Page 43 of Tony

“Belinda dyes her hair. Trust me. That’s not the real her down there. Not even close. If you knew what I knew about her, you’d see it my way. Besides, you’re just… naturally you. Belinda is a construct. Plus, you definitely have an attitude.”

“Yeah, I know. But Belinda has that cute I’m-a-little-firecracker kind of attitude. Mine is more of a Poison Ivy personality.”

I guffaw at her. “Poison Ivy the superhero? Well, she’s sexy. And she has red hair. So, yeah, I can see it.”

“But she’s a bad guy. No one wants to be friends with the villain in the story.”

“Don’t they? I think everyone loves the villain. Even when they hate them. And anyway, Poison Ivy is more of an anti-heroine. She’s all about the ends justifying the means.”

“Hmm. But Belinda has more of a don’t-fuck-with-me-or-I’ll-insult-you-with-cute-trendy-euphemisms kind of attitude. Mine is more along the lines of I-will-poison-you-in-your-sleep kind of attitude.”

I laugh. Loudly. Then point to her. “People respect that kind of attitude, Soshee. Don’t sell yourself short.” And then a new idea kinda hits me. “You know what this is?”

“What?”

“It’s very much a case of… not mistaken identity. But something like that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, you’re falling for the wrong guy and I’m… not falling for the wrong girl. That probably makes no sense.”

“Hmm. No. It sorta does. I get what you’re saying. He’s not right for me.” She pouts her lips. “And Belinda isn’t right for you.”

“Exactly.”

“That sucks though.”

“Why? Because you’ve invested time and energy into stalking Vann? And now you might have to admit that it was a waste?”

She sighs. “Yeah. Definitely something to think about, I guess.” She smiles weakly at me. Then her attention redirects to the street down below. “Well, there goes Vann.”

I look down at College Avenue below, and sure enough, there’s Vann coming out of the shop. He walks to his truck, gets in, then pulls out, takes a right on Mountain Avenue, and disappears from view. “Closing time, finally. But at least he didn’t leave with Belinda.”

“There’s Vonn and Vinn,” Soshee says. “I guess everyone’s done for the night.”

We watch as one of the twins locks the front door to the shop and then the two custom motorcycles parked in front of the shop roar to life in the silence of downtown and they pull away and out of sight.

“No Belinda, though,” I say.

“She probably went out the back.”

“The lights are still on.”

“That’s probably Vic. It’s pretty common for him to pull all-nighters. His clients are almost all out-of-towners. People come from all over the world to get ink from Vic so he does long sessions.”

“Damn, woman. You’re like a little fountain of information.” Then I point to her. “No. A really tall, sexy, red-headed mountain of information.”

She slaps my pointing finger away and laughs. “Stop it.” But then she sighs heavily and stands up. She grabs the wine glasses and takes them into the kitchen. I grab the empty wine bottles and follow, handing them to her. She sets them on the counter and turns to me, leaning back against it. “Thank you for being my spy partner.”

“It was my pleasure, Soshee Ameci.” I take her hand and kiss her knuckles.

She smiles, but doesn’t blush, and then pulls her hand away. I wasn’t trying to make her blush, so that’s a good sign that she isn’t thinking I’m about to make a move on her. The whole jilted-lovers-find-each-other trope really is sad and not classically romantic.

“We should do it again sometime.”

I point to the floor. “I’m right downstairs if you need me.”

“How long are you staying?”