I stood in front of my mailbox contemplating if I should open it. It’s been two months that I haven’t been able to pay bills. So far, I haven’t received any delinquency notices. But it’s only a matter of time. One day soon I’ll open the mailbox and a mountain of collection notices will tumble out, crushing me to my spot. I sighed. Okay, it’s a little ridiculous, but it sure feels that way.
My cell phone rang. I slipped it out of my pocket and gazed longingly at it. Someday soon it will cease to ring and tweet. No one will be able to get in touch with me, and I won’t be able to call for help when I’m crushed under the mailbox wreckage.
I pressed answer and said a dreary hello.
“I can see I caught you in a mood,” Kym said with her perky after-honeymoon voice.
“I’m just standing in front of my mailbox.”
“And?”
“I don’t want to open it.”
“Why?”
“I can’t afford a hospital bill.”
“Mars, you’re not making any sense. Do you need me to stop over with a bottle of wine?”
“A bottle of Jim’s wine?” I asked. His wine was smooth and expensive.
“Of course. Should I bring anything else?”
“Bring food if you’re hungry. I only have ramen noodles. No, wait. I ate those last night.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Just another bump in the road.”
“I’ll be over soon with food and wine and we can talk.”
“Sounds perfect.”
After Kym’s phone call, the mailbox was still waiting to be opened. Another day of waiting didn’t matter. I left the mail where it was and walked the few steps to my front door.
The last of the Wisconsin summer heat hung heavy with humidity. My skin was already sticky with sweat. Inside the house wasn’t any better. In fact, some days it was better melting outside in a pool of sweat than to sit in the stifling living room. It was all in the name of energy savings.
I stepped inside the front door and hung my purse on the hook. I slid in front of my laptop at the kitchen table. Logging into my email account, I crossed my fingers for a job response. Something had to come in soon. I emailed my resume to all the catering and event companies in Madison and surrounding areas. No responses so far. Maybe there’s something wrong with my resume.
Clicking on the file, I opened my resume and scanned it. My name and contact information was at the top. The work history section was dull. I could spruce it up in the morning and send it to a few more places.
I meandered to the couch and plopped down. My limbs stretched as far away from my body as possible. It was too hot to have limb-to-body contact which made me think of Brett and the lack of his presence.
I followed the news on the capture of the Sledge Hammer serial killer. It remained in the news for a couple of weeks. The segments dwindled as time passed. It was my only connection to Brett. Once the media cooled, my access to his world was gone.
His phone number is programmed into my phone . . . so I could call him. When he left for Texas with his prisoner, I had a feeling he wouldn’t come back. Why would he? He was only in Wisconsin to track the serial killer who killed his sister. His family lives in Texas and now they can begin to heal and be a family again. Since he hasn’t called me, why should I call him? My throat constricted and warm tears welled behind my eyes.
I should delete his phone number. There’s no reason to hold onto it. It’s just a reminder of a time I can’t have back. Not that I’d want the serial killer back. I still have nightmares about her. But the passionate and steamy times with Brett, those were the times I couldn't get back.
A knock on the door brought me from the depths of self pity. Before I could summon enough energy to tear myself from the couch, the door flung open with Kym’s smiling face bursting through and bounding into the living room. Her face dropped as she hit the thick wall of heavy saturated air.
“What’s wrong with your air conditioning?” She asked, fanning her shirt collar.
“Nothing.”
“Then why isn’t it on?”
“It keeps unwanted people away.”
Kym gave an exaggerated eye roll. “It also keeps wanted people away,” she argued.
“Think of it as a free sauna.”
“Oh, all right. Give me a towel. I don’t want to sweat all over my silk shirt.”
I trudged upstairs and brought back two towels. I handed Kym a Beauty and the Beast beach towel and kept Brainy Smurf for myself.
“What’s with the beach towels?” She asked as she undressed.
“They’re cute. Grandma bought me a beach towel every year for Christmas, so I have a closet full.”
“Ever thought about shopping for new towels?”
“What would I do with my beach towels?”
“Uh, use them for the beach.”
“I’m not a fan of lake beaches. They smell like fish, my feet sink ankle deep into muck, and seaweed freaks me out.”
Kym wrapped the towel around her svelte frame twice. I was able to wrap mine around one and a half times . . . if I sucked in and yanked tightly.
