Christmas at Sinners Part 3 by Rolynn Anderson
Mitch’s eyebrows were up,
waiting for her answer.
A throat clear. “We’ll try
your way, Mitch. Don’t know if you can detect an eye-twitch from your position,
but maybe you can watch for other tells.”
Mitch nodded.
“I want you to come over and put your arm around me to show the guys I tried to worm a room out of you, regretful you didn't have one to give.”
“I want you to come over and put your arm around me to show the guys I tried to worm a room out of you, regretful you didn't have one to give.”
“O...okay.” He rose from his stool and gave her a quick side hug before he moved away. His expression was wistful when he said, “I like you Sable Chisholm and you smell good. Don’t forget to smile.
Big. They’ll do anything for you when you smile.”
Sable surveyed the bar, wondering where to start. Something about the guy smack
in the middle, head down like he was drunk, but neck held too stiffly to signal
inebriation, drew her. Another man, black hair and mustache, staring into space,
sat at the same table. The vast distance between them clarified they weren’t
mates.
She graced them with a small
smile. “Gentlemen, may I sit for a moment?”
The pretend-drunk shot her a
side look, his alertness no surprise. He was a broad-shouldered fellow,
square-jawed, dark brown eyebrow shooting up to his short brown hair. A good haircut.
Jeans and a jeans jacket. Shirt looked tailored. Did his eye just twitch? Was
he medium height? She couldn’t tell.
The mustached guy said “Take
a load off,” so she stuck out her hand. “Thanks,” she said, sitting. “Sable. I
won’t take much of your time. Promise.” Sable worked on a grin until their eyes
focused on her. "Names?"
“Burke,” said the not-drunk
guy.
“Ken.” The mustached guy
squirmed in his seat.
“Tough we have to spend Christmas Eve here when we should be with our families."
Ken stroked the hair under
his lip. "We’re stuck, for sure. Buy you a drink,
ma’am?” The man dipped into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “Name
your poison.”
When she waived off the
offer, Ken said, “Snow’s stopped. Storm’s over.”
“How did you learn that? The
internet’s down.”
He shrugged.
“But they’re out of rooms.” Sable
said plaintively. “Are you guys going to sleep in this bar tonight?”
Burke scoffed. “Not me. I bought a room off that guy over there." He pointed to the far left of the bar. "And I’m about to crash. You looking for a sleeping partner tonight,
ma’am? Why don’t I buy a bottle of champagne and we can retire to my place.” He
lifted his eyebrows suggestively.
Sable ignored his offer. “I
heard the road’s closed at Rainier because of snow. Customers are stranded up
there.”
“Hell of a bad stretch. Those
folks at Rainier won’t get out of there for days.” Burke smiled
as he fingered a hundred dollar bill. “Now about that bottle of champagne?”
She waved away his offer a
second time and zeroed in on Ken. “Do you have a room I could buy from you,
sir? You look like you’d prefer to spend the night out here, anyway.”
Ken shook his head. “No room
at Sinners for me.”
Frowning, Sable stared at Ken’s
finger, the one he used to rub his forehead. She stood and walked over to the
man. “Sir, you’ve cut yourself on your cheek. Right here.” She swiped her thumb
on the place. With a quick pivot, she turned to Mitch, and hidden from the Ken’s view, she showed her finger.
Mitch jumped off the bar
stool and approached the table. “Am I hearing a ‘ho, ho, ho’ from over here,
Miss Sable? Did you find a room?”
“Better. I’ve got a 10-32.”
Burke looked confused. Mitch’s smile disappeared. Ken stood abruptly and stared at Sable.
She walked behind Burke, put
her hands on his shoulder, and bent her head close to his. “Looks like you’re
about to gift me with your bed for the night.”
The man leaned back to take
advantage of her caress. In the next second, he jerked up and yelled, “What the
hell?”
Sable held the gun she’d
taken from Burke’s belt, dangling it by one finger to save fingerprints, and
setting it on the floor well away from the table. She flipped a nylon tie out
of her pocket and had him cuffed before he could stand. The pressure she
applied to the back of his neck immobilized him. He groaned in pain.
