Big Bad Easy (4 page)

Chapter Four

After a long day at work, Zara couldn’t wait to walk into her local for a celebratory drink. She’d start with a snakebite, that mix of beer and cider that a British Royal Air Force guy had introduced to her while she was on R&R in London. She rarely went back home to Pennsylvania when she had time off duty in the Army.

Traveling abroad allowed her to refresh her mind and get more education along the way. By the time she left Iraq, she’d almost become fluent in Arabic, thanks to a group of women that would let her hang with them as they went about their days. Her commander never knew she spent time with the locals, but she had given herself away when she heard two men planning an attack on a US base. Explaining her escapades that day had felt like voluntarily putting her feet to the fire, but she endured the chastisement so none on the base would be injured.

With her hair brushed and her one super short skirt on, she walked the six blocks to her local, ready to indulge with the hodgepodge of people that leaned on the bar or lounged in the booths. Even if none of the regulars were in a good mood, she’d have Marcus or Tim to raise a glass with her—not that Tim ever drank. Such an odd boy. The kid needed some confidence lessons.

When she entered the dark confines of the bar, jazz blared from the speakers, and only one regular sat at the bar. Two dozen frat boys mingled around, dressed in madras shorts, skinny jeans, and loafers. She hated the type. They tried to sail by on youth instead of accomplishments. She’d rather have the aging cop with the smoking hot body. Jameson Kelly’s graying hair didn’t bother her. In fact, she’d spent a good half-hour this morning at work telling a friend about how great the man’s legs had looked in shorts—real ones, not the super long things that hung down to a man’s knees. She could only guess how great his ass looked.

“Hey, girl. Sit your booty down and take a look at these babies. So young. No good.” Ida Delacourt Dupre waved her over to an empty seat at the bar, which was that way because no one ever wanted to sit by the aged singer whose voice had been stolen by cigarettes and alcohol. The woman reminded Zara of one of the ladies from Iraq that used to make her tea. So she always sat by Ida, whose frizzy hair stuck out from her head making a blackish gray halo. “I take it back. Maybe good for you.”

Zara hopped onto the stool. “I don’t want one of those stick-thin boys. I might break them.” She grinned, but she meant it. She’d sized up the group of men drinking cheap beer and watching sports highlights as soon as she’d walked in the door. Not a one of them had any mass, and she could probably bench press one of the kids. Those guys weren’t for her.

Ida wiggled her eyebrows. “That might be fun. You could be like one of those ladies dressed in black leather with a whip. I hear tell that is the happening thing lately. Ain’t no such thing as just fucking any longer. You got to have toys and chains and all kinds of things I don’t want to think about.”

“I don’t know about any of that.” One thing Zara did know was that she needed a good fuck. “It must be in the air, though, because I can’t get sex off my mind.” It had been that way at the beginning of basic training as well. All those young, randy men, sweat, and activity had amped up her sex drive. It must have been raging, because a female sergeant had pulled her aside to give her advice.

In the quiet voice that she reserved for off the training grounds, the sergeant opined, “Next leave, get your ass off the base. Get miles and miles from here to find some man you can bonk all night or all weekend long. This tension has to go, because no good is going to come from a quick fix with one of your platoon members.” It was time for Zara to follow that advice now. Find someone good enough for one encounter.

Ida cackled and coughed. “Use one of them for a night. I’m sure they are up for it.”

She sneered at the slips of men laughing and looking like one of those slick beer commercials. “Turns my stomach. They’re too small.” She couldn’t choose one of them.

“I can go get my grandson. He’s a huge hunk of a guy. Works for the city repairing water lines. He wouldn’t break.”

Zara ordered a drink for herself and for Ida. “It’s just fine, Ida. I’ll make do.” She knew exactly who she could make do with, too. Jameson Kelly not only had the body, he had the maturity that she craved. War had turned her serious. Flighty, indecisive, non-goal oriented men need not apply for a place in her life. She’d kicked out the wandering, aimlessly waiting-to-see-what-happened type from her life. She had plans and required a man to have one as well if he wanted entry into her world.

“Make do then, but tell me if you move on to the whips and chains.” Ida raised her refreshed glass. “What are we drinking to tonight?”

“A celebration of something good. There is someone actually investigating my case.” She clinked her snakebite against Ida’s rum and soda.

