the one who killed Dom.
And then I thought about how he’d once beat up Dom so bad, Dom ended up in a hospital.
And I wondered if I was being played for a fool again.
Another sigh, and I knew all this thinking and sighing was getting me nowhere. It was time to get to work. I pushed off from the RV and headed out front.
Or at least I tried.
Before I made it even as far as the back door of the Palace, two strong arms went around my chili and held me in place.
“Hey!” I yelled and squirmed. I gasped and strained to take a look out of the mesh and over my shoulder to see who had hold of me, but let’s face it, in a giant chili constructed of canvas and wire, that was nearly impossible.
And what was really annoying was that something told me that the person hanging on to me knew it, too.
Those two strong arms tightened around the Chick, and before I could scream or call out for help, my feet were off the ground. That’s when my attacker braced me against a muscular chest and started spinning.
The scenery beyond the mesh whirled in front of my eyes.
The side of the RV.
The back of the Palace.
The tires of the RV parked next to ours.
The side of the RV.
The back of the Palace.
I gulped and tried my best to remember the spotting technique I’d learned in a long-ago dance class. Stare at one place. Find it again. Keep from getting dizzy.
It didn’t work for me then, and it sure didn’t work now. My stomach swooped, and I was pretty sure I was going to upchuck the Twinkies that had been my breakfast.
Around and around, my head spun along with the slice of scenery I saw when I dared to look beyond the mesh.
I flapped my arms and tried to elbow my attacker in the stomach, but I missed by a mile and ended up stabbing nothing but air.
As quickly as it started, the spinning stopped.
“Mind your own business,” a gravelly voice that definitely belonged to a man growled close to my ear.
And just like that, my assailant loosened his hold.
My stilettos slammed back down to the ground, but by then, my legs were rubber. I crumpled face-first in a heap of canvas and wire and mesh and nausea, my knees bloodied from where I landed in the gravel. I managed to brace my hands in the grit and push myself up, but looking around was another thing altogether.
I grunted and spun and landed on my chili butt. I cursed and rolled and managed to get to my side.
By that time, my attacker was gone and I was all alone.
Moaning, I flopped down on my back, my legs spread out, my arms flung out to the sides, and my breath coming in gulps that burned my lungs and heated up the inside of the Chick.
I couldn’t move, and after a minute or two of struggling, I didn’t even try. I lay there like a chili lump, staring up at the cloudless Texas sky and wondering what the heck just happened and who the heck had just threatened me.
That’s exactly where Sylvia found me.
She bent over far enough to peer beyond the mesh at me. From my vantage point, all I could see were her big blue eyes.
“I’m up front working my fingers to the bone,” she grumbled. “And here you are, taking a nap. Honestly, Maxie, don’t you ever do anything useful?”
• • •
Call me superstitious.
Go ahead, see if I care.
When I finally hoisted myself up off the ground and dragged into the RV, I peeled out of the Chick costume and refused to put it on again that day.
No way was I going to take the chance of being bushwhacked again.
Sans costume and wearing denim shorts and a chili pepper red shirt with Jack’s face embroidered above the heart, I stayed busy and worked the Palace the rest of that day. Yes, Sylvia was suspicious about my sudden burst of diligence, and honestly, I can’t say I blame her. Even when I tried to explain what had happened there behind the Palace earlier in the day, she didn’t quite get it.
“Well, I can see why some people would want you to mind your own business,” she said. We were restocking shelves, and
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
John O'Riley
Brenda Sinclair
Christopher George
Stephen Lloyd Jones
Karl Iagnemma
Celya Bowers
Jill Gregory
Aria Cunningham