Go Close Against the Enemy by Takis Iakovou

Author:Takis Iakovou
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 2012-02-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

jeop-ar-dy \jep-rd-
[ME jeopardie, fr. AF juparti fr. OF jeu parti alternative, lit., divided game] 1: exposure to or imminence of death, loss, or injury: DANGER 2: the danger that an accused person is subjected to when on trial for a criminal offense.

—Merriam Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary

Spiros is surprisingly light on his feet, but with his enormous height and that Hollywood outfit, he was anything but inconspicuous as he cavorted across the floor to the Cotton-Eyed Joe.

“It was your idea to bring him,” Nick reminded me.

“I know. But didn’t you tell him—Oh, good.” The music had stopped, and Spiros was surrounded by a crowd of women who seemed to be taken in by his John Wayne act. They must have been drinking tequila shooters.

Bonnie was hoisted back onto the stage. She threw her hair back and leaned into the microphone. “Ooo-wee!” she cried. “Ya’ll do know how to be friendly.” The crowd liked it.

“So,” she said, pausing theatrically. “Let’s get a little friendlier.” The crowd liked that, too, as Bonnie swung into her own version of “Unchained Melody.” Spiros chose one of his admirers and pulled her into the center of the floor.

“Come on,” I said, grabbing Nick’s hand. “I think we’d better try to get close to him.”

“You wanted to see me?”

I had almost forgotten why we’d come to the Vagabond in the first place, and turned to Justine Leroy in surprise. I was even more surprised when I got a good look at her. I had not expected her to be so elegant, so poised. I had not expected the intelligent, perceptive eyes that met mine. And I certainly hadn’t expected her to be black. Her skin was the soft brown of coffee ice cream.

“Yes,” Nick said. “If you’re Justine Leroy.”

She raised an eyebrow and her pointed chin, appraising us both in a sweeping glance. Her gaze moved on to John, standing in the background and entirely too interested in our conversation. “I was tied up with Dub,” Justine said. “I’m sorry you had to wait. Why don’t you sit over there.” She pointed to a table near the office door. “I’ll be with you in just a minute.”

We followed her instructions, taking seats where we could see the bar, dance floor, and office door. Justine, meanwhile, remained where she was, checking through the tickets. She questioned John about two of them, eyeing him doubtfully as he offered a sharp retort. She didn’t like what he had to say. She led him along the bar, pointing out the spills that needed wiping, the snacks that needed replenishing, the glasses that needed polishing. He wiped his nose on a bar mop, which she summarily snatched from his hands and tossed under the counter, all the while keeping up a running discourse. She watched as he filled an order of drinks, eyeing the exact amount of liquor that went into each glass. Justine knew her business, and as the office door crashed open and her partner charged out, I was reminded that it was half hers.

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