Richfield & Rivers Mystery Series 2 - Stellium in Scorpio (10 page)

How
does she know that?
I wondered.

The
police arrived. No one had gotten the license plate number, so there wasn't
much else to do but ask the usual questions. "Any reason someone would
want to kill you? How do you know it wasn't an accident? How long will you be
in Las Vegas?"

"He
was a mid-thirties, muscular guy, like a wrestler with no hair," I
offered.

"Got
it down." The cop took notes. "We'll be on the lookout for the car,
and we'll contact you at your hotel if we need anything else."

One,
two, three, wrap!
I thought.

“That
guy who tried to hit me was pretty damned determined. Well, he failed and may
his dick be torn off by wild dogs," I said, limping slightly.

"Teague,
I know you're angry but please don't say those kinds of things into the cosmos.
It's like a curse and—"

"I
like curses, particularly those that torture the perpetrator for
centuries." I smiled.

"That's
not funny." I could have sworn Callie glanced up at the heavens.
"Here, give me those. I'm driving." Callie took the car keys from me
and helped me into the car. "I need to get you back to the room."
Callie's voice was filled with concern over my near demise.

"No,
I'm okay. I'm fine. Just a little shook up, that's all."

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

We
pulled into the valet park at our hotel, and Callie told the man opening my car
door to help me out.

"I'm
fine," I reiterated, embarrassed at the attention. "Come on. Let's go
over to the theater and tell your friend Rose what happened and see if the description
of the driver clicks for her."

Moments
later Callie, still protesting my not going directly to our room, followed me
to the theater where a skeleton cast was doing a somewhat sloppy run-through of
a new
Boy Review
routine. The theater company's production assistant
tried to head us off, leaping from his seat and dashing down the aisle as if to
greet us, rather than throw us out. Rose spotted us and hurried down off the
stage, letting the boy know that it was okay, she knew us. I remarked that it
appeared she never slept and spent her entire life in rehearsal. She smiled and
said they actually got two days off a week but those days varied.

"We're
here because someone tried to kill league by ramming her with his car."
Callie was direct and her voice held no emotion.

Rose
gasped. "Are you sure? Maybe it was an accident. People around here drive
like—"

"When
he missed, he screeched to a halt, backed up, and tried to hit her again. It
was no accident," Callie said.

I
watched Rose's face for a reaction. She looked a bit like a deer in the
proverbial headlights.

"He
was mid-thirties, bald, and beefy. Do you know anyone like that? Do you have
any reason to suspect someone?" Callie asked.

"No,"
Rose said breathlessly as a drag queen even more gorgeous than Joanie Burr
strode toward us. She was a proud jungle cat cruising rapidly and effortlessly
down the aisle, muscles taut, head high, her large, angular frame gliding to a
stop in front of us. She graced us with a sensual smile.
European good
looks,
I thought.

"Someone
tried to run over my friend with a car...a man," Rose said.

"That's
horrible!" she said. "I'm Marlena Mercado."

We
introduced ourselves. Marlena said a quick hello and added, "Rose, you're
up next. Better get back onstage."

Rose
looked flustered and torn. She glanced up to see the director, a tall, thin,
gay man, signaling her that she was about to miss her cue, and she hurried back
up the aisle.

"Sorry,
I have to go," Rose's voice trailed behind.

Marlena
cocked her head slightly in a studied theatrical way that made sure her best
features were always on display. "Are you in town on vacation?"

"That,
and I'm very interested in what's frightening some of the performers,"
Callie said pointedly, hoping for an entree, but Marlena was too schooled for
that.

"I
would say they're frightened that their looks, or their legs, or their bank
accounts will give out before they find Mr. Right. Isn't that what all girls
are afraid of?" Marlena shot us a dazzling smile. "Gotta run. Maybe
we'll all get together before you leave town—if you're going to see Rose
again."

"We'd
like that," Callie replied, and we watched Marlena bound up onto the
stage.

"Damn,
I wish I could look that good." I sighed.

"Darling,
you look much better," Callie said sincerely as we headed up the aisle for
the heavy double doors that separated the theater from the hotel lobby.

"Notice
how every time we see Rose Ross she gets dragged off by a drag queen? Maybe
that's why they call them drag queens." I gave her a silly grin.

"Maybe
it was just her cue to go onstage. You and I are always a bit suspicious."

A
tall, handsome Italian woman approached from the balcony staircase and
introduced herself as Sophia Pappagallo, another cast member. She was older
than Rose, a beautifully put together dark-haired woman in her mid-thirties
with riveting dark eyes, ample breasts, and great self-confidence. She said
that Rose had explained why we were here and that she was grateful we'd cared
enough to come and check on her friend's well-being. She offered to get us
something to drink and indicated the best seats for us to watch the rehearsal.
I quickly declined on all counts, wanting only to be with Callie. Sophia sized
us up with a slow smile.

"Of
course, you probably have many things to do," she said mercurially, and
then remarked that she sincerely hoped she would see us again as she
disappeared into the dimly lit theater.

"Attractive
girl," Callie said.

"Gay
girl," I replied.

"How
do you know for sure?"

"Let's
go back to our hotel room and I'll show you how to recognize one." I
turned toward the door and a piercing pain shot through my leg. In fact, both
legs were throbbing and my shoulders were now aching from the whiplash of my
auto ballet. "I need a muscle relaxant for my shoulders."

"You
shouldn't take those," Callie said. "I'll work on your body."

"Best
offer I've had in the last hour," I said.

I
greeted Elmo with a hug and a Milk-Bone, bribing him to cut me some slack and
lay low. In the quiet of our hotel room, Callie crawled into bed and pulled me
up between her legs with my back against her chest and wrapped her arms around
me, saying nothing, just breathing. She felt much larger than her actual
size—strong and solid. She placed one hand on my forehead and one on my heart,
took three deep breaths, and threw something away into the air.

