CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Paige climbed into the back of the long white stretch limousine, searching for a place to sit for the short trip up the freeway to Los Angeles.
"Hey, baby, come sit by me," said the bass player (whose name she never could remember), who was sprawled across a large portion of one of the velvet covered benches.
"No, sit by me." On the opposite side of the vehicle, the drummer patted the cushion beside him.
"Uh, that's okay," she said uncertainly, more than a little concerned why the two men had suddenly become so friendly. She moved toward the back, intending to sit as far away from everyone as possible. But to her dismay, she spotted Zalina slouched in the corner of the back seat.
The blonde glanced up at her and bared her teeth, hissing, "Fuck off, whore." Paige involuntarily took a step back, bumping into Anya, who had just entered the limo. Zalina looked like hell, her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, her lips were swollen, and she was sporting what appeared to be a giant hickey on her neck.
"Sorry," Paige said to both women before plopping down on the closest bench. Anya sat down across from her and shrugged.
"It's okay." The dark haired singer leaned forward. "I'm not pissed at you anymore."
"You're not?" Paige didn't even try to hide her surprise. The woman had been nothing but a bitch to her since the day they'd met.
"Nah, I know now you didn't sleep with Happy," declared Anya. "She told me you're not into women."
"Oh." Paige made a mental note to thank the mechanic for her intervention. Although it made her wonder just how close the two women were. She didn't get a chance to dwell on it further when Yuri burst into the limo.
"Let's get the party started!" He reached over and opened up a compartment which held bottles of beer and champagne, pulling out one of the latter for himself. Then he plopped down next to Paige and flung his arm around her shoulders.
"Hey, sweet cheeks," Yuri whispered loudly into Paige's ear, "Great fuck last night," he said, licking her cheek. "I was so sore, I had tough time getting out of bed this morning." He squeezed her tighter, winking at her before letting her go so he could open his champagne.
"U-Uh, o-okay," she managed to say, "um, you were, ah, great too." Oh, thank God. He believed they'd had sex last night. A mixture of disgust and relief swept over her as she scooted away from the lead singer as he popped the cork and began chugging from the bottle, seemingly losing interest in her.
A loud snort came from the back of the vehicle. Paige turned to see the blonde singer scrunch down lower in her seat, pulling up a scarf to hide her face.
"What's up with her?" Paige asked Anya, who was looking bored as she fiddled with her fingernails.
"She's just being a bitch," the other woman replied, nodding in Zalina's direction. "She went to spy on you and Yuri and ended up sleeping with him. . .again." The brunette shook her head as she shrugged. "You'd think she'd learn."
Paige's mouth fell open. Oh, God. This wasn't good. Yuri must believe he slept with her when he actually slept with Zalina. Did this mean the other woman knew she hadn't slept with the lead singer? Paige shuddered to think what the blonde would do with that information.
"I, uh, thought she hated Yuri," she said, still reeling from the brunette's revelation.
"Her fiancé was killed a few years ago," stated Anya. "He was Chechnyan rebel. She's been. . .how you say. . .destructive. . ."
"Self-destructive," Paige supplied more calmly than she felt as she digested what the other woman was telling her.
"Yeah, that. Self-destructive ever since." Anya shrugged again. "I try to help, but. . ."
Could it be possible Zalina had connections with both Chechnyan and Samatovan rebels and they were using her to broker weapons deals? That the blonde singer might care about something else beside sex and makeup boggled Paige's brain. She needed to let Walter know what she'd discovered.
Glancing out the window, she noticed they had made their way through the city and were entering the freeway. Yuri and the rest of the band members were each drinking from either a champagne or beer bottle. Anya had closed her eyes and appeared to be sleeping. Zalina was still curled into a ball, hiding her face.
Paige took out her phone, checking to make sure she had service. Biting her lip, she knew she couldn't send Walter a text just blurting out what she'd learned. She was going to have to chose her words carefully and hope his 197 IQ would help him figure it out.
ooooo
Walter tried not to frown as he stared at the cards he was holding. He'd caught on quickly to the rather complicated game the other roadies enjoyed playing and he knew his hand was a good one. He'd already won the last two rounds. Winning three in a row. . .probably not a good idea.
