In Deep Shitake Part 8

"And just what did Ms. Tuttle do to incite that altercation, may I ask?" Ross's tone was supercilious.

"Wait just a minute. Are you saying that attack was my fault?" Mo advanced on the jerk and then stood on tiptoes to stare him in the face. "I don't know who that guy was. I've never seen him before today."

"Obviously, he perceived your natural charm from afar then. Because he certainly knew you."

"You gumball! Maybe I do wish Stephen Dagger was here." She stretched up as far as she could get, hoping for an intimidating stance. "Your character was certainly more gallant than the real you. The real you is a complete and total cheese puff. Yeah, right now if I had my choice I would much rather be here with Stephen Dagger than Ross Grant."

"Be careful what you wish for, honey," Mrs. Nelson piped in. "Look at me. I wished my marriage was more exciting. I certainly got my wish."

The three of them fell silent as a car door slammed outside. Was Gigantor back? They waited expectantly as footsteps clomped to the front door followed by the sound of a key in the lock. The door banged against the interior wall and heavy steps hurried down the hall.

"What is going on here?" Walter Nelson bellowed. "The mailbox is smashed and there are tire tracks on the lawn. And tell me what the h.e.l.l happened to Uggie?"

"Who's Uggie?" asked Mo.

"The concrete bulldog," Jessica Nelson said.

"Oh."

Mr. Nelson glared first at Mo then at Ross. "Who are these people? Why are they in my house? I demand an explan-" Abruptly, he stopped and smiled, before pointing at Ross. "Aren't you Stephen Dagger?"

"Yes, he is," Mrs. Nelson said before either Ross or Mo could offer an explanation. . "Let me introduce you properly." Mrs. Nelson brought Ross forward with a smile on her face. "Stephen Dagger, meet my husband, Sharlene Lansing."

An hour later, Ross still wondered whether they should have called the police. At first, the idea wasn't appealing because he knew the tabloids would be onto it before the report could even be filed. But now, he couldn't help but think he and Mo might have further trouble with that thug.

Shortly after Mrs. Nelson's introduction of her husband, the couple had started to argue. Mo and Ross both made quick exits. They'd decided to call a truce and talk things over. So they'd gone to a downtown eatery for lunch.

The waitress placed a cup of black coffee in front of Ross and a slice of apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream in front of Mo. As Ross took a sip from his cup, Mo examined her dish with greedy eyes.

"Are you sure you don't want a dessert?" Mo asked.

"Yes, I'm sure. I'm not much of a dessert person. The only dish I can't resist is a good cheeseburger."

"Oooh," Mo exclaimed. "I just love a good cheeseburger with peanut b.u.t.ter and onions on top."

"Uck," Ross groaned. "Sounds disgusting."

"No. Delicious. Try one sometime. They're hard to find, but life won't be the same once you've had a cheeseburger with peanut b.u.t.ter and onions."

"No thank you." Ross eyed the bruise along her jaw. The ice had prevented any swelling from the blow the thug had delivered. "Don't you need to go to the hospital? You could have a concussion," he said.

"No, I'm fine." She dipped the spoon into the desert, scooping out a hunk of the golden pie with a healthy portion of the ice cream. Mo brought the mixture to her lips and licked at it delicately before pushing the whole spoonful into her mouth.

"Perhaps we should have called the police about our row with Gigantor," Ross said distractedly as he watched Mo enjoying her pie.

Mo swallowed. "What would we tell them? We don't know who the guy was. We don't know what he wanted. We don't know his license plate. Basically, we don't have anything to tell the police."

Taking another bite, Mo emitted happy noises and ran her pink tongue over succulently full lips. She had removed her hair from its ponytail, letting the brown strands fall loose around her shoulders. She pushed the hair on one side behind her ear and out of the way of her next savory mouthful.

"Ummm," she said. "So good."

"We could report we were a.s.saulted." Ross watched as a thin line of ice cream slipped down her chin. He fought the urge to lick the creamy trail back to her lips. If he leaned across the table he could sample those few pie crumbs clinging to the corner of her mouth before her tongue slipped out to swipe them away. Before he could act on the impulse, Mo applied a napkin to do the job his tongue ached to do.

