The Midnight Tour

Just as well.

Owen didn’t really want to touch a freaky, effeminate guy like this.

“I’m Darke.”

“I know. I heard.”

“What’s your blood type, Owny?”

The question made him feel nervous. “I don’t know.”

“Vein prefers O negative.”

“Ah.”

“I simply like mine warm.”

“I like mine on the rocks,” Owen said, and tried to smile.

Darke looked unamused. “We’ll see you later.”

As Darke glided away, Owen turned to the bar and took a deep breath.

“Don’t let her rattle you,” the bartender said.

“Huh?”

“She’s just trying to shake your cage.”

“She?”

“Her.”

Owen glanced over his shoulder at Darke. “Her? That’s not a woman. Is it?”

“You better believe it, sonny.”

He found the idea strangely exciting. “How do you know?”

The bartender winked and said, “Oh, nothing much gets past me. So, what’ll you have?”

“A white wine and a vodka tonic.”

“Comin’ right up.” As he prepared the drinks, he asked, “A squeeze of lime in the vodka tonic?”

“Sure. Thanks. Are you absolutely sure that was a woman.”

“Not only was, still is.”

Owen chuckled nervously and shook his head. He paid for the drinks, leaving the bartender a large tip. Then he picked up the glasses and turned around.

He saw Darke standing with Vein.

Is it possible?

The bartender was probably just pulling my chain, he told himself, and looked for Dana. He spotted her striding toward the barbecue grills...toward the one in particular where her loverboy was busy turning hamburgers.

She wasn’t wearing a jacket.

Isn’t she cold? Owen wondered.

He thought about offering his windbreaker to her.

Oh, Monica would love that.

He stared at the way Dana’s rump moved inside the seat of her shorts as she walked.

Catching loverboy’s eye, she raised an arm in greeting.

Owen looked away.

And found Monica staring at him. He forced himself to smile.

Approaching her, he kept the smile on his face.

Why the hell did she come back? Doesn’t she know when she’s not wanted?

Ha! That’s a good one.

He stopped in front of Monica and gave her the glass of wine.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said, her voice lilting.

“You’re welcome.”

“You don’t seem very happy that I’m here.”

“Why are you here?”

She sipped some wine, then smiled. “Did you really think I’d let you get away?”

“Monica...”

“You never had me fooled,” she said. “I knew exactly where you’d gone. Back here to Beast House and your precious slut.”

“Don’t talk about her that way.”

“I’ll talk about her any way I like.” Monica looked toward Dana and glared at her. “The overgrown bitch. I can’t imagine what you see in her.”

“I didn’t leave because of her. I left because of you.”

“As if.”

“It’s true.”

“You loved me till she came along.”

Let’s change the subject fast, he thought. And said, “So how did you get here? Take the bus, or...?”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Do you think I’d put myself through that again?”

“What did you do?”

“Rented a car.”

“When was that?” Owen asked. Suddenly, he was afraid to hear the answer.

What if she’s been here all along? Watching me. Following me. Maybe SHE was the one in the bushes last night... did something to John so she could get his ticket.

No, that’s ridiculous.

“Oh, I’ve been here for a while,” she said. With a benign smile, she added, “As a matter of fact, honey, you and I have adjoining rooms.”

“What?”

“At the Welcome Inn.”

Monica made the mystery call!

Though still shocked and disoriented, Owen felt a small measure of relief. The ringing phone had shaken him awake at about a quarter till four this afternoon. If Monica had come into town earlier, she would’ve called sooner.

“You’re the one who phoned?” he asked.

“That’s right.”

“Ahhh.”

Owen took a few swallows of his drink, enjoying its taste. She got into town this afternoon—had nothing to do with John or the creep in the bushes or anything else that happened yesterday.

Probably.

“You were in your room all by yourself,” Monica told him, looking very pleased with herself. “I knew you must be missing me, so I phoned to invite you over for a little lovey-dovey.” Taking a drink of wine, she stared at him over the rim of her glass. “I was sprawled on the bed, all decked out in my birthday suit. I’d already opened my side of the connecting door. When you picked up the phone, I planned to say, ‘Come and get it, big fella.’ But then I heard your voice and realized that you didn’t deserve me. Not after what you’d done. I don’t put out for naughtly little boys who run away from me. So I hung up.”

“What a shame,” Owen said.

“You’ll have to earn your way back.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Oh yes, you are. Can’t fool Monica. I know you want me. You always want me. You’re so predicatable.” Stepping closer to him, she pressed her open hand against the front of his trousers.

Owen took a quick step backward.

Raising her upper lip, Monica growled softly.

“Stop that.”

She smiled. “You want me right now.”

“Right now, I want a hamburger.”

He turned and walked away, but Monica stayed by his side like a perky, vengeful shadow.