Love Is The Bond: A Rowan Gant Investigation (32 page)

He had long arms, but I’d been expecting him
to do exactly this, and I already had my hand on the door handle. I
popped the release and rolled out of the vehicle narrowly escaping
his lunge. I backpedaled away from the van then turned and started
walking as briskly as I could toward the entrance.

Behind me I heard the sound of gravel
spitting as Ben gunned the engine and spun the tires. The angry
sound was followed immediately by the thump of the passenger door
as the effect of Newton’s third law caused it to pivot in the
opposite direction and slam shut. I picked up the pace, but a
moment later he swung the van around the opposite end of the aisle
and barreled toward me.

For a split second, I thought he was going to
run me down, and I ducked quickly between two vehicles. I looked
back and saw him suddenly brake then whip the Chevy hard to the
left and pull it into an empty parking space. I told myself I
needed to keep moving, but for some reason my legs wouldn’t
respond. I simply stood there and waited.

The vehicle’s lights went out, and the engine
sputtered as he switched it off. His own door was already creaking
open before the last cough from the exhaust had died away. I heard
my friend slam his door hard then watched as he stomped around and
re-secured the passenger side which had not completely shut. That
done, he turned around and simply stared at me across the top of
the parked cars, then after a heartbeat or two, he shook his head
and walked purposefully toward where I was standing.

Still, I didn’t move. I simply waited. I knew
I couldn’t outrun him at this point even with a head start. I did,
however, slip the cell phone into my jacket and zip the pocket
shut.

When Ben came to a halt in front of me, he
didn’t look happy. The harsh shadows from the overhead light
weren’t helping, that was for sure, but I knew he was definitely
pissed off. He sighed then opened his mouth and thrust his index
finger at me. Whatever he was about to say apparently stuck
somewhere between his brain and his throat, so he just closed his
mouth and shook his head again.

Finally, he muttered, “Fuckit,” and started
toward the entrance. As he walked he called over his shoulder to
me, “Just keep your damn mouth shut and let me handle this.”

“There a problem here?” the man asked.

We hadn’t even made it through the front door
of the establishment before we were stopped. In fact, by the time
we hit the bottom of the stairs, the bald meatloaf, clad in a faded
military jacket, was waiting for us on the landing. He had
positioned himself between the door and us, and it was obvious that
we were going to need to run his gauntlet before gaining entry.

Under different circumstances I’m sure Ben
would have simply used his size and badge to bully his way past a
bouncer, but it was clear that this guy wouldn’t be easy to
intimidate. He looked to be only a few inches shorter than my
friend, and that put him well over six feet himself. But, more
importantly, what he lacked in height he made up for in muscle
mass; at least, that is how he appeared; and I wasn’t interested in
trying to disprove it. I got the feeling that Ben wasn’t
either.

I had to say that security here was better
than some airports I’d been in.

“No problem,” my friend returned.

“Really.”

“Yeah, really.”

The human barricade nodded in the direction
of the van then looked back to Ben. “Then what was the show all
about?”

“Minor disagreement,” he returned. “Mind if
we go in now? It’s kinda cold out here.”

“What are you two doing here?”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“Did I stutter?” The man followed his
question with a cold stare, sizing us both up with his eyes.

“It’s the east side. What does anyone do
here?”

“I think you gentlemen should leave now,” he
stated simply.

“We’d like to have a drink first,” Ben
offered up as an objection.

“This is a private club,” the man returned.
“And, I don’t recognize either of you as members.”

“Okay, so where do we sign up?”

“I already told you nicely, I think you need
to leave. I don’t want to have to tell you again.”

“Listen, buddy, I really didn’t wanna get
into it with ya’,” Ben said as he played the cop card, pulling open
his jacket to reveal the gold shield clipped to his belt.

The bouncer glanced at the badge then back to
my friend’s face without ever changing his expression. “Uh-huh,
I’ve got one of those too. Gotta love the internet.”

“Yeah, asshole?” Ben snipped, finally losing
his patience as he pulled out his formal ID and displayed it.
“Thing is, mine’s real.”

