Dog Collar Chaos

by Adrienne Giordano

  A young woman peered through the window, cupping her hands around her eyes. "Hey. She's in there."

  The crowd let out a roar, all of them huddling up to the window. Their hateful, angry—well, that might have been an exaggeration—eyes zoomed in on Lucie.

  Instinctively, she slid behind Tim, the big, hunky cop who carried a big, hunky gun.

  "Murderers," an older woman screamed.

  Lucie whipped her phone from her back pocket. By now Dad and the crew at Petey's would be saddling up. They didn't like strangers on their block.

  "Who are you calling?"

  "My dad. Can you see it? A bunch of mob guys versus angry protestors."

  She lifted the phone to her ear. He picked up on the first ring. "Baby girl, don't you worry. Me and the boys are on it."

  All she needed was a brawl in front of her place. "Dad, no. Please! Tell the guys they can't touch them. Someone will get arrested. You know how your friends get when they go off half-cocked."

  "You worry too much." He hung up. Dear God.

  "Luce," Tim wandered to the window. "Call the Franklin PD. Just let them know you have a hopefully peaceful protest going here."

  Good thought. Joey had gone to high school with a guy who'd become a Franklin cop. Brian was a regular at Petey's and had an open rapport with Dad's crew. Maybe he could do something.

  Not that she didn't believe in a citizen's right to protest. She just didn't want them doing it in front of her shop with the fashion show caterer about to show up.

  Chaos. Total chaos.

  She was patched through to Brian, who had just gotten out of roll call.

  "Brian. It's Lucie Rizzo."

  "Hey, Lucie. I'm heading out. What's up?"

  Another thunk sounded and she spun back, waving a fist at the window. "Off the window!"

  "Yow," Brian said. “I need that ear, Lucie.”

  "Sorry. I think I need help. I have a bunch of protestors in front of my place."

  "Why?"

  "I'm not sure exactly. They keep saying ‘mur-der-er, mur-der-er’."

  "Oh-kay. Are they blocking the street?"

  "No. They're on the sidewalk."

  "Sorry, Lucie. There's nothing we can do. They have the right to be there."

  Which Lucie knew. But really, did the Franklin PD want a bunch of protestors mixing it up with the Rizzo crime family? She met Tim's gaze and threw her free hand up.

  "Brian?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Think about the location of my business and who my father is."

  The line went silent and, for a second, Lucie wondered if she'd lost the connection. She checked the screen. Full bars.

  "Crap," Brian finally said. "Is your Dad's crew there? Now?"

  "Not yet, but he's sending them down. I don't want any trouble, and I know the guys like you. Maybe you can give everyone a speech or something. I don't know."

  "I'll swing by."

  Excellent. She punched off and her phone immediately rang.

  Annabelle. The Cock Head. Maybe she had an update.

  "Hi, Annabelle."

  "I just saw on Buzzy's Facebook page about the protest. We're on our way."

  "Who?"

  "The Cock Heads, silly."

  "You're joining the protest?"

  Tim shot her a look, shaking his head the whole time.

  "Of course not. What kind of friends would that make us? We're protesting their protest."

  How awesome was that? True friends right there. "Oh, Annabelle. Thank you. I appreciate it, but you don't have to."

  "You and Ro are good people. You don't deserve this. We're bringing it! They'll be sorry they messed with us."

  Annabelle hung up. What was with everyone hanging up on her today? And what was this nonsense about a protest on Buzzy's Facebook page?

  "The Cock Heads are forming a counter protest."

  Tim laughed. "What?"

  While he found amusement in Lucie's plight, she hopped over to Buzzy's page on her Facebook app and—bam—right there, pinned to the top was the announcement about the protest.

  Lucie glanced outside at the growing crowd. These folks were early. This nightmare wasn't even scheduled to start for another—she checked the clock—fifty-two minutes. If she had this size crowd now, what would another hour bring?

  "There's a post on Buzzy's FB page about it."

  Tim peered over her shoulder. "Who the hell posted it?"