Deciding to take Happy's advice, he 'turned off his brain', instead letting it drift to the previous evening he'd spent with Paige. It had been amazing, she had been amazing. And knowing it could be hours, or maybe even a whole day before he could be with her again, he grunted with displeasure as he deliberately misplayed a card.
His attention was further diverted as the loud whoosh of the bus's brakes brought the vehicle to an unexpected halt. Glancing out the window, he noticed all the cars and trucks around them were stopped too. They'd been creeping along in traffic for the past hour, and now it appeared they'd come to a complete halt.
"Hey, Kev, why we stop?" shouted Akim.
"Accident up ahead," replied the driver. "The radio says it's a pretty bad one."
Most of the roadies groaned. "Shit." Akim stood up and walked to the front of the bus. "How long?"
The driver shrugged. Someone yelled from the back, "I need to piss." Others chimed in, stating they also need to use the bathroom, and several complained they were hungry.
"Zatknis," the head roadie barked. "Shut up. Use a water bottle, Dmitri." That drew laughter from the other men, who then made derogatory comments about the size of the man's penis.
An hour later, the bus hadn't moved an inch as Walter and his companions continued on with their card game. Akim had gone to sit beside Happy, and although he tried, Walter wouldn't hear their conversation but every so often he heard them laughing and what sounded like giggling. Happy Quinn. . .giggling. It was obvious, even to him, Akim was interested in her as more than a friend despite her claims to the contrary. Sighing, he tossed a card onto the seat in front of Mikhail.
"Da!" the other man shouted, picking up all the cards. "I win!"
The two other roadies groaned in their defeat as Mikhail continued to celebrate. "Hey, shut up," grumbled Nazar, his head appearing over the seat in front of them. "I'm trying to sleep, you assholes."
"Ignore him," said Mikhail with a wave of his hand. "He just pissed about Mila getting busted. He missing his woman." The roadie then made kissing sounds at the other man.
"Fuck you." Nazar flipped him off. "Her getting busted ruined all our plans." He disappeared behind the seat back as the others laughed at Mikhail's antics.
Mila. Walter had heard that name before, taking a couple of seconds to recall the conversation his first night on this very bus. She must be the backup singer Paige replaced. And he wondered what kind of plans were 'ruined'? Plans to get married, or something else, like plans to rebel against the Russian government?
"Here, your turn to deal." Mikhail shoved the deck of cards into his hands at the same time his phone buzzed in his back pocket. Hoping the text wasn't important, Walter ignored it as he shuffled the deck.
ooooo
Three hours later, Walter and the other roadies stumbled into the venue. Akim turned to face them, holding up his hands to quiet them down. "Okay, we meet back here in one hour," he announced. "Eat, drink, piss, whatever. You not back in time, you fired."
Tired groans greeted the head roadie's threat. Which Walter suspected was an idle one, as he had yet to see the man fire anyone even though he said it several times a day.
"Hey, shut up. If we get everything loaded and in place tonight, you can have tomorrow off."
Cheers erupted as Happy sidled up beside Walter. "You wanna go grab something to eat?"
"Sure." Checking his pocket for his wallet, he felt his cell instead, and remembered the text he'd received earlier. "Wait," he said, powering on his phone and checking his messages. His face broke into a smile as he saw Paige's name.
The mechanic snuck a peek and rolled her eyes. "Ew, I'll go hang with someone else if you're going to be sending mash notes to each other."
"What's a mash note?"
"Seriously, Walt? Were you ever a teenager? They're like sexting but on paper."
"Oh." He didn't know what sexting was either, but figured it must have something to do with sex, hence the name. And seeing Happy's exasperated expression, he decided he better not ask any more questions. Walter opened the message, rapidly scanning its contents. A bit triumphantly, he held out the cell. "It's not that. Here, read it."
"This doesn't make sense," Happy said, unconsciously agreeing with his assessment. "Why does she call Zalina her best friend? That crazy witch wants to scratch Paige's eyes out."
"It's code." Walter indicated the screen. "Listen, 'my best friend Zalina whose rebellious Chechnyan boyfriend was killed and now she's possibly dealing with some very dangerous baggage on her own'. She thinks Zalina might be behind the weapons deals."
