In Deep Shitake Part 2

"One movie role doesn't const.i.tute a character reference." She stared down at the cobblestones to hide a smile as she teased him. She sensed that his celebrity was the way to get a rise out of Ross Grant.

"I've had dozens of roles," he insisted, taking the bait. His brows converged in an angry vee.

"Ummm," she said, glancing over his shoulder. "Mr. Grant?"

"Does anyone remember I played Hamlet in a film the critics universally proclaimed as the definitive Shakespeare?" he continued.

She'd never seen a Brit wave his hands so emphatically.

"Yoo-hoo. Ross? Hey!"

"What do you want?" he shouted. "Do you want to tell me how s.e.xy the SpyMatrix scene was when I drowned that guy in gravy?"

She inclined her head. "Yeah, that gravy thing was s.e.xy."

"You want to tell me how you dreamed about me and had my poster on your wall. The one with the ludicrously big gun?" He finished at the top of his lungs.

"Not really. I wanted to tell you a police car turned the corner." She grabbed his arm and physically turned him. "I thought with you being famous and all, you might not want the publicity."

"For what? I'm the victim."

"Well, you were disturbing the peace with your car alarm," she suggested. "And you did attack an innocent woman...Me."

"b.u.g.g.e.r."

The phone rang, echoing against the walls of the studio apartment. Clarence crossed to the table beside the bed to answer it.

"Baby," the woman's voice said on the other end of the line. "When are you getting the money?"

Clarence smiled. "Don't worry so much, sweetheart. We'll have it this week." He drew the lipstick tube out of his pocket. Red Paradise. His girl's favorite color. "After we have it, we'll get out of this town."

"I'm afraid he's not going to pay," she cried. "What if it all goes wrong? What if he sends his goons after you?" Genuine fear coated every word.

"He's not onto me," Clarence said, trying to soothe himself as well as his girl. "I have someone set up for the crime. If he goes after the blackmailer, he'll take out that guy instead."

"I hope you're right or we are both dead."

He hoped so too. Clarence knew he wasn't cut out to break the law. Too nerve racking. It would all be worth it when he and his love were on a tropical island together.

No," Clarence said. "Everything is fine. We'll both be rich soon." He paused, but the voice on the other end said nothing so he continued, "I want to see you."

"Not now. It's too dangerous." She hung up before he could reply.

Clarence replaced the receiver and then sauntered toward the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. "My name is Dagger. Stephen Dagger." He pointed his fingers at the mirror as if he were pointing a gun. "It's virtuoso." Waving the "hand" gun he made a "pow, pow" sound. Then, whirling around, he bounded out of his apartment and skipped down the stairs to the front door.

His landlady, old Mrs. Truesberry with her yellow colored hair, emerged from her ground level apartment to meet him in the foyer.

"h.e.l.lo, dear boy," she greeted him.

Clarence hopped from the last step to land with both feet on the hardwood pine of the foyer floor.

"Truesy," he said, calling her the special nickname she loved. She was an irritating old bag but Clarence knew how to get around her ...and save on rent when necessary. But money wouldn't be a problem soon.

"You are absolutely gorgeous tonight." Clarence pinched her cheek and the old lady giggled. "Have you done something new to your hair?"

"Just freshened up the color a bit."

He examined her intently. The color was gag inducing. "Stunning," he said with a smile.

"And where are you going at this time of night?" she asked with an arched eyebrow. "Not on a date."

"No date." He chuckled. "You know you're the only one I love." He patted her on the arm. "I'm off to work."

She made a tsking sound. "Those people expect to much of you, dear. They've got you working night and day."

"You are so right, Truesy." He kissed her hand before vaulting to the door and swinging it wide. "I'm working on a way to change that." After blowing a kiss in her direction, he closed the door behind him and headed off down the sidewalk.

At the exact moment the Sound of Music girl on screen became sixteen going on seventeen, Kubikov's cell phone vibrated. Finally a report.

He grabbed the phone from the coffee table and examined the face. The text displayed there taunted him: Dagger not found. Upd8 L8r :-( His grip tightened around the phone.

Fools. More failure. On top of that, how many times had he ordered his employees not to use emoticons in business communications?

Kubikovtexted a return message: Surfusjdi dmmsu.

Another message zinged back: ?????

He fought the urge to pound the phone on the coffee table. Instead, he typed in: STOP YOUR UPS. JUST DO IT. DON'T MAKE ME SHOOT YOU.

The return was quick: K. : -) Relaxing back into the sofa cus.h.i.+ons, he sighed. Sometimes employees just needed a little incentive to succeed.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, Ross thought. The tabloid reporters, especially Stewart Milton, would have a field day if the police arrested him.

"What if I tell the officers I caught you breaking into my car?" Ross asked.

"What if I tell them you a.s.saulted me," Mo returned with narrowed eyes. "You have to admit your hands were all over my asparagus a short time ago. Not to mention how you groped my dairy."

