Free Froggy Style by J.A. Kazimer Page A

frog him. I didn’t need him or anyone, for that matter. I had the number for Higglety Pigglety Cab Company on speed dial. Of course I had to wait, sometimes nine, and sometimes ten minutes for someone to answer. When someone answered with a squawk, I ordered a taxi to meet me downstairs.
    With one last glance around my hotel room I closed the door and headed into Cin City, searching for a killer, or at the very least, his tattooed girlfriend, in order to save the life of a woman who, I suspected, would prefer to have me boiled in oil.
    Probably not the smartest move.
    Apparently Beauty and I were meant for each other after all.

Chapter 13
    C in City was a different place at night. Not literally, of course. It was still crammed full of cheesy theme hotels and casinos. It still sported a million blazing, retina-burning lights. Greed and lust still oozed from the sidewalks and into even the noblest of hearts. But after midnight the air turned a bit cooler, the people a bit shadier, and the risk a bit greater. Not to mention the increased odds of taking a glass slipper to the forehead from an annoyed prince in drag.
    God how I loved Cin City after midnight.
    My cab sped down the strip, a dreadlocked hen in a Rastafarian cap at the wheel. I waved away a cloud of questionable smoke hovering around me and grinned as we passed a gaggle of Cinderella impersonators and the occasional fairy dust–addicted princess selling her wares on the street corner. Millions of multicolored lights reflected off the taxi’s windows.
    The deeper we went into the city, the more dangerous the streets became. Casinos and motels still filled the avenue, but the themes had changed. Gone were the fairytale wonder worlds of New Never City, France, and Egypt, replaced by phallic skyscrapers and cheesy circus tents.
    Here, the storefronts offered ten-dollar T-shirts and barred windows. Paint peeled off the sides of the sunbaked buildings, leaving exposed cement and brick. Rundown motels with no vacancy signs blinked: “No can.”
    Fitting somehow.
    At Eighth and Fairily Way, the cab slowed, finally stopping in front of the brick-and-mortar storefront of the Rose. Lights blazed inside the tattoo shop. Once again, my mind flashed to the image of a rose covered in blood and barbed wire. The petals faded slowly, replaced with a picture of Lollie Bliss, her blue-black hair and nose ring shimmering in the fluorescent light, her onyx eyes mirroring my own intense blue ones.
    I was inexplicably drawn to her. Probably a latent death wish. Made sense if one considered I’d be married soon.
    “Keep the meter running,” I said, tossing the cabbie my last hundred-dollar bill. She glanced around nervously, but finally agreed.
    Tugging on the sleeve of my sweatshirt, I exited the taxi. The night air smelled of sand and heat with a ting of piss. Ah, Cin City at its finest. Up the block, a police siren whooped and then went quiet. Rats in tiny felt hats scurried from the sewer, their manicured claws scraping the pavement in a hypnotic rhythm.
    No sooner had I walked two steps away than the cab screeched from the curb, smoke billowing from its tires as it shot down the street, narrowly missing a guy on a magic carpet.
    I jogged to the front door of the Rose. A part of me prayed I’d find Spindle inside and end this whole charade. The other, dumber side, hoped for something along the lines of Lollie Bliss naked and waiting for any prince to come.
    I was disappointed on both counts.
    I opened the front door and bells rang overhead, causing every eye, three in all, to swing my way. A big guy with one eye in the center of his forehead, tattoos up and down his arms, and a blank expression on his face glanced up from his plastic waiting room seat. The red-haired midget lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead she focused on the tiny, fat, and very dead mouse in her hands. A naked Lollie Bliss was disappointingly absent from the scene.
    “Hi,” I said to the