"Witnesses at Mt. Rainier ID'd the gun you waved, 'Burke.' Extruded green plastic. Homemade." She Mirandized him.
"Witnesses at Mt. Rainier ID'd the gun you waved, 'Burke.' Extruded green plastic. Homemade." She Mirandized him.
“Mitch, come over here, will
you?”
With a puzzled look, he
approached Sable.
“Closer."
He complied, reluctantly.
"You’re bleeding on your nose, my friend.” She reached out and swooped her thumb over the spot and examined her finger. Sable turned to Ken and asked, “You on the job?”
He complied, reluctantly.
"You’re bleeding on your nose, my friend.” She reached out and swooped her thumb over the spot and examined her finger. Sable turned to Ken and asked, “You on the job?”
The man’s shocked expression was
almost comical. She smiled. “See this finger. Make-up. Got cuffs?”
Ken nodded slowly.
Sable gestured to Mitch.
“He’s your man. In disguise.” She raised an eyebrow at the imposter. “Mitch, bounty
hunters memorize cop codes. You didn’t know what a 10-13 was. Weather. A 10-32
means person with a gun.” She tsked. “Maybe you don’t care a 10-24 means
‘assignment completed.’ God we love our 10-24’s.”
She watched as Ken finished cuffing Mitch. “Your second mistake was giving me the make-up and
disguise idea.” Another tsk. “Using me to find you a tow or a place to
hide until morning, wasn't the smartest, either.”
Mitch stayed quiet, head
down.
When she surveyed the bar,
few customers seemed interested in the arrests. Too many troubles of their own. She
winked at Ken, all six foot five feet of him. Definitely not drunk. Definitely
interesting. “We’ve got a room,
partner. Mr. Mustache shelled out big bucks to procure one for our benefit. I’ll
report in, and we’ll take these bastards to the room, tie them up tightly and
get some sleep. We’re about to make the local cops and Rainier’s rangers very
happy because they can go home to enjoy Christmas Eve.”
Ken glanced at Burke, then at Mitch. “I thought the mustached guy was
my man.”
“Nope. He bought a room from a guy in the bar, which seemed like the action of
someone newly wealthy. Plus, my smile dazzled him and he straightened up in the
chair. At my refusal to go to bed with him, he slumped over and I saw his jacket
catch on his gun.”
Spike lumbered over to their
table with a key card and a Buddha smile. “Chisholm, I watched you in action
and I have to admit I’ve never seen a smoother operation, with not one bit of damage done to my bar. Here’s the key to his
room. I’m having two steak dinners and a bottle of wine delivered. I know a
professional when I see her.”
As the big guy spoke to the bartender, Sable cast a sympathetic look toward Mitch. “In the spirit of Christmas, I'll mention in my report you surrendered peacefully.”
She put more of her weight on
the back of her collar and spoke to Ken. “So we’ve opened two big gifts this
Christmas Eve. I've risen a notch or two in the eyes of my colleagues;
you’ve earned a bounty.”
“Add dinner and wine and a
bed,” said Ken, looking hopeful.
“You realize we’ll have to
spell each other all night so these two don’t rabbit on us.”
Ken clicked his tongue. “It’s
not perfect, this Christmas Eve at Sinners. A ranger and a bounty hunter, spending the night with two
thugs.”
“Unless…” Sable said.
“Unless what?”
Sable smiled big at Spike. He
rolled his eyes and stalked to the front room, returning with the goofy tree.
When he handed it to Sable, she thanked him.
To the room of men, now alert and watching her, she raised the blinking
tree. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”
Thanks for reading my story. Sable Chisholm is the main character of my mystery series, kicked off with FIRE IS NICE, now in pre-order. Save a dollar on this e-book until its release Dec. 4.
Thanks for reading my story. Sable Chisholm is the main character of my mystery series, kicked off with FIRE IS NICE, now in pre-order. Save a dollar on this e-book until its release Dec. 4.
Amazon: http://a.co/d/iOgLJuw
Smashwords : https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/902286
Tomorrow, enjoy Alison Henderson's short story: "A Very Un-Merry Christmas"
