He stares at Gorgon, and
Gorgon pretends to read the newspaper, his racehorse legs stretched out, his
eye on the drawer packed with cash. She left the drawer wide open, chasing
after a five-dollar silver charm that cost her fifty cents wholesale.
Ruby’s
eyes lock with the young dude’s. He did the righteous thing. But how does this
stranger know to distrust Leo Gorgon? And what about the dude? He could have
ripped off the drawer, himself. Why is he so good?
“Closing
in five,” she calls to the remaining shoppers. Exhaustion drags her down. Too
many weird trips today, and it’s only the first day of the Summer of Love. She
taps Gorgon on the shoulder. “You, too, Leo. Scram.”
He
jumps up, towering over her. Sweet Isis, she’s a soft touch for a tall man.
“Hey, Ruby. Don’t be like that.” He slides a finger down her shoulder, toys
with her neckline, touching her skin. “Don’t let’s call it a night. Maybe we
could go upstairs. I hear you like wine. I like wine, too.”
“Oh,
and I got me a fine bottle of Chablis.” A soft touch for a tall man, but her
well-developed sense of outrage kicks up. “So what is this? Hey, Ruby, I’d like
to go upstairs with you. I’d like to drink your wine. What else would you like
to do, Leo?”
He
looks puzzled. She might be telling him true or she might be shucking him, but
he’s not sure ‘cause she says all this sweet as poison.
“A
lot, Ruby. There’s a lot I’d like to do,” he says in a husky voice.
“And
there’s a lot we could do. Some fine day.”
His
genuine disappointment almost changes her mind.
But,
no. It doesn’t feel right. What does Gorgon think? What does he see? That she’s
got a brimming cash drawer? That she’s still on a rebound from Stan the Man? An
easy mark? An easy lay?
It’s
too mixed up, and it’s way too fast. Happens a lot these crazy days. Flash!
People meet on the street, fall into bed. Flash! Longtime lovers fall apart.
Did people used to be this fast? Even Roi—her beautiful doomed Roi—actually courted
her in the good old days after the war. Or is she feeling her thirty-five
years?
“Leo,
another time.”
Gorgon
shuffles out, along with everyone else. She locks the door, dims the lights.
And turns.
The
red-haired dude stands silently at the back of the shop, with such a strange
look in his eye that a needle of alarm angles up her spine. She walks back to
the counter, calm as the moon. She should get a gun. She’s been thinking about
a sweet little number called a Walther since the spring.
“So,
sonny,” she says, tidying up. “Why didn’t you chase after that knickknacker?”
He
shrugs. “For one thing, he was dirty.”
“Dirty!
That’s a new one.”
“I
didn’t want to touch him.” Aloof, disdainful. “And you left your money drawer
unattended. I watched it for you.”
“My
friend was watching the drawer.”
“He’s
not your friend.”
“Oh?
What makes you think so?”
“I
calculated a positive ID from the Archives.”
“The
Archives, uh-huh.” She retrieves her broom from the closet behind the counter.
“So, what. You a narc? ‘Cause if you’re a narc, I can tell you right now, I
don’t deal. I don’t even sell paraphernalia. I want nothing to do with that
scene, understand? I study the ancient ways, that’s all. My herbs are legal
substances used for medicinal purposes. You cannot get high on catnip unless
you’re a cat.”
“A
narc? You mean a police informant?”
“Oh,
shit!”
“No,
no! I’m not! Please believe me!” He moves a little too close. “You’re not doing
anything illegal.”
“You
bet your ass.”
“But
there is something I’d like to know. Are you sheltering runaways?”
“Sheltering
runaways? Sonny, I live alone. ”
“Hmm,”
he muses. “But there’s a probability you will.”
She
brandishes the broom handle. “There’s a probability I can poke your eye out
with this thing.” His eyes widen. “Out you go.”
“But--”
She
jabs
Gorgon pretends to read the newspaper, his racehorse legs stretched out, his
eye on the drawer packed with cash. She left the drawer wide open, chasing
after a five-dollar silver charm that cost her fifty cents wholesale.
Ruby’s
eyes lock with the young dude’s. He did the righteous thing. But how does this
stranger know to distrust Leo Gorgon? And what about the dude? He could have
ripped off the drawer, himself. Why is he so good?
“Closing
in five,” she calls to the remaining shoppers. Exhaustion drags her down. Too
many weird trips today, and it’s only the first day of the Summer of Love. She
taps Gorgon on the shoulder. “You, too, Leo. Scram.”
He
jumps up, towering over her. Sweet Isis, she’s a soft touch for a tall man.
“Hey, Ruby. Don’t be like that.” He slides a finger down her shoulder, toys
with her neckline, touching her skin. “Don’t let’s call it a night. Maybe we
could go upstairs. I hear you like wine. I like wine, too.”
“Oh,
and I got me a fine bottle of Chablis.” A soft touch for a tall man, but her
well-developed sense of outrage kicks up. “So what is this? Hey, Ruby, I’d like
to go upstairs with you. I’d like to drink your wine. What else would you like
to do, Leo?”
He
looks puzzled. She might be telling him true or she might be shucking him, but
he’s not sure ‘cause she says all this sweet as poison.
“A
lot, Ruby. There’s a lot I’d like to do,” he says in a husky voice.
“And
there’s a lot we could do. Some fine day.”
His
genuine disappointment almost changes her mind.
But,
no. It doesn’t feel right. What does Gorgon think? What does he see? That she’s
got a brimming cash drawer? That she’s still on a rebound from Stan the Man? An
easy mark? An easy lay?
It’s
too mixed up, and it’s way too fast. Happens a lot these crazy days. Flash!
People meet on the street, fall into bed. Flash! Longtime lovers fall apart.
Did people used to be this fast? Even Roi—her beautiful doomed Roi—actually courted
her in the good old days after the war. Or is she feeling her thirty-five
years?
“Leo,
another time.”
Gorgon
shuffles out, along with everyone else. She locks the door, dims the lights.
And turns.
The
red-haired dude stands silently at the back of the shop, with such a strange
look in his eye that a needle of alarm angles up her spine. She walks back to
the counter, calm as the moon. She should get a gun. She’s been thinking about
a sweet little number called a Walther since the spring.
“So,
sonny,” she says, tidying up. “Why didn’t you chase after that knickknacker?”
He
shrugs. “For one thing, he was dirty.”
“Dirty!
That’s a new one.”
“I
didn’t want to touch him.” Aloof, disdainful. “And you left your money drawer
unattended. I watched it for you.”
“My
friend was watching the drawer.”
“He’s
not your friend.”
“Oh?
What makes you think so?”
“I
calculated a positive ID from the Archives.”
“The
Archives, uh-huh.” She retrieves her broom from the closet behind the counter.
“So, what. You a narc? ‘Cause if you’re a narc, I can tell you right now, I
don’t deal. I don’t even sell paraphernalia. I want nothing to do with that
scene, understand? I study the ancient ways, that’s all. My herbs are legal
substances used for medicinal purposes. You cannot get high on catnip unless
you’re a cat.”
“A
narc? You mean a police informant?”
“Oh,
shit!”
“No,
no! I’m not! Please believe me!” He moves a little too close. “You’re not doing
anything illegal.”
“You
bet your ass.”
“But
there is something I’d like to know. Are you sheltering runaways?”
“Sheltering
runaways? Sonny, I live alone. ”
“Hmm,”
he muses. “But there’s a probability you will.”
She
brandishes the broom handle. “There’s a probability I can poke your eye out
with this thing.” His eyes widen. “Out you go.”
“But--”
She
jabs
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