“Shall I open the wine?” She asked. “I also brought Chinese.”
“Smells divine! I’ll grab a corkscrew and glasses. Did I tell you I joined Predator Patrol?” I asked as I foraged through the kitchen drawer for a corkscrew.
“Mrs. J.’s new club?”
“I ran out of excuses,” I said.
“It could be worse. You could still work for Jocelyn.”
“At least Jocelyn gave me a paycheck.” I handed Kym the corkscrew and glasses and slumped into the couch.
“A paycheck from the devil. She paid you a lousy salary and no benefits.”
“She’s fighting my unemployment claim since, technically, she fired me.”
“That’s not right. She fired you because she had a thing for Brett, but he wanted you. It had nothing to do with job performance.”
I shrugged. “That’s Jocelyn. Now neither of us has Brett and I’m jobless.”
“Somehow this doesn’t seem fair.”
“Life never is.”
“Have you heard from Brett?”
“I followed the news and saw him on camera a few times but now there’s no coverage since it’s old news. Maybe once the trial starts there’ll be a media surge. Though, I don’t think I can watch it.”
“You still have nightmares, don’t you?”
I nodded.
“What about Evan? Where is he?”
“As far as I know he’s working extra shifts. It could be a lie so he doesn’t have to talk to me.”
“Always the optimist, aren’t you?”
“Sorry. I’m not feeling optimistic about anything right now.”
“Did you sleep with Evan?”
“No,” I mumbled.
“No worries then. History tells us he’ll be back. He’s probably working extra shifts like he said.”
I shrugged. “Yeah.” Or he could’ve found someone pretty who has a job. “Let’s talk about you. I’d rather be cheerful with my wine. Are you still in honeymoon mode?”
Kym grinned, flushing with a becoming pink.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I couldn’t help but smile at her. Who’d have thought outspoken Kym could turn into a blushing bride?
“It’s been wonderful. Tahiti was romantic and magical. He’s taken off extra days from work to be with me. Of course, it means more time for his friends to bother us too.”
“Not Eddie?” I shuttered.
She nodded and sipped her wine. “He’s coming over more often now that we’re settled in.”
“I don’t understand the connection between those two. Jim is handsome and successful. Eddie is dirty and broke. If you could think of the worst redneck joke possible, he’d fit it to a T.”
Kym snickered. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel about Eddie? It’s not bad. They go downstairs to the sports room and watch games.”
/>
The sports room is no meager basement dwelling. It’s a complete man zone that’d make any guy drool with envy. Leather theater-style seating with cup holders and footrests surround an enormous ninety-two inch television with surround sound. The remaining space is a total guy fest with full bar, pool table, dartboard, and air hockey table. Walls are covered with sports memorabilia and neon beer signs.
“Still, I don’t think I’d want him at my house.” I grimaced.
“Jim says he has to deal with my friends, so I have to deal with his.”
My mouth swung open. I snapped it back shut, but it swung open again. I couldn’t possibly fit into the same classification of annoying friends as Eddie.
Kym’s eyes widened when she realized what she had said. “He doesn’t mean you!” She covered up quickly. “He’s mostly annoyed with my cousin. You remember Fran? Since I’m married she thinks I’ll find her a husband from amongst Jim’s friends and family. It’s like living in nineteenth century England and trying to marry her to the first eligible suitor. I almost hooked her up with Ed . . . but she’s family,” Kym sighed.
I bit back a laugh.
Chapter 2
I woke up in a sweat and not because of the lack of air conditioning . . . of course, that didn’t help. My breathing was rapid and my pulse was on turbo. With the amount of wine Kym and I polished off last night, I hoped the nightmares would drown or at least take a vacation. Since Brett left with the Sledge Hammer killer in tow, I haven’t had one night of peace. The dreams come in a blinding flash. One minute I’m peacefully asleep with no dreams to bother me, then the killer rips through with her cutting eyes and bloody hammer.
I took a few calming breaths and let my pulse find its rhythm again.
It was another morning of no alarm clocks and no deadlines. Nothing. A different person might relish the time. Not me. No alarm clock and no deadlines meant no money. My accounts were at zero; my credit cards maxed out.
