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Authors: Flo Fitzpatrick

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BOOK: Hot Stuff
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“Uh, huh. Right. I'm sure.”
“You can ask them if you come with me. And you're welcome to sip sodas or even sleep in the corner while I rack 'em up. Then I'll treat you to a frozen hot chocolate at this new American dessert place with the money I make from the boys.”
This sounded even better. A chance to relax, listen to the sound of voices and music without needing to contribute, and watch Asha flirt with the college kids. And all while staying out of range of Shiva's Diva's pursuers.
Chapter 15
Unlike Asha, I had never dated a pool shark who showed me the finer techniques of “six ball in the side pocket.” In or out of high school, college, or beyond. I was engaged, briefly, to an actor who confirmed my father's dire warnings about “creative sleazebags” when he took me to Atlantic City for a spot of gambling using my money. But most of the men who'd asked me out the last few years have been lawyers. Dates consisted of fancy restaurants, Broadway shows, the ballet, and the opera.
So going to the Pool Palace could be added to the growing list of Tempe's newest experiences. At least this one should be calm. I figured watching a few quiet games of pool would be a nice respite from crooks, filming, Ferris wheels, and killers. Not to mention Yale Liberal Arts graduates with intermittent Irish brogues and permanently seductive blue eyes.
I found a spot in a corner of the room where there should have been a sign reading “Tired Dancers Flop Here.” The chair replicated the oversized, overpillowed monstrosities seen on such television shows as
Leave It to Beaver
. The I' m-watching-the-Jets/Giants/Yankee s-so-don't-bother-me-now chair. This chenille-covered antique had been placed at an angle to allow the sitter to either watch the action in the hall or choose one of the numerous magazines littering the small table to its left.
I leaned back and plopped my legs over the armrest. I wasn't being rude; plenty of others sat in the same position. Asha was right. It was a comfortable pool hall.
I picked up a magazine with a cover featuring Asha Kumar cuddled next to a tiger winking at the reader. (Asha, not the tiger.) I picked up another glossy. Again a magazine devoted to the film industry. Again, Asha smiling from the cover. Different picture; same tiger. I began searching through the piles. All fan magazines, all devoted to the stars of the screen. Asha was on the cover of at least ninety percent of them.
I glanced over at my new friend. Barbara Ashley Kumar, celebrity and one of the highest-paid actresses in India. She was clad in a pair of tight faded jeans and a plaid shirt I swear I'd seen prominently displayed at a Goodwill store in Manhattan two weeks ago.
India's darling pointed to the far right side of the pool table with her right hand, took a swig from the bottle of beer in her left, then reached up and set it on a mantle two feet over her head. She leaned over the table, adroitly sent the ball into that far right pocket, and howled in sheer glee. The four kids playing with her, none of whom looked over eighteen, groaned then grinned. They were not a bit concerned that they'd just been trounced by a thirty-year-old starlet with an accent out of
The Sopranos
and a bank account like a CEO headed for prison.
I snuggled back into the chair, closed my eyes, and let the music and the quiet chatter and the clanking sounds from the pool tables wash over me.
A pool cue jabbed into my ribs. Darn. I must have been snoring. I could find no other excuse for this mild assault on my person.
I looked up, prepared to do battle with Asha, who I figured had been the one doing the poking.
“Tempe. Up. Time to go.” The voice was raspy and the face was pale.
Brig.
“Why are you here, Brig? Do you have built-in radar that tells you when I'm somewhere enjoying myself or resting or being involved in something that's safe and doesn't include you?”
“Tempe. No time. Take a look over by the bar and you'll see why an unobtrusive exit is highly recommended.”
I inched to the left to see around Brig's impressive chest, then I squeezed back into the chair trying to make myself as small as possible.
“Patel! Oh crap. Not good. How the hell did he know we were here?”
“Tempe, he hasn't seen us yet. Which is why this is a good time to find the door.”
“And how do you suggest we sneak out of here without attracting the notice of sweet Seymour over there? And where's Asha?”
“I told her the bad news a few moments ago. But she's not in danger. As far as I know, none of the goons who are eager to get their mitts onto the statue, and/or us, are aware she's anything other than what she is. We're the ones in the soup.”
