Free Trouble in Paradise by Deborah Brown Page A

Endings, does that mean, you um…?”
    “Hand jobs are my specialty,” Watusi boasted.

Chapter 10
    “The Q sisters are psycho,” Fab informed me, when I climbed
into the passenger seat. “I’ve never had a friend who would shoot someone for
me. That deserves a moment of silence.”
    Fab didn’t leave black skid marks leaving the Q’s which
surprised me, given the hostility I’d witnessed. “What did you do to them?”
    “Me?” Fab hit the sitting steering wheel. “Why is it always
my damn fault? She left out a few facts, like the part where I could’ve ended
up dead. Who would you have replaced me with for best friend?”
    “You know you’re not replaceable.”
    “Kettle hired me to do a job.” Who knew Fab had perfected an
innocent look? “She gave me a bogus story, asked me to get back ‘her’ briefcase
stolen by the ex-boyfriend. I had said briefcase in my hand when I heard a gun
cock. Turned out Ernie, her dirtbag boyfriend, was a mid-level dealer out of
Miami.”
    I stared out the window, never tiring of riding along the
blue-green water in the Keys, wishing we could pull to the side of the road and
go for a quick swim. I looked back at Fab, “Did Ernie shoot you?”             
    “Lucky for me, we had mutual acquaintances which kept me
from ending up in a dumpster. It turned out the briefcase held ‘his,’ not
‘her,’ personal papers, a ton of cash and the biggest prize, Ernie’s client
book. I cut a deal with him and left.”
    “How did you explain all of this to Miss Q?”
    “I should’ve known you then. Your made up stories are better
than mine. I told her Ernie caught me by surprise, which he did, and when he
started shooting, I ran. Kettle didn’t believe one word and never paid. That’s
why I get payment up front unless it’s a regular client.”
    “What’s your relationship with Theodore?”
    “Who?” Fab laid on the horn, a friendly get out of the way
to the car in front of us.
    “Slow down a little. If I puke, I’m leaning over and doing
it on you. The big, bald guy in the corner.”
    “I’ve seen him around town,” Fab said. “I’ve had enough of
today, dead people, psychos and you.”
    “You’d miss me. For someone who told me they didn’t have or
want girlfriends, you’ve come around in a big way.”
    Fab squealed off the highway. 
    “Where are we going now?” I asked.
    “Aren’t you forgetting a stop? You need to go by Dickie’s
and get him to lie for you on that ridiculous story you told.”
    “That was an excellent story, totally believable. Watusi,
for whatever reason, couldn’t confess the mix-up.”
    “Pot’s going to find out,” Fab said.
    “Call Kettle that to her face, fight’s on. You actually ever
eat a moon pie and chase it down with a coke?”
    “Tell me you like deep-fried carny food.” Fab eyed me.
    “How would you know about that?” I made a face at her.
    “I’ve had a fried Oreo or two.”
    “My fave too. This really is a bonding moment.”
    Fab pulled into Tropical Slumber and parked at the old
drive-through window, which separated the living quarters from the dead people.
The funeral home had once been a hot dog fast food restaurant. The A-frame
building had been enlarged for the dead guests and their families. The living
quarters was a new addition after Dickie and Raul bought the place.
    “I can’t believe you’re willing to come here with me.”
    “Making Dickie squirm will perk me up,” Fab said, using her
creepy smile. “Don’t worry, he’ll cover for you or I’ll scare the crap out of
him. He’s afraid of me.”
    We walked across the red carpet that went from the parking
lot to the front door. “Let me handle this.” I pushed the buzzer.
    Dickie opened the door with a smile. When he saw Fab I
thought he’d shut the door.
    “Hi, Dickie. I need a favor,” I blurted.
    Dickie motioned us inside. The reception area was filled
with ornate, brocade upholstered uncomfortable, straight-backed