The man took the identification and inspected
it closely before handing it back to him then said with a shake of
his head. “Okay, so? You think being a cop automatically gets you
in the door?”

I had been keeping my mouth shut just like I
had been told, but the pissing match between the two of them was
becoming too much for me. The wave of calm that had overtaken me
earlier had now faded into the background, and I was getting edgier
by the second. At the rate these two were going, we could be
standing here all night, and I simply wasn’t interested in
waiting.

“We’re here looking for my wife,” I
blurted.

“Keep outta this, Row,” Ben snapped.

The man turned his attention to me. “So, you
think your wife is in there?”

“I know she is.”

“Yeah, well listen, buddy, you aren’t the
first guy to have second thoughts about the cuckold husband game.
Just go on home like a good little subby and wait. She’ll be there
when she’s done.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” I
replied.

“Uh-huh,” he grunted with a heavy note of
sarcasm. “You think I haven’t heard that before? Look, I’m sorry
you got cold feet, but this isn’t the place to work out your
marital issues, and we sure as hell don’t need a domestic
disturbance.”

“Look,” Ben interjected. “I don’t know what
you’re rattlin’ about, but here’s the deal. You see that Jeep over
there?”

My friend twisted and pointed back toward
Felicity’s vehicle.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“It belongs to this guy’s wife,” my friend
continued as he turned back to the bouncer. “And, as it happens,
his wife is currently wanted for questioning in a murder
investigation. Since I have a reason to believe she’s in there…” He
pointed toward the door. “…I intend to go in and have a look. Now,
I wanted to do this nice and quiet like, but apparently, you’re
wantin’ to make it into a big production.”

“You have a warrant?”

“I don’t need one.”

“Yes, you do.”

“You ever heard the terms reasonable
suspicion and probable cause? No, I don’t need a fuckin’
warrant.”

“You’re a Saint Louis cop.” The man tried a
fresh objection. “You’re out of your jurisdiction.”

“I’m currently assigned to Major Case.
Jurisdiction ain’t an issue. Now, you gonna let us in, or do I
hafta arrest you for interfering with an ongoing police
investigation?”

The man stared back at Ben. He didn’t seem
like he was particularly shaken, but he also didn’t appear anywhere
near as cocky or confident as he had earlier. After a moment, he
gave my friend a shallow nod and said, “Wait here. I’ll get the
owner.”

He turned and disappeared through the door,
leaving us out on the wide landing by ourselves.

“Who’s been watching TV now?” I asked.

“Hey,” he returned defensively. “Everything I
said was the real deal.”

“Still sounded like a cop show.”

“Yeah, well sometimes they get lucky and get
it right,” he huffed. “I thought I told you ta’ keep your mouth
shut.”

“I did. For a while anyway.”

“Yeah, about two minutes.”

“I got tired of waiting.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Shouldn’t we go on ahead in?”

“You heard ‘im. He’s gettin’ the owner.”

“Yeah, so,” I said as I started toward the
door.

“Yeah, so I’d like ta’ do this peaceably,” he
replied as he grabbed my arm and pulled me back. “Look, if she’s in
there, she ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“I just want this over with, Ben,” I
complained.

“Yeah, me too,” he replied as he reached up
to rub his neck. After a good thirty seconds of silence, he glanced
over at me and asked, “Hey, so what’s a cuckold?”

“It’s a word.”

“No shit. What’s it s’posed to mean?”

“It’s a word used to describe a man married
to an unfaithful wife.”

“Then why’d that meatlump call it a
game?”

“It is, to some extent. In the arena of
female domination, the woman will sometimes humiliate her husband
by being blatantly unfaithful to him. Often, right in front of him
or by telling him about it in great detail. It’s a fetish that some
submissive men are into.”

“Jeezus, I don’t even wanna know how you know
that.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “The word was
an answer in a crossword puzzle, and I had to look it up. I found
the stuff about the fetish by following a couple of internet links
out of curiosity.”

“Okay, at least I know you’re not that kinda
weird then. Cuckold, huh? Sounds like a friggin’ old clock.”

