Sometimes a Cigar Isn't Just a Cigar, Part Three

Arlow pulled into a garage in front of a small house in Berwyn, a western suburb. I went past and parked down the street. I turned the car off and grabbed my phone to call Shank.

            I gave him the address. Shank told me he’d be there in half an hour. “You can go home now. If you want.”

            I looked at Rachel. “No. I’ll wait for you.”

            “So.” Rachel glanced back at the house as I hung up. “We just wait?”

            “Until Shank gets here.” With Josh and Paul and their weapons. “You don’t have to—”

            “Don’t make me punch you.” We’d had this argument before, when things were normal. Rachel hates it when I try to send her away to protect her.

            “Okay.” I held up my arms. “You realize I’m practically a victim of domestic violence here, right?”

            She grinned. “It’s why you like me.”

            Yeah. Even with the punches, the insults, and . . . the cheating, I still couldn’t imagine life without her.

            “We never said we were monogamous.” I took a small sip of water. “Maybe I took that for granted.”

            She rolled her eyes. “Did you ever do it? Since we’ve been together?”

            I looked at her. “When I was married I cheated once, and that was a huge mistake. It was when things were falling apart. I haven’t been with anyone but you since then.”

            Rachel peered at the house. “Look, I’m only going to say this once, so you’d better listen good.”

            “Okay.” I braced myself.

            “I have trust issues, okay?” She closed her eyes. “I never said—well, maybe I said ‘I love you’ once or twice, but that was a long time ago. And it didn’t last long. Now I’m just . . . nervous. About actually meaning it.”

            “But—” Emotions tangled inside me. I stared through the windshield, trying to sort out my words. Okay. “Look, I just want to be with you. Next week, or forever, whichever comes first. I want to know I can call you and you’ll come down to watch Game of Thrones or The Good Place and . . . you don’t have to help me with my cases if you don’t want to, but . . .”

            Damn it. I pulled a handkerchief out of my back pocket. “I’m so mad at you I could spit.”

            Rachel laughed. It was the best sound I’d heard in weeks.

            “Look.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll watch TV with you, and come out on stakeouts, and fight monsters, and there may even be a little sex here and there.” She giggled. “I do love you. It’s just . . . weird for me to say it. And mean it.”

            I blew my nose. “Me too.”

            We kissed. I forgot about Sheila Arlow and Shank and the cigar, and the rest of the world.

            Rachel pulled away. “Can we be okay now?”

            I wanted to ask for a promise. Never again? But this wasn’t the right time. Maybe there’d never be a good time. So I held her hand. “That’s up to you.”

            She slugged me. Lightly, the way she used to. “Jerk.”

            I leaned back. “Yeah. We’re—”

            Then Shank pulled up, in a black Odyssey minivan. He parked in front of Arlow’s house and jumped out, with Josh climbing out on the other side.

            “—Okay.” I unlocked the door.

            “We’re going in with them? She was the one with the gun, remember?” But Rachel straightened her hair as she jumped out of the door.

            “We’ll stay back.” I stood up. “Mr. Shank?”

            He nodded, making sure Josh was close. “You don’t have to be here.”

            I stayed close to Rachel. “I want to see how this turns out.”

            “Whatever.” He smiled. “Hi, uh—Rachel, right?”

            “That’s me.” Her smile made me jealous, until she said, “I’m Tom’s girlfriend. Let’s see what this bitch has got.”

Shank rang the doorbell. Josh stood behind him. Rachel and I stood far behind the two of them.

            The door opened. Sheila Arlow looked through the screen, smiling. She wore a sheer white nightgown and sandals, wrapped in a pink robe. It was like the beginning of a sleazy internet movie, except that she held a smoking cigar in her fingers.

            “Hi, Davis.” She pushed on the screen door. “Come on in.”

            Shank grabbed the edge of the door. “You know what I’m here for.”

            “Yeah.” She puffed on the cigar. “If you think you can take it—well, you’re just lucky I don’t have my gun handy.”

            Shank pushed his way into the house, Josh right behind with his Taser in his fist. I glanced at Rachel, then held the door for her.

            Arlow sauntered into a living room, swinging her hips seductively. She sank down on a couch, lifting her legs up. Her nightgown slid down to her thighs.

            Rachel jabbed me. “Eyes front.”

            The wooden box sat on a coffee table in front of the couch, wide open. Filled with cigars. Some of them spilled out next to the magazines—National Geographic, Architectural Digest, and a copy of People next to a full ashtray.

            Shank glanced at Josh. “Watch her.”

            He started scooping the cigars back into the box. Arlow watched, chuckling, as Josh kept his eyes on her. Rachel and I stayed close to the door.

