Security Squad

by Nicolette Pierce

  “I’d never be that cruel.”

  “Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt to give it a go. Now that Bre . . . well, I could use some extra help.”

  “You can say his name. To tell you the truth, I was surprised he was here. I thought you said he had joined the police force again.”

  “He did, but I think he knew that part of his life was over. When we talked, it seemed like a good idea if we worked together.”

  “At least he talked to you,” I muttered, self-pity quite evident.

  T glanced at me. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

  “Get what?”

  “Never mind,” he said, pulling into the bar parking lot. “We’re here. Let’s see if we can find the ladies before they do something I can’t fix.”

  I scanned the lot, looking for Mrs. Janowski’s powder-blue boat. “She parked over at the arcade,” I said, pointing across the lot.

  “Do you see her?”

  “No, I just see her car. Maybe she’s in the arcade.”

  “It’s possible. Let’s check there first.”

  T and I split up to search. We both returned to the front door minutes later with no sign of them.

  “They must be at the bar,” T gritted. “You stay here while I go get them.”

  “You can’t go in there alone. I’m coming with you.”

  “Why can’t I go alone?” he asked incredulously.

  “It could be dangerous.”

  “And you’re going to save me?” he asked in the same tone. “How exactly do you plan on doing that?”

  Not very well, I supposed. Even though he might have had a point, I still couldn’t send him in there alone. Brett should be here with him. Not me.

  “I’m coming with you,” I stated, bolting out the arcade door.

  He followed quicker than I thought possible. He’s a big man with bulky muscles, surely that should have slowed him down.

  His giant hand fell on my shoulder, seizing me in mid-step.

  “I’m going in alone,” he said. “I’ve been there before. I’ll be fine.”

  “You’ve been there?” I asked. “For illegal gambling?”

  “That’s not all they do there,” he said. “Just let me go in by myself. If I’m not back in twenty minutes, then call the cops.”

  “Ten minutes.”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Fine. But then you’re telling me exactly what’s going on in there.”

  He might not have rolled his eyes, but I could tell he really wanted to. He took off, crossing the distance to the bar in seconds.

  As soon as he disappeared through the door, I checked my watch. I’d give him his fifteen minutes but not a second more.

  At the two-minute mark, I heard a clanking over on the side of the building. Curious, I moved closer to the sound, keeping some distance in case I had to make a run for it. I wasn’t sure what to expect. It’s not like gambling was a horrible thing to do. It’s just the “that’s not all they do” part that had me a little worried. Plus, the bartender is creepy.

  There was another clang and then a squeak.

  Edna.

  I jogged over to find the ladies flattened against the side of the building. As soon as they saw me, they sagged against the wall with relief.

  “I thought we were going to have to clobber you,” Mrs. Janowski said, wincing as she held her lower back. “We’ve been keeping our eyes peeled for those no-good taggers. We thought you might be one of them.”

  “T went inside to look for you,” I said, pulling out my phone.

  “Oh dear,” Edna fretted, accidentally clanking her frying pan against the wall.

  I dialed T and waited as it rang. After a few rings it went straight to voicemail. I hung up without leaving a message and sent him a text instead.

  “Should we go in after him?” Ida asked.

  “He said to give him fifteen minutes,” I said, checking the time. “He’s got about ten minutes left.”

  “I don’t like this,” Edna said.

  Me neither.

  “Why did you even come here?” I asked Mrs. Janowski. “This isn’t safe.”

  “We were just going to ask them to stop using the arcade wall as a community message board. It’s not like there aren’t other ways to communicate. This isn’t the Stone Age where we have to write on walls. There’s the Internet, for heaven’s sake.”

  Sylvia nodded. “We had second thoughts when we saw the bartender. He’s rather . . .”

  “Creepy,” I finished for her.

  She nodded again.

  “Well, there’s nothing we can do right now except wait,” I said, checking my watch again.

  And wait we did. For a total of fifteen minutes. I had my phone out and was just about to call the cops when T stepped out.

  “Is that blood?” Ida asked.

  “He’s hurt,” Mrs. Janowski gulped.

  “He’s not walking right,” Sylvia added.

  T fell to his knees.

  “Oh dear,” Edna cried.

  Chapter 16

  I ran over to T, grasping his arm to keep him steady. “Hang on,” I said. “We’ll bring the car around.”

  “I’m fine,” he lied as he attempted to stand but sunk back down.

  “Give me your keys.” Before he could reach into his pocket, I stopped him. His knuckles were swollen and bloody. “I’ll get them. Which pocket?”

  He patted his left pocket. I stuck my hand in, being careful to only feel for keys. In his state I doubt he’d feel anything at all, but still . . .

  I found the keys and tossed them to Ida. “Can you bring his car around?”

  As soon as she drove up, I yanked the passenger door open and helped T into the car.

  “I’ll take T home,” I said to the ladies. “We’ll regroup tomorrow morning.”

  Hopefully they’d stay out of mischief until then. Judging by their stunned expressions, I’d say it wouldn’t be an issue.

