Free Froggy Style by J.A. Kazimer Page B

receptionist. “Remember me?”
    She grunted in response.
    “I’ll take that as a yes.” I took a step closer to her small desk. A growl rumbled from her lips. Plastering on my best princely smile, I said, “Spindle around?”
    The midget finally glanced up, a frown on her small face. “Who?”
    I grinned, keeping my voice low and tight. “Spindle. The guy fucking your boss. Kills people for a living. Strike any midnights now?”
    Like a specter, Lollie Bliss materialized in front of me, her hand on her curvy hip and a dark smile upon her plump maroon lips. She wore an outfit similar to the one she had on the day before—black leather pants, a white tank top, pink bra strap peeking through. An outfit selected to showcase the artwork covering her arms, back, and chest. But it did far more than that. My mouth went dry as I pictured running my hands over her soft, inked skin.
    “Oh, you struck something all right.” Lollie’s words shook the fantasy from my mind. “Now get out of here before it strikes you back.”
    “Ms. Bliss, a pleasure to see you again.” I held out my hand, wondering if she’d shake or break it. She did neither, much to my disappointment. I wanted to touch her, even if it was nothing more than a quick handshake. I wanted to feel the heat of her skin, the softness of her fingers, the indentations of ink and flesh. Instead she ignored me and turned to the big biker. “Okay, Tweedle, I’m ready for you.”
    The biker nodded, hefting his large body from the seat. The chair creaked in relief. Lollie motioned to the purple curtain hanging across the room, and the biker slowly lumbered toward it. Lollie glared at me. “You still here, Kermit?”
    Swallowing a sharp retort, I shot her a charming smile. “I need to speak with you, mademoiselle. It’s quite urgent.”
    “Sorry,” she said sounding anything but, “I only have time for my customers. Paying customers, that is. A girl’s got to make a living.” Turning on her boot heel, she headed for the curtain.
    Got ya, I thought as I pulled out my wallet, which held a stock photo of some creepy male model I kept forgetting to toss out and a sad lack of funds. Frog! Karl had taken all my petty cash to the dry cleaners. Perhaps Lollie would take credit? “Three hundred dollars for five minutes of your time.”
    She didn’t stop or slow down, for that matter.
    I tried again. “Five hundred.”
    Nothing.
    “A grand.”
    That seemed to get her attention. Slowly she turned around to face me, her eyes on my wallet. Greed was a hell of a motivator. I waved my wallet in front of her like a matador.
    Here kitty, kitty.
    “I only talk while I work.” She crossed her arms under her breasts, her eyes boring into mine as if daring me.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    Her smile widened. “It means, pretty boy, if you want to talk, we talk,” she lingered on her words as if savoring the moment, “while I tattoo you.”
    “I . . . ah . . .”
    “That’s what I thought.” Once again, she spun on her heel and headed toward the curtain, pausing long enough to call over her shoulder, “You know the way out.”
    Shit. So far my plan for winning Lollie over had failed, and in a big way.
    “Wait,” I said.
    She stopped.
    “I’ll do it.”
    She swung around to face me, her mouth curving into an appealing “O.” “Really?”
    No, I wanted to say, but nodded instead. “Yeah. Let’s get it over with.”
    Lollie grinned, flashing teeth as white as Mary’s Little Lamb. “Okay, Kermit. Money up front.”
    I pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper, wrote “one thousand” on it, and quickly signed my name before shoving it her way.
    “What’s this?”
    “IOU.”
    “Are you kidding me?”
    “Hey, I’m good for it.” I straightened to my full six-foot height. “You have the word of Jean-Michel—”
    “Yippee for me.”
    “Mademoiselle, I assure you—”
    “Save it,” she said, folding the IOU and stuffing it into her bra. She nodded