Missouri Loves Company (Rip Lane Book 1) Page 12

  “Why am I not surprised.”

  “Artie and Owen never stopped being bullies. Not even when they joined the Pottsland Police Department. I hear they run a prostitution ring now. They have cameras hidden in local motels. In the heating vents. Everything that happens in those motel rooms gets videotaped. Every now and then Artie and Owen videotape a wife cheating on her husband. When they do they confront her. They give her two options. One is to work for them as a prostitute. The other is to risk losing her marriage. I don’t know how many of the women choose the second option, but I know that a lot of them choose the first one. I hear that Artie and Owen have more than fifty wives in their prostitution ring. Some are very prominent members of the community. Businesswomen, lawyers, elected officials. Each wife is also coerced into having sex with Artie and Owen. That act gets videotaped too. The blackmail never ends.”

  “It’s going to end,” I said. “A lot of things in Pottsland are going to end.”

  CHAPTER 50

  “HERE’S AN IDEA,” Anna said, and moved closer to me on the couch. “You need time to come up with a plan, right?”

  “Just a day or two,” I said.

  “So why don’t we spend the day looking around St. Louis. I can show you some of the sights while your subconscious mind works on the plan. What do you say?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on,” she said, touching my arm. “It’ll be fun.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “My treat. I’ll pay for everything. Meals, tickets, parking.”

  The first place we visited was the Gateway Arch. The stainless steel of the arch gleamed in the morning sun. I parked my motorcycle on Leonor K Sullivan Boulevard.

  Anna and I took a moment to look at the Mississippi River. Then we crossed the boulevard and climbed the steps to the arch. Anna went up the steps in long leaps. I went up more casually but no less impressively.

  We waited in line for over an hour before finally getting in. The tram ride to the top of the arch took four minutes.

  “Anna,” I said as we rode the tram, “I was beginning to think that the only arch I was going to see on this vacation was the golden arch at McDonald’s.”

  The panoramic view from the top was amazing. We could see downtown St. Louis. We could see the Mississippi River and Illinois.

  Behind me I could hear a young guy trying to impress his cougar girlfriend with his Wikipedia knowledge of the Gateway Arch.

  “It’s taller than the Washington Monument. It’s taller than the Statue of Liberty. It’s the tallest monument in America. The width of the arch matches its height. Six hundred and thirty feet tall. Six hundred and thirty feet wide. It’s an incredible engineering achievement, don’t you think, honey?”

  The cougar girlfriend was not impressed.

  “Bobby,” she said, “I’m ready to see the gift shop.”

  On our way out Anna and I stopped by the underground visitor center, located directly beneath the arch, between its two legs. My favorite visitor centers have generally been located between two legs.

  We next went to the St. Louis Zoo. We ate a small lunch at Hippo Hideaway and then walked through the entire zoo.

  We saw interesting signs along the way. One sign said PLEASE DO NOT DROP YOUR CIGARETTE BUTTS ON THE GROUND BECAUSE THE FISH CRAWL OUT AT NIGHT TO SMOKE THEM AND WE ARE TRYING TO GET THEM TO QUIT. Another sign said THOSE WHO THROW OBJECTS AT THE BEARS WILL BE ASKED TO RETRIEVE THEM. And another sign said CAUTION: ALLIGATOR MATING SEASON—IF ATTACKED, FAKE ORGASM.

  Anna and I did not see any amusing signs like that at the Missouri Botanical Garden, though we did see the largest Japanese strolling garden in North America, the oldest continually operated public greenhouse west of the Mississippi River, and the nation’s most comprehensive resource center for gardening information.

  The next place we visited was the Anheuser-Busch Brewery. The free public tour took us through the complex and showed us the steps of the entire brewing process. We also saw the Budweiser Clydesdales. At the end of the tour we enjoyed a free glass of beer.

  We ate dinner at Basso. Since Anna was paying for the meal, I did not want to order extravagantly. So I did not order the beef sirloin. I ordered the smoked trout.

  My worst dates have been with women who ordered extravagantly and expected me to pay for it. They viewed dating as an exchange of a woman’s beauty for a man’s money. That type of arrangement does exist, but it’s not called dating.

  These gold diggers were almost always the ones most eager to get married. But I knew better. Marrying a gold digger is a bad business decision. One of my economics professors had explained it during class one day.

  “We have two people,” he had said. “They are married. Person A provides beauty in exchange for Person B’s money. On the surface this appears to be a fair exchange between two parties. Upon closer inspection, however, we find otherwise. We find that over time beauty fades and money grows. Therefore Person A’s beauty will depreciate in value, while Person B’s money will appreciate in value. Is this a fair exchange? I think not.”

  The lesson was one I never forgot.

  CHAPTER 51

  WHEN WE GOT back to the condo it was late. I needed to get some sleep. I had to come up with a plan for handling Viper and his crew, and I needed a good night’s sleep in order for my brain to function at maximum capacity.

  “Anna,” I said, “I’m going to head back to my motor home and get some sleep. I’ll come back here in the morning. Thank you for the excellent tour of St. Louis. I had a good time.”

