Larque on the Wing Read Online Free PDF

street grit, a spark of silver.
    She picked it up. It was a tiny metal star, not flat but three-dee like the five-pointed stars kids folded out of paper around Christmastime, and she knew at once exactly where it had come from: the silver-clad toe of a cowboy’s boot. She knew because her own left boot was missing one just like it, a silver star lost years before in a college town miles away.
    Crouching, she tried this star in the vacant place on her boot to see if it would snap in place. Not quite. A little too big.
    She held the shiny thing in her hand and looked up and saw the corner sign for Popular Street.
    Only one block long, it was a street of small shops with their faces painted electric pink and neon lavender, apartments overhead with pink or Day-Glo yellow flower boxes in the windows, awnings striped orange and fuchsia with rainbow wind socks and balloons hanging over the sidewalk. Not at all the usual discreet Soudersburg street. Even the sidewalk was bright: pink brick.
    In fact it was not like any street of shops Larque had ever seen anywhere. The wares displayed in its street-side windows were different. Definitely not meant for the sort of tourists who came to Riverside. Automatically Larque noticed this, but at the moment shopping was not her top priority. Sky was. She stood at the end of the street and scanned it, looking for the doppelganger—Popular Street did indeed seem popular, crowded with handsome people in bright new clothes; why had she never heard of it before? Maybe she was not handsome enough, her body not sufficiently toned, her clothes not classy enough.
    She did not see Sky. But this did look like a place a kid was likely to come. Almost like a carnival. Larque walked slowly up the middle of the street—there were no cars on it—and read the shop signs. The Lace Place, which sold very interesting lingerie. A rock shop, and next to it the Rock Shop, which dealt in what must have been fake gems; they looked fit for royalty. Then, Fantasy Outfitters, with appropriately clothed mannequins in the window. On the other side of the street, some place called Beauty and the Beast, which in the context of this place sounded kinky but smelled reassuringly of perm. The Tie and Dye. Many shops. Across from them, Araby, which was not open, being a nightclub. The Leather Look, featuring strappy fashions Larque could not quite figure out—what went where? The possibilities were highly intriguing—but maybe only because of the way her dirty mind worked.
    Maybe not. Next was the Toy Shop, which did not appear to be meant for children. Would Sky be in there?
    Whoa. Tush alert.
    On the street ahead of Larque, a slim male butt drew her full attention. Tight black jeans. Broad shoulders in a black Western-cut shirt. Black hat, long black hair. Wonderful catlike walk. An attractive package altogether; her crotch signaled approval. The boots were snub-toe black Dingoes. The hat was not a cowboy hat, but close enough, being of the flat laced-together Spanish-cut leather style a desperado might wear. Was this the Popular Street cowboy?
    Larque forgot about the toy shop and followed the jeans, the boots, the hat.
    This cowboy was not very tall, but who cared: he had a perfectly proportioned ass on him. Whoever he was, he strode magnificently into the last shop on the far corner—this had to be it, a place called the Bareback Rider. Western fashions—soft, expensive denim, miles of fringe—in the oriel showcase. The door stood open.
    Larque went in, then stopped to stare uncouthly.
    Coming out from behind the counter was a tall man with a youthful, beautiful, flower-smooth face but hair the color of platinum. Turquoise blue eyes. White silver-studded Western shirt, silver-and-turquoise Navaho slide on his string tie. Pearl gray jeans. Pearl gray snakeskin Tony Lama boots. His hat, the color of a calla lily, sat on the counter, balanced on its crown so as not to ruin the curl of the brim.