There she stood. Not that she stood alone, but everything else receded, dull by comparison, colorless in contrast. Black skirt, hugging her hips and accentuating her form, leaving everything except her calves open to his imagination. Ruffled top, sleeveless, exposing strong nicely shaped arms. Were those leopard spots on her blouse?
He’d sauntered over, made foolish chit-chat, and introduced himself. They found a table in sight of the bar. Being a millionaire had its privileges.
Before he could react, she’d pulled the dagger from somewhere (Was it hiding amidst the leopard spots?) arcing it towards the young man behind the bar.
“What in the tarnation…?,” said Sydney.
“The closer the tip, the bigger the TIP. If he spills one drop of beer, or gets distracted…. We've played this game since we were young...,” she said, her voice trailing off.
No wince, no sudden movement; only a smooth, fluid angling of the body to drop the shoulder, and the man behind the bar averted the impact of the dagger.
Sydney had gone to The Bar of the Dancing Bear on assignment. He was searching for the Four Toed Man. How would he find him? How would you discover it was him until you were able to autopsy him? Perhaps he’d be lucky, and he’d taken to wearing sandals. It was only later that he found out he was looking for The Four Toad Man, collector of trinkets and exotic reptiles.
The young man came out from behind the bar, bringing out more ale and setting down the dagger between them. With raised eyebrow and a hint of mystery (or perhaps it was a hint of strawberry, blueberry or some other jam that he’d missed on his upper lip) he said, “A cord of three strands is not easily broken. Those who use a mini-mart as a front should learn to cover their back.”
To be continued……
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1 comment:
Okay well I'm intrigued.
And thanks for stopping by with some very kind words. A girl in my shoes needs to hear things like that from time to time.
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