Poison Shy by Stacey Madden Page A

eyeballs.
    â€œI thought that was you. The Kill ’Em All guy, right?”
    â€œYeah, that’s right. Do I . . . ?”
    â€œYou fumigated my place last week. Really fucked me up for a philosophy essay.”
    â€œOh yeah. I remember. Sorry about that.”
    He stared into my face without blinking. I waited for him to speak but he didn’t.
    After a moment I said, “So. How’s it going?”
    â€œHunky-dory, my friend! You don’t mind if I call you
friend
, do you?”
    Chad sat up straight. “What do you want, buddy?”
    Darcy scratched the sparse whiskers on his chin. “I want to buy this man here a drink.” He slapped me hard on the back.
    I looked at Chad. He shrugged. Farah put her hand to her chest in what I assumed was an attempt to hide her cleavage from the greasy stranger hanging over our table.
    I stood up. I was a good four or five inches taller than Darcy. His matted hair smelled of gravy and hairspray.
    â€œWhat’s your poison?” he asked as we walked to the bar.
    â€œJust a beer, thanks.”
    He sucked his teeth. “You sure? My man Viktor makes one hell of a Bloody Paw Caesar.”
    â€œBeer’s fine.”
    We sat down. Viktor Lozowsky, the owner, was shaking up a martini behind the bar, his thick-rimmed glasses bouncing up and down on his nose.
    â€œHey Vik!” Darcy shouted. “Can we get a beer down here? Your cheapest brand, please.” He turned to me. “I’m a firm believer that someone’s choice of drink says more about them than anything else. You know what beer says? Boring.”
    â€œListen, man,” I said. “If you brought me over here to be ridiculed, I’d just as soon go back to my friends.”
    â€œYou’re seeing Mel on Thursday.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œHuh?”
he said, imitating me, his pale tongue hanging out. “You’re meeting her here on Thursday.”
    â€œThat’s right. So what?”
    We were interrupted by Viktor. He plunked a foamy pint in front of me. “One boring beer for Mr. Excitement. Anything else?”
    â€œThe usual for me,” Darcy said.
    â€œâ€˜The usual’?” I asked him. “What’s that?”
    He counted the ingredients off on his fingers: “Shot of tequila. Shot of vodka. Shot of gin. Shot of rum. Fill the rest of the glass with root beer and you’ve got an Adios Motherfucker.”
    â€œAnd what’s that supposed to say about you?”
    His yellow eyes seemed to flash. “No fucking fear.”
    Viktor returned and placed a soupy mixture in front of Darcy. “You puke, you mop.”
    Darcy took a sip and swallowed noisily. “
Sanguinis Christi
,” he said. “Back to Mel. And you. And Thursday.”
    I sipped my beer and waited.
    â€œSo it’s like this,” he went on. “She’s my best friend. I look out for her, make sure she doesn’t get mixed up with assholes — especially assholes who refer to themselves as Mr. Exterminator. Or are you going by Mr. Excitement now?”
    I didn’t know what to say.
    â€œYeah.” He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t think I know her email password?” He leaned back and sipped his concoction. There was a whitehead on his neck that could have exploded at any moment.
    I wanted to tell the dirtbag that it was Melanie who’d given me the name, but what good would it have done? I didn’t need to tell him shit.
    â€œWhat do you want from me?”
    He chugged his drink and slammed the mug down onto the counter. “I want you guys to have a good time,” he said, foam dripping from the sides of his mouth. “And if you hurt her, I’ll fucking kill you.”
    It was the first time I’d been threatened with death. I won’t lie — it scared the shit out of me. But I didn’t want to give Darcy the satisfaction. I stonily downed the last of my beer. “Fair