Page 64 of Fast and Dirty

“It’s not that,” Kira protests, holding her hands out, pleading with the elder to see reason. “It’s just that dogs and cats don’t get along very well, and -,”

“What? Are the dogs afraid the cats will take over?” Georgia sneers and it’s now I realize she’s got her handy travel coffee mug that often contains a hefty screwdriver. Oof, she’s a surly drunk.

I hustle over to Kira, just to lend support when Bernie the chihuahua shimmies up to the fluffy cat, making it puff out its fur and hiss.

“Shit! Georgia, see there’s already a problem,” I point out, while trying to keep a safe distance from the demonic cat.

“Well it’s not Silky VonSnugglepants’ fault.”

Bernie gives a small yip in greeting that the damn cat, whose name I’m not even going to attempt, takes completely the wrong way. He lets out a blaring yowl and another hiss before bolting, leaving his harness behind and dangling from Georgia's grasp as it hauls ass down the street.

“Silky VonSnugglepants!” Georgia shrieks, dropping her drink to the asphalt where the lip pops off and a small flood of spiked orange juice starts creeping towards Bernie who looks at it with interest.

Georgia takes off in the direction of her neurotic feline as fast as her rickety legs can carry her until she’s startled by a weak honk.

“Beep beep! Out of my way!” Agnes calls as she zooms by on a rascal scooter. “Don’t panic Georgia, I got this!” She announces, gunning the scooter to about fifteen, following the horde of barking dogs that have followed the cat down Main Street.

“Dammit, this was such a good idea in my head,” Kira groans with her shoulders slumped, and I reach out to let one hand cradle her neck while at the same time frantically looking around for a solution.

Hell has officially broken loose but I get a zing of hope when I see all the townspeople calmly abandoning their activities and marching in the direction of the pandemonium. They’re pulling together and it’s shockingly just under an hour before every dog is rounded up.

Everything is calming down enough for me to snap a photo of Hunt as he stomps back towards the crowd with a pug under each arm, hooker heels and all.

“Not a hair out of place!” I congratulate him as he hands off the fat, wrinkled dogs over to Maggie.

“Why thank you,” he curtsies. “Now, I’ve got a few minutes left in this get up, and then it’s time to put my swerve on.” He struts away with a cheerful wiggle in his ass. He’s been taking lessons from Agnes.

After the mayhem starts to settle, I make my way back over to the Rolls to find several patrons milling about the pretty automobile. Some are just tire-kickers, but a couple of them look actually interested. I notice one particular man that looks like he could be me in forty years catches my attention. The dude is in a black t-shirt, tats lacing down his forearms, relaxed blue jeans, and even though the sun has long since set, he’s wearing a pair of dark sunglasses. A decent head of salt and pepper hair completes his look and it strikes me that he looks just like the host of one of the gear-head reality shows I watch.

It couldn’t be…

Marcus Ripps is known for salvaging and restoring cars as well as simply collecting rare gems and showcasing them.

I mentally slap myself and head over to introduce myself. “How you doing? West Bradford,” I hold my hand out and he snatches his glasses off his face to return the gesture and it’s definitely who I thought it was.

“Marcus Ripps. Good to meet ya,” he grins and turns to sweep an arm at the car. “Is this your doing?”

“It is,” I nod, resting my hands on my hips.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“Silent auction?” he inquires.

“Yeah, you bid over by the bar,” I point in the direction of Cheyenne. “Are you seriously interested?” I can’t help but let my cool slip a little. I mean, this guy does his show out of Kansas City—he made quite a drive. I have to give Kira one hell of an orgasm for bringing this car into my life and then getting it on this guy’s radar.

“That I am,” he confirms, crossing his arms and nodding at the car. “It came up on my web tracker and I had to come have a look.”

“Well it’s an honor.”

“Listen, I’m going to keep my bid modest, but if by chance I win this, would you be willing to come on my show and do a segment on how you came by it and what went into it?”

“Again, I’d be honored,” I shake his hand again, profusely this time.

I release him to go back to his perusal of the Rolls and he’s definitely doing his due diligence, checking underneath the carriage.

I hang back as Kira comes scuttling up to me, flustered. “Okay, if I’m still here next year, I’m totally doing this again, but no dog parade,” she blows a strand of dark hair out of her face.

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