“Actually, you aren’t far off. The word is
derived from cuckoo because with some varieties of the bird, the
female lays her eggs in other birds’ nests and leaves them to be
taken care of by those birds. Thereby, she gains a reputation for
unfaithfulness. Cuckoo. Cuckold.”

“Jeez… You ’n Constance oughta go on a game
show together,” he told me. “Between the two of ya’, you’d clean
up, and we could all retire.”

“Yeah, I doubt it,” I returned. “By the way,
thanks.”

“For what?”

“For trying to keep my mind off this
mess.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“No, but I know you pretty well.”

“So, is it workin’?”

“Not really.”

“Well, stop worryin’ on it anyway,” he
offered. “We’re gonna work it out… I don’t know how, but
somehow.”

“I hope you’re right.”

He didn’t get a chance to respond. The door
swung open and a far less than petite woman strode out. At least,
she appeared to be a woman. Her blonde hair was a short bob that
framed an angular face that could easily have gone either direction
as far as gender. Her shoulders were broad, and with the platform
shoes she was wearing, she actually stood taller than Ben. Trailing
along behind her was a shorter individual who was more easily
identifiable as male.

“Excuse you,” she barked at us, and her husky
falsetto voice did little to solve the gender mystery.

We both stepped out of the way, and she
continued past us, tugging hard on a leash that was attached to a
collar around the man’s neck. While she was wrapped in a leather
coat, he was bare from the waist up. Since the temperature had
dipped into the low forties, I could only imagine that he was
freezing. But then, I suppose that was part of their game. We both
automatically turned, watching them as they went down the stairs
then out across the parking lot.

“Tim tells me you’re a cop,” a more
distinctly female voice came from behind us.

We turned back to find a somewhat shorter
individual staring at us. She was roughly my height, so she was
looking upward toward Ben as most people ended up doing. Her face
was wide with large eyes and pronounced lips, all surrounded by a
shoulder-length flip of dark hair. She was wrapped in a full-length
fur coat that hid her figure, but unlike the person preceding her,
by all outward appearances she was actually a real female. Even so,
she did carry herself with a typically male posture which I could
only assume was intended to intimidate.

“Yeah, Detective Ben Storm, Major Case
Squad,” my friend replied. “You are?”

“Vee Ostuni,” she replied coolly. “I’m the
owner. You may call me Lady Vee.”

“Miz Ostuni…” Ben started.

“Lady Vee,” she corrected.

“Yeah. Okay. So listen, Miz Ostuni,” he began
again, a little more forcefully.

She held out her hand in an abrupt flourish.
“May I see some ID?”

Ben displayed his impatience with a loud huff
but produced the wallet and badge once again, standing by as she
inspected the credentials. She made a great show of holding up the
ID to the light and glancing back and forth between the picture and
my friend’s face. After what seemed like a solid trio of minutes,
she closed the wallet and handed it back over to him.

“Satisfied?” my friend asked.

“Satisfied? No, you quite rudely interrupted
that,” she quipped. “Oh, but I’m sure you meant the ID. Well, I
suppose I don’t doubt you are who you say you are. Now, what is it
that you want?”

“We’d like to come in and look around.”

“For what?”

“My wife,” I piped up.

She glanced past Ben at me. “And she would be
the murder suspect, correct.”

“Incorrect,” I spat. “She’s…”

“She’s a person of interest,” Ben
interjected.

“That is just another way of saying suspect,”
she retorted.

“Or witness,” he stressed.

“Which is she then?” She blinked and raised
her eyebrows in a mocking expression. “Suspect or witness?”

“Like I said,” my friend spoke with forced
clarity. “She is a person of interest.”

“Yes, I figured as much. If you’re going to
lie, pick one and stick to it,” she replied haughtily then turned
on her heel and started toward the door. “Good evening, gentlemen,
now go away.”

Ben reached out quickly and took hold of her
arm, spinning her back around to face us but not releasing his
grip.

“Listen, I’ve had about enough of this crap
outta you wingnuts!” he barked. “Now either we come in with your
blessing, or I slap cuffs on you, make a couple of calls, and shut
you down for a while.”