  "I'm not positive, but I know from the fashion show meetings that Kandi—one of Buzzy's minions—does all the posting on that page. I can't imagine she organized a protest, though. I have a meeting with the caterer in a few minutes. After that, I’ll call Kandi and ask about it. Right now I'm more worried about the counter protest the Cock Heads are mobilizing and, well, there's Jimmy Two-Toes, Slip and Lemon to contend with."

  "Hang tight." Tim headed for the front door. "Let me see if I can do anything."

  "Thank you. I love you."

  "Love you too."

  Lucie stowed her phone just as another protestor cupped his hands against the glass.

  "Hey, hands off the glass."

  Protesting was one thing, making a mess of her window was another. The man backed away then swung sideways, his mouth moving, his hands flapping.

  Tim exited the shop, stopped, said something to the protestor then looked right. Jimmy Two-Toes marched up, his hands and mouth moving equally fast. The two men squared off with Tim between them.

  So help her, if Tim got one scratch, she'd murder someone.

  She hustled to the door, shoved it open.

  "Get away from the building," Jimmy said to the man.

  "It's a public street."

  "You had your hands on the glass. And believe me, I know where you can have your hands and where you can't." He took a step closer. "Now back up."

  Tim set his hand on Jimmy's shoulder. "Everyone settle down."

  "Who are you to tell me—"

  "Hey!" Lucie swung her finger at the two men. "Anyone gets violent, you're dead. Do you hear me?"

  "Murderer," the man shouted. Another chant rose from the growing crowd.

  Tim shot her a look. "Really?"

  Yes. Really.

  "Mur-der-er, mur-der-er, mur-der-er."

  "Lucie," Jimmy said, "get inside. You can't be out here."

  "Move it, people." At the far end of the sidewalk, Annabelle and the Cock Head brigade stormed toward them like paratroopers on a mission. Annabelle, of course, wore her signature Cock Head headband with the giant feathers poking skyward. "Let's go, Cock Heads. Line up."

  "Here we go," Tim said.

  Annabelle shoved by Jimmy, Tim and the protestor. "Make room. We're taking control of this sidewalk."

  Jimmy screwed up his face. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

  "We're the Cock Heads.”

  Oh, boy. The dozen or so Cock Heads formed a line in front of the store, their arms linked and blocking the entrance.

  Protestor boy wasn't pleased. He also wasn't moving. "Hey," he said to the Cock Heads, "you can't block the sidewalk."

  "Ha! Look who's talking? We're not blocking the sidewalk. We're keeping you lunatics from getting too close to this shop. It's private property. She can have you arrested."

  "That's right," Jimmy said, suddenly fully onboard.

  Holy crap. Dueling protests. Right in front of Coco Barknell. This was definitely not her marketing of choice.

  Jimmy swung back and faced the line of Cock Heads. "Make room. Let me in."

  Lord, she needed a picture of this. Jimmy Two-Toes lined up with the feather wearing Cock Heads and forming a human barrier to counter-protest the protest. Ro would not believe this one.

  When Annabelle and Sam unlinked their arms for Jimmy to join them, Lucie scooted behind. One place she didn't want to be was the space between dueling protests.

  Having heard enough, Tim flashed his badge. "Everyone stay calm and no one gets arrested. Understood?"

  If a
nyone could control these nutcases it would be Tim.

  "You can't touch us," Protest Boy said.

  This guy, Lucie was sure, would be a nightmare. If she had to guess, he'd probably alerted the media by now.

  Tim hung his badge on his belt and spread his hands wide. "Who said I'm touching you?"

  "I'm just letting you know."

  Tim laughed, turned away from Protest Boy, and faced Lucie. "You okay?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Cock Heads unite," someone yelled from the far end.

  Probably Jamal. He was always good for some drama.

  For added fun, Lemon and Slip headed down the sidewalk.

  "Lemon," Jimmy said, "get in here. Link up so we can keep these pains in the asses from the shop. You take that end. Slip, down here. Nobody gets by. Nobody."

  "You've got to be kidding me," Tim muttered.

  Don't I wish. "It's insane. Can I get rid of them?"

  "As long as they’re peaceful, no. You're stuck with them."

  Just then, a small white projectile—coming straight at Tim—caught Lucie's eye. She lifted her hand to block it, but...too late. An egg slammed into his shoulder, the shell shattering and yolk oozing on his spotless suit.

