| |
Escaping Dorothy’s was, as the old saying goes, like jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.
City lights bounced off a low ceiling of storm clouds, casting me in an eerie artificial twilight. Then the clouds opened up, and rain started to pour. My burlap hood got soaked, but I took a moment to check on Rocky. Two black googly eyes. One black mustache. He was going to be just fine, so I tucked my purse securely under my arm again.
Richie took off his blue jacket and made a little rain shelter for Peaches. The queen ducked under to keep dry. Tabby buckled the collar around Uno’s neck and snapped their leash back on. Hiding under their floppy black hat, ANA morphed their hands back to normal again.
Then the six of us hustled back toward Westminster Pier.
But as soon as we reached Piccadilly Circus, Maggie appeared on the ultra-HD screen to taunt us. No longer underwater, she wore a London police officer’s uniform. She even had her hair pulled up tight under a vintage bobby helmet. No more Samsung or LG ads. Nope. Instead, we saw Maggie’s humongous lady-cop head—six-stories tall.
She couldn’t get anymore in-your-face than that.
So we ran.
Halfway down Haymarket Street, I spotted her old police cruiser tailing us. Black and white. The New Stepford emblem on the white door along with the motto, TO PROTECT AND SERVE. Impossibly dark tinted windows. Chrome rims. Thumping bass.
She was lurking.
I snarled, “I already killed that fucking car.”
But there it was—in London—good as new.
“That doesn’t mean she’s here,” Tabby said.
Richie added, “That’s right, it could be a decoy.”
“Even so, I don’t like it,” I growled.
“Battery’s down to three percent,” ANA announced as they broke into a sprint, “I’m running out of time.”
So we followed.
Somehow, we ditched the cop car in traffic. Then we hid by the water fountain in Trafalger Square. The rain let up a bit, but the wet straw in my costume smelled funny—musty. ANA and Uno went mostly unnoticed in the dark, but a few lingering tourists tried to snap pics. Someone asked Peaches for her autograph. Richie beamed with pride, but Tabby seemed miffed that nobody approached her with such a request.
I was just grateful for a chance to catch my breath.
By this time, the Molly had peaked and guilt began creeping along the edges. The fact that I’d just cheated on Wayne started to weigh heavily on my mind. How the hell was I going to explain Tabby to him? There’d be no way to hide it. He’d take one look at me and know for sure. That man always read me like a book.
To make matters worse, Maggie was back. I can’t even say I was surprised. Bitches like that don’t stay down.
They always come back.
At least the rain stopped. I was still a little high watching Tabby dance on the edge of the fountain in her fabulous pink costume. And, well, it was impossible not to enjoy the view. After sharing mind-blowing sex with someone, there are these little flashbacks. Your body aches in the naughtiest places. It’s marvelously risqué. And as you go about your business, those little pains remind you of the ecstasy you shared. So even if you’re dressed like a scarecrow surrounded by mediocre humans, it’s almost like you’ve gone back in time, and you’re alone with her doing it all over again.
“Oh, y’all must be in the theater,” a young American woman fawned.
Richie giggled at the gay euphemism. “We sure are.”
She poked ANA’s armor. “Ooo, the Tin Man.”
“Do not touch me. I’m not tin, and I’m not a man.”
“Uh, okay...” The tourist approached Tabby instead. “Can I get a group photo?”
“Sorry, no pictures,” like a celeb, she snubbed off the request. “Flashes upset the tiger.”
“And give away our location,” I muttered to myself.
“Oh, okay. Sure.” The young Southerner kept on gushing, “I just adore The Wiz... I can’t believe I’m meeting the cast right here, in the flesh... Where’s y’all’s afterparty? Can I come?”
“Oh, no... Cast only, darling,” Peaches summoned her most bitchy-witchy tone, “Sorry.”
Even these days, most women still try to be polite, and thankfully, this tourist was no exception. So the disappointed American pouted, then trudged away.
“Bad PR.” Richie put his wet blazer back on.
“Oh, who cares,” Peaches scoffed. “We’re not the actual cast.”
“We need to get back to the Wonder Woman.” Tabby hopped down off the fountain edge. “Tout de suite.”
“She’s right,” ANA agreed. “Two percent. I’m dangerously low on juice.”
We dashed through the crosswalk, but Maggie’s car careened around the corner and raced right for us.
She swerved to hit me.
But I dove out of the way just in time. Her bumper clipped my foot, and I fell hard. Tumbling, I left a trail of wet straw behind as I rolled on to the sidewalk. But then I hopped onto my feet and flashed my middle finger back at the speeding car.
“Fuck you, bitch!” I yelled.
But Maggie was already gone.
The six of us didn’t stop running until we made it back to Westminster Pier.
Somehow, that damned cop car was already there waiting for us.
“I’ve notified the Met,” Maggie announced through the mounted bullhorn. “You have maybe two minutes before the London police arrive.”
And that’s when ANA’s battery died.