Claw 1 Read online

“I’ll get your money sent ASAP.”

  “I’ll head out the second you do,” Dante said, letting him know it was required.

  “Praise God, Brother, I’m so happy. Thank you so much.”

  “My pleasure.”

  He gave more religious babblings and Dante finally hung up, hoping to not talk to him again too soon. He required a little advance preparation when dealing with personalities like that. That whole jumping up and down and wagging his religious pom-poms in his face was like a frigid woman’s orgasms—likely fake.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HEALER

  “Greg,” Dante said into the phone. “It’s Dante.”

  “Dante! Man what happened to you Saturday?”

  “I had to study for an exam.”

  “You still in school? I thought you finished.”

  “I did, but I signed up for another semester. This time it’s online though. Hey, I got a job.”

  “At Nasa?”

  Dante laughed. “I wish.”

  “You would qualify with all the shit you know.”

  “Nah.”

  “Where at man, spill it?”

  “I’m headed there now. Arizona. Remember that fucking holistic website I had?”

  “I think so. You got a bite?”

  “I did. At three o’clock in the morning. He’s in a different time zone.”

  “Right, Arizona.”

  Dante laughed. “Yeah and he’s throwing money at me, it’s crazy.”

  “Sounds amazing man, I’m so happy for you.”

  “Almost too good to be true, right?”

  There was a pause and Greg said, “Man, don’t do that. I get you’ve not had the best of luck but don’t stare a gift horse in the mouth. It’s way past time for the tables to turn for you. You work hard, you put it in, it’s got to return, that’s Murphey’s law man, that’s the way of the universe.”

  “Right. I know I’m telling myself all of that shit. I wanted to ask if you’d pick up my mail and forward anything Tin-Tin might send to where I'm going. If I get the job I could be there for a month or more, depends.”

  “Sure man. Happy to.”

  “It doesn’t have to be daily maybe just once a week, that would work.”

  “Got it. Will you be stuck there the whole time?”

  “Likely. I’ll call you though.”

  “Good because Julie will wonder what happened to my other wife.”

  Dante laughed. “You’re the fucking wife. You need to tell her it’s you stuck up my ass.”

  “Oh yeah, I’ll tell her right away sweetheart.”

  “And keep an eye on Blake will you? Tell him I told you to watch him. Little shit needs to follow the program and stay on track with school and work or I’ll kick his ass.”

  “Got it dad.”

  Very funny. Dante hung up with his friend and took a deep breath and let it out. Well Tin-Tin, this is it. Say a prayer man. Let this be our big break.

  ****

  Dante looked around at the place as he put his car in park. The 1992 black Cadillac with the dents and scratches screamed drug mafia gone wrong. Great impression. Add shoulder length hair in a ponytail and his scarred up body, well his customers should be right at ease. The only thing he had going for him was the artistic nature of the scars and his naturally innocent looking blue eyes. Tin-Tin said the light of Heaven shone in them. And Rin. The wife’s name was Rin. Rin-Tin-Tin. That had to be a good sign.

  The drive up was long enough to give him time to overthink everything and he was now back to paranoid. He had enemies on the inside and the outside of prison due to the fact that his kill was gang related. Tin-Tin protected him on the inside but Dante never knew how far that influence reached on the outside. And with gang violence, you never paid for your sins entirely until you were dead. But if this was linked to anything like that, he had to hand it to whoever might be behind it—it was fucking brilliant. If it wasn’t for the man being a religious fanatic and trusting the lord he’d probably had said no to the job.

  He played over many worst case scenarios where the wife was concerned and was braced for The Exorcist. He hoped her demons responded to herbs because come hell or hallucinations, he needed to collect a paycheck.

  He figured he’d wait to bring in his gear till he made sure he didn’t need to haul ass in a hurry. Scope the place out first. And what a place, holy shit. An oasis hidden behind cement walls. He didn’t care for the walls, but since there was no barbed wire at the top, he could get past it. He’d gotten over his prison dependence not long after he got out and he had no desire to live behind its walls ever again. Unless it meant being with Tin-Tin.

