Incidental Contact (Those Devilish De Marco Men) (12 page)

“It’s a basketball, not poison darts,” he retorted, turning to follow her.

She nodded, blinking too fast. “He’s worried little old ladies on walkers might get knocked over and break a hip, if the ball gets loose. And toddlers. We might flatten one or two.” She ran her hand through her hair. “I guess I didn’t think this through very well.”

Dee was right, her hair looks adorable.
He squeezed her hand. “Yeah? Terrorists might drive through the damn building, too.”

She slapped a hand over her mouth and turned, pulling up short. “This is nothing compared to your news. Lila sent me a text. I’m so sorry. Three years is wrong. Carpenter should do more time than that.”

He sighed, tucking her hand through his arm. “Bad day all ‘round, I guess. But you look beautiful. Very sexy.”

“I thought you’d think this dress was too conservative.” She glanced down, then peered at him. The feeling in his chest tightened.

He wished now he’d stayed at work. This wasn’t going like he’d hoped. She wasn’t in any mood for jokes. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with feminine insecurity. “Nothing wrong with conservative. Especially when you pair it with those killer shoes. Let me see those things.”

She wrinkled her nose. To his amazement, she yanked a shoe off and shoved it in his hand. “I’m gonna break my neck.” Her scowl softened. “Then you’ll have to carry me up the steps. And let me tell you, I’m a real baby when it comes to pain. These damn things should come with crutches.”

Eric took the small shoe. The entire thing fit into his palm.

Lowering the bare foot, she lifted the other, adding, “Tina was kind of bitchy-nice. I think I scared her off, though. Used my everyday ogre face, before Dani painted this one on.” She crossed her eyes. “I gotta go back and pick up my stuff. Can’t wait to get out of this dress, but seriously, I think I could wait the rest of my life to see her again.” She pulled off the other shoe.

Tina could be sweet as hell one minute, and catty the next. Eventually, the sweet act disappeared completely, leaving only claw marks. Why had he dated her? “Thanks.”

She plucked the shoe from his hand and stuck both under her arm like a football. Her sigh sounded blissful. “Better. Much better. Now the little old folk are safe. It’d suck if I fell on one and crushed ‘em. Can you see that headline?”

He wanted to laugh. He just couldn’t seem to breathe deep enough to make the sound.

The mall was nearly deserted. The elderly people Phil was so concerned about sat on the benches lining the wide concourse, chatting with each other and watching the world go by. Eric supposed hanging out at the mall beat sitting home, watching daytime television.

In the spot where the three sections of the building merged, a large piece of carpet had been taped to the floor. Overstuffed recliners were lined in facing rows. A salesman perched on the arm of one chair, adjusting his tie. A man and woman, perhaps in their late sixties or early seventies, occupied two of the others. Eric barely glanced at the sign for a downtown furniture store.

On either end of the display, vendors fidgeted in chairs parked behind carts filled with merchandise, looking up with hopeful smiles when they passed.

“Oh, look.” Amy tugged him toward a cart. Eric veered in that direction, fighting annoyance. He wasn’t into retail therapy. Not today. Gazing through the wide panes of glass around the main entrance, he decided he’d make an excuse and leave. His impulse seemed dumb now. Wondering how long he’d need to wait so he didn’t look stupid for showing up just to bail, he took a few steps toward the door.

He couldn’t even see the damn cars for all the idiots waving signs.
What the hell do they think they’re accomplishing?
The invisible band constricting his chest wound a notch tighter.

“Can you watch these for me?” Hearing Amy’s voice, he turned, but she spoke to the old man parked in the recliner closest to her. The man nodded. His tanned scalp gleamed under thin strands of silver, and he wore overalls. She plunked her shoes on the floor at his side and turned back toward the cart.

The denim overalls reminded him of John Carpenter. The sick feeling in his gut felt more unbearable by the minute. Eric turned back to the doors. He took a couple of steps toward the exit, but if he left this way, he’d have to hike around a third of the T-shaped building, just to get to his truck.

Something struck him between the shoulder blades. The blow wasn’t hard, but he turned in time to see a black ball bounce between the rows of recliners. The blue-haired woman beside the old man leaned forward and scooped up the ball. Eric watched her squeeze it. Whatever the ball was made of appeared very soft.

Amy took a wide stance and cocked her head. “I don’t know about you, but I’m feelin’ a little defiant.”