What incredible logic. Ross gaped at her.

One minute he wanted to kiss her and now he itched to feel his hands around her throat. This woman was making him insane. The last thing he needed was the violent emotional swings she created. His career depended on keeping a business head and not getting distracted. Taking a deep breath, he tried to impose the mental discipline he usually only had to call upon for the most challenging of acting roles.

The police cruiser rolled slowly toward them before stopping directly behind Ross's Mercedes. One officer, the driver, exited the vehicle while the other officer remained in the cruiser and spoke into the radio. The first officer rounded the patrol car's front b.u.mper and approached them. The officer, who had a buzz cut, held a flashlight in one hand and had his other hand against the gun strapped at his side.

"Anything wrong here, folks?" the officer asked.

"No trouble here," Ross said.

Mo leaned into Ross, thrusting her arm through his. She stroked his skin with a long, slow caress. "We're just fine."

So much for mental discipline. The feel of her hands on him was making him anything but calm Ross knew his expression must suggest she'd sprouted an extra head. She was as good an actress as any he'd ever seen before.

"This your car?" the officer kept one eye on them while glancing inside the Mercedes.

"Yes, officer." Ross tugged at his arm, but Mo tightened her stranglehold.

"Can I have your identification?" the officer asked.

"Ouch," Mo teased. "What a blow to his ego that you didn't recognize the famous Ross Grant. He played Stephen Dagger."

"Mo-" He didn't often lose it, but this woman was the exception. He felt as if his head would explode. She had zeroed in on his hot b.u.t.ton and kept pus.h.i.+ng it.

This guy is gonna be h.e.l.l to live with when we get home if you don't remember him," Mo added.

"I thought you looked familiar." The officer smiled. He wagged a finger at them and then continued. "Wait until I tell my wife. She had your poster on her wall when she was a kid. She's going to be so jealous."

"The poster with the big gun?" Mo asked with eagerness.

"Yeah."

"He loves that one," Mo said. "Maybe he could sign an autograph for her. He lives for that kind of thing."

Ross ground his teeth together. He'd been trapped so long in the Dagger stereotype that it was now synonymous with the humiliation.

"Of course." It required all Ross's acting ability to smile. "I'd be honored."

The officer turned and tapped on the cruiser's pa.s.senger side window. "Dan, look who we have here. Stephen Dagger the super spy."

The black officer exited the vehicle, smiling. "Y'all don't happen to have that big gun with ya?"

"No." Ross tried not to let his irritation show.

"They wouldn't let him bring it through airport security," Mo remarked and both officers nodded.

Officer Dan's smile widened. "I loved that line your character said in the movie. What was it, Tim?" He turned to the other officer. "Oh yeah. 'It's virtuoso.'"

"What did that mean?" Officer Tim asked.

"I haven't a clue," Ross drawled.

"You silly." Mo punched his arm playfully. "You know it means everything's cool."

"You look shorter in person," Officer Dan said to Ross.

"I'm over six feet..." Ross realized he sounded defensive and trailed off.

"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Dagger," Officer Tim said. "But we got a call from someone on the block about a car alarm."

Mo cuddled closer to Ross. "We weren't paying much attention."

She smiled up at Ross with a flirtatious flip of her long brown hair.

"We got a little amorous and leaned on the hood and set the alarm off. I guess I distracted him," she said.

Both officers laughed, no doubt picturing the romantic encounter in their heads.

Ross signed two autographs and even posed for photos with each officer just to get them to leave. Once the police cruiser departed, Ross turned a glare on Mo. "Do you want an autograph too?"

"Are you angry because the nice officers wanted you to sign as Stephen Dagger? I thought it was cute."

With a shake of his head, he glowered at her. "You certainly have a facility for lying."

"Facility? What do you mean?"

"Talent."

"Thank you," she said with a bright smile.

"That wasn't a compliment."

"That's okay because I didn't mean it as a real thank you," she responded. "Sometimes thank you means something else entirely....but I'm too much of a lady to drop the f-bomb."

"You're impossible," he said.

"Thank you."

Ross rounded the corner of the block with Mo walking at his elbow.

"Are you following me, Ms. Tuttle?"

"How can I be following you?" she asked. "I'm walking right beside you."

A group of five frat guys loitered in the boulevard's gra.s.sy median. They wore green sequined top hats and t-s.h.i.+rts. Their chests wer covered by necklaces made of an a.s.sortment of green, gold, and white beads of all sizes. Each guy held a bottle of what looked to be beer. They took swigs between hoots of laughter.

"Cheese puffs," Mo said. "It has already started."

"What?" Ross couldn't keep himself from asking the question, just as he couldn't keep himself from feeling a certain fascination for this quixotic woman.

"The onslaught of St. Patrick's Day revelers," she answered.

"St. Patrick's Day has revelers?"