“So? Do we have a Plan A to disappear? Is there some crazy costume tucked in your pocket I can wear that will allow us to leave without having to fight our way out of disaster?”
Brig's eyes glazed for a moment. I knew he was remembering another pool hall in Dublin. He smelled the smoke, heard the screams.
I grabbed his arm. “Brig. This isn't Ireland and it's not twenty years ago. We'll be fine, I promise. Plan A?”
He tried to smile. “Okay. There's a back way out from that room where Asha's now wiping the floor with those benighted college boys. She loves Plan A. She's going to be engaged in playing a very noisy game with the kids that will hopefully provide a very noisy diversion. Meantime, you and I will crawl under the tables and sneak through to make our way to that door.”
As plans go, I thought it stunk, but I didn't want to say so. First we had to get to Asha's table without Patel's seeing us. Then we had to get down on the floor without the entire pool-playing population pointing at the two idiots and asking why those two idiots were bonding with the linoleum rather than standing and chalking sticks. Then we had to open that door and casually stroll into the street where, doubtless, Seymour had several confederates stationed and fully armed.
But I set down my magazine without protest, stood, then followed Brig toward the pool tables.
I was right. The plan stunk. No sooner had Brig and I hit the room where Asha anxiously awaited our arrival than Patel spotted us. Braying the Hindi word for yes—
“Haan!”
—he lunged across the room. The bodies of three jeans-clad kids lay in awkward positions on top of the table where they'd landed when Patel pushed his way through.
Brig grabbed my hand. “Plan B.”
“Which is?”
“Run like hell.”
We did. Plan B quickly ended as badly as Plan A. It appeared that Patel had backup. Four ugly guys who could have been sent over to Vivek Studios by Central Casting to play brutal villains. Scars down cheeks, scars on bald heads, scars on noses and chins, and expressions as nasty as the scars. And not a one (outside of Patel) was less than three hundred pounds of solid muscle.
They formed a semicircle around Brig and me, with Patel in the middle. Patel took a small knife out of his breast pocket. It looked too tiny to do a lot of damage, which was encouraging. But when the other four displayed similar cutlery, I lost any hope of getting out of this without an awful lot of bloodletting. Mine. And Brig's.
The same keening, screeching, harridan-from-hell sound that had forced Ray Decore to lose focus at the Taj Majal filled the Pool Palace. Asha.
I had to admire that set of lungs. I've heard fire engines in New York with less volume. All five thugs turned to see the origin of the racket. At the same time, a screaming elf in jeans entered the fray with a pool cue twirling like a lethal baton in the hands of a mad lead majorette.
The chalk end of the cue hit bruiser number one in the eye. Asha twirled the larger part of the stick around, then she hit bruiser number two in the chin.
This appeared to be the perfect time for Brig and me to go into our own improvised routine. Up came my knee into the groin of goon number three. Rude, but necessary. Brig went for higher ground. He popped an elbow into the nose of number four. This left Mr. Patel, at least until the four recovered, which would be in seconds. Patel snarled and lunged for me. I spun with a pirouette worthy of Pavlova and sent my foot into his chest.
It should have been a great move. But Patel expected it. He grabbed my foot and held on to my ankle.
The gleam in Patel's eye shouted “ankle twist imminent!” I knew this. I expected to hear a pop louder than Asha's wail when Patel suddenly dropped my foot, then dropped to the floor. One of Asha's pool-playing pals stood over Seymour. The remains of a heavy, ugly lamp lay around Mr. Patel in large pieces.
For a second no one moved. Thugs one through four seemed as stunned as their boss. A condition that was bound to change to rage very soon.
I looked at Brig and at Asha. “Okay, troops. Outta here.”
They nodded. Asha bestowed a nice kiss on the heroic college student, then all four of us delivered simultaneous blows to the bruised gang awaiting word from their fallen master. Nose, groin, shin, chin. Didn't matter. We needed to injure them just long enough to allow us to get out of the Pool Palace without any of them recovering and then grabbing an appendage of ours or throwing another knife.
We ran to the front exit, then down to the street where three of Asha's fans stood guarding their beloved's car. With Brig aiming for the driver's seat, we jumped in, then threw kisses to the excited trio. With a squeal of tires guaranteed to make a mechanic cry, Brig steered the car out of its space and back onto the road.
