Science Fiction Multi-Feature Picture Show

Fortuna Lemon (part 5)

The tunnel stretched on and on, like the entrance to the underworld, though Sykes doubted the afterlife featured a strip joint.

She stepped from the rough hewn passage into a cloud of cigar smoke and whiskey. The jukebox spun a rendition of Highway to Hell, the lyrics garbled by the conversation and laughter of the occupants. Her gaze took in the variety of dress, chalking it up to the mounting pile of oddities. A jolt of relief took her when she heard Tambly's familiar baritone carousing with the rest of them. She held onto to that wisp of relief until she laid eyes on her partner.

I'm going to kill him.

Tambly occupied a seat at the card game, a foul smelling cigar clenched between his teeth, clutching a glass of whiskey and a handful of cards. A naval officer's cap sat at a jaunty angle on his head. The lady of the lemon tree draped over his shoulders like a living ornament. Her unsettling gaze met Sykes's stare, a smirk playing on her lips. The digital camera dangled by its strap from her slim wrist.

That bitch.

Sykes didn't need to know all the details to know the little harlot was staking a claim on her partner. The enforcer pushed her way through the crowd, ignoring the wolf whistles and cat calls in her wake. These idiots were hard up for women, but Sykes was ready to breathe fire when she reached the poker game.

"Belle!" Tambly noticed her at last, spilling on himself as he drunkenly toasted to her. "You made it to the party!"

Sykes lost some of her fire as the peculiarity of the situation smashed her over the head. She leaned forward, trying to catch Tambly's attention by clasping his wrist.

"Time to go. Rossofern's expecting a report."

Tambly snorted, slurping his drink. "The tosser can kiss my grits."

This was worse than she thought. Playboy, drunk, hooligan, her partner was many disreputable things, but he did his duty and took his job as an enforcer to heart. A room full of junk attested to his will power to adhere to the Agency code. Yet, a couple hours in this den of inequity had him ready to throw in the towel on a lifetime of service. No one ever leaves.

Sykes looked at the lady hanging on her partner. The smirk on her lips had a cruel edge.

"You," she snarled, grabbing a clump of red fabric to haul the woman away from Tambly. She followed Sykes without resistance, letting the enforcer pull her to an empty corner by the bar.

"What the hell did you do to him?" Sykes hissed, stifling the urge to throttle her. "Spike his drink? Something funny in the cigar?"

The lady shrugged, her red dress slipping from her shoulder. "He's relaxing into his new home," she said simply. "Would you like a drink? You look like a Sex on the Beach kind of girl."

"Bullshit!' Sykes shoved her, further angered by the woman's unperturbed expression. The enforcer made to leave, the intent to drag her partner away by his bootstraps clear in her face. Nails dug into Sykes's wrist, anchoring her in place.

The woman's lips pulled into a moue. "The females never settle in," she sighed, shaking her curls.

Sykes blinked at her, desperately wishing they never left the beach. "What is this place?"

"It's sported a few monikers over the years," said the woman, retrieving a curvy bottle of clear liquid from behind the bar. "Shot of Cabo Wabo?" She huffed at Sykes's stare.

"You need to loosen up, dear. That kind of stress will kill you."

"Quit stalling," said Sykes.