“Weeeellll…” Kandi licked her lips, then admitted, “His girlfriend said Buck’s passport’s gone. And technically he’d bought tickets for them to go to Mexico the day after he disappeared. And if you want to get specific about things, he maybe had both their suitcases packed and in the trunk of his car when he went out to the Dairy Queen to get Kellie some soft-serve, but his case is gone now…”
Ah, the old going-out-for-soft-serve-and-never-coming-back schtick. I felt almost bad for Kandi. And Kellie.
“But you don’t understand,” Kandi implored, seeing the truth on both Champ’s face and my own. “The man who was greedy for Buck’s Horn… Buck said he was a big-time criminal from another country. And Buck was scared.”
I would be, too, if I were selling stolen information to a criminal, but I didn’t say that.
“In that case, is it possible that your brother was planning to complete the sale after all, maybe because he was scared?” Champ asked gently. “That he flew out to Mexico alone but didn’t take Kellie because it was too dangerous?”
Kandi blinked.
“It’s hard to think someone you love might not have been totally honest,” Champ went on. “But you need to understand, Ms. Nutter, that this isn’t a matter for Champion Security. We no longer work for HOG, so we don’t have client security needs to maintain, and what you’re talking about is a serious matter. You should contact the authorities. You can start with the police right here in Licking Thicket, or I have a, uh… a contact or two at the DEA,” he admitted.
Kandi only just then seemed to notice Champ was a fine specimen of man, the kind the US military put on recruitment posters and public relations ads. He was a real-live superhero with a square jaw, a dimpled chin, and biceps that strained the sleeves of his T-shirt. What she didn’t see was the fact he was gay.
“Oh. Oh my. Why, aren’t you sweet. And it’s Kandi, please. I… I would like to speak to you in private if you don’t mind, sugar. See if we can’t come to an… understanding. One where you could start working for me, and I could… compensate you.” She blinked her black eyelashes rapidly, pretty clearly spelling out S-E-X in Morse code.
I wasn’t sure why, but Champ always seemed shocked when women hit on him. How he wasn’t used to it by now was beyond me. He took a step back and crossed his arms in front of his chest, not realizing he could also get top billing as a forearm porn model.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. It would be unprofessional of us to step on the toes of our former client. I’d advise you to go to the authorities for help or, barring that, to contact HOG Corporate and see which security firm they’ve selected to replace us.”
She reached out a lacquered fingernail and ran it along one of his forearms. I enjoyed the resulting look of maidenly shock on his face, but I bit back the laugh because I valued my life. “But… I have needs,” she said with a pout. “Client security needs.”
Champ met my eyes over the woman’s head and communicated everything with one simple glance. Get rid of her.
Because Champ seemed to be nearing the end of his patience—which was concerning since I figured I still had a good bit of reaming left to endure—I didn’t pretend to misunderstand him this time.
I cleared my throat. “Ma’am… ah… Kandi, Champ’s husband is on his way here with a load of new weapons he picked up from the gun show.”
Damn it, the woman looked even more impressed. I’d forgotten we were in rural Tennessee where guns weren’t very intimidating.
“Also, he’s bringing his…” I glanced at Champ with an apologetic wince. “His drag queen friends along. It’s… ah, Drag Queen Firearm Friday. But I’m sure you already know that.”
Champ literally face-palmed.
Fine, I wasn’t known for my ability to think up lies on the spot. Sue me.
But it apparently did the job because the woman threw up her hands. “Christ on a Christmas cracker! Is everyone in the Thicket gay now?” Then she pivoted on one heel and stormed out.
As soon as the half-red, half-gray Honda Civic peeled out of the lot, I turned back to Champ with a puffed-up sense of pride at my success. “Am I forgiven?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll ask my husband. The gun-toting drag queen.”
I pointed at him. “May you be so lucky. If you weren’t a workaholic, you could totally land a nice buxom queen instead of that big, callused hand you’re married to now.”
Maybe it was a good thing he ignored my comment about his masturbatory habits.
“As for whether or not you’re forgiven for losing our largest client, the answer is no. In fact, as punishment, you’re going to represent Champion Security at the Licking Nuthatch Gala.”