I soon discovered his driving made Asha's expertise behind a wheel seem tame. I yelled, “Where did you learn to drive? Watching Bruce Willis in
Die Hard Three
going through Central Park?”
“I'll have you know I drove a cab in Paris for two years.”
“Good God.” With one voice, Asha and I bellowed, “Aagh!”
“Wimps,” said Brig. “Both of you. You've got a problem with sidewalk driving?”
“Excuse me!” he yelled to the terrified street vendor who was trying to turn his cart before Brig clipped the front end. The vendor didn't quite make the full turn. He yelled and offered a gesture to us that was less than polite. It involved the middle finger of the vendor's right hand.
“Anyone following us yet?” Brig asked. I turned, which was difficult since Asha was sitting on my lap, a necessity in the two-seater. The streets were so jammed with vehicles I had no way to tell if any of them were interested in her convertible or not.
“Don't know.”
He nodded. “I'm going to drop you ladies off at Asha's, then hide the car in Jake's neighborhood.”
An indignant Asha rapped his shoulder. “Wait up there, boss. Why can't I keep my car at my own home?”
“Because it's very distinctive. How many blue two-seater 1957 T-Birds are currently driving through the streets of Bombay? If any of those boys back at the Pool Palace caught a glimpse of us jumping into this beauty, we've had it.”
He didn't mention that even if the car went in for a paint job and a fin cut, and emerged fire engine red and finless, the T-Bird wasn't the only thing that had been recognized. Asha's picture flashed from the covers of half the magazines at the pool hall. If and when Patel and comrades recovered, they'd realize who she was—and further get the message that she'd been instrumental in aiding the two people determined to keep them from their precious statue. Asha had just joined the ranks of the hunted.
Chapter 16
“I'm hungry.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I said I'm hungry. Yes, this is not a great thing at this point of our journey. And yes, while I hate to bring up the subject of food while we're speeding across the city wondering who's behind us with murder on the mind, I can't help it. My stomach is growling.”
Brig and Asha both gave me looks that mixed amazement with disgust.
I sniffed. “Well, I'm sorry. Asha's cook laid out a wonderful spread about four hours ago, and it's been a really long day, and I tend to get an attack of the munchies when I'm stressed. Excuse me if I'm failing to live up to the high standards of heroines who are capable of going days without food, holding back tears after run-ins with bad guys, and leaping tall buildings in single bounds without mussing a hair on their bleached blond heads.” I sighed. “Come to think of it, I did that already. Today. Well, not leaping a building precisely, but that Ferris wheel should qualify.”
Brig rolled his eyes heavenward. “She's rambling. I think she may be right. She does indeed need food. It seems to be a constant and consistent problem.”
Brig pulled over and stopped at the northern end of Juhu Beach at a place called Versova, which is near a fishing community. At this time of night all was quiet. We looked out over the water and stayed silent for a few moments. It was a gorgeous view. I couldn't enjoy one speck of it.
Brig nodded. “Okay. Five Flights to Go.”
“What? More stairs? My legs are already killing me from dancing, flipping, and kneeing wiseguys in delicate areas. I can barely make it out of the car, much less up five flights. And what about food?”
Brig smiled at me. “It's the name of the place, Tempe. They did the touristy glamorous Three Flights Up two better. It's a nightspot for the beautiful people. Dancing to the latest tunes from the States. Though I don't think we'll want to hit the dance floor tonight. Best part for you? They have food. Plus the music is loud and it's always crowded and I doubt that we'd be seen, even if anyone we know happened to show up.”
I nodded. “Sounds good.”
Brig started the car up again and we were off. I tapped him on the shoulder. “Brig? Speaking of anyone knowing, how did Patel know we'd be at the Pool Palace?”
“I think it was a case of sheer blind bad luck.”
Asha glared at him. “Unless he followed you from Jake's. Tempe and I were there a good two hours before Seymour showed up. Which, you may recall, was coincidentally right after
you
made an entrance.”
Brig waved his hands in surrender. Not the best idea when one is driving. He placed them back on the wheel with a casual air. “Not my fault, ladies. Jake dropped me off at the rail station, and I took two cabs from there and checked behind me all the way.”
I thought about this. “Hold up. No. Don't stop driving. Forget Patel knowing. Doubtless he had someone tailing you all day. I want to know how
you
knew Asha and I would be at the Pool Palace.”