  I watched as they hurried back over to the arcade. Once I saw them safe in Mrs. Janowski’s car, I drove away.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  T looked at me with one eye since the other had swollen shut. “I got the shit beat out of me.”

  “But why? Did you start a fight? What happened?”

  “I forgot that some nights are by invitation only.”

  “So they beat you up because you didn’t have an invitation?”

  He reached up to his jaw and rubbed it. “I busted in on a fight night. They hauled me into the ring before I knew what was happening. It was either fight to get out or get beaten to a pulp and pay my way out. I decided to fight.”

  “I think you got beaten to a pulp. How much did you have to pay?”

  He stared at me.

  “If you’re trying to make a face at me, it’s not working,” I said. “It’s too swollen.”

  He groaned and let his head fall back against the seat. “I didn’t pay. I won.”

  “Eesh. I’d hate to see the other guy.”

  “Just take me home,” he mumbled.

  “Where do you live?”

  Silence.

  “T?” I asked, looking over to find he had passed out.

  I wasn’t going to drive in circles waiting for him to regain consciousness, so I took him to my place. The least I could do was clean his wounds, especially after he’d stuck his neck out for the girls.

  “T?” I nudged him, trying to wake him once we were parked in my driveway.

  He didn’t budge.

  “T!” I shook him.

  His one eye groggily cracked open.

  “Wha’?”

  “We’re at my place. Let’s go inside. I’ll clean you.”

  His split lip twitched into a smile. “Clean me? If you were anyone else, I’d think you were hitting on me.”

  “No one would hit on you right now. You look like road kill.”

  He moaned as he tried to lift himself from the car. I raced around to help him. When he was
finally able to stand upright, I let go. He leaned on the car.

  “Give me a minute,” he said.

  “Maybe I should bring you to the hospital. I could call Ev . . .” Oh.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ve been worse.”

  “Come on,” I said, leading him into the house and then up to the bathroom. “Do you think you can stand long enough to take a shower?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said, swaying as he said it.

  “Shout if you need anything. I’ll be back in a minute with clothes.” Before I left, I turned on the water. It’s never fun trying to figure out a different shower, especially if you only have one eye to see with.

  * * *

  “Feeling better?” I asked when T came downstairs after his shower.

  “I’m a little more awake,” he said.

  “Come to the kitchen table,” I said, walking over to the first aid kit already waiting there.

  He followed behind and sunk into a chair. “Whose clothes am I wearing? They can’t be Evan’s.”

  No. Though Evan wasn’t wiry, he did have a lean build. There was none of the bulk that T had. Evan’s clothes would never have fit T.

  “Brett’s. He left them here.”

  And I’d kept them.

  Why?

  To smell them. I know, pathetic. But that’s what it was at first, and I really did think he was coming back. Then I knew he wasn’t. I tried to throw them away several times. I finally resigned to tucking them away in my bottom drawer and forgetting about them.

  “They’re a bit snug,” he said. “But I can manage.”

  “That’s good,” I said, opening a packet of antiseptic cleaning wipes. “Mrs. J. has a tendency to spy at the worst possible times. She’d have an eyeful if you were running around naked.”

  He hissed as I dabbed a cut. “I don’t run around naked,” he said.

  I smiled and wiped the cloth on a particularly gruesome gash.

  T pulled away, swatting my hand.

  “Stop being a baby,” I said, reaching for his wound.

  “I’m not a baby,” he clipped.

  “Take off your shirt,” I ordered. “You have a nasty cut that goes up your arm. How did that even happen?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just give me a bandage.”

  “Not until I clean it.”

  He cursed under his breath, wincing as he pulled off his shirt.

  “Oh my God! What the hell happened?” I shrieked, scanning his chest, back, and arms.

  “Did you not hear when I told you it was fight night?” he asked, exasperated.

  “I heard,” I said, gaping at the slashes and welts. “We have to take you to the hospital.” My little cleaning wipes seemed rather insignificant compared to his shredded body.

  “Just clean me up the best you can,” he said.

  “But . . .”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “This doesn’t looking like nothing,” I said.

  “I’ve looked worse,” he said, sounding weary. “Just do your best and let me sleep.”

  I nodded and began cleaning again, using every antiseptic wipe I had.

  “You were fighting with weapons,” I said, tracing over a welt and dabbing a cut.

  “I wasn’t.”

  My hand stalled. “These injuries are not from someone’s fist,” I argued.

  “I didn’t say they weren’t using weapons. I said I wasn’t using one.”

  “They? There was more than one?”

  “There normally is when you barge into a place you don’t belong.”

  I gulped a lump down. “They could have killed you.”

  His one eye found me. “I’m not that easy to kill,” he said. Seeing that it didn’t reassure me, he added, “They generally don’t kill anyone. The cleanup isn’t worth it.”

  “Generally?”

  He shrugged. “In the heat of the fight, anything can happen, especially when weapons are used.”

  The lump in my throat grew bigger.

  “Don’t!” he barked.

  “Don’t what?” I asked, squeezing my eyes to stop a flood of tears.

