Quintic (57 page)

If
Tony’s parents had their wish, Chris felt family
time might include Patricia. They approved of her for Tony even if
she was older and non-Italian. Except for his parents, anyone could
see Tony wasn’t ready for marriage, but even more apparent was
Tony’s willingness to practise marriage activities with Patricia;
dinners at his parents and sex at his place topped the list of
events. Mostly sex at his place. For her first day back, Vitto
through his son offered Patricia a freshly made decaf latte,
delivered in a real porcelain cup with its matching saucer. So much
for Chris, again, nobody brought him a coffee.

Hamilton and
Charles closed the day together. They sat at her desk, one in the
chair, one on her desk, for some small talk, compliments and
teasing. She shifted her attention from one to the other, smiling
at both in turn. So far so good.

Perhaps they
hadn’t
asked about Lemieux yet, maybe
wouldn’t, not the first day. He had not told them not to
either.
The deal is between
you and me, Pussycat; work’s different
.
She would have to deal with it, be it today, tomorrow or next week
it did not matter for, eventually, his guys would question her. He
had taught them thoroughness after all.

For now, his
guys were taking their sweet fucking time. Shit, it was getting
late. Chris thought about kicking them out of the office. The
sandwich was long gone, and he was hungry. And damn curious about
her undergarment interpretation of a detective outfit. Wasn’t
curiosity a marked desire to investigate and to learn?
I sure feel a marked desire,
Princess. Don’t you?

Bridget left
at five
sharp and dragged the lingering
duo with her. Chris waited as Patricia shut down her computer and
tidied up her desk. Who cared if his last hour of work had been a
waste? An unproductive time work-wise but an entertaining sixty
minutes as far as the scenery out his office window was
concerned.

They rode
the elevator
down together, not talking,
not touching, to the garage and into the truck. He put the radio
on. She closed her eyes. He knew how nervous she had been about
today, but as he drove, she was finally loosening up, a faint smile
on her lips. He stopped at a pizza place on the way, got the food
while she waited in the car.

They ate the
pizza cold,
his curiosity satisfied at
last. Great underwear. Not that he had looked at it long. So much
for him, finally. A great fucking day.

PI Unlimited: Getting
Prep

H
e watched her come
and go with those geeky, skinny boys. He wanted her, but the first
time he saw her, the bitch didn’t even look at him.

What’d she think she was, better
than them? Than
him
? No fucking
way. Dyke, he said to himself. Would hump her anyway.

It took him a while to figure what she
was doing there. Boffing the jerk, the one in charge. Fuck him. The
geek asshole probably paid her. Better not be with his money.

He could have them taken care of if he
wanted to. Fuck, could take care of them himself. Would enjoy it
too. Especially that bitch.

He dealt only with the jerk in charge.
The others were small change, insignificant, not worth his trouble.
The idiot in charge, that was who he watched out for, unimportant
as he was. He gave the geek a few jobs, small scale. Got leverage
on the jerk, useful if only for payments. Everybody paid his fee,
so those fuckers had to pay like the rest of them lowlifes. Even
small times like them. No record. It didn’t make a shit of
difference; he could give them a fucking record if he wanted.

He had their balls, the whole bunch of
them. The fatso, the pretty, the kid and the jerk himself. The
fifth, he didn’t bother with; no worries, he had him already. As if
he needed a snitch. Hence, he had their balls but no tits.

When he saw her next, she was working
at that place. Stupid uniform. She looked better in them jeans and
a t-shirt. Not enough boobs but she would do.

It’s her attitude that did it, her
disdain toward the both of them. She looked them over. As if she
was the hunter, the little bitch. He would get her in an alley or
something.

He increased his fees. Twice. What was
a cunt like her doing around here anyway? He asked around. She had
just showed up with them geeks. No owner. He understood the stupid
uniform.

“
Might have a job for you, Puss.
Easy money.”

She laughed at him.

“
Come on, you must be tired being on
your girly feet all day like that.”

“
I don’t do your type.”

“
Everybody does us, Puss.”

“
Not enough money in the world for
empty guns like yours. Why don’t you jack off together? That
perhaps you can about manage.”

They would wait for her. Plenty of dark
alleys in the neighbourhood. He’d show her his gun. Make her hump
it.

Excerpt
from
PI
Unlimited
, by Trica C.
Line

Her Escape

W
orking at Vitto’s coffee shop
was great. She liked its atmosphere and
clientèle
, and adored Vitto,
the perfect Italian gentleman, and his wife, her new self-appointed
Italian mamma. She was even fond of Antonio. What was not to
appreciate? The younger Italian testosterone-filled man doted on
her without subtleness. His eyes fixated on her cleavage or her
butt endlessly, but, gentleman that he was, he kept his hands to
himself.

When
they
worked from the office, Christopher
and his team stopped by. Sometimes, they made the trip twice or
three times a day. On her last count, Christopher was up to four
double espressos. Lots of glances for him too, restrained but
intense, and plenty of hands. She was happy.

Going back
to the team had been easier than anticipated. She felt as if she
had not left. They were perhaps a little more gentle with her than
before, or was it was only her imagination? Although she couldn’t
remember the last time Hamilton had made a sexist remark or an
explicit sexual invitation. Was he tired of Lemieux’s
investigation? Or fed up of his partnership with Charles? Unless
his lifestyle was to blame? So far neither Hamilton nor Charles had
talked to her about Lemieux albeit twice her appearance had cut
short a heated discussion between the two. Since she didn’t want to
discuss the kiss nor Lemieux, she didn’t question Hamilton about
his life. Besides, she didn’t know what Christopher had told them,
and she didn’t want to know. No way. Everything was fine as it was;
she was happy.

