Tequila Shuffle

"What a bitch."

I shrugged. I wasn't totally numb to it, but I'd apparently fried enough brain cells with cheap tequila over the last several months to take the edge off it. Time, distance and alcohol. "She works for the same company, but over in corporate headquarters downtown. Honestly, she's lucky she didn't get fired just for being married to me. That job means a lot to her, she's busted her ass at it for years and losing it would really mess her up. I couldn't expect her to stay anchored to my sorry ass and end up living out of a cardboard refrigerator box."

He shook his head. "True love conquers all, huh?"

"True love doesn't pay the bills."

"So what were you pulling down?"

"The two of us with bonuses? Almost half of a million a year, most of the time. Sometimes more."

"Now you're barely over minimum wage. She took all that money?"

"Well, it wasn't as much as you'd think. We thought we had all the time in the world; we were spending it damn near as fast as we made it. Vacations in Bali, Cabo and the Seychelles, skiing in Aspen, jewelry, thousand dollar a bottle cognac. Lawyers for my defense. But yeah, she disappeared everything we had left when she dropped the papers on me."

"Couldn't you find it?"

"She's an accountant so she was pretty thorough. They're pretty damn good at hiding money, too. It'd take money, time and lawyers to dig that shit out, and I didn't have any of those. When I get my feet under me, maybe I can get it looked into and sue for my share."

He shook his head sadly. "I've seen your paycheck; it's gonna be a long time."

*****

Against my better judgment, I let Miguel talk me into going to another bar when Saturday evening rolled around. "You need to get out José, have some fun."

"Like last week? I had so much fun I only remember wishing I could just die on Sunday." Even as I argued against it, I climbed into the back seat; eight guys could fit in the ancient brown Bonneville as long as nobody worried about seatbelts.

"We're going to a different place this time. Someplace more fun."

"I thought you said that was your favorite bar?"

He grimaced. "They didn't really appreciate us enough."

"Did we get thrown out?"

He frowned and held his hands up. "Maybe."

"Didn't you say your cousin owned that place."

"He's a distant cousin." He shrugged and shifted to a brilliant grin. "Besides this club has dancing."

When he pulled his beater car to a halt in the parking lot and I unfolded myself out of it, I gave him a sidelong glance. "A salsa club? Isn't that Cuban?"

"This place is loaded with very hot chicks wearing very little clothes. I'd come here if it was a waltz club." He squinted at me. "You do know how to dance, don't you?"

"Yes. I can do the polka. And the waltz."

The shock on his face was priceless. "Seriously?"

"Yes. But I can also tango, foxtrot, salsa, jive, and a dozen other styles. Beth and I used to hit the dance clubs like it was a religion."

"Thank God. I thought we were fixing to get thrown out again."

I laughed. "I'll buy your first beer. Domestic."

"Yeah, I know, I've seen your paycheck."

We had an absolute blast. There were at least two huge bachelorette parties and three final divorce parties in the club, which made for well over a two to one ratio of women to men, and most of the women were already in the "feeling no pain" stage before we ever got there.

I'd been dragged out onto the floor by two divorcees, a maid of honor, three bridesmaids and one mother of the bride—who drunkenly copped a feel—so fast I hadn't even managed to finish a drink.

I finally managed to sit down, watching Miguel get dragged off to the floor by the voracious mother of the bride.

Holding my Modelo Especial, I peered around the packed floor. More bare skin than a nudist colony.

I settled my gaze on what Leonard would term a "particularly full and toothsome behind," clad in skin-tight jeans. The woman was apparently talking with someone at a table, and was bent deeply over, leaning on her elbows, so she could hear them in the pandemonium.

Every damn time she shifted, I felt my heart—among other things—shift with her. Damn, that was one fine ass.

I was still watching entranced when Miguel stumbled into the table and sat down next to me. "You couldda warned me asshole."

"Yeah, she was a handful."

"That cougar got a handful! She got my zipper down. She mentioned she was divorced like six times." He paused and followed my gaze. "Damn. That's some fine..." He broke into silence as the woman straightened up and looked right at us.

Rosa's eyes narrowed and she started right for us. Miguel looked at me and held his hands up helplessly. "Hey man, I just got here."

He made sure he said that loud enough for Rosa to hear as she marched toward us.

She must have since she came right up to me, ignoring Miguel. "What do you think you're staring at, you fucking pervert?"