  "Ah, damn it." He looked up at the roof and pointed. "Hey, dumbass. I'm a cop. Get down here, right now. What the hell is wrong with you?"

  Lucie craned her head and spotted a young guy with dark hair, maybe mid-twenties, leaning over the brick, two more eggs in hand.

  "Hey," she said, "you're trespassing. Get off my roof."

  The kid blew raspberries at her. Seriously? Who does that?

  Another egg flew. Straight at her. Tim lifted a hand and deflected it, winning another bout of oozing goo for his efforts.

  "I gotta get this idiot down," he said. "Luce, get inside before he starts a riot."

  A siren blared, letting off a quick whup, whup before going silent. "Franklin PD! All you protestors, get off the street. Right now."

  Overhead the approaching chuff, chuff, chuff of a helicopter sounded. Lucie peered up. Channel seven news.

  Yep. One of these protestors alerted the media. And why not? Between the murdered reality star and the mob boss's daughter, a reporter could exist on this high for a month. Total paradise.

  "We've got press," Lucie said.

  Tim pointed at the door. "Get inside while I deal with the egg thrower."

  Brian, ablaze in his Franklin PD uniform, shoved through the crowd. "Lucie, is everything all right? I saw the guy on the roof toss something."

  Tim badged Brian then pointed at the egg remnant on his shoulder. "Eggs."

  Brian sighed. "There's always one."

  "I'll head up there and grab him before he gets nuts. Can you handle the crowd down here?"

  "Yeah. When I saw how big this thing was, I called for backup."

  "Good." Tim grabbed Lucie's elbow, ushering her toward the door. "I'll climb the back fire escape. You need to stay inside. Preferably out of sight. It's peaceful right now, but all we need is one knucklehead,"

  "Like the one on the roof?"

  "Exactly. One person can flip the switch on this thing. These people are protesting in front of your business, if you're out there, they might get more wired. Please stay inside."

  Tim headed for the back door as Lucie watched the crowd outside. She hated standing in here, like a coward, when her friends were outside guarding her space. But Tim had a point. Her presence might prod an already motivated crowd into doing something that might get someone hurt.

  As Lucie watched, Annabelle broke off from the human chain and popped through the front door. Lucie wrapped her arms around her. "Annabelle, thank you for this. You guys didn't have to come here."

  "I knew it would be a lot. People are crazy, Lucie."

  This from a woman with peacock feathers protruding from her head.

  "That they are."

  "I was going to call you today anyway." Annabelle swiveled back to check the door, then leaned in close. "I have information."

  Unless they had bionic hearing, no one could hear her. "Um, Annabelle? We're alone in here."

  And my brother has dispatched with all the bugs.

  "Oh, good. I hate whispering. It feels so dirty. Anyway, we did the research on Buzzy's agent. It's not good news."

  "Really? Do tell."

  "Well, I dug around on the internet and found some obscure articles from six months ago. Not about Buzzy, but the agent. One of his other clients fired him. Something about a difference of opinion on financial matters."

  "Lucky for us, financial matters are my wheelhouse."

  Annabelle dug around in her handbag and pulled out some folded papers. "I know! I printed you copies of the articles. It might not matter though."

  "Why?"

  "Because Buzzy, from what I could tell, hadn't fired him. He was still her agent of record. And, well, he was in L.A. at a movie premiere the night of the murder."

  Talk about burying the lead. If the agent was in L.A., he couldn't have been in Buzzy's house, killing her with an atomic wedgie. "Shoot. Really? You're sure?"

  Annabelle handed over another printout. "Pictures. This is him in front of the step-and-repeat. You know, we should get one of those for the Cock Heads. How fun would that be?"

  Ro was rotting in jail, the most promising lead just evaporated, and Annabelle was pondering a step and repeat.

  Lucie studied the photo in front of her. Darn it. She'd been so sure the agent might be involved. A setback, for sure, but these things happened during investigations. Disappointment wouldn't derail her. No way. Ro was innocent and she'd prove it.

  "Okay, Annabelle. Thanks so much."

  "I know it's not what you wanted to hear."

  "That's true, but you've saved me a lot of research time. I'm so appreciative. And Ro too."

