“Good morning to you, too,” came a sexy male voice over the phone, followed by a scratching noise. “Get up on the wrong side of the bed?”
“Dukeypoo, what are you doing, calling me this early?” I collapsed onto a chair and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. If you could call two measly hours sleep.
“Just a friend checking in to see how you’re doing before you head off to class.” Scratch. Scratch. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dare assume we’re anything more.” He sounded cool, obviously still ticked over the distance I’d put between us after that kiss on the ice. Well, that made us even, because I was still miffed over his siccing the Brat Pack on me.
“At six A.M.?” I croaked in my not-used-to-talking-this-freaking-early voice.
“Figured you were getting ready for class.” Scratch. Scratch. “And I have an early doctor’s appointment.”
“Anything serious?” I asked. “And what’s that scratching noise? Did you get a cat?”
“No.” He grunted. “Got into a little scuffle while working and then woke up this morning with a rash on my... anyway, I’m having it checked out.” He cleared his throat. “So, is everything okay? Any more crazy things happen I should know about?” Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
I tried hard to stifle my laughter, but a little snicker slipped out as I pictured him scratching at flea bites while fighting off gummy, toothless kisses last night. “Nope. Everything’s fine, other than a sudden case of insomnia.”
“They’ve got pills for that, you know.”
“I don’t like taking pills, and I’ve never been one to just lie around when I can’t sleep. Gotta do something to tire myself out.”
“Try reading and drinking a glass of warm milk like most normal people,” he mumbled.
“What was that? I didn’t quite catch the last part?” I grinned, enjoying this. And that was the only reason I was grinning. It had absolutely nothing to do with hearing his voice again. Nothing at all.
“I said, try reading a book and drinking a glass of warm milk.” Scratch.
“Hmmm, fresh out of books.”
“Just try the warm milk next time, okay? Or call me. I can’t sleep lately, either.”
“Why’s that?” This ought to be good.
“Just a pain-in-the-ass case I’m working on.”
“Really. Then why bother?”
He hesitated, then sighed. “Because there’s something strangely appealing about this case. I’m hoping it will be worth it in the end, if I survive.”
“Oh, well....” What could I say to that?
Scratch. Scratch. “Christ, I gotta go.”
Snort. “Good luck with your case and the doctor.”
“Thanks. I’m beginning to think I’ll need all the luck I can get. Stay out of trouble, would ya?”
“I can’t promise anything. Trouble seems to follow me around lately. Don’t know why.” I stifled a giggle.
“Just try.” Scratch. Scratch. Curse. Dial tone.
I hung up the phone, sang the lyrics to Cat Scratch Fever, then burst out laughing, suddenly wide awake and exhilarated. Who said payback was a bitch? I was having the time of my life, even if Dylan wasn’t.
Note to self: Always wash produce thoroughly. God only knows where it’s been.
***
Episode Two: Mean Mama cleans up Fisherman’s Wharf at three A.M.
I stabbed another piece of trash with a metal poker and put it in the nearly-full trash bag I carried. Still no sign of Dylan.
“If you don’t show, I’ll give you more than Cat Scratch Fever, Zuc,” I grumbled, then yawned, nowhere near awake, even after I’d consumed a whole pot of coffee. These episodes were killing me.
A cold sea breeze blew into the harbor, carrying with it the smell of dead fish, and I shivered. I couldn’t afford a new coat. Wouldn’t need one soon, with spring right around the corner, so I’d opted for layers. Only now, I wish I’d added another fleece.
I walked down the dock a bit further, searching for more trash. This had to be one of my worst ideas to date. What if the Brat Pack forgot to set the stage with their phony cronies? I looked left, then right, but didn’t see anyone. Then again, that was the point. Still, what if the mob hung out here? I took a step back, my heart imitating a bass drum. What if Professor Butthead had connections and had hired a hit man to off me because he’d found out I’d called him a pickle?
Cement shoes, here I come.
A boat’s horn wailed right beside me. “Ahhhhhh!” I jumped a foot, dropping the trash bag and poker. Jeesh, I had to stop watching the Sopranos.