I was probably going to apologize. Probably. But just as I open my mouth, a giggling woman in a toy bridal veil half-fell into the table heavily, dragged by her maid of honor. I assumed it was her maid of honor because of the brilliant pink sash that read "Maid of Honor." No waste of a college education here.

The maid of honor grabbed my arm and pulled. "She needs to dance with five more guys!"

I was dragged to my feet and gestured helplessly to Rosa.

"I'll be back."

The bride was not as drunk as her bridesmaid, was obviously a little uncomfortable with the game and I did my best to be a gentleman.

I didn't actually make it back to the table for three more dances, intercepted in turn by the other bride, the other maid of honor, and what turned out to be a very pretty trans who saved me from another round of defending myself from the cougar. At least the trans wasn't like dancing with a horny octopus.

I was trying to work my way back to the table without falling into the clutches of the drunk and handsy mother of the bride when a hand grabbed mine, so I wearily stepped back onto the dance floor.

"Were you ever coming back to your table?" Rosa glared at me as we started the dance, but it wasn't really bothering me all that much and for some reason, she didn't seem as pissed off as she had a few minutes ago.

"I tried, I had a cold beer back there, but it's probably warm by now."

"No, I drank it. I was waiting for you to come back and apologize."

Any inclination I had to apologize disappeared. "Bullshit. If you didn't want everyone to stare at your ass, you wouldn't paint those jeans on. And you damn sure knew what you were showing off bent over that way."

Rosa's lips tightened into a thin line and her eyes narrowed. "That wasn't for your benefit, pervert."

I shrugged. "I didn't see a 'reserved' sign anywhere on it and I looked pretty close."

I expected her to go ballistic, but she pursed her lips and shook her head, a small chuckle escaping. "Miguel says you aren't as much of an asshole as I thought. He said that it was all his fault."

"They didn't actually tie me down and force me to drink." I paused, trying to remember. "At least I don't think they did, but he could have not painted me up and dropped me off naked."

She smiled. "I didn't expect you to actually come back and clean up the vomit."

"I wish you'd have told me that. Dragging those buckets around with that hangover was awful."

All in all, it was a pleasant dance with a very hot woman, and when the song finished, I figured we maybe had a pretty decent truce, at least for now. I watched her walk back to her table. The view certainly hadn't gotten worse. She glanced back at me, probably to make sure I was watching. Then she gave a slight shake of her head, a slight smile and mouthed the word "pervert" at me.

I winked back and she rolled her eyes at me before sitting down at her table.

Miguel looked me over for injuries. "Looks like you got away alive."

"She's your cousin?"

"Yeah. She's my second cousin."

"Well, thanks for putting in a good word for me."

"Kinda owed you that, man."

I had to laugh at that. "You kinda did, asshole.

*****

I managed to make a whole week without any kind of mayhem. That might have been a new record for me, at least lately.

One call to my PO, six solid days of work and no hangover on two Sundays in a row. The "no hangover" thing was remarkably pleasant and I was thinking of maybe trying to do that more often.

For me that almost qualified as "life was good."

So, of course, it couldn't last.

We finished a field early, but not nearly early enough to get to the next block of fields, so we were heading back before sunset for a change.

"Hey, José. Isn't that your parole officer? Over there, in that restaurant. With the blonde woman."

"Yeah, that's..." I froze, unable to believe my eyes.

"What?" Miguel pulled away from the stoplight, heading out.

"What the fuck? That's my ex-wife." I leaned back over the seat to get a better look. Beth's blouse was unbuttoned an awful lot for a friendly lunch. "What the fuck is she doing with that asshole?"

Miguel glanced over at me, then went back to pushing the bus through the traffic for a second. "Hold on."

He pulled to a stop and yelled in blistering fast Spanish to the back of the bus and a bearded guy stood up and pushed toward the front.

Miguel popped the door and I started to get up.

"No, man, you say here."

"Jesus, I need to know what the fuck is going on."

He grinned. "Exactly, but you're still pronouncing it wrong. This is Jesus and he knows what your parole office looks like." He shrugged. "No promises, but we have a cousin who works here, maybe we'll get lucky and find out what's up."

I wanted to say it was probably a coincidence, but what were the fucking odds of my high-octane ex-wife accidentally meeting my scumbag asshole parole officer? I sighed. "Maybe she's checking up on me or something?"