"We could provide them his description." Ross fiddled with the handle of his coffee cup, trying to ignore her lips, her hair...her.

"The only likely result from a police report would be a newspaper story about how the famous Stephen Dagger got involved in a brawl. Unless your goal is publicity, I don't see how calling the police will do any good."

Ross definitely didn't want publicity. In his situation, with the new contract, any publicity was not good publicity. "If the whole thing is just a one off, it doesn't matter, but what if it's not?"

"A one off?" Mo asked.

"Something that happens once."

"What if it isn't just a one off? That fellow may have something to do with the mysterious client who allegedly hired your agency to investigate me."

"I don't see the connection." Mo shook her head causing a section of her long hair to sweep forward again. "Gigantor had to have mistaken me for someone else." She nodded. "Yeah, it was clearly a case of mistaken ident.i.ty."

"You hope," he muttered.

"Yeah," she admitted.

"Did he say anything that would provide us any sort of clue about him?" Ross asked.

"He said something that sounded like sucker. And he mentioned wanting to find something or someone. Understanding him was difficult. He had an accent that sounded Slavic or Russian... or maybe Greek. I couldn't tell. Everything happened so fast."

"He sounded sort of Russian to me," Ross commented.

Mo lapped at another spoonful of ice cream. "Come to think of it, when the agency did an investigation at a strip club owned by a Russian, I found out that Sooka means b.i.t.c.h. I suppose Gigantor could have been calling me a b.i.t.c.h and that would mean he's Russian. Oops, I said b.i.t.c.h." Mo held a hand over her mouth and then relaxed after a second. "Oh well, it doesn't count as a slip since I was translating."

"Do you have any reason to think Russians are involved with the client who hired you to break into my car?" Ross tried to take his eyes off her lips.

She waved her spoon at Ross. "Don't go thinking you're going to use that guy to bootstrap your way into going with me to talk to Clarence."

Mo shook her head, throwing her hair back and out of the way again before taking a fourth mouthful of the obviously delicious concoction. Ross wanted to run his fingers through that length of silky brown hair, wrap the strands around his hand, pull her toward him and then...strangle her. She was completely impossible.

Although she had agreed to have lunch, with Ross paying of course, Mo refused to even consider allowing him to be involved in discovering what was behind the attempted break-in of his car. The only information she'd reveal was that the agency receptionist had relayed the a.s.signment. None of his logical arguments had yet penetrated her utterly illogical head.

Mo placed her lips around another bite.

"Mmmmmm. Youshouldtrysommmme," Mo said with her mouth full.

"No thanks." Ross sipped at his tasteless coffee.

Mo picked up a fork and then mashed the utensil into the crumbs on the plate with the obvious intent of finishing off the remnants.

Ross knew he wouldn't be able to stand it if her next move was to lick the remaining ice cream from the plate. It would bring to mind too many other uses for that tongue.

"Would you like another dessert?" He asked, arching his eyebrows at her.

Mo dropped the fork and it clinked noisily as it landed on the plate. "No, I would not." Her tone was indignant. "But thanks a lot for implying that I'm fat."

"I did not imply any such thing. To the contrary. You have no need to diet...and I already told you that you're quite beautiful." Ross immediately regretted revealing so much.

"Thank you." Mo smiled. "But for the final time, I am not going to take you with me to talk to Clarence. Plying me with fattening deserts is not going to get me to agree to compromise my ethics. Flattery will not work either."

Her words catapulted his mind into thoughts of the compromising positions Ross would like to contort Mo into. The urge to strangle Mo was quickly slipping away to be replaced by a craving to spank the brat. Hmmmm. The right type of spanking could be ideal.

"What do your ethics have to do with it?" he asked.

"I don't know what explanation Clarence is going to give for the car break-in thing. What if he reveals confidential client information? It would be unethical for you to hear that kind of information."

"I could go with you and wait outside. You talk to Clarence first. You can sort out the confidential information and let me in on the rest."

