Security Squad

by Nicolette Pierce

As the ladies went to work setting up their computers, Kym leaned over to me. “I think I might be over my head on this one.”

  “You’re fine,” I said. “Aaron just asked permission to graffiti his wall. Most kids wouldn’t ask. He loves you and Jim too much to get into real trouble.”

  “I guess,” she said, shifting in her seat. “Let’s talk about you.”

  “I’m good,” I said, edging away.

  “What happened with Evan?”

  “He left,” I said, finding myself blocked in by Edna who was tangled in computer cables, making Aaron giggle.

  Kym frowned. “I thought he would stay.”

  “Things happened after we last talked. Bottom line, he wanted me to move with him but he wasn’t going to stay. He didn’t want to compete against Brett.”

  “Is Brett back in the picture?” she asked with a growing smile.

  I took a shallow breath. “No. He moved back to Texas to get out of Evan’s way.”

  Kym’s brows pinched together. “Does Evan know?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does Brett know that Evan left?”

  “Nope.”

  Kym sat back, biting her lower lip in thought. “So neither know, and they both left.”

  “Yep,” I said. “That sums it up.”

  “They left you,” she repeated.

  “Yep.”

  “Again?”

  I didn’t know what else to say except, “Yep.”

  * * *

  Hours later, Mrs. Janowski squinted at the computer screen and then at the vandalism photo Ida had taken.

  “So, if this wonky thing here means there’s a meetup,” Mrs. Janowski said, “then what does this doohickey mean?”

  Aaron peered over her shoulder. “I don’t know what a doohickey is, but this slash over here combined with the dollar sign means that there’s betting.”

  Betting?

  “Does it say where the meetup is?” she asked.

  “People who read this would probably already know where,” he answered.

  “Then when is it?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow night.”

  She clapped her hands together. “Now we just need to figure out where.”

  I had a feeling I knew where it was located, but I wasn’t going to tell her until . . .

  “If there’s a writer, there will be readers,” Aaron said. “Just wait for one and ask him.”

  Mrs. Janowski banged her fist on the table. “You’re a genius. We’ll filet the reader until he talks.”

  . . . until now. I rubbed my forehead, knowing Mrs. J. would camp out until she found a person to interrogate. And by camp out, I mean all of us walking a beat around the clock. And by interrogating, I mean just that — strapped to a metal chair with a blinding spotlight. Even if we could catch the person — which I seriously doubt since Mrs. Janowski can’t move, Edna squeaks, Sylvia would flirt, and Ida . . . well, she could actually pull it off — we’d still be risking our necks.

  Was it better to tell the ladies my suspicion and risk them charging into the bar, or to let them figure it out and then have them charge into the bar? Either way, I foresaw charging with crockery.

  If it was just the ladies, I might have let them try to work it out, hoping they’d fail. With Aaron involved, it drastically changed the outcome. He knew more than all of us combined.

  With an internal sigh, I said, “I think I know where it is.” I’ll have to call T later and organize an intervention.

  “Where?” Mrs. Janowski asked.

  “The bar near the arcade.”

  Kym’s mouth rounded. “Oh! It all makes sense.”

  “Aaron,” Mrs. Janowski called, “hand me that pad over there. It’s time to put a plan together.”

  “What kind of plan?” he asked.

  “The squad is going to infiltrate and shut them down. We’ll need to get over there and sketch a layout. I need to know how many doors and windows there are. A safe exit is key!”

  “Or,” I interrupted, “we could just ask them to stop tagging the wall.”

  Mrs. Janowski’s lips twisted as she thought. “Good point. We’ll call that Plan A.”

  I think I’m going to have to put T on speed dial.

  * * *

  “You’re late,” Hank said.

  “Sorry,” I said, dropping my purse behind the bar. “The ladies . . . again.”

  “Actually, I was thinking you should take the day off,” he said. “You don’t have to work every day, you know.”

  “I’d rather work,” I said. “I need the diversion.”

