We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 11

She is sore when she climbs out of the rented Aston Martin. Her hip joints hurt and pain radiates from between her legs as she walks up the bleach white driveway through the blazing Vegas heat to a sprawling mint green stucco mansion. She ignores the pain, as delicious as it is, to the best of her ability. She ignores the memories of Mandrake and Mint that the transient aches purge within in her. She has to be calm, collected, there is business to take care of, snafus to avoid.

Kent Ugon has on a tailored suit, smiles with his eyes and his mouth. She knows his type and is dressed as skimpily as she is with her posture ten degrees past erect to influence him in every way. She is doing it because he's the type that wants her to, and wants to reward her for doing it. Anything to get a deal.

"Mira, so great to finally meet you!" Kent Ugon says, extending his hand. Slight African accent, glaringly white teeth. She takes his hand and he helps her through the threshold. She spins around and takes it in. High windows and ceilings, marble floors, an indoor pool through a pair of double doors to her right, a sprawling white room to her left that is big enough for shindigs Mira would never venture to throw. Before her, a winding staircase leads to rooms with archway's framed with embellished molding painted metallic gold--a little too gaudy for her tastes but she knows Mandrake will appreciate such features. A heavy gold and crystal chandelier hangs above them, "there's an oak and marble library on the other level. Well stocked, too, the previous owner was a rare book collector. Said the books would go to the next buyer, some fued with his wife."

"As is often the case, one's feud is another's gain."

"I hope this will be one of those cases," he says. "So tell me, what do you think?" He asks after he has shown her the upper rooms, let her dip a toe in the pool and handed her one of the heavy, delicate books from the library's shelves.

She slides her sunglasses up into her curls, smiles. "I love it. How much?"

"For you, 2.5 million. The books alone are worth nearly half that that so you're getting a pretty good deal."

Mira hopes this is the case. She is no expert in rare goods, books. Lucky for her she has Mint. They agree to meet the next day for the appraisal and she says goodbye to Kent Ugon, a real estate broker recommended by her mother in a thinly veiled attempt to set them up, she is sure.

On her way back to the hotel she stops at a bar named May Breeze. The décor is monochromatic. It is as if she's stepped into a tub of butter. Yellow walls, floor, appliances, booths, tables, bowls, glass ware, shelving. She takes a seat in one of the cracked yellow stools, orders a vodka soda from a dark skinned girl wearing a yellow mini skirt. Dollar bills litter her cleavage, and Mira continues her efforts to gain her bearings in a place this jarring. She has not taken three sips of her drink when a man slides into the seat beside her. He smells sweaty, like a man accustomed to working outdoors. Mira catches his reflection in the mirror that covers the wall behind the bar, and as she had supposed, he is staring right at her. She becomes aware of the gun on her thigh. She crosses her legs and winces. They should've gone a little easier on her, her having to deal with two of them, after all.

"You sure are pretty," the man says. She finally turns to meet his gaze directly. He is handsome, clean shaven, olive skinned. He turns to face her so that she can see his badge and Mira hopes his eyes miss the tremor that travels through her at the sight of it.

"Why thank you," she says. She begins to take deeper sips of her drink. She watches the news program playing on the television above the bar, remains calm.

"I mean it. I'm sure you hear it all the time, but you are quite breathtaking. May I ask your name?"

Mira holds out her hand and he takes it, turns it over and kisses her palm. Mira leans closer to him. Anything for a good deal. "Mira, " she says into his ear.

"I'm Sheriff Scott Delray of the Clark County Sheriff's Department. Been looking for you for days, and just my luck, I find you here. I was told you are beautiful," he says in his deep, vaguely foreign voice, "but I still didn't anticipate this."

"Who told you such a thing?" Her mind clicks into gear. She takes a sip of his drink and then feigns that it was a mistake. He is drinking what tastes like whiskey, straight. He's not on duty, and if he is she is in even more trouble than she thought.

He smiles and takes a swig right after her. "Most recently, a woman by the name of Lola. She told me that I would know that I had the right woman the moment I laid eyes on you. She said that you have this look about you, something subtly beautiful, haunted."

