Calamity Jayne And The Trouble With Tandems Part 13

"It was meant as a light-hearted gift," I explained. "A funny sc.r.a.pbook moment to look back on later in life."

"Really? Like Frankie wants to remember flip-flopping around on the ground in the middle of a row of tires like a bluegill out of water," Dixie said.

"It was a private family joke," I told her. "Frankie gets it."

"Oh? And I don't get it because I'm not family," Dixie said.

I lifted one shoulder. "Not yet. At least, not officially. However, rest a.s.sured, once you tie the knot, you too will become fair game for my little gag gift proclivities," I a.s.sured her.

'"Gag' being the key word here," Dixie said. "Thanks for the warning, Miss Practical Joker. Just bear in mind that no good deed goes unpunished."

"A sentiment worthy of toasting!" I raised my gla.s.s. "Here's to good deed doers!" I gave a quick salute before draining the contents. A burp that could have come from a man twice my size resulted.

"Biker Barbie better lay off the beer. Beer and bikes don't make a good combo for the road, if you get Manny's drift."

I turned. Manny DeMarco stood over me, arms crossed, biceps bulging.

"Oh. Hey, Manny. I didn't think you went for the boot scootin' boogie scene," I said. "What's up?"

"Gotta be here, Barbie. Job's here."

I gaped. "Wait! What? Keelie Keller is here?" I grabbed one of his arms of steel and hoisted myself to my tippy-toes and peered around the room. "Where? Where?"

"Reel it in, would you, Miss Celeb Stalker?" Dixie said. "You're attracting attention."

From where I stood (in Manny's enormous shadow, that is) it seemed like Manny was the one attracting the most attention. His ma.s.sive physique and tall, dark, and dangerous good looks bill-boarded "bad boy" and made the guy a chick magnet of epic proportions. His own, uh, er, own epic proportions didn't hurt.

Manny checked his watch. "Runnin' late," he said, with a slight shake of his head. "Typical woman."

I poked him in the chest. Okay. So I tried to poke him in the chest. It was like poking plywood.

"There are no typical women, Mr. DeMarco," I responded.

Manny DeMarco smiled down at me. "If you say so...Barbie."

Barbie. The distance one little word created.

"How'd you get such a sweet gig, Manny?" Frankie asked. I saw Dixie's head pivot in Frankie's direction like a heat-seeking missile.

"Sweet gig?" Dixie said. "You think providing security for some big-b.o.o.bed publicity wh.o.r.e is a sweet gig?"

"And presto!" I said with a wave of my hand in Frankie's direction. "May I present what is known as your typical male?"

"I didn't say it was my idea of a sweet gig. You know, for me," Frankie's sudden fancy footwork put the two-steppers on the dance floor to shame. "I meant it was a sweet gig for a, uh, single guy, you know. Like Manny here."

"Right," Dixie said. "Right."

Manny suddenly put a hand to his right ear.

"Yo. 'k. Got it."

I frowned.

"What are you doing? What's that in your ear?" I asked. "Who are you talking to?"

"Gotta go."

"Is that a headset?" I asked. "You're outfitted with electronic headsets? What is this? Men in Biker Black? Manny DeMarco, Junior G-Man?"

"Standard security equipment," Manny said.

For Sarah Palin maybe. For a reality celeb? Overkill.

"Oh? Is that right?" I said.

Manny shrugged. "Gotta look the part."

I narrowed my gaze.

"You've done this before, haven't you?"

Beyond a slight lifting of gi-normous shoulders, as usual, Manny DeMarco de-man-of-mystery gave nothing away.

"Manny catches on quick," Mr. Evasive said.

"What kind of qualifications did you have to have to get this 'sweet gig', Mr. DeMarco?" I asked. "You know. What kind of resume?"

I'd Googled and Binged the guy until my fingers were calloused, and so far I hadn't discovered anything about Manny DeMarco/Dishman. It was just plain spooky. And frustrating as a swimsuit diet pledge undertaken just when the unsold Halloween candy went on markdown.

Manny grinned down at me. The bright white of his teeth almost blinded me.

"Like I've said before, Manny knows a guy." He recited his well-used mantra, as if that answered all my questions.

"You know a guy."

"Who knows a guy."

I nod. "I get it. Who knows a guy, who knows a guy, who knows hi-tech stuff."

My head hurt. The chance that I would get a straight answer from Manny DeMarco was the same as me suddenly growing manageable hair.

Manny put his hand to his ear again.

"Duty calls," he said.

"You mean your 'sweet' duty," Dixie hissed, shooting another dark look at Frankie.

Manny smiled. "See you," he said, and walked off, parting the crowd with Red Sea precision.

