In this week's episode of Rose and Thorne, we have Vinnie and Ethan in the park with the mugger... and the dog. Wonder where that will lead. Then more of Moving Forward, as Marshall gets an unpleasant surprise in the men's room at Partners. Don't forget to check out the other Briefers too, see what's up with them. Their links follow my tales. Enjoy!
… and the next moment he lay face-down in the grass, a
booted foot planted firmly on his thick neck.
“As the lady was saying, you do have the right to remain silent, and I suggest you follow that
particular piece of advice, asshole.” Ethan turned his handsome face toward me and
winked.
I’m not a lady, I
started to protest, but the words
never reached my lips.
The guy raised his head, spitting out blades of grass. “That’s
no lady—” he managed to choke out.
“Shut up!” Ethan and I snarled in unison. The man subsided
with a resigned whimper. I’ve found that muggers are generally not very brave
men, which is why they tend to snatch what they want and run, relying on
surprise and/or speed to cover their tracks. In my experience, they aren’t
generally very bright either. For example, this fool hadn’t even thought to
cover his face with a ski mask or a stocking. What had he been thinking?
The loud wail of an approaching siren broke the silence. The
cavalry was one step behind, as usual.
“I called them,” Ethan confirmed, just as two policemen rushed
out of the darkness, guns drawn. They took in the scenario, looking between me
and Ethan, finally training their weapons on the suspect. Overkill. That man wasn’t going anywhere until Ethan let him up.
A man in plainclothes
trudged up the path, right after the officers. He was middle-aged, graying hair
combed over the front, and was well on his way to a beer gut. I recognized him
as one of the detectives assigned to the case. Despite the fact we’d just
nabbed the bad guy, he looked like someone had short-sheeted his bed. With him
in it.
“Detectives,” he just barely acknowledged us. His voice had
enough ice in it to sink the Titanic all over again.
“Detective,” Ethan echoed. “Well, he’s all yours. I’m sure
you can handle it from here.” Ethan released his pressure on the perp and stepped
back. The boys in blue cuffed the suspect and hauled him to his feet. The detective
stared daggers at Ethan, his disdain for him more than obvious. Ethan never
flinched or looked away, holding his glare. They looked like two kids having a
staring contest.
In the meantime, I still lay on the ground, injured and
untended. Don’t think Ethan wasn’t going to hear about that, too. The detective
looked away first. I saw Ethan smile before he turned his attention to the
cops.
“Don’t forget to read him his rights. I didn’t get to
finish.”
“Yes, sir,” one officer replied. “Will do. Thanks.”
“Paperwork?” the detective said snidely. There was always
tons of paperwork connected with an arrest, and we had to fill out a certain
amount of it ourselves. Downside of the job. But on the bright side, we could
do it on our own schedule. We were feds; we didn’t answer to anyone at the
state level.
“We’ll do that tomorrow,” Ethan said. “It’s late.” I could
tell the detective was ready to explode, argue that it was late for them too
but they didn’t have a choice in the matter. I half expected him to call Ethan
out as an excuse to throw more of his weight around, to make up for us getting
the collar and not him. In the end he let it go. Smooth move on his part. He
grunted something unintelligible then followed the policemen out of the park.
Alone at last.
I loudly cleared my throat in Ethan’s direction. He turned
toward me, a wicked smile on his lips and evil dancing in his lovely blue eyes,
which gleamed even in the dim light.
“Yes, darlin’?”
“Don’t yes darlin’ me. Get your ass over here and help me
up. But first, hand me my gun.” I pointed to where it still lay beside the
oddly silent dog. I’d forgotten about the pup.
All right, maybe I
was just having a bit of a diva moment. And maybe I was more than capable of
getting up under my own steam. But to hell with it. I’d been injured in the
line of duty, and I was ready for a little TLC from my man.
“Aw, poor baby,” he cooed as he sauntered toward me. Damn, that man knows how to walk. He
addressed the dog as he reached down for my weapon. “So you’re the one who was
giving Vinnie a hard time, are you? Well, my name’s Ethan, and there’s no
reason to get excited. I’m just going to take that pretty little gun… Nice
doggie, there’s a good boy.” His hand snaked slowly toward its target. The
Pekingese had other ideas. Maybe it disliked something about Ethan—such as his
patronizing tone. It yipped at him, throwing its small body between him and my
gun.
I couldn’t help but snicker at the sight. Looked like his
charm had its limits after all.
“If you think that’s so funny, why don’t you get it
yourself?”
Looks like I hurt
someone’s feelings.
“Sure, just watch me,” I assured him with more confidence
than I actually felt. I didn’t exactly have great rapport with the Peke myself.
He was just as likely to take a bite out of me as he would Ethan.
But I wasn’t
about to admit to that.
I rolled to my knees, grimacing in pain. My stockings were
ruined anyway, no salvaging them. I crawled slowly toward the pup, keeping my
voice low and calm. “Good boy, there’s a good boy, let Vinnie get his gun, yes,
yes…” I maintained my nonsensical chatter the closer I came. He cocked his head
and regarded me with quizzical eyes. What was he thinking? How good I might
taste? He probably didn’t have much of a bite, but getting rabies shots wasn’t
my idea of fun either.
