tell them apart was by their rock ’n’ roll T-shirts. Your basic black Gen X-wear, oversized and overpriced, featuring the darlings of sludge lovers everywhere-Mudhoney on the left, and Garbage on the right.
Jack stood up, still holding the can of dog food. “You boys are making a big mistake. This is your chance to back out.”
Mudhoney smiled like a jack-o’-lantern, full and yellow, his only answer the percussive beat of a tongue stud against his front teeth.
“Last warning,” he said. “I used to be the light-heavyweight champion of the world.”
Mudhoney laughed. “We seen you get knocked out. And by a nigger, too.”
“We had money on your white ass,” Garbage said. “You let down your race, man.”
“Yeah. We got us a score of our own to settle with you.”
Mudhoney stepped into the kitchen. Garbage backing him up. Jack angled in front of Frankenstein, who had wedged his cowardly ass in the comer where the refrigerator met the wall. There wasn’t much room between Mudhoney and Jack. Maybe five feet. Not enough room to throw the can of dog food Jack held in his hand. But throwing it wouldn’t do any good anyway-these two behemoths weighed two-fifty a piece at least. A can of dog food wasn’t going to slow them down. Unless-
Jack lashed out with the can, open end aimed at the two men. One sharp sucking sound, and a slick gob of Meaty Treaty flew across the room and splattered Mudhoney from his yellow smile to his eyes.
He dropped his bat and fell back a step, wiping his eyes and blinking furiously.
“You shithouse rat!” Garbage started forward, his bat cocked over his right shoulder. “You’re
The kitchen was tiny. In cramped quarters, a baseball bat was hardly an ideal weapon. Garbage had maybe one swing. If Jack could elude the punker’s first strike, then he could get his licks in.
Garbage grunted. Batter up.
Jack took a quick step forward, careful to keep Frankenstein behind him, then backed off just as fast, hoping to draw Garbage off balance.
But Garbage followed the move beautifully. Jack saw that right away.
The bat rushed toward his head. He watched it come. .
. . and heard Garbage’s Doc Martens squeal across the linoleum as the punker slipped on the same lump of dog food that had struck Mudhoney in the face.
Garbage went down hard. Jack grinned at the moron. He’d dropped his bat. In a second Jack would have it and then he’d take care of business.
Jack reached for the bat and ran into Mudhoney’s knee, which slammed him against the refrigerator. The big punker laid into him before he could recover, fists banging Jack’s belly, a dog food-slathered smile on his ugly face, little bits of brown gelatin clinging to the silver rings pinned to his eyebrows.
Jack grabbed a handful of rings and pulled. Mudhoney’s scream tore the air like a Guns N’ Roses guitar solo- long and loud, covering several octaves. He stumbled back and Jack followed him, eager to get hold of Mudhoney’s bat and finish things.
Jack got the bat, but not where he wanted it. It came up from below and smacked him between the legs, not hard but certainly hard enough, and he dropped to his knees and his right fist opened and silver rings rained down on the tiled floor.
Garbage and Mudhoney towered over Jack, not looking at him, looking toward the refrigerator instead. They didn’t say a word, but Jack could hear what they were thinking.
Frankenstein could hear them, too. The geriatric bulldog was wedged into the corner, scarred from too many beatings, scared straight through to the bone.
But not too scared to fight back. Bulldog lips curled back over teeth just as yellow as Mudhoney’s.
Frankenstein started to growl.
“No!” The word split Jack’s lips as Garbage’s bat arced down. Jack barely got under it, shielding Frankenstein from the blow. The bat caught him on the left shoulder as his hands closed over Frankenstein. He clutched the dog against his belly, and Mudhoney’s bat came crashing down against his left leg as he tried to get up and his foot went out from under him, twisting the wrong way and suddenly he was on his ass.
“Let me have him,” Mudhoney said, blood gushing from his tom eyebrow.
“Okay.” Garbage nodded, wheezing hard. “But I get the dog.”
“You sick bastards,” Angel Gemignani said. “That’s enough.”
Mudhoney and Garbage didn’t particularly want to listen to her.
They didn’t want to leave Jack’s condo, either.
But they did both those things.
Because they had a couple of baseball bats.
And Angel Gemignani had a gun.
Angel smiled. “I never figured you for a dog lover.”
“I’m full of surprises,” Jack said. “And so are you. Freddy said you carried a gun, but I thought he was kidding. I never guessed that anyone who wore a Sweet Cherry Love T-shirt would pack a.45.”
“A girl’s gotta
Jack nodded. They were sitting in the hot tub near the condo swimming pool. The whole thing was crazy. One minute Freddy’s granddaughter was thirsty for his blood, the next they’re deep into a witty repartee kind of thing. All because Jack had a soft spot for dogs.
And he was letting Angel get away with it. That was the really crazy thing. But there was something about her. Jack had tangoed with a couple of poor little rich girls in his time. He’d been run through the
With Angel it didn’t seem like a put-on. Of course, Jack had to admit that he really didn’t know her at all. But he was beginning to think that maybe he wanted to know her. His phone sure as hell wasn’t ringing off the hook. He was beginning to think-
No. He wasn’t
Angel was still wearing her T-shirt. Now it was wet and nearly transparent, but no one needed to feel embarrassed because Angel was still wearing that black brassiere, too.
Jack wore a pair of old boxing trunks. The tub jets were going full blast. Hot water bubbled against his sore shoulder and leg. He’d been hit plenty of times before tonight, but never with a baseball bat. The Jacuzzi jets, as well as a stiff drink, were dulling the pain.
“You ever have a mai tai before?” Jack asked.
“This is my first.” Angel raised her Fred Flinstone jelly jar glass and took another sip. “Here’s to Fred. . and Barney Rubble, too.”
“Don’t forget Dino.” Jack shook his head. “Sorry about the glass. It kind of ruins the effect, but your friends broke my Sneaky Tiki collection.”
“Yeah. . well. . I’m beginning to see that I made a mistake about you. And that’s not an easy thing for me to admit.”
“Hey, you’re a rich girl. You can make it up to me. A couple hundred bucks at an antique store and you can replace my entire collection of Sneaky Tiki glassware. Get lucky at the right thrift shop and you might even find a real steal.”
“You really like all that old Trader Vic’s stuff, huh?” She chewed on a piece of pineapple. “Anybody ever tell you your place looks like the Tiki Room at Disneyland?”
“Yeah. The editors of
Angel smiled again. Her smile looked really different without the makeup. She didn’t exactly look younger, but maybe a little more innocent. And Jack knew that impression was a few clicks south of accurate because-
Angel came across the tub. Jack didn’t do anything to stop her. She massaged his bruised shoulder. Jack closed his eyes. A prickle of pain jabbed him to the bone as her strong fingers worked deeper, and then his muscles