She worked
all week, either
at the office, at
Vitto’s, or on her book. Murder scene ideas were swirling around in
her head. How to rework it, how to add the crazy love-strung
killer, how to turn him into a serial kill. She had crossed paths
with a few of those lately, hadn’t she? Lemieux’s fixation on her
physical type had given her the idea. Not a serial hunting for the
perfect female body part, those were too real for comfort, more
like your ordinary waitress-obsessed killer.

The bastard
had killed his first woman out of rage for his unwanted love.
After, he had deluded himself into believing he had not killed
her.

‘
Barely a blow, she must have fainted, and someone else had
killed her later
,’ the killer argued to
dupe himself.

Her
crazy killer (weren’t they all?) had gone on
with his life, dated again, although not the same type of women,
until he stumbled into the second restaurant, somewhat like she
had, for French fries and a piece of pie. A waitress of college
years had smiled at him, and he had fallen in love again, only to
have his love rejected once more. The storyline seemed promising.
She was happy.

The weekend
came and went quietly. Quiet was good; she needed peace. She had
Christopher all to herself for the entire weekend, just the two of
them, a first since like forever. Since Lemieux. So
lovely.

They fooled
around, made love and cooked, well
, he
had in any case. Big lovemaking, big breakfasts. She took him in
her hands, rubbing and fisting firmly, and watched as he fell
apart. How she loved to look at him! He was usually so damn
distracting. He slammed into her right after. Ready
again.

“
Your hard
breathing got me hard,” he had said. “Your eyes are so fucking
dark,” he had growled. “Look at me.”

She
had yelled out. Yielded to him. So quickly. How
was it she couldn’t delay her arousal when she provoked him? Age,
hormones, what? Not that it mattered for she was happy.

The workdays
came again. Police work for him, just coffee shop for her, writing
and serving. Vitto gave her the first lesson on Barista one-oh-one
for dummies. She learned how to compact the grains, only that; the
procedure was harder than it looked. She wasn’t up to Vitto’s
standard yet, but then again, nobody was.

Christopher
worked nights all week
, but she got to
see him in and out a few times. He stopped for coffees, messed up
her hair or cornered her behind the counter to whisper suggestive
remarks before disappearing. Damn was she happy!

She saw a
film with Bridget. Some silly romance flick, but the lead actor was
a hunk. His nakedness on the big screen had them giggling like
school girls.

She
spent an evening at the wine bar with Reid,
giggles there again. They felt like queens under the handsome
attention they got from her once-almost-fiancé owner friend. She
needed that, being around gentlemen.

She
enjoyed a typical Italian family dinner at the
Shapiros with Christopher. She cared for them very much, the
husband, the wife, the girl. They had a lot in common with Vitto’s
family (plus a shy daughter; minus a sexed-up son).

She
even went out with Frédéric for a drink at one
of his usual spots, an arcade not far from his apartment. She had a
glass of wine; he had some green-coloured power soft drink. He
introduced her to a couple of his pals, the same he had introduced
her to the last time and the time before that. She was going to be
the talk of the place for the days to come. Their awkward devotion
flattered up since they were on average fifteen years younger than
she was. If it didn’t work out with Christopher, she could always
turn into a cougar woman. Although, surely, she was still too
young, was she not? She was happy.

And now,
Friday night, there she was, sitting between Charles and Hamilton
at the cop bar Hamilton liked. He had picked her up at the coffee
shop without telling his partner.

“Just one drink, Hamilton. Some
place neutral.”

They met up
with the unsuspecting Charles at the bar. Hamilton had not told
Christopher either; the Big guy was stuck in some
meeting.

T
his is
the
talk, she thought, not
quite sure if she was up to it. Probably not ready yet, probably
never. Big sigh. If Christopher had been here, she might have
picked a fight or shoved her hand in his pants, anything to avoid
what was coming. She couldn’t do the same with Hamilton and Charles
now, could she? At least not the pants invasion trick. Not that
Hamilton would stop her.

This cop
bar
wasn’t such a good place now that she
thought about it. The fight might come later for Christopher was
going to hear about her being here no later than two minutes after
they walked in. Although, if she decided she had enough, she could
just pick up and leave; Hamilton wouldn’t dare stop her.

For now, she
was not exceedingly happy, but, curiosity getting the best of her,
she asked first, “So. Hum. How’s the case going?” She had missed
the week’s meeting and wasn’t up to the latest
development.

“
Nothing
new.
” And on that, the duo started to
bitch.

Apparently
going to strip clubs was beginning to get old even for Hamilton. He
was running in circles and taking some of it out on Charles. Some
but not all, Patricia was glad to
note
they were coming to terms with each other. She had a feeling that,
if they didn’t catch a break soon, Christopher was going to send
Charles back to the suburbs. Hence, since she genuinely liked the
young officer, she kept her butt on her stool and coyly listened as
they went over the case for the nth time and pestered her about
Lemieux.

She kept her
cool a
t first. Smiled, nodded, even
retold the Sunday afternoon discovery, going as far as discussing
some of Lemieux’s tastes. Well, she not so much discussed as
touched the subject lightly. His voyeurism. His ambivalent
bisexuality. She breathed in and out slowly to mask her distress
and got annoyed. Then mad. Strangely nauseated.

It was
Friday night, she had gone out all week, and she was tired. After
two glasses, she had enough.

“
Gentlemen,
it’s getting late, so I think that’s it for me. Good night,
Hamilton. Charles, do you mind giving me a lift to the taxi
station?”

“No need for a cab, I’ll take
you to your hotel.”

“
If it’s not
too much trouble, I’d appreciate it. Thank you.”