"Now
you'll feel better," she assured me, still holding me.

"So
you're removing evil spirits?" I asked, letting myself sag back into her
arms, happy I hadn't been taken from her.

She
began kissing me along my neck and down my shoulders, pausing occasionally to
ask me if I was hurting anywhere.

"One
or two places unrelated to the accident," I said.

"I
can take care of that," she whispered, and I thought perhaps it was worth
being nearly hit by a car if this was the reward, or perhaps Callie could only
focus fully on me if she thought she'd lost me.

The
wonderful thing about passion is that it releases endorphins, and they mask
pain. Very quickly, I wasn't hurting and I could turn my body a hundred and
eighty degrees to embrace her and unbutton her blouse.

"I'm
worried about this," I teased as I unsnapped the single hook holding her
bra together. "Why does a girl have a bra that snaps in the front?"

"For
those who aren't very adept at undressing women." She kissed me fervently.

"You
are a lot to handle, Callie Rivers." I smiled.

"Let's
see how well you do." She smiled back.

I
tried to begin at the beginning, kissing her lips, letting my mouth wander
slowly down her gorgeous neck, then letting my lips make teasing side trips to
her breasts and across her belly as she ran her hands through my hair, but I
wasn't doing too well on the lingering part. Foreplay had been taking place in
my head for months so now, just like the guys, I wanted to skip the
preliminaries and be in the wet, wonderful orgasmic center of her, and with
that single thought in mind, I buried my face in the soft golden hair between
her legs, letting out a moan that said, much like Elmo, I'd reached nirvana.
She was instantly wet and thrusting into me as I reached under her to hold her
small soft hips in my hands. Suddenly she pulled away and rolled me over on my
back so that she could lie on top of me, and she buried her face in me, while I
was in her, so that we could enjoy the tastes and smells and feelings of one
another simultaneously. And that was the exact moment in my life when
sixty-nine became my favorite number. I decided I would have it put on a
football jersey with today's date or perhaps even have it tattooed on my arm!
The woman was masterful. There was an art to sliding effortlessly into that
position, but there was a chemistry to climaxing at the same instant. We were
overwhelmed by our chemistry when our bodies had barely had time to know one
another. I reversed my position to hold her in my arms and kiss her golden
hair.

"I
hope you know what you're going to do with me, because now you completely own
me," I whispered.

"I
do." She pushed me onto my back and straddled me, managing to position all
the wet, warm areas I'd most recently kissed directly onto my own
still-throbbing parts. "You're not getting off that easy." She
grinned at her double entendre, sitting upright astride me and rocking back and
forth, smiling down at me, revealing how gorgeous she was from golden head to
voluptuous breasts and her tiny lower torso.

In
only seconds, I was unbearably hot again, pushing against her with my hips,
pulling her down on me to kiss her and caress her breasts. I lay back almost
unconscious from the sheer pleasure and excitement of her touch. She lay on top
of me, gently, rhythmically thrusting into me, and in minutes, I was rolling
her over again and sliding my fingers inside her and kissing her so deeply that
we were both on fire and climaxing. When we finally came up for air, I
whispered, "I can only say I've been in more positions than the Dallas
Cowboys."

"Complaining?"
she asked.

Weak
and happy, we stared into one another's eyes with utter amazement at how completely
we had come together to become one. We fell asleep wrapped around each other
and didn't move until light shifted on the shutters and the clanking sounds of
room service trays clattered up and down the halls.

We
stayed in bed for hours exploring one another's bodies as if they were unique
to the planet. Holding fingers up to the light to notice how long and slender
they were, examining the shape of feet, putting them sole to sole and sighing
over the touch, marveling at the two inches of the inner leg just next to the
pubic hair where it was so soft that it was mesmerizing to touch, and then we
would make love again. We could not tell night from day. The order of things
was lost. Eating or sleeping or making love had no appropriate time. It was all
randomly driven by hormones. And so, Las Vegas was truly the town for us,
because love plays havoc with time and Las Vegas knows no time. Lights are
always on in Vegas. Breakfast and dinner are always ready simultaneously.
Crowds always fill the streets. People are always wide awake. We could make
love for six hours and not miss anything.

In
the silence, we heard something brush the carpet. A piece of paper was slowly
sliding under our door. I crawled out of bed, my body beginning to stiffen now,
and picked up the letter and opened it. The typed note said,
Congratulations!
We have captured your homo-fucking on tape. Be careful what you try to expose,
or be exposed.
I stared at it. "What in hell?"

I
yanked the door open and poked my head outside, but the hallway was empty. I
was still naked, so there was no chance that I would go sprinting down the hall
after anyone. I went back to bed with the note, and Callie leaned over my
shoulder to read it and then said, "Call the police! We're not going to be
blackmailed by anyone for any reason."

I
ignored her demand in favor of making a thorough search of the room: yanking
back the drapes, checking the TV set for suspicious wiring, looking up and into
every crevice, corner, and cobweb I could find.
Maybe there is no video.
Maybe it's all a threat,
I thought as I crawled up on the dressing table to
examine a picture. Callie warned me to watch my step as I clambered down and
Elmo freaked. He apparently could take a lot of things in his basset life, but
my being butt naked and mounting the furniture wasn't one of them. He wanted
out.

I
pulled on my jeans and told Callie I'd call the manager after I walked Elmo. I
wanted time alone to pull my thoughts together. Until I knew for sure there was
a tape, I didn't want to expose our sex lives to the hotel employees,
particularly security, whom we'd already met during the non-dead-body caper.