to retrieve his impounded vehicle. We assume he will next attempt to drive out to the film site and reunite with the lady he desires. You. Who he believes will be waiting at her trailer to comfort him after his ordeal in prison.”
“I take it he's not going to get very far?”
“If Mr. O'Brien would join the modern world and carry a cell phone, it would make my life much easier. But, since he insists on going about without adequate means of communication, I simply have to track him down.”
His own cell rang. Beethoven's Fifth. Mahindra answered and listened quietly. A smile flitted across the refined features. He closed the flap of the phone.
“Briggan O'Brien is now heading back to the hotel where he stayed last night.”
Diplomatic of him to refrain from mentioning who else stayed with him. Namely, Tempe Walsh, latest victim of a snatch and grab.
“Mr. O'Brien has been informed that you are currently in my company and that if he wishes for that to change, he needs to meet us at the hour of midnight, tonight, at the appointed place with Saraswati.”
“I gather Brig agreed to whatever terms your associate laid out?”
“Most definitely. But I am afraid the young man used language ill befitting a gentleman. Most disgraceful. However, once my position had been made clear, he stated he would be more than pleased to deliver the Saraswati statue to me.”
“Well. Nice to know someone's plans around here are swimming along so nicely.”
He frowned. “I am only sorry you did not heed my advice concerning association with Mr. O'Brien. Tracking him down all week has been a tedious waste of my time, although having the chance to get to know you has made the effort worthwhile. For this, I am most grateful.”
Mahindra's phone rang again. I tried to focus on his responses. Partly to see what I could learn about Brig's situation, but also to avoid thinking about Mahindra's last words to me and the soft, caressing tones he'd used to say them. Not to mention the intent behind them.
His discussion over the wireless was conducted in an Indian language I hadn't covered in my course from Louie's Lingo software. Not that anything Kirk said made a difference in the execution of this latest game of Saraswati tag.
Perhaps Brig could figure out a way to fool Mahindra into thinking Brig had given him the statue. Much the same way Patel had tricked us at the strip joint by substituting the horse trophy. We'd kept that trophy in Brig's hotel room. He could wrap it up, stick it in whichever tote bag he had, hand it to Mahindra, grab me, and run like hell.
Mahindra glanced at me and hit the hold button on his phone. “If you are entertaining thoughts that Mr. O'Brien will be able to switch the Saraswati for another statue, you must forget them. My associate will be accompanying the man to his hotel. I doubt O'Brien will find another statue the appropriate height and weight to exchange anywhere in that room. And he cannot leave his hotel. My men will not allow that.”
Well. I hadn't actually been thinking, “substitute statue for statue,” unless one could call a trophy from a horse race a statue, but Mahindra had honed in on my thoughts far too easily. Then again, the man had practice in all kinds of crooked commerce. My experience dealing with thugs, robbers, kidnappers, and murderers had started only a week ago. My mind wasn't trained in the art of trickery and deception. Two words, however, that might well fit the man I loved. I brightened.
Brig would find a way to rescue me and still hang on to Shiva's Diva. I had confidence. My Riverdale Robin Hood had a gift for chicanery and sneaky behavior. Brig had plenty of other talents, too, but I didn't want to think of those while I sat next to Kirk Mahindra.
I smiled, not wanting Mahindra to see the fear inside me. A fear that diminished a bit more with every thought of Briggan. He'd come up with something. I hoped. If Plan A didn't work (and let's face it, we'd been pretty lousy at Plan A's this week), then he'd hit Plan B. Or C. Or a thug. Whichever came first.
I nodded at Mahindra since I couldn't motion with my hands. Still tied. Like I might, what? Jump out of a limo equipped with child-lock doors and that clipped along at seventy plus, then try to hitch a ride wearing my red halter top and cutoffs?
“Mr. Mahindra? Where exactly is this exchange going to take place?”
A look of near bliss crossed the man's features.
“Symmetry, my lovely Tempe, has been defined as balance and harmony creating beauty. A definition most apropos to tonight's enterprise. At midnight you and I will be at the table where you sat a week ago with Raymond Decore. At Hot Harry's Saloon.”

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