  “Not too much going on around here,” Hank said. “The boys went down to the store to buy more lumber for signs.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “But do you think they’ll change the slogans? Some of them were terrible.”

  “I doubt it. They jotted them down already.”

  “A girl can hope.”

  “I’m just happy the flowers are gone,” Hank said.

  “The flowers were pretty,” I scolded. “And the ladies worked hard on them. I wonder who would crush poor defenseless flowers?” I eyed him suspiciously.

  “You can turn your stink eye on someone else,” he said. “I didn’t do it. And I didn’t break the signs either. They were halfway decent. And anyway, there was the print of a high-heel shoe. I don’t wear high heels.”

  “True. But what female would want to trash our signs?”

  Hank shrugged. “Maybe Jack would know. There’s always one or two that’s mad at him. What about that one girl who came storming in here like a tornado? I could see her smashing the signs.”

  “If Andrea smashed the signs, they’d be over Jack’s head.”

  We both pondered in silence until Hank said, “Mac and Bob found another clue while you were out. There was a nail in the crushed flowers. I told them it was probably just one of the old crone’s.”

  “How is a rusty old nail a clue?”

  “Not a metal nail. It was a fingernail tip. It was so long it had to be fake.”

  I ran through the ladies and could only come up with Sylvia as a possibility. But I didn’t remember her nails being overly long.

  “Hank, how long was the nail?”

  He pointed over to the side of the bar the boys normally sit at. “Mac bagged it and marked it as evidence B.”

  God, he’s getting as bad as Mrs. Janowski, I thought as I walked over and peered down at the bag.

  Jocelyn McCain.

  I knew her red dagger nails anywhere. And this was most definitely a venomous red dagger nail.

  “I think you’re right, Hank,” I said, picking up the baggie. “I do need a day off. And I know just where I’m going.”

  * * *

  I parked in the Jocelyn McCain Events parking lot and turned off the engine. I passed her BMW on my way into the building. Emmy looked up from her desk to see me enter, her eyes red and puffy. She yanked out a desk drawer and dumped it into a box.

  “Emmy, what’s going on?” I asked.

  “The witch just fired Curtis and me,” Emmy said, slapping a lid on the box. “We only have five minutes to get out.”

  I gaped. “Why did she fire you?” I asked.

  “She’s losing customers and blaming us.” Emmy bristled. “I’m glad she fired me. I wouldn’t want to work with her a minute longer. Do you know what she had me do yesterday?”

  I shook my head, afraid to ask.

  “Massage her feet!” Emmy shoved a tiny stuffed animal into a box. “There’s not enough hand sanitizer in the world to get her funky feet off my hands.”

  Eww!

  “How much time do you need to pack?” I asked.

  “She only gave me five minutes. I think I’m almost out of time. Curtis has more stuff than I do.”

  “I think I can get you a few more minutes.”

  “Could you?” Emmy looked up and blew a honey-blonde lock of hair from her eyes. “That would be great.”

  “Well, well, well,�
� I heard in a poisonous drawl behind me. “Look who came crawling back.”

  I glanced behind me to see Jocelyn leaning against her office doorframe. Her stance might have been relaxed, but her eyes were deadly.

  “I’m not here for a job,” I said, stepping toward her. “I’m here because of this.” I held the baggie with her fingernail in it.

  Her brow arched. “I don’t do manicures here,” she said and then gave a dark smile. “But Emmy here can give a decent foot massage.”

  Emmy sniffled and tossed another stuffed animal into her box.

  “Why did you vandalize the Road Hog?” I asked, waving the baggie at her. “We found a stiletto shoe print on a destroyed sign and your fingernail in the flowers.”

  She crossed her arms. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m here all the time.”

  “You’re never here.”

  “I’m here right now,” she stated smugly.

  “Only to fire your employees.”

  “I’ll get new ones.” She flicked her hand. “Out with the old and useless, in with the new.”