“You sure it’s really happening? I know that sometimes they say they’re doing something, but it ain’t true.”

“No, for real. I’ve met the guy.” Boy, had she met the guy. Gave him a full body hug, too. What a chest he had, firm, tight, lick-able. Such shoulders, too. Instead of only thinking about him, she shared it all with Ida. “You should see him. Huge, massive body.”

“Aw, you don’t want that kind of cop. He’s been eating too many
beignets
.”

“Not that kind of huge.” She doubted that Jameson ever touched the powdered sugar-covered fried dough served all around the city. Rarely did she indulge. Her vice involved alcohol, plentiful enough in the Big Easy. “Muscular huge. Probably has abs like underwear models.” She’d love to see him in underwear, especially if his cock pushed against the fabric as she kissed her way down his torso to release his full shaft.

Ida wasn’t buying her description. Her lips pursed in that way when she thought she heard a fish story. “You sure he wasn’t wearing one of those bullet proof vests?”

“No,” Zara gushed. “All man. Wide shoulders.” That she’d touched, rubbed her hands over. “Broad back.” She’d pressed her fingers into his upper back as she hugged him. “The legs, Ida. I could have rubbed my hands over them for days.” She got wet simply thinking about it.

“You got close to him, huh?” Ida nudged her with an elbow. “You giving him extra incentive to work hard?”

“No. I would, though. In an instant. He’s everything I want. Big, manly, accomplished.”

“Wait until you see his dick, baby.”

One of the young men with a mop of brown hair and skinny legs encased in skinny jeans overheard the older woman’s comment. “I’ll show you mine. I bet you’ll like it.” He pumped his bony hips. “I’ll even give you a taste.” He winked at Zara.

She rolled her eyes at him and tried to think of a witty comment. Before she could, Tim, the cook, breezed between them, giving the guy a quick shove with his shoulder. “That’s for the titty bars in the Quarter. Keep it in your pants. These ladies are too classy for you.”

The college kid brushed his hair from his face. “Just having a little fun, man.”

“Go have it somewhere else, then.” Tim pulled his normally rounded shoulders back as he faced the guy.

“Didn’t know you’re taking on bouncer duties, son. You sneaked up on us all,” Ida teased.

“Aw, Ms. Dupre, I excel at staying hidden. I’m a ninja.”

Ida cackled. “Keep those swords away, though. Don’t like those things.”‘

“They use stars, Ms. Dupre. That’s their weapon of choice.”

Ida smiled and toasted him. “Isn’t he full of information? Kind of a warrior, like you.”

Zara shot her a look that begged her to stop. She hadn’t shared her Army service with Tim or his cousin. It wasn’t something she bandied around like a shield. “I’m just a regular woman. Nothing special.”

“You’re special to me. I think we’ll need another drink as long as you walk me home.” Ida lived in her daughter’s house, which was a few blocks from Zara’s ground floor apartment that someone had carved out of an aging house. She and three other people called that house home.

“I’ll get you to your place. Count on me.”

“I adore you, girl. You treat me right. Next drink is on me. Are you drinking that British thing?”

“You know it.” The RAF guy had gotten her through a rough week of mourning three soldiers, all buddies, and she had realized that she might be next. A week of drinking and sex had energized her enough to realize that every day she was a soldier was another day that many others lived. She put her life on the line for those that couldn’t fight as had her buddies who died. She returned, finished her tour, and re-upped for another stint in the Army. She drank snakebites in remembrance of that man.

“And you know why I drink them.” For whatever reason, she had spilled her secrets to Ida.

“Well, let me and my old bones buy you another.” She peered over her glasses down the bar. “Where’s that baby girl who’s so good at getting us drinks?”

Zara stood, using her height to see over everyone else. “Looks like she’s filling a large order. Frat boys drink a lot.”

“I’ll wave to her and she’ll get here soon enough. What’s going on that we’ve been invaded?”

Zara shrugged. She’d spent a few semesters taking classes, but she never fit into the college scene. Her degree had been earned online, and it suited her just fine that way. “Who knows, and who cares. They’re probably celebrating something like me, and we should to get back to that.”

“Oh, yeah.” Ida chuckled in a deep, crackled laugh that carried far. “Tell me more about that hunk of a cop. Is he good looking?”

