“I never said we were going to Lionel Richie.”
“You know how crazy I am about him,” Heidi said, then sipped more vodka.
I knew a lot of things about Heidi. I knew about her business, her house, her car. I knew all of her perversions. I knew she changed her hair color almost weekly. I knew she went through men like candy. I knew her favorite foods, I knew she had a sweet tooth, was the world’s worst cook and that she shouldn’t drink more than two-and-a-half glasses of wine, ever. I didn’t have the slightest idea she was a Lionel Richie fan.
“This isn’t going to ruin our evening is it?” I asked.
“Let’s just say I’m thinking of erasing this whole affair from my memory,” she said, then stared at me over the rim of her plastic cup, titled her head back and drained the last of the vodka.
“Look, to be honest I tried to get tickets to Lionel, but they were sold out,” I lied.
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, honest,” I said, and then contentedly sipped my beer, feeling I was back in safe territory.
“So, the fact that you’re involved in this Roller Derby murder, and working with the police, that doesn’t have a damn thing to do with us being here, is that right?”
I sat forward and almost spit beer.
“Yeah, exactly what I figured,” she said. “I don’t care about Lionel Richie, I’ll get the CD if I want, but don’t lie to me, Dev. And don’t tell me this is a special night out for us when you’re probably taking me along just to provide some sort of cover for another one of your idiotic, lame brained, stupid private eye stunts. Get me another,” she said, then thrust her cup toward me causing the ice cubes to rattle.
Fortunately, the lights dimmed and the announcer’s voice came over the PA system as I returned. He sounded like the same guy I’d heard the previous week when I’d been sitting down in the Hustlers locker room.
“Oh, good Lord,” Heidi said, and then followed up with a few more swallows of vodka.
Both teams rolled into the spotlights illuminating the center of the arena, music started to play, something that sounded familiar to me, but I couldn’t remember the name of the tune. The crowd roared. More than a few Union Jacks waved around the auditorium. As the noise died down the announcer came across and said a few words about Fiona, then asked for a minute of silence, “in honor of someone who gave so much, who made the ultimate sacrifice, our darling Fiona Simmons, the one, the only, Harlotte Davidson”. A number of the Hustlers hugged one another, I tried to find her, but couldn’t see Emma Babe anywhere on the arena floor. I did spot Jimmy McNaughton, off to one end leisurely scanning the crowd.
I saw Justine, AKA Spankie, standing in the middle of the Bombshells. I could pick out Helen Killer, Maiden Bed, Brandi Manhattan and Cheatin Hart, the four teammates Justine had introduced me to at our meeting that right now seemed like it was a century ago.
Heidi looked over at me, glared, then gulped down the remainder of her vodka.
Mercifully she didn’t cause an incident during the minute of silence. After the national anthems the place went completely dark and then spotlights circled the track as a lone figure appearing to wear very little began to race round and round the track. The crowd became more and more frenzied as she zoomed faster and faster around the banked turns. She held orange flares or torches in such a way that made her appear to be rocket propelled. The shadows caused by the circling spotlights made her look almost naked.
Cheering and screaming filled the auditorium. Heidi leaned forward, suddenly fascinated, “Oh wow, this is really cool, I had no idea. Look at her, Dev. Are those rockets? How can she even see where she’s going? Who the hell is that?” Heidi said, then thrust her empty cup toward me.
I sat back and watched while the woman rocketed round and round the track, going faster and faster, flames seemed to propel her, the undisputed center of everyone’s attention.
“Get me another, Dev,” Heidi said and rattled the ice cubes in her empty cup. “Who is that?”
“Her name is Felicity Bard, she skates under the name, Emma Babe,” I said.
“She sure is.”
“She’s a lot of things.”
“Jesus, she is so damn hot,” Heidi said, leaping to her feet clapping and letting off a shrill whistle with two fingers in her mouth. Apparently, I wasn’t fully aware of all her perversions.
“You like her?”
“What? Oh listen you, this night just might be salvageable, but you should get me another drink,” she said. Then thrust her empty glass over in my direction again, never taking her eyes off Emma Babe circling the track. “You go girl, whoo-hooo.”
She was on her fifth, or was it her sixth vodka? It was a minute or two before the intermission. Heidi was on her feet yelling and trying to whistle, along with half the auditorium. The difference was most of them weren’t weaving back and forth and slurring their words.
I thought I’d spotted Manning’s shiny, bald, pink head in one of the aisles about fifteen minutes ago, but I couldn’t be sure. Heidi had just finished sloshing vodka all over my trousers, but by the time I got her settled down I looked back, and the guy had disappeared.
“I need another drinky, burp, please,” Heidi said, as the lights came up in the auditorium signaling the intermission. With her right hand she thrust her empty glass toward me. She wasn’t so much standing as she was leaning against the wall, using her left hand for added support. She was looking in my direction, weaving slightly, but I wasn’t sure she could see me at this point in the evening. She ran her hand through her hair, pushing it over the back of her head. Then blew air up over her forehead, a sure sign of the direction the night was headed.
I knew where this was going. I’d been with her a half dozen times over the years when she’d become this intoxicated. The opportunity for any sex had passed three drinks ago. There was no point in arguing with her, just get the drink, she was beyond finishing the thing. We were in babysitting mode at this point. I’d sit back and let her pass out. Then, hope I could get her back to the hotel and put her to bed.
I walked over to the bar, opened another airline bottle and poured the vodka into her glass. I set the empty on the counter with the others, that made seven. I opened another Grain Belt, my second and returned to the recliner next to my charge.
She was sitting now, her head wove from side to side. She looked like she could see things about six inches past her nose, after that it was anyone’s guess. I set her vodka in the cup holder of her recliner and took a sip of my beer.
The guy a few rows below us with the bitchy wife stood and looked up toward our box. He gave an understanding shake of his head suggesting I knew his predicament or, he understood mine.
Heidi had slumped back in her recliner and let out a loud snore. I waited three or four minutes until her snoring became a solid pattern then grabbed my Grain Belt and left the private box. Crowds were hurrying down the corridor to restrooms, the concession stands or both. Destiny was leaning against a wall a few feet away. She stood up and came toward me as soon as she saw me.
“Is everything okay, Mister Haskell? Do you, like need anything?” she asked.
“Everything’s fine, just going to stretch my legs for a bit, Destiny. Listen, keep an eye on our door, will you. Help yourself to anything in the box, my date just closed her eyes for a minute. She’s had a long day.”