Style, you
either have it or you
don't. And if you have it, you have it
all the time.The Lovable Rogue
by Tux Toledo
Page 6
Okay,
so this time Bernie had gotten himself in a little bit deeper than
usual. But I figured it would be fairly easy to get him out
of it. I figured that Jill, although she roared like a lion,
was actually just a pussycat. She didn't seem like much of a
mob girl to me. It was even possible that she was bluffing
about that. I figured all I had to do was tell her about the
Feds and exercise my powers of persuasion and the incident would be
over. Clean and simple. I figured wrong.
Jill was a high roller all right, the kind of woman you see attached to
the arm of a prominent politician or clinging to the coat of a
compulsive gambler on a Las Vegas winning streak. You don't
find women like that at the Laundromat or in line at the local super
market. You find them at places like the Starlight Room at
the top of the Sir Francis Drake Hotel.
And that is where I found her, holding court with a small cadre of
gadflies whose only goal in life was to be seen in the company of the
right people at the right time in the right place. She wore a
slinky, sparkling silver smock cut low at both ends - a very dramatic
effect spoiled somewhat by a hair style more suitable to a dance club
than a night club. The dress shimmered when she moved and
when she moved she moved in all the right places.
"Hello," I said.
She turned and stared at me the way she had stared at me in the
elevator.
"Remember me?" I asked.
"Of course I remember you," she replied. Her voice had not
left the desert. "You're Bernie's friend, the one with the
funny name."
"I see nothing humorous about Winston," I mumbled.
"Oh, yes, that's it, Winston Churchill," she laughed. "You're
Winston Churchill."
One of her companions turned and faced me with a semi-sneer.
"And I'm the Duke of Earl", he driveled. Drink had severely
impaired his motor skills. "But I'm a friendly
Duke." He held out an unsteady hand and the shift in balance
nearly tossed him from his stool. "Nice to meet you."
Jill shoved him aside with a deep-freeze shoulder and gave me her
undivided attention.
"Well now, is this a chance meeting or were you looking for me?" she
asked. Her moist lips made it obvious which answer she
preferred.
"Actually, I was looking for you."
"Now that's exactly what I wanted to hear," she purred. Her
eyes blinked slowly.
"Hey," the drunkard on the stool slobbered. "Are you trying
to steal my girl?" The act of speaking was enough to once
again disrupt his equilibrium. He steadied himself against
the bar. Jill's gaze pinned him there. "Okay, I
guess you can borrow her." Another drink pushed him deeper
into his stupor and a tiny Martini river trickled down his cheek on to
his shirt. "I'm a good Duke..."
"Come on, let's go where we can talk," she said. She took my
arm and led me to a table by a window. Outside, the City was
once again being eaten by fog. Inside, I was determined not
be eaten by Jill.
"Now, Winston Churchill," she said in that way she had of saying my
name as if it was a punch line. "Why were you looking for me?"
"Bernie told me about your little secret."
Her reaction made me wonder how many other secrets she had.
"Little secret? Just what do you mean?"
"I mean his little excursion into Mexico and the 'gift' he brought back
to you."
She was startled for just a second.
"Bernie's got a big mouth," she said. "If he's not careful
someday someone's going to close it permanently."
I snickered to myself. She was a tough-talking temptress,
just the kind of woman Bernie always fell for.
"So why did he tell you and why are you telling me he told you?" she
said. "No, let me guess. You're going to reason
with me and explain why I should let Bernie out of his
commitment. You're going to explain how much trouble we're
in."
She laughed a cheeky laugh and I'll admit that it was not the response
I had expected. Still, it takes more than that to throw me
off my game.
"You do know that the Feds are on to you, don't you? You're
being set up."
"Ha, Bernie's told me that joke before." She threw in another
cheeky laugh.
"What if it's not a joke?"
"How could someone like Bernie know what the Feds are up to?
He's way too innocent. Poor little man."
I have to admit that for a moment she made sense but there was no other
explanation for Bernie's escape from Mexico.
"But I had my people check it out anyway," she said. "And
it's not true."
"Maybe your people are setting you up."
"Hah!" She hurled another scoff at me. "Another
comedian."
"I am very disappointed in you," I sighed.
"Disappointed?" Her blush was genuine. "What do you
mean?" She would have lit a cigarette if her diamond and
silver cigarette case hadn't been empty. I wasn't going to
fill it for her.
"If Bernie was going to get himself mixed up with a mob girl at least
he could have gotten mixed up with one who knew the score."
She looked at me that special way that mob-girls-in-the-making look at
men they don't like.
"I was beginning to like you," she said. "Now you're just
boring me." She rose from her chair.
"I'd double check on the Feds if I were you," I said.
"I'd mind my own business if I were you, Winston Churchill. I
am not impressed by your fancy clothes and eloquent talk.
Because to me it's simply talk." She slithered back toward
the bar stopping once to flash me a final look of disdain.
"And be careful," she purred. "Whatever happens to Bernie
could also happen to you." She winked and returned
to humoring the Duke of Earl.
This was not going to be as easy as I figured.
© 2008 David Biagini