  “You’re missing a nail,” I said as I watched her dismissive hand.

  Something wasn’t right. I knew it was her fingernail in the baggie, but I thought she would’ve had it replaced immediately. She’s never in public without a full set of nails. Never.

  “Everyone has a broken nail now and again. You can hardly accuse me for that.”

  “It’s the same color polish.”

  “It’s a popular color. What can I say? I have good style.”

  Curtis dragged a box from the back room. “Vampire style, you mean. Those nails are always blood red and sharp. Just like your fangs.”

  “How dare you!” Jocelyn shouted. “Get out this instant!”

  “I’m going,” he said, still dragging his box. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” He backed up against the door to hold it open while he manhandled the box out. “Where are the big, strong men when you need them?” He huffed and then kicked the box. “Mars, Vamprella’s tapped out. That’s why she mowed down your signs. She won’t admit you were the backbone of the operation.” He smirked at Jocelyn then turned to Emmy. “Emmy, let’s go out tonight. Martinis on me. You come too, Mars. It’s high time we celebrated!”

  The door shut behind Curtis, leaving Jocelyn simmering. “He lied,” she hissed.

  “He didn’t lie,” Emmy stated, flipping the top on her box. “You’ve had creditors calling you for a month now. And I’m still waiting for my paycheck.”

  “You haven’t paid her?” I asked Jocelyn.

  Jocelyn bristled. “She hardly worked.”

  “That’s because there are no clients,” Emmy said, heading to the door with one of her boxes. I grabbed the other one and followed her.

  “This is your fault!” Jocelyn screamed at me. “I had everything! First you took Brett away and now you’ve ruined me!”

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said to Emmy. “We don’t have to listen to this.” I turned to Jocelyn. “I’m warning you, Jocelyn; it’s a biker bar you’re messing with. Don’t make them angry or you’ll be sorry.”

  It was an empty threat with only the boys and me to protect the dive. She could easily call my bluff.

  I closed the door right before a vase launched at my head. It hit the glass door, shattering it. Jocelyn and I stared at each other through the opening.

  I tisked. “You shouldn’t break what you can’t afford to fix.”

  She howled and scrambled to grab another object to pitch at me.

  Emmy and I hurried to her car. I deposited the box in her trunk, promised to see her for drinks, and jumped into my car, hauling it out of the parking lot.

  I’d just made the evil witch mad. Someone’s going to get burned.

  Unfortunately, I knew who that someone was going to be.

  Chapter 15

  Later that evening, I met Curtis and Emmy for drinks at a bar not too far away from the Road Hog. A twinge of guilt poked at me for not giving our business to Hank.

  “I’m so glad I’m out of there,” Curtis said, sipping his martini. “Be thankful you missed this past month with her, Mars. Jocelyn was every name in the bitch book and more.”

  And more? I didn’t think it was possible to know more names.

  “What am I going to do now?” Emmy asked, absently twirling the straw in her drink. “She’ll probably fight our unemployment claim like she did with Mars. I can’t survive very long without a job, especially since she never paid me last time.”

  “And she probably won’t pay our current payroll or our vacation,” Curtis unhelpfully added.

  Emmy paled.

  “It’s okay,” I said, patting Emmy’s arm. “We’ll figure something out. I’m sure we can find you something quickly. I’d tell you to come and work at the Road Hog, but you wouldn’t make any money there.”

  “How do you survive, then?” she asked.

  “Mostly by tips when riders come through town,” I said.

  “And Brett,” Curtis added. Again, unhelpful.

  At my wide-eyed expression, Curtis smiled slyly. “I’m on the gossip chain with Mrs. J. She gives me the dirt at least once a week. Sorry about Evan, by the way, but it’s for the best. Brett has you by the purse strings anyway. And he’s hot. Not that Evan wasn’t hot. But Brett has that way about him.” Curtis’s whole body shivered.

  “I thought he was in Texas,” Emmy said.

