Almost Too Far (Almost Bad Boys #3) (11 page)

“Shit, girl!” Stella laughs and claps me on the back a bit too hard. “You’re made of the right stuff. You and I need to hang out together.”

Libby still looks unconvinced. Colin must’ve noticed because he’s coming to my rescue. “Libby, come here. We’ll get you some hot tea with lemon. Natalie will stay with Helga and Stella. I need to contact the police to call off the search anyway.”
 

They walk off toward the bar. Libby turns her head to look back at us, as if making sure Helga’s not dashing for the door to go on the next ridiculous adventure.
 

“Call off the search?” Helga cocks her head, looking inquisitively at me.
 

I sigh, long and heavy. “Well, we reported you missing.”

“Missing? I was gone no more than two or three hours! Aren’t you all a bit jumpy?” She glares at me.
 

It’s rather a comical scene, since she’s so short and her expression is naturally good-humored. I bite my lip to keep from bursting out in laughter. Stella cracks up behind my back, and that doesn’t help me keep my face straight.

Helga chuckles, all her frustration gone. “Hey, Stella! Maybe we’ll make it into the police blotter section in The Seattleite Weekly.”
 

“That would be a hoot! But for that we need a scandal.” Stella claps her hands.

“Okay, okay, no scandals please, or Libby will rake our asses over the coals. What do you want to play, Birthday Girl? Bingo?” I stop both of them from formulating another “brilliant” idea.

“Poker, of course.” Helga puts her fists on her hips and flashes a wicked smile.
 

“Poker it is. Hey, did you know that Agatha and Melba are here, too?” I motion them to the poker table where three of my girlfriends are already playing. Now I wonder where Ali is. I better go look for her.
 

“Don’t tell me those two old farts are at the slot machines.” Stella arches her eyebrows thickly painted with black eyeliner.

“I bet they are.” Helga sits down at the table right next to Jena. Stella plunks down in the chair next to Caroline.
 

The dealer greets them immediately, and a cocktail waitress appears from nowhere. I swear, these people know how to run this business smoothly. I order an appletini—just like Caroline and Jena already have—and both Helga and Stella get whisky on the rocks. My head is throbbing and I’m not sure if alcohol is a good idea, but I take a sip anyway. The drink is smooth, cold, and syrupy, just the way I like it.
 

I want to find Ali. She must be somewhere close to the performing band, but I really want to keep as far as I can from the stage where Last Year’s Bikini’s lead singer is doing something questionable to the microphone stand, and two guitarists wildly bob their heads in the rhythm of their hell-derived music. I’m wondering if the long, curly hair they all sport are their own, or rather well-fitting wigs, when a woman in tight jeans and a cropped shirt scrambles onto the stage and runs toward the leader singer, arms outstretched.
 

Everything seems to happen so quickly. The woman grabs the singer’s hair and yanks hard. He hits the floor, the microphone tumbling down on top of him. The speakers screech, the security guys rush to his rescue, the people scream, and I stand dumbfounded, saying to myself, “Huh, so it
is
real hair. I’ll be damned.”
 

Four muscular security guys in casino-issued t-shirts jump swiftly onto the stage. Two haul the girl off the musician, and another kicks the microphone stand to the side. The fourth one helps the lead singer up. The three other band members are clustered around them, flapping their arms in frustration and yelling profanities.
 

I see Ali in the crowd to my left. “Ali!”
 

She turns, beams when she spots me, and walks in my direction, squeezing through the audience. “Can you believe this shit? This was something worth seeing.”

“Who was that chick?”
 

“I dunno.” She shrugs. “A crazed-out fan or a one-night-stand that thought she was special.”

I snort. “I bet the second option.”
 

A few yards away, directly behind Ali, I see the turban-wearing driver and a cop. “Shit! Ali, look!” I point.
 

“Where?”

“Our driver with a cop. This isn’t going to be pretty.” I pull her by the arm in the opposite direction from those two. We squeeze our way out from the crowd surrounding the stage. I turn to Ali. “Oh, crap!”

“What? What?” She demands, her eyes huge.
 

“Svetlana has that freakin’ gun on her!”

Ali makes a “we are
so
fucked” face.

“I’ll strangle her if she ever brings that piece around again.” I rush Ali to the poker table where our girlfriends, Helga, and Stella are laughing loud about something and clapping their hands excitedly, completely oblivious to the situation. There are half-empty drink glasses in front of each of them, and I suspect this isn’t the first round.
 

FOURTEEN

 
“Do not take life too seriously. You will never get out of it alive.”
 

Elbert Hubbard

 
“Natalie! Who’s your friend?” Helga motions to Ali.
 

Did I mention about hoping to be done with introductions tonight? Yeah, I was wrong. “Helga, Stella, this is Ali. Ali, this is Helga and Stella. Svetlana get the hell out of here! Quick!” I say in one breath, and everyone looks at me weird. “Sorry, sorry. I mean, there is trouble. Come here.” I grab her arm and pull her up.
 

“We didn’t finish the round,” Stella protests.
 

“Nat, what’s wrong?” Caroline stands up.

“The Turban Man is here with a cop,” I whisper-yell, turning my face away from the dealer. He doesn’t need to know.
 

“What?” both Caroline and Jena say together.
 

“Oh, crap.” Svetlana turns pale and squats down on the floor, hiding behind Helga’s chair. “I need Oleg and Vadim.” She taps the screen of her cell phone, and a moment later says something in rapid Russian. She nods and sticks her head out from behind the chair, her eyes scanning the room.
 

