Ink Flamingos

Chapter 12

He was not happy with me. Other people who didn’t know him might not recognize the crease in his forehead that only appeared when he was really furious about something. But I saw it. I knew what it was. This had totally been the wrong thing to do.

“You must be Brett’s brother.” Harry made it worse by stepping toward Tim and holding out his hand.

Tim’s eyes flicked toward Harry, then Jeff, then back to me.

“I should’ve known. And now you’re even adding to your contingent.”

Jeff reached into his front breast pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping one out and sticking it between his lips before putting the pack back.

“Is she here?” I asked, figuring while Tim would still be mad at me, he might actually slip up and tell me something.

Turned out, he didn’t have to. Before he could answer, Flanigan came off the barge.

“Wild goose chase,” he said to Tim before he spotted me standing there. “What are you doing here?”

“Keeping my ear to the ground, like you asked,” I said, trying to turn the tables on him. “What do you mean, wild goose chase?”

Tim put his hand up to keep me quiet, but Flanigan, to my surprise, said, “What does it matter now?” He turned to me. “She’s not here. She never showed. Neither did that manager. Are you sure they said they’d be here tonight? Because the bar manager says he’s never even talked to a Sherman Potter.”

“That’s what he said,” Harry spoke up. “He said they were going to be here. He invited us.”

“That’s right,” I said. “I don’t know what’s going on.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jeff Coleman taking a pack of matches out of his pocket.

“You quit,” I scolded, reaching over and taking the matches and the cigarette out of his mouth. He grinned.

“Mr. Coleman,” Flanigan said. “What are you doing here?”

“Wherever my sister goes, Coleman goes,” Tim muttered.

I wanted to argue with him, but sometimes it was true. I didn’t want to get into that. “So where are we now? Square one?”

“More than you know,” Flanigan said. “Potter checked out of the Venetian shortly after your visit.”

“So you have no idea where he is,” I said flatly.

“We’re heading out,” Tim said, indicating himself and Flanigan. “If you want to stick around, be my guest.”

I glanced over at Harry and Jeff. I didn’t really want to have to deal with the two of them. But at the same time, I still didn’t like the look in Tim’s eyes, which told me that once he got me home, he would go on and on about how I had to stop getting involved in police business. He was a broken record, and maybe a cocktail might not be a bad idea before I went home to face him alone.

“I’ll be home later,” I said as casually as I could.

“Suit yourself.” And Tim and Flanigan walked off.

“He’s not happy,” Jeff said softly.

“No kidding. How about a drink?” I indicated Cleopatra’s Barge, which was rocking as though it really were on the Nile, the oars slapping against the fake river.

Jeff glanced at Harry and then back at me. “I’m not going to step on any toes, here. So you two kids go off and have fun.”

That was a total turnaround, and I wasn’t quite sure why. Just half an hour ago, he was warning me off Harry. And now he was giving us his blessing?

He gave me a crooked smile and punched me lightly on the upper arm. “See ya around, kid.” He sauntered off, without a look behind him.

I stared after him, uncertain now just what to do. I hadn’t really wanted to go out with Harry. I’d only wanted to use him to get to Sherman Potter. I supposed I was getting what I deserved. At least that’s what Sister Mary Eucharista would tell me.

Harry was beaming. “Glad he’s gone. I can’t believe you’re friends with him.”

“Why?” I bristled.

“Well, it’s just that he’s so, well, so old. And you’re not.”

“He’s not that old,” I said, although I wondered why I was getting so defensive about Jeff Coleman. Usually it was me who was saying disparaging things about him.

“Never mind,” Harry said, seeing his mistake. “You said you wanted a drink?”

The sight of the barge rocking back and forth and the loud music was suddenly not very appealing. “How about somewhere quieter?” I asked.

“I know a place,” he said, taking my arm.

The “place” was the bar in a restaurant on the first level of the Forum shops. It was a sleek, modern space with crystal light fixtures giving off a golden glow. Because of the hour, there were only a couple of diners; the rest of the patrons were sitting at the bar drinking fancy, multicolored cocktails that looked like something out of a science fiction flick. Fancy, multicolored cocktails were never cheap, and I thought about Harry’s unemployed state and figured I would be footing the bill tonight. Since it had been my idea to get a drink, I wasn’t going to quibble about it.

I slid onto a barstool, Harry next to me, and the bartender came over.

I don’t usually drink hard liquor or even beer. I’m a wine girl, and I knew in a place like this I might actually get a good glass that didn’t get watered down, but those fancy drinks were beckoning.

“Cosmopolitan,” I said.

Harry smirked.

“What?”

“That’s so 1990s.” He looked at the bartender. “Two absinthes.”

Okay, now I wasn’t born yesterday. I knew what absinthe was, the whole crazy Oscar Wilde thing, and I knew that the last thing I needed was a possible hallucination, but the bartender had already gone to the other side of the bar to get us our drinks.

“I won’t drink it,” I said like a petulant child.

“You’ll love it,” Harry promised, his arm snaking its way around the back of my chair.

A cocktail tumbler with ice and an odd green liquid was set down in front of me. I took a sip. It tasted faintly of licorice. It was smooth, and not at all the evil drink I’d expected.

“How is it?” I felt his hand on my shoulder as he leaned toward me.

I nodded, feeling all tingly awfully fast. This wasn’t supposed to be the way it happened. What did I mean by it? Harry was watching me, an intensity in his eyes that I hadn’t seen since…

“Where does that dragon end up? Do you think I can find out tonight?” he whispered, his breath tickling my neck as his fingers ran up and down my arm.

I want to say that I didn’t like it. That I didn’t want to be there with Harry Desmond, a tattooist who botched a tattoo so Jeff Coleman had to fire him. Someone I would kick out of my own shop.

When had I finished my drink? The bartender was putting another one down in front of me, and I tried to indicate I didn’t want it but he either didn’t see me or didn’t care.

Harry was nuzzling my neck now, little flicks of his tongue sending electric shocks through me.

And then something flashed bright in front of my eyes. Was this one of those hallucinations I’d heard tell of? I blinked a couple of times to clear my vision and saw the silhouette of a person holding up a phone. On the other side of the bar. And the flash went off again.

My whole body felt like jelly, despite the fact that my brain had kicked slightly into gear. I say slightly because there was a definite mind/body thing happening here that wasn’t something I was used to. But a little neuron of sensibility flickered, and I pulled away from Harry.

“Someone’s taking our picture,” I said, although my voice didn’t sound like it came from me at all, rather from somewhere across the room.

“It’s just somebody’s birthday over there,” Harry whispered, his fingers gently turning my face toward him and then kissing me.

I forgot about the flash and everything else as I lost myself in his kiss.