be the pastry is involved somehow.
Contaminated.”
Jewel
shuddered at the very idea.
Ed looked
skeptical. “I ain’t takin’ their danish away from those women.” He gestured
toward the outer office. “They’d kill me.” Of course, Ed loved Hoby’s, too.
“Oh, and get
this,” Jewel said, “Randy packed up O’Connor’s porn and moved it out of the
apartment, and the pocket zone went with it. Mrs. Othmar must have done the
same, which just shows she has more balls than I have.”
Clay crinkled
his eyes at her.
Ed grunted. “I
wouldn’t touch ’em.”
She said, “So
our hunch about how the pocket zone got there looks good. Inspectional Services
is involved, so it has to be someone in the city. That kind of points in a
certain direction. So can you get clearance from the Fifth Floor to give us the
lists of properties the city wants to buy?”
Ed said, “I’ll
try. They’re tight with that shit.”
“Great,” Jewel
said. “And I think we may have found a way for the city to employ Randy. He can
move hinky stuff for us.”
“Don’t get
carried away.” Ed waved both hands. “I got no clout. You know that.”
“Hey, if
pocket zones become a regular issue in Chicago, the Hinky Division will
definitely need a toxic waste removal guy.”
“He got
papers? I ain’t crossing the Immigration on this.”
“Of course he
has papers,” she said, and sent Clay look intended to drill straight into his
skull. Randy needs that ID, stat! she
tried to beam at him telepathically.
Chapter Thirteen
Clay suggested
Thai food and a movie and Jewel let him come back to her place. They sat on the
sofa and pigged out.
She felt very
sorry for herself.
She felt
pooped, stupid, fat in the can, and, what was most unfair, guilty. The sadness
in Randy’s face as he faded away wouldn’t leave her.
“What did I do
wrong?” she wailed.
“Couldn’t tell
you,” Clay muttered, nose in the pad thai.
“He always
acts so insulted! I never met anybody so worried about his dignity all the
time! Swear to God, if I worried about his precious lordly feelings, I’d end up
tiptoing around like I really am his milkmaid or something.” She stabbed a pot
sticker with her chopstick and bolted it. “I can’t stand thinking of him in
that place where those women are — are working.” She noticed Clay wasn’t saying anything. “I’m sorry. I won’t rant any more. I’m
totally wiped.”
Clay put his
chopsticks down and scooted closer to rub the tendons on top of her shoulders. “Save
your worries, worrywart. Tomorrow’s another day.”
“You should
get on the system at work and find out what you can about Bing Neebly. Use Ed’s
ID.”
“You’re
loosening up,” Clay remarked, his hands working wonderfully on her back.
“Mmm, thank
you.”
He said, “Two
weeks ago, you wouldn’t have encouraged me to use a supervisor’s access code to
snoop on a city official.”
She moaned
under his squeezing fingers. “I’m broken. My integrity and my common sense are
shot. Plus, it turns out I’m a milkmaid after all. Lowborn and provincial-minded.” She thought of the scene on the bearskin
rug and shuddered.
“What’s with
milkmaid? Did Randy call you that?”
“You wouldn’t
understand. I guess it’s because he knows my family owned a dairy farm. He told
me recently that if I was back in eighteen-whatever, when he was a lord, he
wouldn’t even give me the time of day. I’m too low. I suppose he wouldn’t
bother to fuck me if he had his druthers,” she added gloomily.
That was the
worst part. She faced this every single time he did a zapper into some other
woman’s bed.
She’d got used
to Randy’s sexual services. Perilously comfortable with his magic mojo. Scarily
satisfied, probably addicted.
And she wasn’t
good enough for him. Oh, good enough to save his butt when he got stuck in a
bed somewhere. But long term? If he ever got free of the curse?
“Let me get
this straight,” Clay said, his
Contaminated.”
Jewel
shuddered at the very idea.
Ed looked
skeptical. “I ain’t takin’ their danish away from those women.” He gestured
toward the outer office. “They’d kill me.” Of course, Ed loved Hoby’s, too.
“Oh, and get
this,” Jewel said, “Randy packed up O’Connor’s porn and moved it out of the
apartment, and the pocket zone went with it. Mrs. Othmar must have done the
same, which just shows she has more balls than I have.”
Clay crinkled
his eyes at her.
Ed grunted. “I
wouldn’t touch ’em.”
She said, “So
our hunch about how the pocket zone got there looks good. Inspectional Services
is involved, so it has to be someone in the city. That kind of points in a
certain direction. So can you get clearance from the Fifth Floor to give us the
lists of properties the city wants to buy?”
Ed said, “I’ll
try. They’re tight with that shit.”
“Great,” Jewel
said. “And I think we may have found a way for the city to employ Randy. He can
move hinky stuff for us.”
“Don’t get
carried away.” Ed waved both hands. “I got no clout. You know that.”
“Hey, if
pocket zones become a regular issue in Chicago, the Hinky Division will
definitely need a toxic waste removal guy.”
“He got
papers? I ain’t crossing the Immigration on this.”
“Of course he
has papers,” she said, and sent Clay look intended to drill straight into his
skull. Randy needs that ID, stat! she
tried to beam at him telepathically.
Chapter Thirteen
Clay suggested
Thai food and a movie and Jewel let him come back to her place. They sat on the
sofa and pigged out.
She felt very
sorry for herself.
She felt
pooped, stupid, fat in the can, and, what was most unfair, guilty. The sadness
in Randy’s face as he faded away wouldn’t leave her.
“What did I do
wrong?” she wailed.
“Couldn’t tell
you,” Clay muttered, nose in the pad thai.
“He always
acts so insulted! I never met anybody so worried about his dignity all the
time! Swear to God, if I worried about his precious lordly feelings, I’d end up
tiptoing around like I really am his milkmaid or something.” She stabbed a pot
sticker with her chopstick and bolted it. “I can’t stand thinking of him in
that place where those women are — are working.” She noticed Clay wasn’t saying anything. “I’m sorry. I won’t rant any more. I’m
totally wiped.”
Clay put his
chopsticks down and scooted closer to rub the tendons on top of her shoulders. “Save
your worries, worrywart. Tomorrow’s another day.”
“You should
get on the system at work and find out what you can about Bing Neebly. Use Ed’s
ID.”
“You’re
loosening up,” Clay remarked, his hands working wonderfully on her back.
“Mmm, thank
you.”
He said, “Two
weeks ago, you wouldn’t have encouraged me to use a supervisor’s access code to
snoop on a city official.”
She moaned
under his squeezing fingers. “I’m broken. My integrity and my common sense are
shot. Plus, it turns out I’m a milkmaid after all. Lowborn and provincial-minded.” She thought of the scene on the bearskin
rug and shuddered.
“What’s with
milkmaid? Did Randy call you that?”
“You wouldn’t
understand. I guess it’s because he knows my family owned a dairy farm. He told
me recently that if I was back in eighteen-whatever, when he was a lord, he
wouldn’t even give me the time of day. I’m too low. I suppose he wouldn’t
bother to fuck me if he had his druthers,” she added gloomily.
That was the
worst part. She faced this every single time he did a zapper into some other
woman’s bed.
She’d got used
to Randy’s sexual services. Perilously comfortable with his magic mojo. Scarily
satisfied, probably addicted.
And she wasn’t
good enough for him. Oh, good enough to save his butt when he got stuck in a
bed somewhere. But long term? If he ever got free of the curse?
“Let me get
this straight,” Clay said, his
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