Red Silk Scarf (14 page)

Ben no sooner
cracked the door when, Dan pushed it aside.
 
“Bad timing, huh,” he quipped, chuckling at the sight of the sheet
draping from Ben's hips.
 
“Lucky guy,
guess it pays to be a pimp these days, must save you lots of bucks.
 
Bet you never suffer from the lack of variety
either,” he continued patting Ben's shoulder as if proud, and he was.
 
“Keep it up while you can, buddy.”

Buddy, damn
maggot, Ben sputtered, his eyes stabbing his unwelcomed guest in the back, as
Dan's skimmed over loves debris.
 
He
hated Dan with a passion.
 
He was an
overbearing asshole that pried into everybody's business, acted as if he owned
the people he so casually put in danger. Why they placed him in charge of this
case, Ben would never understand.
 
From
their first meeting, he didn’t trust Dan, if he were to admit it, because he
knew Dan was in love with Cassidy.

Cassidy, Holy
shit, Ben’s mind scrambled.
 
Hoping to
stop Dan from boldly entering through the door left ajar, Ben scrambled toward
the bedroom.
 
If only he could have
warned Cassidy in time.
 
Adorned in a
matching sheet, Cassidy just made it to the door when they came
face-to-face.
 
Low and behold, Ben was
certain he felt the floor vibrating from Dan's wrath.

Anger riding
Dan’s features narrowing his eyes made everything he wanted to say, or do
legible.
 
For unbearable moments, there
was a void of nothingness while his eyes darted from Ben to Cassidy and back again
not missing telltale signs of sweat, tousled hair, and smudged lipstick.
 
Believing that if he didn’t say something,
he’d kill them both, “Breaking her in,” Dan barked at Ben, words that shot like
a bullet to Ben's fist that bulged his arm muscles turning them into a weapon
for the intended target.
 
If not for
Cassidy's quick reflexes and strength that stopped him, Dan would have been on
the floor.
 

           
“Stop, Ben,” Cassidy screamed,
wedging between them.
  

           
With judgmental eyes leveled at
Cassidy, Dan said the first idiotic thing that came to mind.
 
“I see you take your undercover work very
seriously.”

           
A split second after Cassidy's hand
found Dan's cheek with a smack, her body dodged this way and that trying to
prevent Ben from tearing Dan in two. So angry with Dan she was, Cassidy turned
her frustration on Ben.
 
“Dammit, Ben, I
can handle this.
 
Knock it off.”

           
Pointing a finger at Ben, Dan
shouted, “You little prick, you're off the case.”

           
“Screw you.
 
To hell you say,” Ben rallied.

           
Using more strength than she
believed possible, Cassidy shoved Ben sending him with a thump against the
wall.
 
Dan receiving the same punishment
sprawled him onto the couch.
 
“You both are
acting like roosters over a hen.
 
You’re
making me feel like a child caught kissing by a parent, for cripes sake.
 
Well, let me make myself perfectly clear, no
one owns me, tells me what to do or not to do, or with whom.
 
I make my own decisions, my own mistakes.”
Cassidy never intended to hurt Ben by the later statement, his flinch said
otherwise, his expression making Dan's jugular look even more appealing.
 
“What right do you have interfering in my
personal life?
 
What I do when I'm off
duty is strictly my business.”

           
“Emotional involvements between team
members are my business. It complicates matters, interferes with judgment
calls,” Dan said defensively.

“Right, that's
why you pursued me with a vengeance when we worked together in New York.
 
Why you entered my bedroom last night
uninvited with every intention of pawing me.”
 
Oops, that was something she didn't tell Ben.
 
Out of the corner of her eye, Cassidy saw Ben
moving like a hunter loaded for bear.
 
As
if her finger could stop him she turned and aimed, “Stay right where you are,
or I swear . . .” God have mercy, her tired mind begged.
 

Memories suddenly
claimed center stage of the many times she'd separated her brothers over the
years, and if she were honest, most of the arguments were over her, damn the
entire male populace, she sputtered.
 
Not
only did she have a massive headache, she was exasperated, tired, and hungry
and hurt all over.
 
Stomping her foot
like a child throwing a tantrum, “Go ahead, kill each other, I don't give a
shit,” she screamed.

Gathering up the
sheet tugged around her that was dragging on the floor, moving heavily toward
the door, she tripped a couple of times almost fell once.
 
Coming to her rescue both men charged like
two bulls.
 
A rescue halted with such a
dark look they instantly reconsidered.
 
Shaking her head, eyes rolling, Cassidy wondered at the curse of being
born a woman as she hurled the door shut in their faces.

There was no way
matters could get worse, she believed.
 
Oh, yes they could, and did.
 
Having overheard the commotion, several tenants stood in their apartment
doorways gawking, their features asking questions.
 
Worse yet, as she passed, they began to
snicker.
  
Frankly, it was the last
straw, but as any Brady would, she sauntered down the hall as if she was the
Queen of England wearing the most exquisite gown.

           
In unison practically nose to nose,
Ben and Dan blustered, “If anything happens to her . . .”

           
Dan left like a storm.
 

           
Ben rearranged his apartment with
fists and feet.

CHAPTER 11

On
a seedy side of town, in a rundown hotel room, a phone rang repeatedly.