            Arlow leaned back and puffed on her cigar. “For Christ’s sake, Davis, do you have to be such a jagoff? We were pretty good together—until you decided to screw that waitress. Was she good? Was she better than me? Did she shriek your name when she—”

            “Until you decided you want to take over my bar.” Shank slammed the box shut. “You wanted to invest? You were talking to my staff, trying to turn them against me. I might have put up with that, because we were—yeah, pretty good together. But if this is you trying to get back together with me, you could have picked a better way to do it.”

            “I would have worked with you.” She leaned forward, the front of her nightgown hanging down. I fought to keep my eyes on her face before Rachel slugged me again. “We could have made so much money with those cigars. But you have no idea what it felt like to walk into your office and see—”

            “We’re done here.” He turned toward the door. “Let’s go.”

            “Not yet, asshole.” She puffed on her cigar. “Wait one minute.”

            I didn’t want to see what the cigar turned her into. I pulled on Rachel’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

            “Uh-huh.” For once she didn’t argue. We turned—

            And Turleck was opening the screen door.

            Okay, not Turleck—Mike Gunther. But also not Gunther. He’d turned into another monster.

            The black ponytail still hung down the back of his neck. But now a horn jutted from his forehead, and long jagged claws sprouted from his knuckles. His fingers looked like worms, quivering and pulsing.

            And he was clutching a smoking cigar.

            What the hell? Arlow must have called him when she spotted us in front of her house. And he must have smoked half that cigar before coming up the walk.

            Gunther lumbered across the room. Josh had his Taser out. He fired, and the darts hit Gunther’s arm.

            The monster howled, flinging its cigar to the floor, and lunged. His wormy fingers wrapped around Josh’s head, squeezing hard. Josh dropped to the floor, gasping.

            Rachel had her stun gun. Before I could do anything, she jabbed it at Gunther’s shoulder, pushing the stud down hard.

            Gunther jerked. He kicked a foot back at Rachel’s stomach, but I caught her as she grunted and staggered back. She kept her grip on the stun gun and managed to lean forward to jab the monster again in its arm.

            “Hold it!” Shank’s voice boomed. “Right now!”

The large revolver in his hands looked like a cowboy pistol. I could see every bullet in its cylinder as he pointed it at Gunther.

            Gunther straightened up, swinging his arms back and forth. His fingers squirmed. “Ur . . . urrr . . .”

             “No!” I held a hand out. I’ve seen people shot—killed. I never wanted to see it again, no matter what they did. And Arlow hadn’t killed anyone.

            “Davisss, wait.” It was Arlow. “You ssshouldn’t do that yet.”

            Gunther had distracted all of us. While we were fighting with him, she’d shifted to a new body. The cigar had turned her into something different. And dangerous.

            A hood like a cobra rose over her blond hair. Her skin was speckled with pearly blotches. Her arms slithered like tentacles. Long fangs jutted from her mouth.

            And she was naked. But that was the least interesting aspect of her transformation right now.

            “Oh hell.” Shank turned his handgun on her. But his wrist trembled. “Sheila? Don’t do this.”

            A long red tongue swung back and forth between her teeth. Her voice was a hiss. “Do you know how muccch money I can make with thossse cigarsss? You were wasssting them on thossse people in your ssspecial club. I can do better.”

            “It’s not always about making the big score.” He wrapped a hand around his wrist, trying to steady the pistol. “If you’d ever run a business, you’d know that.”

            “You’re no busssineman, Davisss.” Her long arms writhed. “You’re a looossser. You don’t know how to sssuccceed.”

            “Succeed, huh?” He aimed the pistol at her chest. “This is how—”

Before I could shout at him again, Arlow whipped an arm forward, shoving the snout of the cowboy pistol away. Shank yelped and dropped the gun. I didn’t see where it landed.

Shank and Arlow struggled, but her arms were longer and stronger. She shoved him to the floor and kicked a bare foot at his face. Shank rolled over, grunting, and Arlow kicked him again in the back.

Josh rolled to his feet and rushed forward, but Gunther tackled him to the floor, hands at his throat. Rachel darted forward and jabbed her stun gun into his neck again.

More howls. Gunther slammed Josh’s head against the floor as Rachel kept stabbing the stud. I stood behind her, ready to help if she needed it. But finally Gunther stopped, rolling over on the floor. His crocodile snout began shrinking as Josh fought for breath.

Then Arlow jumped up. Leaving Shank on the floor, half-conscious and moaning, she lunged at Rachel.

Rachel tried to use the stunner, but Arlow’s long arms were too fast and slippery. She grabbed Rachel’s neck and twisted, throwing her to the floor. Rachel yelped, pounding at Arlow’s chest.

Shank was still groaning. Gunther was returning to his human form. Josh was down for the count.

Arlow got her hands around Rachel’s throat, a knee on one of her legs. “You’ll die, bitccch,” she snarled. Her tongue licked at Rachel’s cheek. “You and your ussseless friendsss . . .”

I looked around for Rachel’s stun gun. Maybe it had slid under a chair. I spotted Shank’s cowboy pistol. Could I shoot Arlow? If it meant saving Rachel . . .