Miguel looked at me with one eyebrow raised. "Maybe. But... I dunno, man. Feels kinda fucked up."

We rolled out and Miguel glanced at me in the mirror. "I'll come by your place tonight and let you know what Jesus finds out, okay."

I nodded, a sick feeling spreading through my gut.

*****

Jesus didn't find out much, but what he did find out was really unsettling. One of the waitresses was a cousin and she'd found them an odd enough couple to pay attention.

Beth was all over Fish, and he was nervous as hell. She was doing her best to get him to do something that he was clearly uncomfortable with. She obviously wasn't above using seduction to do it. Jesus said if her blouse came unbuttoned any lower, she'd have had to start on her skirt.

"Maybe she wants him to go easy on me?" That rang hollow as hell even as I said it.

"You can't be that stupid José. Going easy on you wouldn't make him uncomfortable. The man's got child molesters and convicted murderers he treats fair. He's got a reputation for being pretty cool."

"How do you know that?"

"There aren't that many POs who cover out here. I gotta cousin who..."

I waved him off. "I have a really bad feeling about this."

Miguel stared at my peeling linoleum tabletop for a second. "You gonna look into it?"

"Yeah, I'll just go ahead and pull a few grand out of my account and pay for a private eye." I shook my head. "I can't afford that shit. Hell, I don't know if there even are private eyes anymore."

He suddenly grinned and looked up. "You don't need to. I got a cousin who works in housekeeping at the condo she lives in."

"Jes..damn Miguel, how many cousins you got?"

"How many do we need?" We're everywhere and we're invisible."

"You don't need to do this."

He laughed. "Nah, this is kinda cool. Play detective, you know? Besides, man, this is what friends do."

We headed over to a small house on the edge of the city where his cousin Isobel lived with her husband and four kids.

Things were fine at first, she thought the whole thing sounded exciting and fun. Housekeeper-spy does have a pretty nice ring to it. It was fine right up until she asked if I had a picture of Beth.

She looked at the picture, looked closer, and rather suddenly Isobel seemed to forget English and began hissing rapid-fire Spanish at Miguel. The fact that she'd mentioned she'd been born in San Diego made that rather suspicious.

"Miguel. What the hell is going on?"

He looked at me, pained. "Uh, José..." he trailed off uncomfortably.

"Even I know what puta means Miguel."

Isobel squared up. "She's got a couple guys who visit all the time."

"We're divorced. I may not like it, but it's the way things work." I was lying. Even though my feelings had mellowed over the last few months, I hated it.

Isobel looked at me stonily. "You been divorced for four years?"

My mouth went dry. "What do you mean?"

"I've been working there for four years and she's had this one guy coming over for the entire time."

I felt oddly relieved for a second. "That can't be her; I was home every night."

She breathed out almost silently. "They come over at lunchtime. I'm sorry. I'm sure it's her. Skinny-ass bitch. Another guy started showing up, too. On different days. Maybe two years ago."

Miguel pulled his cell phone out. He had a picture of Fish on it. "This guy?"

She shook her head. "I don't know him. The newer guy is a big blond guy, maybe a weightlifter. The long-term guy is a kind of thin wiry guy with dark hair, acts jittery all the time."

"You gotta be fucking kidding me." I tried to sit down and ended up on my ass on the floor with the kitchen chair skittering away. "That second guy sounds like Alan Voorhees. He works in accounting with her. Shit."

Isobel looked at me sadly. "You didn't suspect?"

"How would I know? Her office is only about five minutes away from the condo. My office was almost forty minutes' drive in good traffic."

Miguel reached over and grabbed my shoulder. "You're not going to do something crazy, are you? You go after them, you break your parole."

I shook my head slowly. "Fuck. Go after them? My martial arts training consists entirely of walking into spider webs and going full kung fu theater. I could pay for maybe five minutes of a PI's time, and that wouldn't do any good anyway. Fucking around on me didn't break any laws and there ain't shit I can do about it now."

Miguel shrugged. He knew I was right.

*****

I was expecting Fish to show up with more ridiculous demands, but he didn't and two weeks later I was starting to think it was all going to blow over.

Until Miguel got a cell call just as we were getting near the city limits on the way out. He abruptly cut across three lanes of traffic and broke land speed records back to the trailer park.

Instead of stopping at the gate, he pulled up directly in front of my trailer.