“I called Asha's house. Mala answered. She doesn't speak a lot of English, but she managed enough to tell me you ladies had gone to the Pool Palace.”
Asha glanced back at me. I returned her look. We needed to have a chat with Mala, the helpful maid.
“So, Brig? Why did you want to join our girls' night out anyway?”
He bristled. “I didn't know you ladies had your hearts set on buddy bonding. It's Asha's fault.”
She sat straight up. “Me? What did I do?”
Brig spat out, “You turned a normally intelligent male into a besotted dunce, that's what you did. Jake kept drooping around the house mumbling about how rotten you've been treating him. Not making a lick of sense.”
“What else is new,” Asha muttered.
Brig ignored her. “I had to get out. I planned to track you down myself and see if I could coerce you into throwing yourself at Mr. Roshan and doing whatever it takes to bring him back to the living. Damn, woman, the man's loony. What's this garbage about calling off the wedding? Will you at least talk to him?”
Cool. Maybe Asha would enlighten us as to her reasons for dumping Jake two days earlier. Or not. Asha settled back into her seat with a “Humph. Fat chance.”
“Ouch!” Her seat happened to be me, and her elbows were digging into my rib cage.
“Sorry.” She tilted her chin up. “Brig, drop it, okay?”
He did.
Brig stopped the car three blocks from Five Flights to Go. “I think it's best if you ladies proceed on foot. I'm ditching this baby at a garage. I don't want to park her on the street. I'll meet you at the club in ten minutes.”
Asha and I started walking. Asha was a step ahead of me. She stopped. I ran into her back. She turned.
“You buy it?”
“What?”
“Brig's reason for tracking us down? All that cat poop about me and Jake. Mr. Matchmaker. Like he cares whether Jake and I exchange vows or not.”
“Well, what else could have driven him out after a long day of gymnastic tricks and gliding through tangos with me? If he'd wanted a night out on the town, I damn well doubt he'd have ended up at a pool hall catering to college kids. First off, I don't think he plays pool. I mean, he might. Play pool, that is. But I think his list of teenage activities ran more to stealing hubcaps and hassling Bronx women than to shooting pool. Too tame.”
I couldn't tell her about Brig's murdered sister and that I felt certain his blood had chilled when he learned another gymnast was at a pool hall looking for a bit of fun.
Asha threw her hands up into the air.
“Gad. I give up. Brig's right. You do ramble and run on when you're hungry. And you're also such a dope, Tempe. Brig was looking for
you
. Not me. He knows full well Jake and I will make up within the week. We break up at least twice a month and are back together before the florist even knows the wedding's been called off again.”
“Oh.” We were at the entrance of the nightclub by this time. “You really think he was looking for me? Not us, plural?”
She pulled me inside the doorway. “How old are you? Jeez! Did your mother let you date before you were twenty-nine? Damn, Tempe. For a bona fide born-and-raised-in-Manhattan businesswoman, you put the ‘eve' into naive!”
“Oh.”
Before I could think of anything polysyllabic to say, Brig joined us. His breathing was labored and his mouth was set in a scowl. Apparently, he'd run the whole way back to Five Flights to Go.
“What now?” I asked.
“I have good news and bad news.”
“Which is which? You're gone less than six minutes and I already sense the hounds of hell after us. Am I right? What is it with you, Brig? Do you wear a scent every goon in Bombay sniffs and immediately knows where you are? And, by virtue of proximity and not choice, me too?”
Asha nudged me. “Will you let him speak?”
Brig glanced around us. We were in a dark doorway, sheltered from the streetlights, but I was not dumb enough to believe we were at all protected from prying eyes.
“Good news first. I discovered a nice stash of carb bars in the glove compartment of Asha's car. They seem a mite hard, rather than chewy, but they're all Tempe is going to get for a while because the bad news is I saw Ray Decore strolling down the street not one block from here.”
“Oh terrific. Do these guys have us bugged somehow? This is insane!”
Brig urged us farther into the entranceway. “Didn't you tell me Ray has an eye for females of all shapes, sizes, and persuasions? This area is crawling with clubs and women. Hell, no more than half a mile the other direction are at least three places like C.C. Curry's where you made such a hit with your dancing. I'm sorry. It's just our bad luck that the man happened to pick the same street we're on.”
