Jump the Gun (17 page)
I was sitting at a sidewalk table outside the café, my left leg bouncing up and down while I played with an empty sugar packet, its contents already dumped into my cappuccino. Mickey came up behind me and touched my shoulder. I jumped about a mile in the air and knocked my coffee all over the table. Scared the crap out of me. “Jeez! Mickey!”
He was still wearing an eye patch, and he was using a caneâfor his leg, not his sight. Nice cane, too, with a brass eagle handle. Mickey. Always stylish.
He leaned on it and smiled at me. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
He bent toward me and gave me a little hug, then limped over to the other chair and sat down.
“How's the leg?”
“Good. Sore, but getting there.” He pulled out the chair and sat down. “How are you?”
“Good. Sore, but getting there.” I gave him a weak smile. I took a paper napkin and started mopping up the spilled coffee, not very well.
The waitress came and took Mickey's order for a double espresso, then went back inside. Mickey looked at me. “Why are you sore?”
This was a little hard to take. “Um, well, I haven't heard a peep from you for ten days, and now you show up all of a sudden, and I don't know what's going on with you, and if you're going to end it all right here, then just do it and get it over with. I mean it. I have things I have to do.” Actually, I had nothing to do.
But Mickey didn't say anything until the waitress brought his espresso, set it down after wiping up the table with a rag, and left. He took a sip. “Good coffee.” He took another sip. Then he just sat there. It made me nervous. I picked up my dripping cup and took a sip of nothingâit had all been spilled.
“Walbon,” he finally said.
“Walbon?”
“The computer tech guy.”
My heart rate doubled in a nanosecond. “Whatâ¦?”
“I looked up the case. Carol Simpson, your customer service manager, didn't end up pressing charges, but there was still a record of the beating. I found him. Jerry Walbon.”
“Where?”
“Seattle. Moved there about six months ago.”
“And? Jeez, Mickey, just tell me what you've done!”
He laughed. “Like what, bust his kneecaps or leave a horse head in his bed? I didn't do anything, Annabelle. Didn't have to. Rapists usually keep raping. His last victim got him busted. He was convicted about a month ago, and now he's in jail.”
I tilted my head straight back to face the sky and sucked in a deep lungful of air. “Thank you for finding this out.”
“You're welcome.” Mickey took another sip.
After my heart rate slowed to normal range, I sat up straight.
“So, loose ends all tied up, everything's over, and we can get on with our lives.”
“Something like that. But not quite.”
“Meaningâ¦?”
Mickey reached across the table and held out his hands, wiggling his fingers in invitation. I edged in and tentatively placed my hands in his, not sure if I should.
His come-hither deep brown eye searched every inch of my face before he broke a smile. “I'm sorry about the last ten days. Actually, I'm sorry about the last ten days, seven hours, and⦔ he looked at his watch “â¦thirty-two minutes. I had to check in with my precinct, follow up with the extortion case, see my doctor about my leg, an eye doc about my eye; I had to pay bills, check in with my grandmother, call a few friends, and⦔
I interrupted. “But not me. You couldn't even
return
my calls?” I tried to pull my hands away, but Mickey held them tightly.
“No. I know that was rude, but I had to be sure.”
“That I'm not a crazy criminal?”
“Will you stop interrupting me, Annabelle? Will you please stop? I'm trying to tell you something serious, here.”
I closed my eyes and waited.
Now
he will tell me that it's just not going to work, just like in
The Notebook,
when Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams break up.
“Okay, go ahead.” I kept my eyes closed.
“I had to be sure that I cannot in any real sense get on with my life without you. I had to try it, to make sure. And I only made it for ten days, seven hours, andâ¦thirty-four minutes.”
That got me. I opened my eyes, which immediately filled with tears. “I'm a wreck,” I choked.
Mickey nodded. “I know.”
“But you love me?”
“I do.”
“I love you, Mickey. God I do. I haven't felt safe without you. I haven't felt anything but sad and scared and confused.”
“Can you trust me? Like you said, I was a big fat liar. And I've stayed away from you for ten days.”
“And seven hours and thirty-six minutes.”
“Are you sure you can let me back into your heart?”
I took a deep breath and wiped the back of my hand across my nose. Mickey handed me a napkin, but it was wet with coffee, so he dropped it on the table. I hoped my hand would air dry. I sniffed a few times until I regained a modicum of control. I found my voice. “You never left my heart. It's a little bit broken, but now I have good reason to kick your ass anytime I want to.” I made myself smile.
Mickey slapped the table, clattering the cups, and laughed. “Aaah. I get it. I'll be paying for this the rest of my life.”
“I hope so.”
“Me, too.” He took my hands again, even though one of them was snotty. “My ophthalmologist said that UC Med would be a great choice for my eye surgery. I'm having it done tomorrow. Will you go with me?”
“Yes.”