  “You’re leaving already?”

  “I’ll be back in the morning.”

  “Why don’t you just stay here for the night. You can sleep in the guest bedroom.”

  “The RV park’s only ten minutes away.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  What could I say to that? I decided to stay.

  When I had finished my shower I put on a blue satin robe that matched the color scheme in the condo’s guest bathroom. Then I padded down the marble hall to the kitchen.

  “Wine?” Anna said.

  “Of course,” I said.

  She poured me a glass.

  I swished and swirled the glass before taking a sip.

  “Mmm. Tastes like Chateau Margaux. It has an essence of plum, with overtones of cherry and blackberry. Very well balanced.”

  “Really?” Anna said.

  “I’m just bullshitting you. I’m no wine connoisseur.”

  We took our drinks into the living room. Anna sat down on a couch while I went over to look out the window. The bright glow of city lights lit up the hot summer night.

  When I turned from the window Anna was curled into a corner of the couch. Her smooth jet hair was still damp from her shower. Her silky robe was a pale green—probably the same color as the master bathroom.

  Her legs looked very good. They were graceful and elegant and beautifully shaped. The skin, a dark golden tan, was unblemished.

  She looked over at me out of the sweet brownness of her eyes and smiled a Mona Lisa smile. I sat down on the couch beside her.

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters, Rip?”

  “I’m an only child.”

  “Are your parents still alive?”

  “They are. They live in Maryland. I’ve been trying to get them to sell their house and buy an RV. Nothing beats the mobile lifestyle.”

  “Home is where you park it.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Are you from Maryland too, Rip?”

  “Grew up there. Graduated from the University of Maryland at College Park. Then I joined the Marshals Service. After that I moved around a lot.”

  “Did you earn a master’s degree?”

  “Just a bachelor’s.”

  “In?”

  “General business and management.”

  “Same as me—except I haven’t earned my degree yet.”

  “You will. And then you’ll start a great r
estaurant. The best one in Pottsland.”

  “I’m not so sure I’m going to stay in Pottsland forever.”

  “No? Where will you go?”

  “I was thinking about buying an RV and living the mobile lifestyle.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m just bullshitting you,” Anna said, and took a sip of her wine, watching me over the rim of the glass, her brown eyes glinting with amusement.

  She had a sense of humor. It took me by surprise. I found it sexy. Sexy as hell.

  I rubbed my hand over my mouth as I smiled and looked away. I could feel Anna’s eyes on me. I looked at her again.

  “More wine?” I said.

  “Of course,” she said.

  CHAPTER 52

  WE DRANK SOME more and we talked some more. Before long our conversation settled into meaningless chatter. The content was meaningless, the connection was not. Our conversation cloaked what was really going on. It served as a means to an end.

  Lust is not a socially appropriate desire, so it has to be cloaked. It has to be concealed. It has to hide behind something else. Something more appropriate. Something like a conversation, a connection, a commonality.

  It was interesting to hear about Anna’s goals in life, and her past experiences, and her views on issues. It was interesting to learn about her as a person. Her likes and dislikes. Her favorite books. All of that was interesting to me. But at the moment I was more interested in getting her into bed.

  Which I did.

  In the morning Anna lay curled beside me in bed, her soft cheek resting on my chest, her breath warm against my throat. Now and then she would take a deep breath, hold it for a long moment, and then let it out slowly.

  I lightly traced my fingers down her smooth back. A subtle curve, the swell of hip, a point of pleasure. With my forefinger I traced little circles on the small of her back. She arched her back as my fingers trailed up her spine again.

  In the rectangle of pale yellow light shining from the window I could see her lips curve. She turned and settled herself, her head on my shoulder, her round knees against the side of my thigh. She kissed the side of my neck.

  “Good morning, tiger,” she whispered.

  I turned my head on the pillow to look at her.

  “Look who’s talking,” I whispered, and smiled.

  “You have the sexiest smile. One eye narrows more than the other one. It focuses on me like a laser. I think it’s completely adorable.”

  “I wasn’t born that way.”

  “You had to practice it?”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. The reason my left eye squints like that when I smile is because I had Bell’s palsy when I was thirty-two years old.”

  “Bell’s palsy? What’s that?”

  “A form of facial paralysis. It causes muscular weakness in one side of the face. Half of your face appears to droop. You can smile only on one side of your face, and your eye on the opposite side resists closing.”

  “So it was the left side of your face that was paralyzed?”

  “Right.”

  “Your right side?”

  “I meant right as in correct.”

  “So it was your left side.”

  “It was my left side. Yes.”

  Anna nodded.

  We were quiet for a time.

  “Sylvester Stallone,” I said finally. “He had Bell’s palsy too, though his was caused by birth complications. Forceps severed a nerve and caused paralysis in the lower left side of his face.”

  Anna studied me.

  “Your face doesn’t droop like his.”

  “I had a full recovery. Except for the eye.”

  “Which is barely noticeable.”

  I smiled again.

  “How did you get Bell’s palsy?”