"Well, Lola has had a crush on me since the day she laid eyes on me so her judgment is skewed. I'm just a woman. Women are beautiful, therefore I'm beautiful." Mira downs the rest of her drink and slaps a twenty on the bar. She heads into the bathroom without looking back, not sure whether she should leave just yet. She shuts herself in a stall and sends a text message to Mandrake, telling him where she is, who she has met. She asks what she should do. He answers immediately but it is not the answer she wants. She should have texted Mint, though it would have made little difference. She hears the bathroom door open and close and heavy footsteps head toward her. She puts her hand on her gun.

"You know, Montana told me this all started when a friend of yours shot herself right in front of the both of you years ago, and you blamed him for it. Always have."

"Fuck you," Mira says.

"He told me to bring you back, when I was done. He wants to make sure you have a proper funeral."

"So what does that mean, you won't shoot me between the eyes?" Mira says. She removes her gun from its holster and aims it at the door. She sees his feet, Italian Leather shoes. He's a dirty cop alright. "I'm sure Montana wants it open casket."

"Those were my direct orders. But I don't plan on shooting you at all, actually." He jiggles the door to the stall. She would be an idiot to shoot now for fear of ricochet, but she will not hesitate once she has a clear shot.

"You don't, what are you some sicko rapist strangler?"

"Not exactly," he thrusts the door open and grabs her so quickly she doesn't even get the chance to cock the hammer. He pries the gun from her hands and throws it to the floor. They struggle for what seems like an eternity, and soon she is so tired she goes limp in his arms.

"You're a fire cracker. He said you would be. He wants you dead real bad Mira."

"I could give a flying fuck what Montana wants," she says breathlessly. "Stop with all the pretense and kill me, I knew I was dead the moment I touched his money. I knew that."

He releases her. "It would have been that easy? That's hard to believe."

"What the fuck is this?" Mira asks.

"I was sent by Montana."

"That much is clear."

"I was sent by Montana to kill you, and I was going to do it, too. but then he told me why. And he told me her name."

"So what are you saying exactly?" Mira asks. Her eyes search the floor for her gun, but she doesn't see it.

"Listen, give me a second before you try to claw your way out of here," Delray asks.

"Can we at least get out of this tight stall? Maybe even go back out to the bar. I'll be cool. I'll listen." Mira thinks of Mandrake. She'll wait with him, Mandrake will take care of it when he arrived. She only has to stay alive until then. She is surprised when he plucks her gun from the floor of a nearby stall and hands it to her. She makes quick work of placing it back into its holster, and Delray's eyes don't leave her for a moment.

Back outside she keeps her end of the bargain, orders another drink on Delray's tab. He wastes no time in getting into the thick of things.

"My sister died ten years ago. She shot herself in the head. She'd been missing for weeks, my family searched high and low for her. Then we got the news. We asked around about some of the people she was keeping company with, and we got some of the answers, but not all. Sela was a good girl. She was lost but she was a baby. We're all lost at that age."

"You said your names is Scott Delray? The friend you mentioned, her name was Sela. She had a brother named Scott. Sela's last name was White, though."

"Different fathers," Scott says.

"You mean to tell me, Montana sent you to kill me? He has no clue that you're--"

"Not one."

Mira hugs him. It is sudden, even she does not expect it. She imagines Sela's face. It is a fleeting memory, a painful memory.

Mandrake arrives while she is still in Delray's arms, and he wraps his arms around the both of him. He smells clean, like after shave and water. "Mira you going to introduce me to your Latin lover?" Mandrake says in a jovial tone. When they all break apart, however, Mandrake draws his gun, and Delray does the same. People scatter from their seats, and Mira squeals for a moment before she is able to form words.

"Mandrake hold on a second!" she says.

"Mira what in the hell are you doing hugging him?"

"What? You know him?"

"Hell yes, I know him." He lowers his voice, "remember that ride or die dirty cop that Montana has been talking about lately?"

"This is--"

"Mandrake, I was trying to explain to her!" Delray says.

"Save it, Mira, get the hell out of here."

"Mandrake I don't think--" Mira's words are lost in an explosion that blows in the bar's window glass. People begin to scream at the top of their lungs, scramble without a purpose. The drapes hang raggedly over windows that reveal a wall of fire so close to the building that they all feel the heat. Mandrake grabs Mira's hand and they search through the smoke and moving bodies for a rear entrance. More explosions erupt. Mandrake finds a metal exit door at the rear of the small kitchen, and when he pushes it open they are knocked back by another explosion. Mira hits a wall, sees white, then red, and then doesn't see at all.