  "What else can we do?"

  Outside, a load roar came from the crowd. Lucie looked up to see Protest Boy standing on the hood of someone's car. If it belonged to one of the guys from Petey's, they'd have bloodshed. Lucie squeezed Annabelle’s arm. "I'm not sure. I'll let you know if I think of something though."

  Protest Boy was hauled off the car by someone, Brian most likely, just as Tim came through the back door, shoving the egg thrower in front of him.

  "You," she said, "you just ruined my boyfriend's suit."

  The kid ripped off a smug grin and Lucie curled her fingers into a tight fist. Violence had never been her thing, but lately, jerky people had pushed her buttons.

  "Wipe that smile off your face. You're paying for that suit. So help me, if it's the last thing I do, you're paying for it."

  "Good luck," the kid said.

  Oh, a tough guy. Perfect. "I don't need luck. Ask me my name."

  The kid held his hands up and waggled his fingers. "Ooh, now I'm scared. But I'll bite. What's your name?"

  "Seriously?" Tim said, "Dude, you're on her roof throwing eggs and you don't even know who she is?"

  This would be fun. For the first time, she understood why Joey always asked people who messed with him if they knew his name. Lucie? For years she'd been running from it, from the fear her father's name instilled. At least until today. "My name," she said, "is Lucie Rizzo."

  A little of the smug came off the kid's face, so Lucie took a step closer. "Yes, that Rizzo. Let it sink in. After it does, you're going to apologize to this handsome man for ruining a perfectly good suit."

  The kid swung his head to Tim. "I'm sorry. Sorry. I'll pay you for it. I swear to God, I'll pay you for it." He came back to Lucie. "I didn't know."

  As if it was acceptable to throw eggs at people who didn't happen to be the boyfriend of a mob boss's daughter? Well, Lucie had had enough. She grabbed a pen and paper. "I don't care. What you did was wrong. Let me see your ID. I want your name and address and we'll contact you with the cost of the suit. And you'd better pay it. “

  "I will. I promise."

  "Next time think about what you're d
oing. There are consequences to everything. Everything."

  Like sending a stupid tweet. A stupid tweet that landed Ro in jail.

  Protest or no protest, business had to be done. With Ro out of pocket and the picketers apparently not going anywhere, Lucie needed a place—chaos free—to conduct her meeting.

  Short on options other than the local library, she left Coco Barknell in the capable hands of the Franklin PD and moved her meeting to her former company headquarters.

  Otherwise known as Mom's dining room.

  At least there they'd have quiet. And, more than likely, cake. Sometimes, Mom's cake made bad days a whole lot brighter. Something she needed.

  On the upside, by the time she'd left the shop, Officer Brian had convinced Dad's crew to head back to Petey's before the feds showed up in search of some obscure charge to slap on them. Plus, with Dad being on parole, Lucie couldn't risk him being locked up again. Mom had just adjusted—somewhat anyway—to him being home and Lucie wouldn't be responsible for sending him back to the slammer.

  Sigh.

  She arrived at Mom's, unpacked her laptop and notepad, and—voila— the doorbell rang. Mom had finally convinced Dad to ditch the theme from the Godfather as a bell chime, but the compromise came by way of the famous Italian song “Quando, Quando, Quando.”

  Lucie swung the front door open and greeted Reece. She wore her black coat over a slim skirt and loose blouse with red crystal earrings. Her blond hair hung over her shoulders and she gave it a swipe as she walked.

  "Hi." She walked past Lucie, averting her eyes.

  "Hi," Lucie said.

  Reece held up a folder. "Carmen got hung up in another meeting. She sent me the menu choices for us to review."

  Whatever. "That's fine. We'll look at it in the dining room.” But first, they needed to deal with the protest elephant in the room. “Before we do that, we need to talk about the picketers."

  Reece dipped her chin. "I'm so sorry about that."

  Oh, wasn't this rich. She was sorry? Sorry! "Forgive me, Reece, but you can't be that sorry, since you didn’t bother to give me a heads up. Knowing how rabid Buzzy's fans are and that we still have a fashion show to put on together, why would Foo-Foo organize a protest of my business? Via Facebook!"

  "It wasn't my idea."