  The gate opened automatically as he approached, indicating he was already seen. If he was going to be killed, they had a clear shot now.

  He eyed the two story Spanish style home, searching for any threats at every window and roof edge. The burnt sienna walls and the bright blue tiled roof was the first evidence the dude had money to throw away. And a vacation home? God damn, the main house had to be a mansion.

  He headed up the giant stone walk lined with colorful flowers. The door opened and he froze for a brief second at the woman who emerged. If her 1800’s high necked dress to the ground and sculpted swirl of curls piled on top of her head wasn’t a costume, then he was saying hello to the psychotic wife. As he drew closer, he realized she was also step off the cover of a magazine gorgeous even in the strange outfit. She had an oval face with delicate features, straight from a royal blood line.

  “I’m Rin,” she announced, hurrying forward with a hand out. Her full, shapely lips curved at the edges in the most delicate smile.

  Dante was too stunned to speak. He’d had Rin pictured as a plain, maybe plump, even frumpy Rin-Tin-Tin kind of individual. He finally shot his own out and barely shook hers. “Dante,” he said, catching a flash of apprehension in her mossy gray eyes. “Don’t let my looks scare you,” he said, looking around at anything but her. “Beautiful place here.”

  “Thank you,” she said, nodding, her voice soft but firm. “Please come in, I have refreshments made. I want to thank you for coming all this way to help us on short notice.”

  He followed her inside, wondering if her royal act with her perfectly spoken English was part of her costume play. If it wasn’t, she was definitely chemically imbalanced. He didn’t have a degree on customs, culture, and etiquette but he was pretty sure she was not living in current day reality.

  “Please let me show you around, then you can bring your things to the guest house?”

  “That works for me,” he said, ready for one of his strong herbal tea concoctions to calm his nerves. He avoided looking at her long, poufy sleeved white gown as she seemed to float about her palace.

  He survived the long tour of the house, feeling like everything was just picture perfect in her life. Not a single lavish thing out of place. “Lots of old fashioned royal décor,” he finally said, hoping to understand why.

  “Old English is my favorite. I do love the era and shamelessly live it out here. Does it bother you? Daryl indulges the flair since we don’t get many visitors. He didn’t specify not to,” she said, sounding worried now.

  “No, if that’s what you love, then by all means, who am I to say otherwise? This is your home, your life, you should be free to enjoy it.”

  The angle of her brows and parted lips indicated he’d spoken another language, one she’d not heard before but might be hungry to hear a lot more of.

  They ended back at the foyer and a robust Spanish woman appeared. “Renee,” Rin called with a hand out. “This is Mr. Dante. Dante, this is Renee, my loyal maid and best friend.”

  Dante noted the traditional black and white maid’s dress with the cute little hat as he shook the beaming woman’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you Renee.”

  “Ohhhh, he’s so niiiiice,” she cooed. “I am also the cook and you will love my dishes.”

  “I’m sure I will,” he said, smiling at the bounce
of her brows and the flirty twinkle in her brown eyes. They suddenly lowered to the art work on his neck. “Ohhh,” she sang softly, her smile fading. “You have tattoos.”

  By the furrow in her brows, Dante felt like that was a bad thing. “They’re not tattoos.” At the confusion on her face, he muttered, “They’re uh … scars.”

  “Renee, why don’t you make us some of your famous Spanish tea?”

  She looked at Rin and said in Spanish, “This one is different and strange.” Dante hid a smile as she walked off. “I will get the tea, I will get the tea. And I will pray for our guest,” she added in Spanish.

  “I’m sorry,” Rin whispered, sounding pained.

  “Nah, it’s okay. She’s sweet.”

  “Well, that’s it of the tour,” she announced. “I’ll leave you to collect your things. If you need anything, just let us know.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Dante said.