He blinked. She held a pair of clear, plastic tubes at least two feet long, attached to pistol-grip handles. The tubes were filled with balls a bit larger than ping pong balls, like the one that’d struck him. She tossed one to him. “Pump it up, De Marco. And prepare to die.” She raised her weapon.

“Get him, honey! A quarter on the girl!” cried the old woman. She waved the ball, grinning at Amy.

“Do you even have a quarter, Hazel?” the elderly man demanded.

“No, but I’ll have yours when she wins, Woodrow.” The woman blew the old man a kiss.

“You’re on.” The old man pointed a crooked finger at Eric. “Don’t just stand there, son. Quarters don’t grow on trees, you know.”

“Oh, no pressure there,” Eric retorted, feeling like a fool. The plastic handle and connections on his toy gun were pink. The little hussy kept the blue one.

While he tried to figure out how the gun worked, Amy fired again, striking him above the knee. “You better hope I can’t shoot.”  Eric raised the gun. “Because when I win, I’m gonna tickle you till you cry.”

“Who said I was ticklish?” She stuck out her tongue.

“You will be when I get through, if you’re not now,” he vowed.

The salesman applauded. Amy ducked behind a potted tree near the toy cart. He took a step in her direction.

“Pump it about six times, then shoot.” The advice came from the toy vendor. “Easy now, big man. They’re made for three-year-olds.” Eric glanced in his direction, pumping the gun cautiously, but from the corner of his eye, he watched Amy. Damn her, she went to her knees, crawling behind the woman’s chair. He got a flash of creamy thigh and the lace tops of her hose.

“Bawk, bawk,” he taunted. “You know I can’t shoot the spectators. Mall security might arrest me.”

She popped up beside Hazel and pointed her gun, pumping furiously. Her grin was ear-to-ear now. “I know! I just spent all my money, so I can’t bail you out.”

He dodged her shot, moving forward in a crouch. Using the adjacent recliner as a screen, he popped up, poked his gun over the arm, and pulled the trigger. The ball struck her shoulder. The old man struggled out of his seat and limped after the ball. Amy jumped to her feet and pumped her gun again. The hem of her dress caught on the corduroy fabric of the chair’s wide arm and he got a second peek at the thigh-high hosiery.

Eric pulled his trigger. Nothing.
Dammit, forgot to pump.
Her shot hit him in the chest. The ball spun off, landing in the old woman’s lap.

“Got you two refills now, honey!” Hazel cried, waving one in each fist.

“Give me that ball, woman.” The old man held out his hand. “No reloadin’.”

Apparently, they didn’t get to make their own rules for this battle. Amy grinned at the old man. Eric shook his head, but somewhere in his heart, admiration bloomed. Most women he knew would’ve pouted for days when something they had their hearts set on didn’t pan out. This was why he liked her. She wasn’t like any woman he knew.

Amy dashed across the open space between the chairs and disappeared behind a cart selling sweatshirts, parked near the corridor leading to Phil’s office.

Turning away, he hid behind the toy cart to pump his gun. The little old man approached, holding out two balls. “I’ll try and round these up. Got a bag?”

The toy seller grabbed a shopping bag and shook it open. The old guy dropped the balls in, then tied the handle to his belt. “Show her how it’s done.” The vendor smiled at Eric. “You look like a hunter to me.”

“Count on it.” Eric nodded. “Twenty-five whole cents and the fate of free men everywhere is ridin’ on this, after all.” He spun toward the place he’d last seen Amy. “Come out, come out, wherever you are, Amy girl.”

She showed some skill, and even more cunning, crawling on her hands and knees to pop up between a brown recliner and a green one. The ball she fired hit his forearm and careened away.

“When I win, I get foot massages every night for a week.” She ducked behind the green recliner. He could hear her pump the gun.

“I shoulda thought of that.” The old woman cackled. “He’s going around behind the blue chair, honey!”

“Hey! No fair. No spotters.” Eric pointed his gun momentarily in the woman’s direction.

She threw both hands in the air—still clutching the two balls in her fists—and her eyes went wide inside the web of wrinkles, making him laugh. “If you wanna tickle me, be my guest.” She gave him an outrageous wink.

Eric figured he wouldn’t be getting any extra ammo from the little old man, based on his sharp retort. “Woman, if you want to be tickled, I reckon I can handle that.” A second later, Eric felt another ball hit him in the back.