  “Don’t cry!”

  I didn’t cry. I bawled.

  “Jesus,” he muttered, patting my arm clumsily.

  Between hiccups and sniffling, I said, “You c-could h-have d-d-died!”

  “Mars, calm down. I didn’t die. I learned to fight a long time ago.”

  “But th-they had weapons and you d-d-didn’t.”

  “I know. I was there.”

  “Oh, God! Mrs. J. and the ladies could have charged in and had to fight their way out!”

  “I doubt they would’ve gotten that far. I forced my way in, not thinking.”

  I couldn’t hug him without hurting him, so I placed a kiss on the top of his shaved head.

  “Don’t get mushy,” he said. “I only did what I had to do.”

  “We both know you didn’t have to get involved.”

  He grunted.

  I quickly cleaned him off as best as I could and bandaged the bigger wounds since I didn’t have enough for all of them.

  He stood and headed to the couch.

  “Go upstairs and sleep,” I said. “You can take my bed.”

  “I’ll be fine here,” he said.

  “Just use my bed,” I said, trying to turn him to the stairs. He didn’t budge. “You’ll get a better sleep and I won’t have to worry about you squished on the couch.”

  “Mars,” he began to argue.

  “Go upstairs,” I said, standing my ground.

  “I don’t . . .”

  “Go!” I shouted, pointing to the staircase.

  “Jesus,” he muttered and stalked up the stairs.

  I was just getting comfy on my lumpy sofa when a rap song blasted. Ugh. T’s phone must be down here. It definitely wasn’t my phone. My ringtone currently had a pig oinking. It makes me smile.

  I’ll let the call go to voicemail.

  Two minutes later the song jarred me from the couch.

  Dammit!

  I followed the sound to the kitchen table and picked up the phone. I could just turn it off, I thought right before I answered it. Since it rang twice, it could be important.

  “You missed our check-in call,” the voice said.

  I didn’t have an answer to that. And I knew the voice.

  “Hello?” Brett asked.

  I sighed. My first reaction was to hang up, but I couldn’t.

  “T?”

  “No. He’s asleep. What do you want?”

  “Mars?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where’s T?”

  “I told you. He’s asleep,” I answered, not in the mood to be helpful.

  “He was supposed to check in with me thirty minutes ago.”

  “He was busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  “As a silent partner, I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

  “Mars,” Brett said, nearly growling, “what the hell is going on?”

  “Again, silent partner,” I said, and then added, “Shhhh.”

  “Mars!” Okay, that time he definitely growled. “Where is T right now?”

  “I told you. Asleep.”

  “Where?”

  “In my bed.” Oh. That sounded bad, but I really didn’t care at the moment.

  “In your . . .”

  “Bed,” I finished for him.

  “In your bed?” he boomed.

  “We seem to be saying the same thing,” I said, shutting down the conversation. “I’ll have him call you tomorrow when he wakes up. It might be late, though. He’s really tired.”

  I pressed end and smiled.

  That felt good.

  Childish, but good.

  * * *

  T awoke earlier than I expected. However, he looked like I expected.

  “You still look like road kill,” I said.

  He glared and slumped into a kitchen chair.
“You got any coffee?”

  “Yes,” I said, grabbing a mug and filling it.

  I placed it in front of him. He wrapped his hands around it and took a sip. “Ow.” He reached up to feel his split lip. “Lip wounds are the worst. Every time you eat or smile it reopens.”

  “Well, at least you don’t have to worry about the smiling part. You rarely attempt it.”

  He glowered. “What did I do to deserve slamming at eight in the morning?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m a little wired from last night.”

  He nodded. “Fights can do that to a person.”

  It was a fight, although not necessarily his.

  “I have to get going,” T said, taking a last gulp of coffee. “I have a full day ahead.”

  “Oh, did you want me to get you a receptionist like we discussed? I can probably have her over there today,” I said.

  “Looking like this?” He gestured to his face. “I’d probably scare her away.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. She’s made of sterner stuff. And, really, it’s not all that bad,” I lied.

  He shot me a look. “Tell her to stop by at noon. I’ll have a break by then and can give her a tour.”

  “A tour of your gun collection?”

  “Only if she’s pretty,” he answered with a smirk.

  “Men can be so charming,” I muttered.

  T winked . . . or maybe it was just a blink. It was hard to tell with one eye still swollen. He stood and stuffed his phone into his pocket, triggering my memory.

  “Brett called you last night,” I said. “He said you were supposed to check-in with him.”

  “That was about the time I was getting my ass kicked. You didn’t tell him, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Good,” he said, walking to the door. He stopped and turned. “Why do I get the feeling there’s something I should know?”

  “You might want to hold the phone away from your ear when you talk to him. He’s a little upset.”

  “Over a missed call?”

  “No. That you were having sex with me.”

  He choked. “Wh-what? Did we . . . did I . . . what?”

  I waved my hand. “No, no. I told him you were asleep in my bed. He jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

  “You didn’t tell him?”

  “He irritated me.”