  “He was, but then he moved back here to be near Mars,” Curtis said.

  “And now he’s back in Texas,” I said. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

  “Mrs. J. didn’t tell me that,” Curtis said.

  “She probably didn’t know. I only just found out.”

  “So, Brett left for good?” Emmy asked.

  “Apparently,” I said.

  “And Evan dropped her,” Curtis added.

  Seriously, unhelpful!

  “They’re both gone,” I stated.

  Emmy stared at me with rounded eyes filled with pity. And this was coming from a woman who just lost her job and the man she wanted to marry.

  It took everything I had not to bang my head against the table. Can’t I just move on with my life?

  No one loves me. There. Done. On to another subject!

  As if the universe was suddenly on my side, another subject walked in . . . or rather, stormed in.

  “Mars, Mrs. J. is on the move,” T called as he plowed through the bar. He came to an abrupt halt a few feet away, eyes locked on Emmy.

  “What’s she doing this time?” I asked.

  He blinked before wrenching his gaze from Emmy. “She left a message saying she was rolling out Plan A tonight. I have no idea what that means. I tried to call her but she’s not answering. I tried to call you too.”

  And there went the universe again. Back to enemy number one.

  I picked up my purse, tossed money onto the table for my drink, and said my apologies to Curtis and Emmy.

  T and Emmy shared one last look before he turned away and we walked out to his car.

  “Tell me about Plan A,” he said, ducking into the driver’s seat and starting the engine.

  “You know those messages that were tagged on the arcade wall?” I asked.

  His lips pinched together and he gave a tight nod, stepping his foot hard on the accelerator.

  “The girls have been decoding them with Aaron’s help. Plan A is to confront the bar management and ask them to stop.”

  T rubbed his forehead. “Are you kidding me?” he asked, but it was more of a statement so I left it alone.

  “If it makes you feel better, her original plan was to infiltrate and shut them down. I believe that’s now Plan B.”

  He groaned as if he was in pain. I knew that pain and didn’t judge him.

  “Do you think she’ll wait before charging in?” he asked.

  “It’s hard to say,” I said. “Mrs. J. isn’t the most patient person.”

&
nbsp; “That’s an understatement.”

  True.

  “How did you know where to find me?” I asked, just realizing that he’d showed up at a bar I had never been to before.

  “I just knew.”

  “How?”

  “Leave it alone, Mars,” he warned.

  “I’m not going to leave it alone,” I said. “How could you have possibly known where I was?”

  “Don’t make this difficult. I’m just doing my job, and I happen to be really good at it.”

  “Your job? Are you following me?”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “But you’re tracking me?”

  He paused before saying, “Yes.”

  “Why are you tracking me? And how is it your job?”

  The tarantula on his neck twitched. “If you and the ladies would stop getting into trouble, I wouldn’t have to watch you.”

  “It’s not like I go looking for trouble,” I huffed. “You don’t have to make it your job to watch us.”

  “Not us. Just you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Never mind.”

  “You can’t say never mind.”

  “I just did. Listen, sometimes people watch out for each other even if they’re not around anymore. I was given a job and I’m going to do it.”

  “Brett,” I muttered. “It’s always Brett.”

  Silence.

  “So, this new company of yours,” I began, switching the subject before I’d say something I’d regret. “Do you need an employee to answer the phone and such?”

  “Eventually,” he replied with a release of breath. “I’m just beginning to show profit, but the phone is getting busy. Why? Do you know of someone?”

  “I think I might,” I said. “What exactly do you do?”

  “Mainly security, but Bre . . . well, I branched out a little.”

  “Branched out?” I questioned.

  His eyes slid to me. “Nothing illegal.”

  I put my hands up. “Not saying anything of the kind. Branching out could mean a lot of different things.”

  His mouth twisted.

  “When do you need her to start?” I asked.

  His brow wrinkled with worry lines. “It’s not Mrs. J. or any of the ladies, is it?”