"What a guy," Frankie said, hero worship evident in the tiny bubble of drooly spit that collected in the corner of his mouth. He followed in Manny's wake like a devoted lap dog.

Dixie shot his retreating back another cold look before focusing her evil eye (yes, "eye"-as in Cyclops) on me.

"Just what is the deal with Manny?" she asked. "He's here. He's there. He comes. He goes. What is his story anyway?"

I blinked. Doth me detecteth an unlikely ally?

"You know. I've wondered the same thing, Dixie," I said. "The guy is all closed up. Tight-lipped. Beyond private."

"It's weird. Just plain weird." Dixie scratched her chin.

"It's what you call an enigma wrapped up in a riddle and tied with a chain and a padlock," I said.

"It's irritating as a.s.s," Dixie stated.

"There is that," I agreed.

"You're supposed to be a reporter. Investigate."

"I've tried. I've dug 'til it hurts. His history reads like a blank page."

"How long have you known Manny anyway?" Dixie asked, and I gave an edited version of how I'd first met Manny at the Thunder Rolls bowling alley when investigating how a stiff found its way into my car's trunk. Actually, it wasn't my car. I just drove off in it by accident. But, yeah. Totally another story.

"It was after I bailed him out that we became...friendly," I said.

"You bailed the guy out."

"He paid me back."

"And there was that engagement..."

"Faux engagement. What would you have done? I thought his Aunt Mo was on her deathbed. I wanted to make the old girl's last hours on this earth happy ones. How was I to know she'd recover and live to become a wedding planner stowaway stalker?"

Dixie did an eye-roll number.

"Frankie thinks Manny is G.o.d's gift to mankind," I ventured.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Wouldn't it be kind of nice to, er, remove Frankie's rose-colored gla.s.ses where Manny is concerned?" I said. "You know. Tarnish that crown Frankie has seen fit to bestow upon Manny just a wee little bit. Make your future spouse see that Manny, like all mortals, is human and, therefore, flawed."

Dixie tilted her head in my direction. "I'm listening."

"Perhaps we could be of...a.s.sistance to each other," I posed.

Curious Dixie disappeared. h.e.l.l No Dixie took her place.

"Have you forgotten what happened the last time I attempted to be of a.s.sistance to you?" she asked. "I barely survived the experience."

"Please. We weren't in any real danger. We were in a morgue. It's probably the safest place you can be."

"I'm talking about the campus psycho with the big, sharp knife." She shook her head. "People who 'a.s.sist' you don't usually end up with fond memories."

"I'm not sure that's the case-"

"Joe Townsend. Rick Townsend. Manny DeMarco. Shelby Lynn Sawyer. Frank. Frankie. Me. And that's just in the last twelve months."

"Okay. Fine. Let Frankie continue to idolize a guy whose stock in chic trade is shrouded in mystery and intrigue," I said. "Never mind that exposing the truth behind the action figure could help keep your future husband's feet on the ground and on the straight and narrow, if you get my drift."

Dixie appeared to consider my words. She finally shook her head. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but what do you want me to do?"

"For now all you have to do is keep your eye and ears open." Snort. "Maybe chat up anyone affiliated with Keelie's reality show and find out how Manny got the gig in the first place. Anything you learn, pa.s.s on to me. Later we'll plan a covert ops or two and get some real dirt."

"Covert ops? You've been playing Call of Duty again, haven't you?"

I winced. Busted.

"Come on. It'll be fun," I a.s.sured her.

"What'll be fun?"

I turned. Taylor had joined us.

"The bike ride, of course,"

The smug, knowing look Dixie gave me told me she was on to my attempt to keep my sister out of this particular loop. The less Taylor knew, the better.

For me.

"Speaking of the bike ride, have you seen the hunky Trooper Dawkins yet?" I said. "I guess he's probably busy protecting and serving."

Taylor bit her lip. "He'll probably seek you out before me." She hesitated. "You aren't going to say anything to him about...anything. Right?"

"Me? No! Never. Certainly not. I won't say a word. Not a word."

"I'm feeling ill," Taylor said.

"Hey. What am I missing here?" Dixie asked. "I sense...sisterly conflict."

"Taylor's in l.u.s.t with P.D. Dawkins," I said.

"I thought you weren't going to say anything!" Taylor protested.

"Well, not to him," I said. "We have to play it cool. Keep it light. Keep it loose. Until we go in for the kill, that is."

"Brother. I'm gonna be sick now," Dixie said.

"Listen, Tressa. Please, just stay out of it. If something happens, it happens. Don't try to help me out. Okay?" Taylor pleaded.