The Sirena Quest Read Online Free PDF

clothes that are one-hundred-percent cotton. Poor Bronco. Talk about pussy-whipped.”
    Ray took a big sip of beer and reached for a handful of peanuts. “Worse comes to worse, we’ll just have to liberate that sorry bastard.” He popped the peanuts in his mouth and chewed. He took another sip of beer. “But, first we’ve got to make some progress down here.”
    â€œSpeaking of which,” Lou said, “what exactly is supposed to be down here?”
    Ray was looking past Lou’s shoulder. “Here she comes.”
    Lou turned as Brandi approached. He was not alone. Every pair of male eyes in the room followed her to the booth.
    She gave Lou a big smile and bent over to kiss him. “Hello, Louis.”
    Brandi looked and smelled terrific. Her straight platinum hair was cut in a pageboy, which accented her hazel eyes, pug nose, and Southern California tan. Gordie Cohen had described her as a cross between Doris Day and the porn star Seka. Tonight she was wearing a simple cotton twill shirtdress with flap breast pockets, a wide olive belt, and white sandals. She could have stepped off the pages of Vogue .
    She scooted into the booth next to Ray.
    â€œHow are you, Louis?”
    â€œDoing okay. You?”
    â€œCouldn’t be better.”
    â€œStill swimming?”
    â€œOf course.” She paused to give the waitress her order. “Stoli and tonic water, twist of lime.” She turned back to Lou. “Four nights a week. Girl’s gotta make a living.”
    â€œNot really,” Ray said.
    â€œYes, really.” She gave Lou a wink.
    â€œStill Queen of the Nile?” he asked her.
    â€œNah. They may bring that Egyptian shtick back for the summer, but this month—” she paused, giggled “—this month we’re doing the French revolution.”
    â€œAnd it’s truly revolting,” Ray added. “You haven’t seen dreck until you’ve seen ‘The Love Slaves of Robespierre.’ Worse yet, she plays Marie Antoinette in the ‘Let Them Eat Cake’ number.”
    â€œThat one does sort of suck,” Brandi said. “I wear these round cakes over my boobs. I pull them off at the end—the cakes, that is.”
    Ray said, “Hard to believe Meryl Streep got her start that way, isn’t it?”
    Brandi poked him in the side with her elbow. “Very funny, Raymond. Just wait. Someday, when Steven Spielberg decides to go aquatic on a remake of Peter Pan , I’ll be ready.”
    When Lou visited Ray last fall—the first time they’d seen one another in more than twenty years—Ray had taken him to see Brandi’s show. The huge neon sign out front proclaimed the Seahorse Saloon as “Home of the Topless Mermaids—Featuring San Diego’s Favorite Little Mermaid, Brandi Wine.” The high wall behind the bar at the Seahorse Saloon was thick glass. It had taken Lou a moment to realize that it was actually the front side of an enormous tank of water. Except for a pair of red underwater lights and an occasional wiggle of bubbles, the water was dark and opaque.
    At the hour, the lights had dimmed, and a tinny version of “The Theme from Rocky” came over the sound system. The underwater floodlights came on. An unctuous voice welcomed them to “the Seahorse Saloon’s Special Salute to Ancient Egypt.”
    And some salute it was. Depending upon the scene, anywhere from two to five “mermaids” entered the water from an unseen platform above the bar and, with bare breasts bobbing and brightly colored G-strings flashing, enacted ninety-second routines, including such timeless masterpieces as “The Slave Girls of Tutankhamen,” “A Romp with Ramses,” and “An Afternoon With the Vestal Virgins of the Temple of Amon.” Brandi played Cleopatra in the finale, wearing nothing but a pink spangled G-string and a rhinestone-studded headdress. She was