A curt laugh escaped Happy. "Yeah, no. She can barely walk and chew gum at the same time. She's the person least likely to be behind this."
"And the last person anyone would suspect," Walter declared. "We should at least check it out. And I overheard something of interest while playing cards." He told her about Nazar and Mila, speculating on what their 'ruined' plans may be.
"You know, it always did seem odd she got busted along with the ATF agents. As we've found out, the roadies never fly. She could have just given her drugs to Nazar for safekeeping until they met up at the next stop."
"Maybe she didn't trust him?"
"Maybe." Happy pushed open the glass door leading outside the venue and they stepped out into the hot Los Angeles sun. "Hey," she said, pointing to a brightly colored taco truck on the corner of the next block. "Buy me lunch, O'Brien."
"A street vendor?" Inwardly he shuddered. "Sly says they violate about twenty-five different health code regulations."
"Probably." Happy shrugged. "But I'm hungry, it's right there and. . ." She glanced at her watch. "We've got less than forty-minutes of our hour left. We don't have time for anything else." She took off toward the truck.
"Fine." With a resigned sigh, Walter followed her.
ooooo
"This violates at least twenty-five different health code regulations."
Toby rolled his eyes at Sylvester's complaint. "Then don't participate." He bent down to place a piece of duct tape on the floor.
Ralph looked up at the human calculator from where he was kneeling on the concrete, hold a measuring tape in place. "Come on, Sly, it'll be fun."
"That's what Toby said about the puppet show. . .and we know that turned out."
"Hey, is it my fault none of you appreciate my masterful puppetry skills?" The shrink straightened up, glaring at his companions.
"Yes." Sylvester and Ralph answered in unison.
"Screw you." Taking a couple steps, Toby placed another mark on the floor. "Keep that measuring tape steady, Ralphie boy."
"I am." The boy genius shook his head. "I don't think any of us can reach twenty feet, Doc."
"Never hurts to be prepared." He ripped off one last length of tape. "There, all done."
The garage door creaked open as Cabe walked inside. "Hey Cabe, just in time," said the psychiatrist. "I hope you've been saving up your saliva."
"For what?" the agent growled. He swept his gaze over the marked up floor. "What the hell is all this?"
"Spitting contest," said Ralph enthusiastically, scrambling up off the concrete. "We're competing for both distance and accuracy. Winner gets a frozen treat from FroYoMa's every day for a week."
"Count me out." Cabe took off his blazer and laid it across the back of a chair. "I start my security gig tonight."
"So the band's in town?" asked Sly.
"That's my understanding," the agent said as he pulled off his tie. "I work for the venue though. They're worried there might be protests."
"Protests? Against what?" Toby set the roll of duct tape on his desk.
"There's a small community of Samatovans here in LA and it's possible they'll use Zhalo's appearance as a way to call attention to their country's independence movement." Cabe started to unbutton his shirt. "There's a good chance I'll be seeing Walter and Happy later. Anything you want me to pass along to them, let me know. But after I take a shower."
Snatching up his already discarded items of clothing, he headed for the stairs. "Wait," Ralph called out. "What about my mom?"
The agent stopped on the first step. "The band is scheduled to do several interviews for radio and TV tomorrow. I couldn't find out if Paige is involved or not. Hopefully I can find out more tonight."
"Okay." Ralph's shoulders sagged with disappointment.
"Hey, kiddo." Cabe made his way back over to the youngster and ruffled his hair. "If I have anything to say about it, I'll make sure you can see your mom. Okay?"
"Thanks, Cabe." The boy still looked kind of glum.
"I have a message for Happy, all right," grumbled Toby as the Homeland agent once again started upstairs.
Sylvester, judging Ralph's despondent mood and Toby's disgruntled one, decided to distract both of them. "Who's ready for the 1st annual Scorpion Spitting Contest? I'll go first!" he proclaimed.
Toeing up to the starting line, he let a loogie fly. "Great job, Sly." The shrink trotted up to him with the measuring tape. "Now do I measure this, by how far it went or where it landed on your sweater vest?"