She wrinkled her nose. Was he? To her, the lines around his eyes and his mouth told her of stability, longevity, stamina. He didn’t give up, give in, or stand back. That was sexy. “Yeah. I’m sure some wouldn’t agree. He’s got that grizzled look.”

Ida patted her crazy hair. “It’s a good one. You can’t say if he’s good looking or not?”

She could, but he didn’t fit the normal bill of handsome. Simple was best for Ida, though. “Of course, he is. The muscles make him more so.”

“You gonna grab him, make him yours?”

“Can I do that?” She intimately knew the rules of fraternization of the Army, but she had no idea what the NOPD thought of an officer dating a crime victim. How would a rule like that even be worded?

“You ain’t a suspect. It wouldn’t be like you’d be trying to keep him off your tail by giving him some tail.” The older woman smacked the bar. “Did you see what I did there? That is how you do a play on words. I used to say that in my show. Aw, how I could sing. Girl, grab life by the horns, because you never know when you gonna lose hold.”

“Now, Ida, are you telling me to invite him back to my place?” He’d fill her double bed with his bulk. The only room for her would be on top of him, riding his hardened shaft.

“I’m not saying jump his bones the next time you see him, but let him know you’re willing.” She shimmied her thin shoulders. “Can you do that, or did they beat all the woman out of you in that war?”

“I’m still a woman, but shoulder shakes aren’t my thing.” She laughed at Ida, who’d kept up the shimmying and was now climbing off her stool.

“It’s a shimmy. Gets the men looking at the chest. C’mon. Try it.”

Zara moved her arms so that her shoulders would move a little like shaking Ida. When the old woman laughed, she knew she looked ridiculous. She stopped the silly jiggling. “Don’t men like to watch pushups or something like that?”

“You better hope your cop does, because you ain’t got the moves.”

Ida spoke so loudly that Zara worried someone would overhear. She pulled Ida close to her to whisper. “We’re not calling him that. He’s my new workout partner.”

“I like that. Already cozy enough to create a lie. You got to get him.”

A group of young men passed by at that time. One of them asked, “Who do you have to get, because I’m willing to be got.” He danced closer to where Zara perched on the stool and rubbed up against her hip.

“Nice,” Zara rolled her eyes at Ida, “but we weren’t talking about you. Get back.” Shoving him was her instinct, but she fought it and kept her hands to herself. Her gut roiled at having to hold it in. Low level rage brushed against her fists. Hitting this creep who had the audacity to rub his pitiful pelvis against her would be satisfying.

“I’m not good—Hey!” The young man yelled out as Marcus moved between them. He grabbed empty glasses and added them to the bin of plates he had under his arm. Marcus mumbled something, and Zara knew it would be some apology. The kid didn’t know how to stand up for himself, and he certainly didn’t do it to protect her. That required bravery, and Marcus hadn’t an ounce of it. Ever. He let his cousin, Tim, bully him all the time.

As Marcus turned to leave, his elbow connected with the frat boy’s stomach. Zara would have cheered him if she thought it was intentional, but she knew it couldn’t have been.

“Hey!” The frat boy yelled again, but this time he shoved Marcus and the bin of plates and glasses. It crashed to the floor, and one plate bounced out and shattered on the poured concrete.

That pushed her button, the one that her Army buddies called the kick-ass switch. She stood unwilling to let such asshattery pass without punishment. “That’s enough. Move on. You proved you’re bigger than the busboy. Go be an ass somewhere else.” In some ways, she hoped he wouldn’t move from where he stood, glaring down at Marcus who meekly picked up the plate pieces from the floor. This ass needed to be taught a lesson for shoving Marcus. She might not consider the guy a friend. He was so odd that he’d said about twenty words to her total in conversation, but she felt protective of the shy kid.

The frat boy took a step back and took Zara’s measure by examining her from head to toe. “Get this, guys. Warrior princess thinks she can take us.”

Aw, fuck. She sized up her enemies, too, and the one hip-thrusting, shoving frat boy multiplied into five. None of them were big. In fact, three of them stood shorter than her. The one closest to her topped her by just an inch, but his arms were not quite her size. She could take him and at least two of the others if they hesitated to join the fight. The people on her side wouldn’t be any good, although she saw Ida gripping her purse. The woman carried half a brick in it for those late night, tipsy walks home. Marcus wouldn’t be any good, because he’d choose to save his job over defending himself.