“Damn decoys. Whose side are y’all on, anyway?” he demanded of the elderly pair.

The woman laughed. “Amy’s side, hot stuff. I need that quarter.” She waggled her brows. “You won’t be-lieve what Woodrow will make me do if he wins.”

He landed his next four balls. Amy was laughing so hard, she missed twice.

“I have one left. How about you?” Eric asked, making sure his palm covered the last two balls in the clear cylinder.

“Just one.”

What’s the score, Woodrow?”

“Pretty dang sure y’all are tied,” the old man announced.

The recliner salesman agreed. “Yep, he evened up.”

That wasn’t possible, based on his spare ball... if she was telling the truth. The little sneak was competitive. For all he knew, she bought spares.

“Go... cute male person!” the woman selling the shirts cried, clapping.

“His name’s Eric.” He glanced around a second time to see Tina, standing with one hip cocked and her arms crossed. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Tina wouldn’t be caught dead playing a game like this. Because, yeah, it was more fun to make a guy blow a week’s pay on one bottle of wine that made his mouth feel like it’d turned inside out.

A small crowd gathered while they ducked and hid, both feinting to get the best shot. A woman, holding the hands of two little girls in pigtails, stopped under the awning on the sweatshirt cart. The toddlers squealed and pointed, begging for a gun like “those crazy grown-ups have.”

“Double-dog dare you to a High Noon showdown, De Marco,” Amy called from behind a chair. “We’ll stand back to back, walk ten paces, turn, and fire.”

“Deal. Come out from behind that chair.” Eric squeezed in beside the recliner where the old man perched, easing the barrel over the arm of the adjacent chair.

“Psst.” A hand landed on his shoulder. He glanced up. The old man shook his head and whispered. “Son, you know the unwritten rule, right?” The man’s eyes were youthful pools of blue in his leathery face.

“What rule is that, sir?”

“You gotta let your little lady win.” The old man nodded. “It’ll be worth it in the end. You give her the small things. She’ll pay you back with more’n you got any right to expect. Trust me on that.” He tipped his head at the old woman. “Forty-nine years and countin’. I know a good’un when I see her. Your girl’s a keeper.” He thrust his thumb in Amy’s direction.

Losing would mean Woodrow would lose, too, but the old man knew that. Eric’s nod felt like a solemn pact, stupid though that notion was. Something important hinged on his missing a shot any child could make. Something important about being a man of character. About what a man did to deserve the type of woman he’d always secretly wanted, yet feared he couldn’t satisfy. Because a woman of depth and intelligence would demand more than good looks.

Or, this was just a stupid game and the whole situation with Carpenter had fucked up his ability to think straight. Eric got to his feet. “Okay, ten paces. Prepare to be tickled. For the record, I’m showing no mercy.”

She rose to her knees, still screened by a recliner at the opposite end of the carpet. Her cheeks were pinker than makeup accounted for. Her hair stuck up in spikes on top of her head. Her shoulders shook with laughter. Eric sauntered to the center of the carpet.

When Amy began walking toward him, something weird happened inside his chest. That tight band of anger had dissolved somehow, and now his chest felt like it couldn’t stop expanding. She raised her gun, puckered her lips, and blew across the end of the barrel.

When she was close enough that he could see the mischief dancing in her eyes, she raised her chin. “Your ass is mine, De Marco. You’re going down.” Tough talk, considering she couldn’t stop laughing. She poked him in the chest with the end of her gun.

He leaned down until their noses nearly touched. “Oh, hell yes. I will go down. Count on that. Bet a quarter, I can make you cry with just my tongue.” Her cheeks darkened, and for a moment, her eyes had that unfocused look.

“Hold on.” Turning, Eric waved his gun at the toy dealer. “Can we get an equipment check, please?” The seller hurried over, taking their guns. The man pumped both, handing each weapon over with a formal bow. “What’s the range on these things?” Eric asked.

“About twenty feet.” The man scurried back to the line of customers waiting by his cart.

Eric gazed at the crowd. Animated faces now surrounded the recliner display. Clerks had stepped out of stores. A few more shoppers stopped to watch. He winked at the two little girls, pointed at Amy, and turned his thumb down.

“Noo!” the smallest one squealed. “She’s gonna get you.”

He turned, then felt the soft warmth of Amy’s back pressed against his. “From your dimples to your belly button,” he muttered over his shoulder.