           
Over the
course of hours, lacking ventilation, cigar and cigarette smoke billowing to
the ceiling veiled four men seated at a card table, eyes, glazed and red
streaked, the aftermath of alcohol and drugs.
 
Silently questioning who would muster the ambition to cease the
irritating noise each expressionless face scanned the others.
  
No one moved except to play a card, drag on
a cigarette, or guzzle beer.

           
The fourth
ring brought a tall, slender man reluctantly to his feet, a grimy hand brushing
oil and dirt soiled strands from a furrowed forehead before angrily plucking
the phone.
 
Shifting a wad of tobacco to
the opposite side of his mouth causing juice to leak between teeth required a
swipe of the back of his hand to eliminate the revolting sight.
 

The
disturbance was pissing him off, along with the sound of squeaking springs,
grunts and groans coming from behind.
  
All he wanted was to play his full house win the pot so he could satisfy
the urge bulging his pants.
 
He needed
every greenback scrounged to support habitual misuse of drugs, chewing tobacco,
six packs, and a turn with the prostitute bringing his friend to a heated
climax.
 

           
Becoming lost
in erotic thoughts allowed the phone to ring twice more.
 
Without bothering to say hello, he held the
phone to his ear.

“Jesus
Christ took you long enough.”

           
 
Terror realigning his face said it was the
Devil on the other end.
 
Now fully alert
he almost swallowed the tobacco. “Sorry, boss,” words that made the others abruptly
swivel in their seats, and swelled their eyes.

“Plan
“B” one week from today, got it?”

“Yes,
boss.”

“Don't
miss.”

“Who
me, never!”

“If
you do, it will cost you your life.”

“Yes
sir, anything you say sir.”

____________

A
slight tug on the steering wheel brought Sullivan's car into a driveway
adjacent to a mediocre two-story house that matched a multitude of others in
the run down housing development.
 
Before
he was completely out of the car, pushing and shoving, hopping, and hollering,
three children charged.

“Unkie
Patrick, Unkie Patrick, up, up,” a sweet, dirt smudged mouth uttered, bow lips
attached to the most charming two-year old Patrick ever knew.
 
A God Child giggling with delight, that one
minute was in his arms peppering his face with wet, sloppy, kisses, the next
trying to straddle his neck her muddy hands groping his hair, his face, and
ears.
  

“How's
my little pudding face,” Patrick asked while tickling her bare feet and trying
to drag across the burnt grass a three and four year old permanently attached
to his jeans, boys who favored their father.

  
        
In a chaise, never far from the
children, a sun-bronzed body stretched out like a goddess made Patrick draw in
a long refreshing look, a mother of three who amazed him how she held her own,
and then some, with any twenty year old.
 

“Mommy,
mommy, Unkie Patrick.”

           
Reaching for
Holly, her sensual lips spread into a charming smile, Margie responded, “Yes,
darling,” words sweeter than sugar that never failed to coat the vinegar in
Patrick’s soul.

Today
Margie was wearing her most revealing bikini, at least in Patrick’s opinion as
he tried not to be too obvious with his customary scrutiny.
  
Grabbing the boys, one under each arm
helped, all three tumbling to the ground they began rough housing, tickling,
rolling, and playfully punching.
  

Horrible
at disguising his feelings, Patrick would faint if he knew that Margie was
aware whenever he was visually making love to her and, men thought women were
naïve.
  
Camouflaged behind dark
sunglasses, she watched, trying not to stare at Patrick, a man filled to the
brim with handsomeness.
 
Amazingly it wasn’t
his good looks that had earned her admiration, and devotion over the years, but
knowing that the children loved Patrick and he them.
 
Having a way with children, Patrick offered a
generous supply of much needed love and attention.
 
His visits always filling the normally dismal
yard with joyful laughter that warmed an otherwise chilled heart.
 
In another life Margie could easily fall
madly in love with Patrick Sullivan, she wistfully reflected, if not for loving
Mark more.

Kicking
the screen door open, Mark placed the two cans of beer he held on a tray table
before sitting to observe the chaos rudely interrupting his nap.
 
Sleeping was impossible whenever Sullivan
visited.
 
Besides, he didn’t trust Margie
and Patrick alone, he always kidded.
 
Truth was he did.
 
Neither was the
type to do anything to hurt him, the reason he hated the part of himself that
was so unlike them.

A
half hour later, totally exhausted, Patrick shoed the kids toward the wading
pool.
 
As they raced to see who would be
first, scooping Margie off the chaise he gleefully teased, “Your turn.”
 
As she screamed and kicked, he spun her
around and around before plopping her onto Mark's lap.
 
Mission accomplished, he collapsed into her
chair, and took long swigs of smooth, cold, beer, while they kissed.

           
Somehow,
Margie always sensed when the men needed time alone. “You guys can watch the
children while I shower and get beautiful,” she said, her hand placing a loving
touch on Patrick's cheek before leaving.
 
Typically, Patrick's lips found her palm.
 
In his opinion, Margie was oblivious to the
fact that there was nothing that could make her more beautiful.

           
 
“That's enough you two,” Mark whined, wearing
that crooked jealous smile of his that always tugged at Margie's heart.
 

           
It wasn’t
unusual for the men not to converse while watching the children play.
  
A span of mental health time littered only
with children’s laughter while both secretly wondered if the other shared the
same thoughts.