Rust On the Razor by Mark Richard Zubro Page B

you here,” he said when I finished. “And now you can’t leave.”
    â€œI’m glad I came,” I said. “I want to be here. Whatever you and your family need is what’s important to me.”
    Beau said, “I appreciate your sentiment, but you’ll need to do something proactive to find someone else to be the main suspect in this murder. I cannot emphasize how much trouble you are in.”
    I nodded. I saw Scott staring wide-eyed over my shoulder. Following his gaze, I saw Violet Burnside, clutching a massive purse and swaying her hips seductively, strutting down the hall toward us.

    â€œViolet?” Scott said.
    She said nothing. When she reached us, she dropped her purse on the floor, threw her arms around Scott, whispered “Scottie,” and planted her lips on my lover’s. He put his arms on her shoulders and gently eased her away. He introduced Beau and then me, stating that I was his lover.
    She looked me up and down more slowly than she had on the street. “You’re very beautiful, both of you.” She talked in a high-pitched, breathy voice.
    Beau said, “I’m sorry, Miss Burnside, but we have important business to attend to. If you could just give me a few minutes with these two gentlemen …”
    She sighed, turned so that she faced the three of us in a semicircle. Her sheen of magnolia blossoms and delicacy dropped completely. Her voice was still airy and light, but she pointed at me and said, “I know you’re in trouble, and I know your relationship with Scott. I loved Scott and have beautiful memories of his kindness to me. You’ll need someone from here to help you out of this situation.”
    Scott began a protest, but Beau interrupted. “Dangerous and deadly matters are at hand, Miss Burnside. Are you sure you’d want to be involved?”
    She smiled at him and I thought she was going to revert to type, but she said, “It’s all right. I know very well what I’m doing. Word around town is you’re from Atlanta. Will you be able to stay and help?”
    â€œNo,” Beau admitted.
    â€œThen,” Violet said, “by default, I am the rescue team.”

5
    Nobody had a better solution, and frankly I was feeling desperate. I didn’t want just a lawyer to protect me, I wanted an entire platoon of gay commandos in battle fatigues toting machine guns—guys who had been working out in every gym in the country, could bend steel with bare hands, with all the necessary accouterments for stud-rescuers.
    Violet said, “Scottie, you want to stay here with your father. I’ll bet Tom’s hungry.”
    Her saying it reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since some time in the middle of the night, and then only a stale candy bar from a machine in the hospital basement.
    â€œI wanted to have my brothers protect Tom,” Scott said. “Nobody would bother you if they were escorting you around town.”
    â€œWill they do that?” I asked.
    â€œIf I ask them to.”
    I hadn’t told him about the conversation I heard in the basement. I wasn’t eager to have the Carpenter boys as my protection. He looked for them, but they had disappeared, and no one knew when they would be back.
    Violet touched Scott’s arm. “And if Tom comes to my place to eat, we can compare notes about you, Scottie.”

    After some discussion, Scott gave in, I said okay, and Beau agreed.
    Inside her white Cadillac she turned on the engine, set the air-conditioning, picked up a portable phone, and dialed a number. She spoke with a friendly breeziness to whoever answered, then turned to me and said, “What would you like on your pizza?”
    â€œCheese and sausage,” I mumbled.
    She spoke the order into the receiver and then hung up. “I hope you weren’t expecting a home-cooked southern meal,” she said.
    â€œIf I don’t have to cook it or clean up after,