Rosa, in her gloriously skimpy pink robe, was standing cross-armed in front of my trailer glaring hatefully at Fish. Leonard and Maisie were watching fascinated.

I didn't even clear the steps off the bus before Rosa shifted her attention to me. "Did you give this asshole permission to go into your trailer? He came in here as soon as the bus left."

"It's a fucking condition of parole." Fish glowered at her, then me. "You have no expectation of privacy. You know that."

"Yeah, but it isn't an informal thing. In this state, you have to have reasonable suspicion. Otherwise, it's a harassment search." A bad feeling washed up my spine. "And I read the terms. I can ask that you be accompanied by another law enforcement officer."

His lip twitched. "That's for female parolees who want a female officer present."

"It doesn't say that, asshole. It just says I can have one." I decided to lob the one grenade I had. "What did Beth say she wanted?"

He blinked and his face washed grey. "Fuck. I don't need this."

He turned and began walking back toward his car. I followed carefully. "What the fuck is going on, Fish?"

He opened the door and looked at me over his shoulder, he'd aged about fifty years in those twenty steps. "How the fuck would I know?"

He slammed the door and started the car. Then he seemed to think of something, rolled his window down and sighed the sigh of a very old man. "My caseload is too damn heavy. I'm transferring you to Anderson as your PO. I don't want any part of this."

"Part of what, goddammit?"

He flicked something out the window to my feet and stared at me steadily. "Your ex-wife wants you back in the pen. Watch your fucking back. She's willing to do anything."

He drove off and I stared after him as Leonard walked up, reached down and picked up a package from the dirt at my feet.

He held it up and examined it. I noticed for the first time he was wearing one of Maisie's calico housecoats. A light blue one with little roses all over it. "Oxy. In four bags. Probably twenty tabs. That'd be intent to distribute."

Behind him, Miguel shook his head silently.

I closed my eyes for a second. "Fuck."

Rosa slid up beside me, a lot closer than I would have expected. I caught the scent of some kind of delicate tropical flower perfume. She watched his car disappear into the distance. "He was going to plant that in your trailer."

I nodded slowly. I wasn't even sure I could talk.

"You'd have gone back to prison."

I nodded again. It'd have been to a real prison, too. I'd served my six months as a federal inmate in jail, but if I went back it'd be to a real prison with real prison gangs. Around here that meant mostly Nortenos and Surenos. I shivered.

Rosa reflexively grabbed my arm. "Are you okay?"

"Not really."

"Why does your ex want you in prison? You're not stalking her or something are you?"

"I don't even have a car. Miguel pretty much drives me everywhere. How the hell would I stalk her?" Somehow the fact that Rosa was still holding onto my arm seemed to help me focus. "Something's going on, but I didn't get the script. We're divorced, she got everything and I haven't been anywhere near her." I took a deep breath and told her how we'd ended up divorced and I'd ended up on parole.

Rosa looked as puzzled as I felt. "She tried to fuck that guy into putting you in prison?"

"Seems like it."

"She must really hate you."

"I didn't do anything; she's the one who was fucking around, and I didn't even know that at the time."

Rosa's full lips twisted into a really attractive moue. "You didn't have to do anything. She might blame you for what she did. Women, you know?" Those big brown eyes locked on mine for a second. "He was right, you need to watch your back. She hates you that much, she isn't stopping now."

I suddenly felt exhausted. The idea that Beth might actually hate me was sickening. I looked over at Miguel. "You have any cousins in the Bergman Towers? That's where Beth works."

He gave a grin. "What can I say, man, we're everywhere. I'll also tell Isobel to get pictures of any visitors she gets at home."

Maisie, disturbingly dressed in Leonard's overalls-and just Leonard's overalls-shaded her eyes peering the disappearing speck of Fish's car. "Leonard and I will keep an eye on your trailer, but you might wanna install a latch with a padlock on it."

I felt Rosa let go, and I turned to her. "You called Miguel?"

She nodded.

"You saved my ass."

She looked nervously uncertain for a second, then pasted on a confident smirk. "You spend all your time watching my ass, I figured I could watch yours for a change."

Miguel rolled his eyes. "Yours is a helluva lot more interesting than his."

Rosa looked skyward for a moment. "God, I hope so. If it isn't, I spend way too much time at the gym at work shaping this bad girl." She gave me a wink and slapped her butt, bouncing it intriguingly.

I blinked, then dragged my eyes back up to hers. "Where do you work anyway?"