Then I saw Arlow’s cigar in the ashtray on the table. Still smoldering. I

I jumped for it. Jammed it between my lips. And took the longest puff I could stand.

Then another one. And one more.

How long would it take? I couldn’t wait until Rachel turned blue. So I did the neck best thing.

I jabbed the glowing tip of the cigar into the cobra hood covering Arlow’s face.

Her head jerked up. She let go of Rachel with one hand and whipped her arm backward. It stung my face, and I staggered back, but I grabbed her arm to keep her from going back to strangling Rachel.

Rachel gave Arlow a kick, shoving the monster off her body and rolling onto her side. Arlow growled, punched at Rachel’s face, and then drew herself up on her tall legs to turn and finish me off.

I took one last puff and threw the cigar in her face.

My throat felt as if I’d shoved sandpaper down my windpipe, but my arms suddenly felt like Schwarzenegger on steroids. I glanced down and found that bony claws had sprouted from my wrists, along with seaweed-green fur. I was glad I was wearing a sweatshirt that stretched.

Then Rachel looked up at me, and I glad I couldn’t see my own face. I stepped back as Arlow lashed her arms at me, and lifted my own arms in defense.

One of my spikes jabbed her arm. Not enough for blood, but enough for Arlow to draw back and hesitate.

I didn’t want to kill her—or even hurt her badly. I just wanted her to stay away from Rachel. So I took another step back, raising one arm and twitching a finger. “Come and get me, Sheila.”

Arlow smiled, her tongue dancing around her face. She lunged forward with her long arms.

I drove my wrists into her pearl-blotched flesh.

She yelped. Blood—still red—dripped onto the floor. With a scream, she launched herself at me, moving fast enough to wrap her arms around my shoulders and pull me close, her jaws so wide I thought her face would split.

I hadn’t noticed the fangs in her mouth before.

I copied her strategy and hugged her—driving the spikes in my wrists into her back as hard and deep as I could. Her body stiffened, but she refused to back off. I could feel the sharp point of her fangs on my neck. Did she have venom in this form, or was she just planning to rip my throat open? Did it matter?

I raked the spikes across her back, twisting my head to avoid those sharp fangs. Blood from my neck dripped down onto my chest. Any second now she’d dive in and—

Then her body jerked, and she stumbled back, trying to swing around.

Rachel jabbed her again with her stun gun. Somehow she’d found it. Her face and neck were red, but she leaned forward and stabbed Arlow in the ribs with the weapon, holding it against her bare skin until finally Arlow went down.

She crawled into a fetal position on the floor, moaning.

Shank was pointing his pistol at Gunther, but he was already starting to revert to human again. Josh stood near the door, his ready to block them—or possibly run away. I wouldn’t blame him.

I collapsed on the couch, shaking. One of my spikes ripped the upholstery.

Rachel kept her stun gun steady. “Are you okay?”

I blinked. “I’ve got an itch on my nose but I’m afraid to scratch it.”

“Just sit there. Wait until it wears off. You idiot.”

That was the Rachel I loved. I closed my eyes.

An hour later we were all back at Shank’s cigar bar, and I was drinking my first beer in months.

            Rachel looked skeptical. “Are you sure that’s okay?”

            “I took my medicine this morning.” It was almost 6:00 by now. “If I pass out, you drive me home. If I go crazy and start wrecking the place, you’ve got your stun gun.”

            She slugged my shoulder. “I like it when you talk dirty.”

            Shank had locked the cigars in his safe. Arlow and Gunther had both recovered when we left. Arlow promised fiery payback with a string of vicious profanity, but Gunther just sat on the floor, holding his head as if in the grip of the worst hangover of his life.

            “What about Sheila?” The beer tasted good. I tried not to gulp it down in two swallows.

            Shank grimaced. “I don’t know. More security, better screening procedures—it’s all I can do. I’ll consult with some people. Maybe I can put some protective spells on this place.”

            “That might be a good idea.” I glanced around the room. A handful of customers were smoking. Josh stood near the door, a freshly-charged Taser in his pocket. Two large bouncers loomed at the stairs.

            “Anyway, thanks for your help.” Shank stood up. “That was pretty—wild.”

            I hadn’t known what would happen when I picked up the cigar. I’d half-expected to turn into a lizard again, but apparently each cigar had its own effect.

            I just knew I couldn’t let Arlow hurt Rachel.

            “Send me your bill.” Shank shook my hand. “Nice meeting you.” He smiled at Rachel.

            “Right back at you.” She put a hand on my arm. “Let’s go, Tiger. I’ll drive. You’ve been drinking.”

            In the Honda we buckled our belts. Rachel started the engine. “Uh, that was stupid. But thanks.”

            “Are we okay now?”

            She glanced at me. “That’s up to you.”

            I took a deep breath that was easier than any I’d taken for weeks. Then I leaned back in my seat and watched the cars go by. “Good.”

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