I took a deep breath and reached for my gun.
to be continued
Moving Forward #3 (1.3)
Marshall barely kept himself from falling backward into the
stall. He teetered on one leg for a moment before he managed to regain his balance.
“What the fuck’s your problem?”
“You’re my fucking
problem, that’s what. Think you’re all that and a bag of chips, but you’re just
some little whore, that’s what you are.”
Marshall wasn’t one for fighting. Lee had taught him it didn’t
solve anything. And honestly, he’d never had to before. But he was damned if he
was going to listen to this guy’s shit either, not without responding, at least
verbally.
“You don’t know me, and I don’t care what you think.”
“Of course not, whores don’t care about anyone, do they? You
and your goddamned pimp…”
“My what?”
“That old man you hang out with. I’m not stupid. I know he’s
pimping you out.”
Marshall began to see red. It was one thing to talk smack
about him, but damned if he was going to listen to shit about Lee. He swung
blindly at the other man, felt his fist connect with the man’s jaw. He
staggered back a step.
Marshall started to push past him, but the man grabbed him
and swung him hard, smashing his face against the wall. Marshall’s knees
threatened to buckle as he struggled to remain upright. An unexpected kidney
punch drove him to his knees.
“You got a lesson coming, little boy. How not to treat other
men…”
He pulled Marshall’s head back by his hair, dragging him
across the floor. Marshall reached behind him, grabbed the man’s wrists and
tried to pull him off, but he was too strong. “I know just how to treat whores,
and you’ll like it—”
“Hey you, what the hell do you think you’re doing to him?” A
stranger came out from one of the stalls. He was tall and blond, and his eyes
seemed to flash fire as he regarded the tableau before him.
“None of your goddamned business,” the first man began, but
Marshall took advantage of his momentary distraction to wriggle out of his
grasp. He felt his hair being pulled out by the roots, so tight was the man’s
grasp, but he didn’t care. Staggering slightly, he crossed the floor, headed
toward the door.
The newcomer laid a hand on Marshall’s arm. “Hang on there,
let me walk you out.” He turned toward Marshall’s attacker, pointing an
accusatory finger at him. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of
here and never come back. I’m going to tell my father what you did. He just
happens to own this place. And if you don’t leave now, I’ll make sure this guy presses
charges, and I’ll testify for him.”
The man snarled and looked as if he wanted to hit them both.
Marshall braced himself, prepared to throw the next punch.
“You’re not worth it.” He spat at Marshall as he passed by,
a thick globule hitting his cheek and running down. He opened the door and
disappeared from view.
“I think you need to sit down.” The blond threw his arm
about Marshall’s shoulders, keeping him from falling. He reached up and wiped
the spit from Marshall’s cheek.
All Marshall could think of was getting back to Lee. “I’ll
be all right,” he insisted, taking deep calming breaths. “Does your father
really own Partners?”
“Naw, I have no idea who the owner is.” The blond grinned. “Got
rid of him real quick, though, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you sure did, good thinking.”
“You know him?”
“No. Danced with him once, that’s all.” Was all this trouble
because Marshall said no to a second dance? That was just crazy.
“Maybe we should tell someone, in case he tries to come
after you again...”
Marshall shook his head. “I think you scared him off. I’ll
be more careful, I promise. Thanks again for your help…”
“My name’s Dustin. Dustin Johnson.” He held out his hand.
“Marshall Clinton.” Marshall took the offered hand. Dustin’s
grip was warm and firm.
“I really appreciate your stepping in, Dustin. If there’s
anything I can do for you, just let me know.”
“You can let me walk you to your table, just so I know you’re
okay.” Dustin eyed him critically.
“You’re not alone, are you?”
“No, I’m with someone.”
“All right, then, let’s go, shall we?”
Marshall couldn’t think of a reason not to. He was still
shaky inside. Maybe Lee wouldn’t notice right away if he showed up at the table
with Dustin. He might think he was flush from dancing or something. He’d tell
Lee the truth when he could think a little straighter.
“Yeah, okay.” As they left, a couple of guys passed them by,
but neither one was the man who’d just left. Dustin kept his hand on Marshall’s
elbow as they threaded their way between the tables. “There, that’s the one.”
Marshall pointed ahead of them to the table, where it looked like everyone was
now sitting, along with afresh pitcher of beer.
Lee rose as Marshall approached. He looked between Marshall
and Dustin. Marshall could read the concern in his eyes.
“I was thinking of sending out a search and rescue,” he
joked, “you were gone so long—” Lee’s eyes widened, and Marshall realized
belatedly that his clothes were probably awry, and his face messed up. He
should have looked in the mirror first, but he hadn’t been thinking straight.
Lee came around the table, as Dustin stepped back. “What the
hell happened?” He tilted Marshall’s face, examining him closely. Marshall tried
not to wince.
“It’s okay, I’m okay now, Lee. Really. Let me just sit down
and I promise I’ll tell you about it.” His eyes implored Lee to please not worry,
and Lee reluctantly agreed. He put his arm around Marshall and guided him into
his chair.
“There you are!” Denver suddenly leapt up, but his words
weren’t for Marshall. “Hey everybody, I
want y’all to meet my cousin, Dustin.”
to be continued
Looks like there might be a fight brewing here! What do you think? Should there be a brawl? Don't forget to see what the other Briefers have done!
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