  “Please, just Rin. You’ll make me feel like an old spinster. Oh dear, that was a poor term. Obviously I’m married,” she gushed oddly.

  “Okay, Rin,” he said. “And call me Dante.”

  “Oh, right,” she said. “I should have asked before I addressed you by your first name.”

  Good God. “No, I’m very glad you did. I don’t do sophistication.”

  Her brows furrowed more. “I can adjust,” she said, like he didn’t want her being sophisticated. Jesus Christ how far down could he dig this hole?

  “Be right back,” he said, giving up.

  He headed out to his car, his mind replaying everything. He felt a little better at gathering how nervous as hell she was. She was pretty damn good at hiding it though. With her being forthcoming about loving the old English era and living that out shamelessly marked psychotic off his list. Odd, but not psychotic.

  But contrary to what her husband claimed, she wasn’t flashy with her religion—first contradiction and hopefully the last. She did babble religious things but all of it was tempered with a genuine sincerity as far as he could tell. It was still early. But getting at a person’s honest temperament was a big part of understanding their overall health. If she was faking anything in any way, that could become stressful. And stress was a real player in many diseases and dysfunctions.

  He hauled his first two bags into the guest house right off of a long rectangular pool behind the main house. Setting them down on the floor, he looked around the place a little more. Wow. He’d not had that kind of lavish living in … ever.

  He went back to the car and eyed the black bag with the massage table. He was tacking on an extra twenty thousand dollars if he had to use that shit. Hell, he’d show the maid what to do if it came to needing anything like that, no way was he putting his hands on her in that capacity, job or not. If she looked like the maid, it might be a different story.

  Grabbing the table and the final bag of his just in case supplies, he headed back, scanning the whole perimeter as he did. Just what kind of surveillance did they have? And security? And were their weapons besides the lord’s angels they no doubt were sure surrounded the place?

  Inside the guest house, he began unloading his bags and finding place for everything. Where was he supposed to conduct his assessment? Sure as hell not in there. In the kitchen. With the maid.

  Shit, private. Fuck. Maybe the maid knew? He’d ask.

  He turned at the sound of a soft knock. Rin stood just outside the screen door with a tray of something and he hurried to it before she thought to come in.

  “Some homemade tea,” she said as he stepped out. “I made it with real lemons and real strawberries.”

  He took a glass, wondering where she found fake ones. “Thank you. Great place, it’s like I’m going on vacation instead of working.”

  “I’m happy you find it to your satisfaction.” She set the tray on the nearby table and sat at one of the chairs. “Can you tell me what I can expect?”

  Her tone said she’d been dying to ask that and was fighting to appear calm about it. So that’s what her freak-out was all this time. Not knowing what the hell he was there to do.

  He took the chair next to her and pulled it a few feet away and sat. “You have nothing to worry about for one. I won’t touch you if that’s what you’re wondering, aside from very minor things and I will ask your permission before doing anything as well as explain everything I do and why I’m doing it.”

  A nervous smile flitted over her lips, not reaching her eyes as she nodded her understanding. “Sounds simple enough,” she said. But the words were winded, like she needed more breath.

  “It’s perfectly normal to feel nervous. I understand that you don’t know me and I don’t know you. If it makes you feel better, I’m probably just as nervous.”

  The surprise in her face made him want to chuckle. That was one she’d not considered and made her feel a thousand times better. “Well, I can certainly understand your reservations I suppose.”

  “I’ll ask you questions like what you eat, your daily activity, any problems you experience, that kind of thing. I’ll draw some blood work and assess your physiological status and then concoct a holistic remedy that will address any issues.”

  “Holistic? That’s…”

  “Natural. I use only all natural ingredients in my protocols. If God didn’t make it, then you shouldn’t take it, is my motto.”

  More gushing relief in the form of laughter. “I should have called ahead and explained all of that. You probably got an ulcer in a couple of hours worrying.”

