Fly With Fire by Frances Randon

little things, little pleasures; make
us appreciate our good fortune. Ling would not, how to say, begrudge you the
comfort of having your own things.” Roddy helped himself to a liqueur with a
shrug. “How many days do I have off?”
    “Maybe, two in a year.” Mo
offered Zack a drink. He shook his head.
    “On duty, tame as it may
seem. Roddy, how’s your wife feeling?” Zack leaned against the doorway to the
bedroom. Roddy took a long drink.
    “Luciana still have the
migraine. How she suffer. But, she never complain. She is how to say, stoic.
Si, a saint!” Mo’s lips drew tight. Zack wondered if that indicated she had a
difference of opinion. “She don’t like me to be around when she has the
headache. She say ‘Roddy, you so noisy, I must rest. Go. Go!’ She say this
every time. I take her something in a while. She no like to eat, but the
medicine hurt her stomach. She must eat! Detective? Zack?” Roddy took advantage
of Mo’s going into the bathroom. “The mayor send you to keep the eye out. On
Momo. They think killer still around? Want to hurt Momo? How long you stay to
protect her?”
    “I’m sure Detective Burnham
will have to resume his usual duties soon.” Mo came out of the bathroom and
began tidying up the garments from the pillowcase. She hung a couple things in
the closet and made use of the drawers.
    “The mayor has instructed me
to get a room and stay put for the time being. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me
for a few days, Ms. Whitman. I’ll do my best to stay out of your way, if you
don’t do anything foolish like wander off alone.”
    “I, we, will need to resume
rehearsals as soon as possible. I hope you don’t find yourself too bored with
your present detail. Since you’re going to be around awhile, you may as well
call me Mo. And call this lunkhead, lunkhead.” She jerked a thumb at Roddy.
    “Okay, Mo, its Zack. I’m
going to go make arrangements for a room. I’ll be back shortly, if Roddy can
stay a while longer.”
    “You can count me in, Zack! I
protect my precious star with my life!” Roddy finished his drink with gusto.
“Lunkhead? What mean lunkhead?” Zack heard Roddy ask as the elevator door
closed.  
    Mo looked out the window at the
hotel parking lot. There were still media trucks waiting for an interview or to
be the first to get a scoop on any breaking news. They’d had been parked near
the police station as well but she had the advantage of the rain and Zack to
avoid them.  She was still steamed about Al Simpson. “Roddy, who would
kill Ling? Who would want to? Or me? Were they after me?” She had a habit of
twisting her braid when nervous or thoughtful. Now she was both. She reached
behind her head and twisted it at the base. “Poor Ling, Roddy. So young and
full of life. Poor Linc. He was so in love with her, but she wasn’t ready for
that. Though she loved him dearly as a friend”
    “Life is uncertain thing.
People uncertain as well.” Roddy’s heart grieved for Ling but his immediate concern
was Mo and the show. He had gotten her into the show. Despite a great deal of
resistance on her part. He had known right away she was special, truly an
artist, when he had first seen her in the low rent circus she was performing in
at sixteen. She was on her own and taking care of her grandmother who was an
amazing woman. Mo had inherited her talent and confidence. Her grandmother
coached her rigorously from a wheelchair. She was all Mo had, a little Mohawk
Indian woman in a wheelchair who barked instructions and criticisms one moment
and coddled and praised the next. Mo had been utterly devoted to her.
    Her grandmother had been part
of the deal. Mo had started out at the bottom of the ladder at a small salary.
Gram continued to coach Mo from the wheelchair and was a vexation to the other
trapeze artists who learned a great deal from the stubborn, determined woman.
Mo rose quickly and worked as an understudy for Luciana, star of the trapeze
act. Roddy had