I whisper to Helga and Stella to act naturally, so we don’t attract any attention. Yeah, right.
 

“But what’s going on?” Helga wants to know.
 

“We… uhm… had to borrow a vehicle to get here, and now the driver is back with a cop,” I whisper so only they can hear.

“Where is the car?” Helga whispers back. Stella leans in close to listen.
 

“Parked outside. We left some money with a note to him. Oh, and the keys under the little pillow on the driver’s seat. If he sat down, he would’ve easily felt the keys poking his ass. Anyway, we were just hoping he would quietly come back, find the van, and get the hell out of here. But no, he had to bring a cop with him.” I huff.
 

Oleg appears from nowhere, and before he can say anything to Svetlana, Stella asks, “And who’s this handsome man?”

Someone shoot me now. I must have a sign on my forehead: NEED INTRODUCTIONS? I’M YOUR GAL!
 

“Stella, Helga, this is Oleg, Svetlana’s bodyg… erm… buddy. Oleg, this is Helga and Stella. That’s all you need to know for now.”

Oleg nods curtly and squats down to Svetlana. I know they are professionals, so no worries whatsoever that she would try to give him the gun here. That would be the dumbest thing with all the security cameras around.
 

“There you all are!” I hear a high-pitched voice behind me. I turn and see Melba, pushing her walker curiously fast toward us. Agatha is right behind her, grinning from ear to ear.
 

Helga and Stella wave to them.
 

“How did you get here?” Stella hollers.
 

“Libby drove us, of course.” Melba shrugs and plants her walker next to the table. All of a sudden she coos, “Well, hello there!”

I realize that Oleg and Svetlana just stood up, obviously trying to depart inconspicuously. Inconspicuous ain’t gonna happen here.
 

I don’t even wait for Melba to ask to be introduced. “Melba, Agatha, this is Oleg, Svetlana’s body, I mean buddy. Oleg, these are Helga’s friends, Magatha and Aelba, I mean, Agatha and Melba.” I close my eyes and sigh. I need another drink. It better be big, stiff, and go down smoothly.

Vadim appears and, without saying a word, takes Svetlana’s arm and turns to walk her away from us.
 

“Another friend of Svetlana’s?” Agatha inquires.
 

Somebody please shoot me.
 

“It’s Vadim. They’ll be back in a moment,” I say, hoping to postpone yet another freakin’ introduction.
 

I don’t know if they’re in fact planning to return, but if they do, they better hide that Glock somewhere far away from here. I don’t want any of my friends to get in trouble. Remember the Female Solidarity Club? Yeah, the one we all belong to? That’s what really still keeps me around here. I hope Svetlana and her gun disappear tonight, and the rest of us here won’t get recognized by The Turban Man.
 

It would be better to leave altogether, but I promised myself that Helga gets her dream birthday at the casino. It doesn’t seem right to leave her here now. Besides, how would I explain my departure to Colin? He definitely shouldn’t know about the taxi-van kidnapping.
 

Agatha and Melba decide to join the poker table. A waitress brings one more chair for Agatha, while Melba takes Svetlana’s vacant seat. Helga whispers in Melba’s and then in Agatha’s ears, most likely explaining what’s going on.
 

“Are we staying? What’s the plan?” Ali asks, darting nervous glances around. The driver dude and the cop are nowhere to be seen at the moment. I know because I’ve been on a frantic lookout, too.
 

“Caroline and I will play poker here with Helga and Stella,” Jena says, giving me a pointed look. She lets her hair loose from the messy bun she wore. She shakes her head and smooths out her long brown hair with her hands then takes her jean jacket off and drapes it over the chair.
 

Caroline grins at me and pulls her hair up, securing it with nothing else but a pen into an untidy twist at the back of her head. She pulls a few strands to hang around her face. Stella tugs a bright-purple, flowery scarf from her purse and hands it to Caroline, who graciously accepts and ties it like a headband, leaving its ends sweep down over her shoulders.

I swear, those two watch too many crime TV shows. But I nod in approval at this quick and effective way of changing their appearances.
 

Agatha removes the white flower from her hair and pins it to Jena’s hair. The outcome is hilarious, but I must admit, it even further transforms Jena’s look. Now The Turban Man shouldn’t recognize either Jena or Caroline.
 

“You two are gorgeous.” Ali snorts. “We’ll text you. Davenport, let’s split.” She grabs my wrist and pulls me toward the RESTROOM sign.
 

“Stay here,” I tell Helga and Stella. “Don’t do anything crazy.”

They look at me with the “who, us?” expression. I roll my eyes. Libby’s comment comes to mind:
sweet little ladies my ass.
Amen to that… but then again, look who’s talking.

“Did Colin ever make it here?” Ali asks as soon as we enter the restroom.

“Actually, yes. He’s with Libby, getting her some tea at the bar.”

Ali shoots me a dubious look. “A Long Island tea or a
tea
tea?”

“A
tea
tea.” I giggle. But a Long Island sounds freakin’ good at the moment.

“Good luck with that in the bathroom. How long do we need to stay here?”

“It was
your
idea, so you tell me.” I take a lipstick out of my wristlet and carefully apply it.
 

“Smartass.” Ali chortles, looking at me in the mirror. “How the hell do you always get yourself into such messes?”