Mo tilted her head. "That might work."

Ross pressed his advantage. "We don't know for certain that thug isn't connected to the a.s.signment. Things could get dodgy. What if Gigantor comes back and you're alone?"

"I guess you have a point," she admitted with a frown. "In that case, it might be wise to have more backup available."

Ross felt a jab right in his ego. Mo evidently thought he wouldn't be able to protect her. Her hand slid on his as it rested atop the restaurant table. The contact sent waves of tingling sensation up his arm.

"I just meant that I don't want you to get beat-up again," she added.

With that uppercut to the chin his ego crashed down and he jerked his hand away. "Brilliant. Just brilliant."

A couple of elderly women at the next table seemed to be taking particular interest in their conversation. One pointed at him surrept.i.tiously while whispering to the other. Ross thought he heard the word "Dagger".

"I didn't mean anything insulting. That guy was so big anybody would..." Mo tried to explain.

The second elderly woman started scrounging around in her purse and finally came out with a pen and paper. She looked at Ross and then whispered behind her hand to her friend.

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l." Ross stood. He reached in his pocket before coming out with a money-clipped wad of cash. He drew out several bills and then threw them down on the table. "I'm coming with you to meet with Clarence." He pulled Mo out of her chair. "Let's go. I'll drive. We can come back for your Mini later."

For once the minx didn't argue with him as she followed him to the car.

Chapter Six.

"Life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness," Kubikov said, addressing the five men opposite him in his deep, heavily accented voice. A sun's ray glistened on the shimmering surface of the Koi pond. He reclined back into the patio chair and pushed dark sungla.s.ses into place on the bridge of his nose. "They are the rights from the const.i.tution of this country, yes?"

"Da," said one man.

Kubikov grimaced and looked at the sky. "That is rhetorical question, Ivan."

Ivan's unibrow crinkled in confusion.

"Bruno." Kubikov spoke to the smallest of the five. "Explain to Ivan what rhetorical means."

Bruno shifted from his right foot to his left and looked to the man at his side-a blond farm boy type-who shrugged. Bruno turned back to Kubikov. "I'm not sure, boss," he said with a squeaky southern drawl.

"Geerya." Kubikov pressed an index finger to the bridge of his nose. The dumbos in his employ were giving him an aneurism. "A rhetorical question is one that doesn't need an answer."

"Da." Ivan nodded.

But from the blank expression on his face, Kubikov could tell that Ivan didn't understand.

Kubikov shook his head. "Why do I have to work with morons?"

Bruno hurried to answer, "Maybe 'cause-"

"That is also rhetorical, Geerya."

Bruno pursed his lips shut and nodded. The other four copied the motion.

"Now. Where was I?" Kubikov asked. "Ah yes. My happiness. I am in the pursuit of my happiness."

"Yes, sir." The five men spoke in unison.

Kubikov jumped up and stretched to his full Napoleonically short height. "That wasn't even a question. Shut up and listen to what I say."

"Yes, sir."

A tirade of obscenities erupted from Kubikov and he stamped a tiny-for a man-foot. "I say shut up," he shouted, pulling a Glock from a holster he wore as a belt above the waistband of his shorts. "I'm going to shoot the first one who says one more word. So don't say anything, Khaarasha? Okay?"

"Okay," said Bruno, twitching nervously.

"What did I just say?" Kubikov demanded.

Kubikov fired the Glock into the ground near the man's feet. A fragment of cement splintered, flew up and struck Bruno's bare forearm, drawing blood. The thug pressed a hand over his mouth to suppress a cry of pain.

"Now, shut up," Kubikov shouted again.

"Yuri," a high-pitched voice called from the interior of the house through the open sliding gla.s.s door. "Don't you shoot near that pond. It cost a fortune to replace the filter pump the last time."

Kubikov ignored his wife's shriek and sat down again. "I have the right to preserve my life and my liberty. Praveelnee?" He stared at the men expectantly. "Correct?"

There was absolute silence for long seconds.

"Right?" He waved the gun at them.