I sighed. “You know, I've heard for years that India has a terrible people problem. As in, population explosion. And I've seen crowds here that make a Manhattan subway at rush hour look like a desert island. Can someone tell me why, in the, what, three days I've been here, I keep running into the same ten guys everywhere I've gone? And at least nine of them carry guns? Or knives?”
Brig ignored me. He whispered, “Asha. Go upstairs. Ray just turned the corner. Tempe and I will stay here until he passes. He hasn't seen you and wouldn't know you anyway unless you start keening. We'll meet up tomorrow.”
I looked up at Brig in the dim light of the tunnel-like entrance. “How are we supposed to hide down here? Won't he see us in about ten seconds?”
Brig motioned toward the couples leaning up against every available space of the walls in this hallway. Every one of them was busily engaged in what I'd term serious making out.
Brig pulled me close. He found the darkest part of the entranceway. He leaned down and hid me from the opening with his whole body. A body that now pressed against mine with a firmness sending vibrations far different than fear throughout my whole being.
The man could kiss. I forgot that Ray Decore had wandered inside this entrance. That he stood barely two feet away. Woe to him, or anyone else, who interrupted the delicious taste of Brig's mouth on mine or stopped the hands roaming through my hair and down my back.
Brig then gently stroked my hair, then my forehead. He let his fingers travel over my eyelids and nose and chin, then rest for a moment in the hollow of my neck. I, in turn, was exploring the solid muscles of his shoulders, and his back, and heading down from there.
“Tempe?”
“Mmmm?”
“Tempe?”
Brig had stopped kissing and fondling. I started smoothing down more than one errant black hair off Brig's forehead.
“Hmm?”
“Ray's gone inside. We need to leave before he decides this isn't his scene and he needs wilder pastures.”
“Oh.”
“Tempe? Did you hear what I said?”
“Huh?”
“Ray. Here. We have to go. Now.”
“Oh.” I paused as the meaning hit me. “Oh!”
I quickly rearranged the shirt that had crept up under my bra as I managed somehow to snap out of the enraptured haze where Brig had kept me for the last few minutes.
“Brig, what about Asha?”
He shook his head. “I have to assume she'll be fine. She'll find a way to change into some wacky character upstairs. I don't think Ray would recognize her anyway. You and I, on the other hand, have to get out of here. No telling how long he'll stay, and the pair of us are a head taller than everyone else standing here. I'm rather amazed he didn't notice us when he walked in.”
I smiled. “Our first piece of luck for the evening.”
“Come on. We'd better hurry in case that luck turns again and Ray decides the women here are too young or accompanied by men bigger and better than he.”
I followed Brig back outside, then put my hand on his elbow. He stopped.
“Brig. Any idea where we're going?”
“Not really. We can't use Asha's car because Patel's crowd knows it now. And walking in this area at this hour isn't wise even if we weren't already being chased by two sets of murdering thieves. I'm not in the mood to deal with ordinary muggers just now.”
“So?”
Brig drew in a quick breath. “Holy Saint Pat! I don't believe this! Whatever we do, we'd best decide now! I think we must have offended a god today. Perhaps one who dislikes aerial flips beside a temple on a movie set.”
“Why?”
“Because I just caught a glimpse of Kirk Mahindra under that lamp not two blocks down the street.”
“Oh grand. It's now officially a three dog night.”
“What? The old singing group? ‘Joy to the World' and ‘Celebrate' and all that? Are you loco? Is this what happens when you don't eat?”
I crossed my eyes at him. “Not the group! The
number
. Patel, Ray, now Mahindra. Hounds scenting blood. Ours. Three dogs.”
“Uh, huh. Well, then, there's a train station half a mile from here. And blessedly, it's the opposite direction from where Mr. Mahindra has now been joined by two buddies. I'm not fond of taking the rails after midnight, but I doubt they'll be on to us as fast if we head there.”
“They do seem to travel in clumps, don't they? The bad guys. Except for Ray. So far he's on his own. Stupid, really. Unless he was completely faking it, the man can't speak a word of Hindi. And Ray had no reason to fake it. He wouldn't have brought me if he hadn't been forced to hire an interpreter.”
BOOK: Hot Stuff
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