Free Wicked Craving by G. A. McKevett

did some things well. Waiting wasn’t one of them.
    â€œDamn it,” he muttered. “I’ve got better things to do than hang around this lousy—”
    â€œNo, you don’t,” Savannah said brightly as she dug a twenty dollar bill out of her purse. “We’ll keep our man Rick here company and have a couple of sodas while we hang.”
    Slapping the bill on the bar, she said, “Rick, darlin’, pour us a couple of colas, shove in your Saturday Night Fever CD, and play us some ‘Disco Inferno.’ This is the closest thing to a date I’ve had in weeks.”
    Â 
    Roxanne Rosen didn’t show up at ten. And at 10:06, Dirk had enjoyed as much of the Bee Gees as he could stand.
    â€œThose dudes sound like chicks,” he mumbled into his soda. “I like a man to sound like a man. Like Elvis or Johnny Cash.”
    â€œThey’re both dead,” Savannah replied sadly.
    â€œBut they both still sound great.”
    â€œTrue.”
    â€œIf she doesn’t show up soon, we’re leaving,” he said, twisting on the bar stool and rubbing the small of his back. “I’d rather just sit in the Buick outside her house till she shows up. At least we’d have comfortable seats and good music.”
    â€œNo,” Savannah said. “This place has a ladies’ room. I’ve peed in way too many bushes over the years just so that you could listen to ‘Hound Dog’ and ‘Folsom Prison Blues.’ We’re waiting here.”
    He started to protest but shut up when the front door opened and a young woman with copious, long blonde hair walked in.
    She was wearing a snug-fitting, long-sleeved, black T-shirt and skin-tight jeans. And something about her extremely thin thighs rang a bell in Savannah’s memory.
    â€œAh-ha,” she said to Dirk. “That’s gotta be our girl. She’s the one I saw leaving Wellman’s house today.”
    â€œThe one he was arguing with?”
    â€œYeap. The one who demanded money and then stormed out.”
    Dirk smiled a broad “gotcha” grin, set his glass down, and pushed it away from him.
    Farther down the bar, Rick gave them a knowing look and a nod toward the blonde.
    Savannah took the last drink from her glass, then got up with Dirk and walked over to the woman, who had joined the others in the corner booth.
    â€œRoxanne Rosen?” Dirk asked her.
    She looked up at him with eyes that were a strangely intense and unnatural shade of aqua, which Savannah figured had to be the result of contact lenses.
    She seemed to be having a problem focusing on Dirk. And even from several feet away, Savannah could smell the alcohol on her breath. She’d gotten a head start on the evening’s festivities.
    â€œWe need to talk to you,” he said.
    â€œI’m busy,” she replied.
    â€œGet un-busy.” He took out his badge and passed it under her nose. “I’m a cop.”
    â€œWoo-hoo,” said one of the blonde’s girlfriends.
    â€œBoy, Roxie, you’re in trouble now!” said another.
    â€œLet’s go over there.” Dirk nodded toward some tables on the other side of the room.
    â€œYou gonna arrest her?” Roxie’s buddy asked.
    â€œMaybe he’s going to cuff her,” one said, giggling.
    â€œAnd frisk her!”
    â€œCan we watch?”
    â€œWill you frisk me, too, Mr. Policeman?”
    Savannah walked beside Dirk as the three of them made their way across the half-lit floor with its stationary mirror ball.
    â€œYou get the nicest invitations,” she said, nudging him in the ribs with her elbow.
    â€œYeah, just what I want…” he grumbled, “…frisking nitwit bimbos who reek of booze. Like I haven’t had way too much of that over the years.”
    Once they were settled around a table, Dirk caught Rick’s attention and motioned for him to lower the music volume a