Chapter 12 #3
“And now he’s a detective and we’re home,” Sadie concluded, with a look at her father that said, “See how easy that was?”
“So…” Bonnie gaped at Sam. “You’ve been divorced for more than a year, and you’re telling me now?”
“Technically, we told you,” Sally said. “You know, the only two in the family who have to give up everything in their lives.”
Sadie nodded. “All our friends, favorite classes, cheerleading…”
While Sally was saying at the same time, “Soccer, my best friend, drama club…”
“Oh, you poor kids!” Bonnie put an arm around each of them and glared at her offspring. “I’m really mad about this, Sam.”
“I know, Mom.”
“Told you,” Marina said. “She’s stronger than you think. And Bonnie, this quiche is amazing. You’ve got to give me the recipe.”
Subject successfully changed, Bonnie thought. Yeah. Marina was good.
Christine stepped out of the shower stall about two minutes after the fire alarm went off.
Any longer and the fire department would be there.
She quickly entered the massage room where Dangerous Dan had been.
The warm air smelled of sandalwood. The blanket was still on the massage table, and bingo!
His clothes were still in a messy pile on a nearby chair.
She went to them quickly, grabbed his pants, took his wallet right out of them, and rifled through. He had a pile of cash and credit cards and three condoms in their wrapper. “It’s cute that you think you’re still potent. Oh, I see.” There were two cellophane-wrapped little blue pills in there too.
She put the wallet back and went through his other pockets. She found a hotel keycard which she slid into her own pocket. In his windbreaker, there was a tiny notebook, and inside the tiny notebook were a series of four-digit codes marked, House, Garage, and Car.
“Ooh, you’re a smart one, too, aren’t you Dangerous Dan?
” She almost pocketed the little book, then realized he’d change all his codes if it went missing.
So she found a pad and pen in her purse and scribbled the codes down, then she put everything back more or less the way she’d found it and slipped out of the room. The firetrucks were arriving.
She headed out the exit in the back of the spa section.
Now the tricky part. She needed her car, which the valet had parked for her. The club members had exited through the main entrance in the front, and that was where she had to go.
She headed that way, around the groomed lawns, sticking close to the building where it was shady. Just as she reached the front corner, she heard a booming, friendly voice saying her name. “Christine Schlotski? Is that you?”
She came face to face with Dangerous Dan Fitzpatrick in a white, knee-length spa robe with the Marlborough coat of arms on its left breast. And it was a breast. While his lips were smiling, his eyes were ice cold.
Christine’s mouth went dry. She moved around him slowly. “I don’t think we’ve ever been introduced, have we?”
“Not formally, but uh, I know who you are.”
His tone went dark when he said that. He was trying to scare her. Christine pulled in her chin and let her eyes travel down to his feet and up again. “Cool. I know who you are, too.” She then walked forward, straight ahead, pushing him aside with her shoulder as she passed into the milling crowd.
“You don’t know what kinda hornet’s nest you and your old lady club have stepped in, crone.”
“You don’t know what kind of old lady club you’ve stepped in. Pervert.” She started to walk away.
He kept pace right behind her, too close behind her, menacing. Then he spoke again. “How’s your friend Rosa doing? Heard she had a little accident.”
Christine spun around and punched him in the face. His head snapped sideways, and he stumbled with the momentum, then fell on the ground, his robe coming open and revealing an extremely substandard, flaccid pecker.
“You do not take off your underwear for a massage, you sicko!” She turned to see the stunned crowd gaping at her. “He grabbed my ass,” she said, then walked away toward the valet stand, digging her tag from her pocket.
The same girl was still there. Seventeen, in the uniform the entire young female staff wore—a short, flouncy plaid skirt with suspenders and a white button-down top that bore the club’s ugly-ass coat of arms. It looked like a pedophile’s idea of a private school girl’s uniform. She made a note to talk to the owner.
The girl smiled at her approach and said, “Way to go, Miz Schlotski. That guy’s always such a dick.”
“A very small dick,” Christine said.
The girl giggled, reminding her that she was a child. “I just sent Becca for your car,” she said.
“Thanks.” Christine moved closer to the stand. “You and the other girls should steer clear of that guy, okay?” And she looked right into her eyes, beaming the stuff she couldn’t say.
“Dangerous Dan?”
“Yeah. That name’s not a joke.”
Becca pulled her car up and got out, and Christine got in, looking around for Fitzpatrick.
He was nowhere in sight. He’d probably gone back inside to hide his humiliation and cover up his junk.
She sped out of there all the same.