“Oh! Gross!” I said, pushing him away. Without him holding me up, I staggered a few steps like a drunk person. I made it to the bathroom to pee and fix myself up as best I could, then I staggered back out.
Fox sat in a chair looking out the window. He’d opened the blinds. We couldn’t see the patio from here, but various guests, laughing and smoking, walked by. I went to take the other chair, but Fox shot his hand out like lightning and grabbed mine, pulling me onto his lap. I kissed his forehead, smooth and unlined by worry.
“I love you too, kiddo,” he said.
“I know. You know, it sounds crazy. But you’ve done the most loving, caring thing of all when you took that cleaning woman’s body to the Joneses and told them you were through.”
It was true. Fox needed a female body, and the cleaner was thin and lithe like me. Small-titted. It must’ve been gruesome work, taking off her burnt clothes and putting on some of mine we’d burned in a bonfire. Fox had to take Lytton’s cage instead of his scoot, but Fox had met with Ortelio Jones in Nogales to show him the body of “Flavia Brooks.” Meanwhile, I stayed at home dying my hair a shocking, playful red. Why not? I worked in a god damned weed hotel. If that wasn’t the time to get all fancy, when would it be?
“I took a fucking chance. They could’ve demanded dental records or some crap. But he at least pretended to believe me.”
“Not working at the tux rental or even the dispensary anymore is also a help. As far as I know, he never connected me to this inn.”
“No way. I don’t think he ever even connected you to the dispensary, since Jaws never got the information out of Emily.” Fox jumped, though, when someone knocked briskly on our door. “What the fuck?”
“Pippa!”
I looked at Fox and rolled my eyes. But there was a smile on my mouth, I knew. I got up, but just stood behind the door. “Yes, Randy?”
“Just wondering if you’re coming out for hoover doovers. There are some fantastic chalupas, and the guys are already messing up the queso fundido. One guy practically dove face-first into it.”
Fox rolled his eyes. “A guy who looks like Ronald McDonald?” he yelled.
“That’s the one,” said Randy.
I decided to open the door. The U.S. Marshal had been good to me, amazing as it sounds. He hadn’t reported me in violation the time I’d run off to Shelda’s. He’d arranged it so Shelda and Monstro could move here after Fox convinced him Jones was no longer a threat. In fact, I’m sure Randy knew that Jones thought I was dead. Randy had been cool throughout the entire mess. Not knowing about the epic shootout at my new motel probably helped.
Randy only took one polite step into the room, probably afraid Fox was buck naked. Now, that had really happened before on at least one occasion. We needed to lock the front door of our house more often. “I’ve got to tell you, Pippa. You’ve got a real winner with this bud and breakfast.”
“Well,” I said, “that means a lot to me, coming from my cousin and all.” We’d decided Randy was my cousin from San Francisco who had always hated my wife-beating ex, Russ. He now lived in Flagstaff, which explained his frequent visits to Pure and Easy.
“Aw, shucks,” said Randy. He even put a hand on my shoulder. “No rush, but I’m serious. That guy’s holding the queso bowl to his face like he’s drinking a pail of milk. Come on. Maybe there are still some empanadas and tamales left.”
“We’ll be right there.” Fox held an arm up indicating his assent. He got laboriously to his feet as if he’d just run a mile as Randy zipped back to the party. Randy was getting to know the Boners, and I think he actually liked them. Or most of them.
Fox came over to me, and messed up my bright red hair. The mariachi band I’d hired started up over at the patio. Fox had to talk louder over the cheerful accordion. “Mm. You sure know how to make a man feel good. Great, even.”
I threaded my fingers through his hair too. “That’s my job, sir. And it will be my job until the end of time. Do you approve?”
“Mm. I approve.”
Fox bent his head to kiss me, but another guy was shouting practically in our ear.
“Fox! Get on out here!” yelled Lytton. After a rocky start, Dr. Driving Hawk seemed to be Fox’s best friend now. “I want to see the two of you do a victory dance to whatever the hell this music is. And you need to try a puff of your old lady’s new Dabba Doo strain.”
Fox shouted back almost in Lytton’s face. “You know I can’t do any of that, Lyt. I might get pee tested over at the bird place.” That was true. Marijuana stayed in your system for-fucking-ever, and Fox’s job was a nonprofit.
“You can’t just walk through the smoke? Some women guests just said it’s the best thing they’ve ever tasted. One of them is trying it for her cancer pain.”
I perked up. “Really? Come on, Fox.” I was out of the room before him, almost jogging a few doors down. I really needed my high-CBD strain to be a hit.