“Are you back in your apartment?”
“No. I've been staying at my parents'.”
“How are they?”
“Good, all things considered. The door and furniture are fixed. I think they're still stunned by their daughter taking on a gang of criminals. They'll be happy to see you.”
“Do you like New York City?”
My heart soared. My face must have lit up like a full moon with cauliflower ears turning bright red, peeking out from under my white felt fedora. “I
love
New York City.” I hurried around the table to sit on Mickey's lap, until I caught a look of alarm in his eyes and remembered his leg. I hesitated, but he guided me down to rest on his left leg while he moved the right out of the way. I slid my arms around his neck. “But only if Bonkers can come.”
Mickey kissed me. His lips felt just as soft and good as they did that first kiss in Las Vegas. “Doesn't he love it at your parents'? Wouldn't he be happier there?” I shook my head slowly, my eyes beaming dire threats. “Oh, all right. Do you think he'll stop biting me?” He kissed me again.
“You'll learn how to play with him. We'll get lots of Band Aids.” I kissed him back. We couldn't stop kissing.
“I want to take you to Maine, to meet my grandmother.”
“I want to do that more than anything in the world. Well, almost,” I murmured, and kissed him again. A couple of teenagers walked by and giggled. We were something of a spectacle for passersby. I pulled away from him, stood up, and dragged my chair around next to his and sat down.
Mickey gently took my hand. “There's something else.”
My heart jumped again. “What?”
“Luis.”
“Luis! You've talked to him? I haven't talked to him since, well, you know⦔
“Yes. In fact, he flew to New York and spent a couple of days with me. We're starting a business.”
“Mickey, are you NUTS? You don't want to drive cabs in⦔
Mickey grinned and waved me off. “Not driving cabs, you maniac. We're going to start a PI firm. Ruby, Luis' wife, has had enough of Las Vegas, and Luis figures he has, too. Time for a change. It's something I've wanted to do for a whileâstrike out on my own.”
It took me a minute to comprehend PI. “Private investigation? Wow.”
“Wow is right. Wanna job?”
“Gee, Mickey, I don't know, I don't think I like guns, and I⦔
“â¦solved a murder, remember? Anyway, no need for you to shoot any guns. You can run the office. Answer phones. Do some research. And dumpster diving.”
“DUMPSTER DIVING? Now that's hard to refuse. Good pay?”
Mickey laughed again. “Good pay.”
“Am I a partner?”
He pulled back from me a bit, his eyes glistening. “But of course! The name of the business will be “Paxton, Maldonado & Starkey: Private Investigations.”
I stood up. “That's too long!” I paced on the sidewalk while Mickey watched me. I was thinking out loud. “We could call it PMS, Private Investigationsâ¦Yikes, no, that's terrible. Can't do that.” I kept thinking. “It should be something witty, not with our names.⦔ I stopped pacing. “I've got it.”
Mickey pulled out his wallet and left money on the table for the coffees. “I'm listening.”
“Hatpin Investigations.”
“No.”
“C'mon, Mickey, it's fun, it's great, it's⦔
“It's stupid, Annabelle, I'm sorry, but it's stupid.”
He was right. It was stupid. But we were going to be partners, and I didn't want him to have the upper hand from the get go. So I laughed. “You might be right, but I'm not giving up on it yet.”
Mickey stood up. “The name can wait. But I can't wait any longer to see you naked.”
“Hmmâ¦is that so?”
“Mm hmm.” He took my hand and we walked further up the street. “My hotel is right up here, and I have a very nice suite.”
“I don't like the sound of that, if you want to know the truth. The last time we went to a very nice suite⦔
Mickey pulled me to him, hugging me. He whispered, “This one is already stocked with two bottles of pinot noir, and I've ordered two big plates of steaming hot French fries and two big bowls of vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce ready to be delivered immediately upon my phone call to the floor's butler.”
Being held so tightly and hearing that voice in my ear made me breathless again. I giggled. “What's the name of this place with the butler on every floor?”
“Hotel Paris. It's brand new. Someday I'll take you to the real place.”
We walked slowly to the hotel, with Mickey needing help from his cane and looking like an exotic multinational pirate who had met up with the wrong end of a sword. I looped my left arm through his right and stuck my right hand in my pants pocket, fingering the mountain lion fetish I now carry with me all the time.
I had a flash of memoryâ¦the end of a great old movie I watched recently, but which one? I let it go. This was my great ending, and mine alone.
For other books, upcoming author events, or more information please go to:
To receive a free catalog of Poisoned Pen Press titles,
please contact us in one of the following ways:
Phone: 1-800-421-3976
Facsimile: 1-480-949-1707
Email:
[email protected]
Website:
www.poisonedpenpress.com
Poisoned Pen Press
6962 E. First Ave. Ste 103
Scottsdale, AZ 85251