  “I was hunting a fugitive in Connecticut. His hideout was a cabin in the woods. I had to spend time in those woods before I finally captured him. A few days later I started to feel tired. More tired than I’d ever been in my life. And I had no appetite. Which is rare for me. I also had a fever. So I Googled my symptoms. The conclusion I came to was that I’d been infected with Lyme disease. I figured a deer tick had bitten me while I was in Connecticut. The fugitive’s cabin was located outside of Lyme, Connecticut, the town where numerous cases of Lyme disease were first diagnosed.”

  “Did you go see a doctor?”

  “I did. And he concluded with absolute certainty that I did not have Lyme disease—despite my strong insistence that I did have it.”

  “So what happened?”

  “He absolutely refused to give me the antibiotics for eliminating the infection. In fact he even refused to test me for Lyme disease. He was convinced I had something else.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Gave me an aspirin. Told me to return in a couple of days. Over those two days my condition got worse. I was lethargic. My left eye watered. I could hardly get food down. I barely had enough energy to reach over and pick up my coffee mug. A friend had to drive me to the doctor’s office. The doctor examined me again. He determined that I had Bell’s palsy, which can be caused by Lyme disease. So he finally agreed to test me for Lyme disease. My ELISA test came back positive. Then I took the Western blot test. That came back positive too. Which meant I definitely had Lyme disease.”

  “So the doctor was wrong.”

  “He was.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Unfortunately he suffered no consequences at all for his error. But I did. If he would have given me the antibiotics for treating Lyme disease when he should have, I would never have gotten Bell’s palsy. And I would not have to spend the rest of my life with one eye that squints more than the other one when I smile.”

  “I like your squint. It gives you character. I think it makes your smile sexier than it would otherwise be.”

  “I’ve always viewed it as an imperfection.”

  “Do you know what makes the Liberty Bell distinctive?”

  “What?”

  “Its crack. There’s nothing distinctive about a perfect bell.”

  I nodded.

  “I have imperfections too,” Anna said. “Just like the Liberty Bell.”

  “Are you saying you have a crack?” I said. “Can I see it?”

  “You already have, silly.”

  “Can I see it again?”

  She showed me.

  “I like your crack,” I said. “It gives you character. I think it makes your body sexier than it would otherwise be.”

  “Are you done making wisecracks?”

  “I’m done being a smart-ass.”

  “Good.”

  We were quiet again.

  “Did you ever get the antibiotics to treat your Lyme disease?”

  “I did,” I said. “I took them and they eliminated the infection.”

  “It was kind of ironic the way you got infected.”

  “How so?”

  “You were spending some time in the woods, trying to capture a dangerous fugitive, but the real danger to you was a tiny little tick.”

  “Sometimes the smallest things can bring us down the most.”

  CHAPTER 53

  “BEEN A LONG time since anybody’s made breakfast for me.”

  “I’m not just making you any old breakfast,” Anna said. “I’m making you huevos rancheros. Have you ever had them before?”

  “Not sure,” I said. “But the name sounds familiar.”

  “They’re fried eggs and fried tortillas smothered in tomato sauce.”

  “That rings a bell. Spicy, isn’t it?”

  “It doesn’t have to be. You want it spicy?”

  “Only in the bedroom.”

  In the kitchen I stood watching as Anna made huevos rancheros. She hummed as she worked. And she danced. From time to time she would bump me with her hip. Once or twice she pinched my butt as she danced by. I never knew cooking could be so much fun. I offered to help but she said she didn’t need any.

&nbs
p; We ate out on the balcony. The view from the ninth floor was spectacular. The rays of the early sun were bursting over the horizon. Below us the chrome of automobiles glittered in the golden sunlight. The city sidewalks were already packed with pedestrians going to work.

  I forked up some huevos rancheros. The taste was out of this world. The meal probably had enough calories to fuel me for a year. It didn’t matter. I was enjoying myself. And I knew I was going to work off the calories in a pleasurable way.

  I put down my fork and applauded.

  “Anna, you have outdone yourself with these huevos rancheros.”

  “They’re not too spicy?”

  “They’re perfect.”

  “I’m glad you like them.”

  I sipped my coffee. Then I picked up my fork again and dug in for another bite. As I chewed I looked at Anna and smiled.

  “You know,” I said, pointing my fork at myself, “I could get used to this.”

  “Getting laid and having a naked woman cook you breakfast?”

  “There’s worse ways to go through life.”

  After breakfast we returned to the bedroom to work off calories. When we were done we took a little nap. It was midmorning when we finally got out of bed and padded into the living room.

  Anna stretched and yawned.

  “What do you want to do today, Rip?”

  “Already did it.”

  “Besides that.”

  “I was thinking about going for a run.”

  “You still have energy after our bedroom marathon?”

  “Running helps me think.”

  I went out to my motorcycle to retrieve my Adidas gym bag. Then I returned to the condo. In the bedroom I put on my Adidas running shorts, my Adidas running shirt, and my Adidas running shoes.

  Anna walked into the room and looked me up and down.

  “I could go running with you,” she said, “but our clothes would not match—I own no Adidas gear.”