  “No, no,” she said, but she was nodding. She licked her lips and gazed out at the pool as though not sure what to say. “I was pretty nervous but you’ve removed a lot of that.” She eyed him with a smile, pushing hair behind her ear. He noticed at that moment she wore no jewelry. No rings, ear-rings, nothing. Odd. “Thank you. I can write what I eat, what I do from morning to night and any symptoms I have.”

  He eyed her, a little perplexed. Where was the troubled woman her husband warned him of? Maybe it hit at night.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, looking worried.

  “Nothing,” he said then looked at her again. “You just seem very healthy.”

  Her face remained serious before she lowered her gaze. “Daryl thinks I’m pretty sick, does he?”

  “Why does he think that?”

  She shrugged a shoulder, looking at the pool. “I’m barren, as you know.”

  He heard subdued bitterness in the light words and waited for her to add to that.

  “I’m not the ideal wife to him.”

  “What’s ideal to him?”

  She took a deep breath and smoothed her hands over her dress. “A woman that can have many babies. A woman that …” she paused, looking at her lap then shook her head. “I’m not really sure what is wrong with me. Daryl is such a good … provider. And … helper. And he’s smart.”

  Dante watched her struggle to come up with nice things to say about her husband, waiting for things like: He’s gentle, loving, kind, passionate.

  “I’m bad at describing people, I think,” she mumbled. “He’s a good soul.”

  Dante felt a but hanging at the end of every compliment. Great. They had marital problems. That was one God damn thing he didn’t have herbs for. Unless it had something to do with emotions and sexual drive.

  “Do you mind if I ask how your cycle is?”

  She regarded him then immediately blushed and lowered her eyes in a fluster that made him uncomfortable. But he definitely had to ask these things. “I think it’s fine. It comes once a month. Seven days of … it. Daryl comes when I can conceive. He comes other times,” she quickly added, “but he makes sure to come then. He’s very astute about it,” she said as though sensing how bad that all sounded. “He wants to be a father.”

  “Do you want to be a mother?”

  She regarded him sharply. “Of course I do, why wouldn’t I? Did he say I didn’t?”

  “No,” Dante said, remembering Daryl’s mention of her pa
ranoia. “No, he only said very good things about you.”

  The anger left her with a fluttering of her gaze, replaced by regret. Again he was fascinated to see she wore no eye makeup and yet her gray eyes seemed to leap out at him. “Of course he did. He’s very good, just like I said. He only ever says nice things about me.”

  Again he felt that but. “How long have you tried to conceive?”

  She eyed him again, suspicion back in her gaze. The conception thing was definitely a sore topic and he was sorry he had to even go there. “Since we married. Faithfully. I’ve been very faithful to try my best each month, the best I can.”

  “So how do you like church life?” Dante asked, wanting to find a topic she might be more comfortable with.

  “I don’t go, if that’s what you want to know. I don’t see any point. I like learning at home from God.”

  Dante couldn’t hide his shock or his appreciation of her answer. “There’s nothing wrong with that. How does Daryl feel about it?”

  “More than happy,” she said, more subdued bitterness. “Who wants to bring their barren wife to church with them? I surely don’t want to cause him more humiliation. I tell them I’m sick, that way he isn’t put upon with my sins.”

  “Your sins?”

  She looked at him, straight on. “All sickness and suffering comes from sin, Mr. Dante.”

  He considered how to continue down that slippery slope, wanting her to keep rattling on while not scaring her off. “Why do you think it’s your sins?”

  She definitely wasn’t expecting that question and suddenly appeared as though she’d never considered otherwise. “I … it’s my body that is the problem. So it must be my sin.”

  Dante eyed the pool water, glad now for his biblical studies, along with the books covering world religions. But what he just heard her say would certainly affect her overall health. To bear the burden of guilt for a crime not yours, was one of the most damaging things a human could endure.

  “What Bible do you use if you don’t mind me asking?” He needed to make sure they were on the same religious wave length.

  “The King James version is my preference. Even though many don’t like it, I like it.”