Now You See Her - Michael Ledwidge [35]
Chapter 43
I DROPPED MY BAG as I turned and sprinted in the other direction. The skinny bastard laughed and gave a rebel yell as the truck rumbled again. I looked over my shoulder to see the truck reversing.
Were they just trying to scare me? They were doing a damn good job.
I was thinking about heading into the brush to hide when I saw another set of headlights. A car was coming off the bridge to the south. I ran out into the road, waving frantically. It slowed and then stopped ten feet in front of me. It was a dark Mercedes.
“Say, are you OK?” asked the man behind the wheel. He had a British accent. A feisty Jack Russell began barking from the passenger seat behind him.
Before I could answer, the reversing pickup came to a sand-raising stop in front of the luxury sedan. The two shirtless men hopped out.
“Beat it, fool. Before we put you in the hospital,” said the mean, wiry guy, brandishing his booze bottle like a club.
Instead of screeching away as I feared he would, the Mercedes driver just leaned out of his window and smiled.
“Oh, I don’t want to go to the hospital,” he said to them in a campy, whimsical Shakespearean voice. “How about if we just stay here and play doctor in the back of that butch truck of yours instead? I call doctor. Who wants to get examined first?”
He was a member of Key West’s vast gay community, I realized.
The wiry guy with the tattoo gave the bottle a deft flip as he stepped over to the driver’s side of the Mercedes.
“The only thing that’s going to get examined is your wallet, queen. After I knock all your teeth down your throat.”
That’s when the Mercedes driver opened his door and my jaw dropped.
The handsome black-haired man was massive, well over six feet, his bodybuilder chest and arms stretching his black polo shirt to the breaking point.
“Forgive me for being so forward, young man,” he said, stepping toward the windsurfing punk with his veined arms crossed over his fifty-inch chest. “But has anyone ever told you how utterly striking those eyes of yours are? Let me guess: you’re a Sagittarius?”
The two windsurfing fools looked at the WWF-sized gay Brit and then at each other in utter horror before racing back to the truck. A boogie board flipped over the tailgate and onto the road as they peeled out.
“I get the hint. Two’s company and three’s a crowd,” the big Brit said to me with a wink and a sigh. “If that isn’t the sad story of my life.”
Chapter 44
“SIR FRANK, at your service, m’lady,” the Brit said, walking over to me and offering his hand. “And that little brat in the car there”—he gestured toward his Jack Russell—“is my loyal squire, Rupert. Those weren’t friends of yours, I hope?”
“Not at all,” I said, shaking Frank’s large hand. “Just two jerks who offered me a ride. Thank you so much for stopping. Do you and Rupert always go about rescuing damsels in distress?”
“To tell you the truth, we’d much prefer to rescue a prince, but in your case, just this once, we’ll make an exception. Hop in. I’m only heading up as far as Little Torch, but you’re welcome to join me.”
“First you rescue me, then you offer me a ride?” I said. “If I weren’t so road-grimy, I’d hug you.”
“If you weren’t so road-grimy, I’d let you,” Frank said with another smile. “Actually, I have one minor request. Rupert and I have been celebrating a little too exuberantly tonight, I’m afraid. Sometimes there’re police along this stretch of the road, and we’d prefer not to get a DUI. You, on the other hand, look sober. Would you drive?”
Drive?! I thought. A Mercedes? Duh. “Not a problem,” I said. “Assuming that it’s OK with Rupert.”
Sir Frank leaned over and conferred with the dog.
“Rupert says hop in and step on it.”
I smiled at my tan, muscular friend as I walked around the car to the driver’s side.
Gay British Prince Charming to the rescue. Only in Key West, I thought.
The car had wood trim everywhere and sumptuous leather seats that smelled like expensive cologne. I would have accepted a ride in the