My eyes drifted around my bedroom until they rested on a baseball bat in the corner. It hadn’t moved since I defended myself against the Hammer. I didn’t want to move it. It was a reminder the incident and Brett weren’t my imagination. The nightmares were because of real life and not an invention of my subconscious. However, any more time sitting idly in the corner it’ll collect a layer of dust and an enterprising spider web.
The only other reminder was the bed. My warm and cozy plush bed Brett bought for me . . . though we never broke it in together. Tingles sprung from the mattress, lighting my skin with ghostly flames of Brett’s touch. It was a tease; a treacherous torment my body betrayed me. I hopped out of bed to distance myself.
Waking up from a nightmare and thinking of Brett fouled my mood nearly every morning. But I was nearly back to normal. No men in my life is normal. No money in my pocket is normal. Just missing the job.
“Enough of this! I will find a job today!” I announced in a firm, resolute voice.
I dressed for the last of the scorching summer heat. The sweltering days would end soon and the crisp fall air would be brief and refreshing until the bitter cold descends by buckets in the innocent form of white fluffy snowflakes. I’d have no money for heat. I shivered even though the morning heat was stifling the air like a hot soppy rag.
I shook my head. I never gave into self pity so easily. Why am I doing it now?
I descended downstairs and into the kitchen while berating myself for my weak character. Digging through the cupboards and refrigerator, I hunted for scraps of food. There were leftovers from dinner last night with Kym. After I gathered the boxes from the refrigerator, only condiments remained. I wedged myself behind the refrigerator and yanked out the plug. No reason to keep condiments cold when there wasn’t anything to put them on. A spark from the refrigerator plug leaving its mated outlet snapped its final current. I held the limp outlet cord . . . lifeless.
Damn it! Tears pooled behind my eyes. This is stupid. People go through this all the time and sometimes worse. They survive. I’ll survive too. I refused to let the tears spillover. I summoned a deep breath and counted, allowing me the chance to regroup.
Time to work on the new me. I flipped open my laptop with purpose. Today is my day! Today I’m going to find a job!
I hunkered down and scanned through the online help-wanted ads while chowing leftovers.
Be a Dancer . . . no!
Make $5,000 a month and work from home . . . scheme!
Phlebotomist . . . no idea!
The list was dwindling. However, there were plenty of jobs for servers and bartenders. I scribbled the addresses down on a piece of paper and stuffed it in my pocket. Throwing my purse over my shoulder, I marched out the front door.
I left the car parked in the driveway since it was on fumes and glared pointedly at the mailbox as if it was ready to punch me as I passed. Those last fumes would be of the greatest use by running over my mailbox . . . back and forth until it was flattened. The mail carrier wouldn’t be able to slide another dang bill in it. The vision of a flattened mailbox did wonders and even came with a soundtrack of it crunching its final death.
Amused, I trekked a few blocks until I reached the bus stop. Standing in front of the bus route map, I trailed the route lines with my finger determining the easiest route. Luckily, most of the bars hiring were downtown and easy to walk to once there. Nearly all bus routes passed through the area.
Feeling better, I turned towards the road and waited.
“What?” I barked into my cellphone.
“Mars, is that you barking at me?”
“Sorry, Curtis. I’m having a hard time finding a job. I gave up finding an events job. Now I’m hitting all the bars that advertised. I’m coming up dry. I either have to know how to mix drinks like a pro, or I have to squeeze into a tight shirt with my boobs spilling out.”
“You should go with that one. You’ll get tips just for having big breasts. They won’t care if you mess up their drink order. You might want to dye your hair blonde too. I have a feeling they make more tips.”
“Why wouldn’t they care if I screwed up their drink? I'd care if my drink was bad.”
“With big boobs swinging in their faces, they’re not thinking about drinks. They’re thinking ‘big boobs equals small brain equals big chance on getting lucky’. Which means more tips. They’d think you’re all hot for their money.”
“I’m feeling insulted. Would that be the same comparison for men? Big penis equals small brain equals big chance on getting lucky?”
“Nope. Doesn’t work like that because all men are easy no matter brain size. And all brains go out the window when blood flow is diverted. Maybe you could equate penis size with vehicle size and then come up with a formula for average brain size.”
“Sounds tedious and a waste of time.” I sighed. “Is there a reason you called?”
“Yes, Miss Grumpy-Pants. There’s a reason I called. I called to give you a heads up.”
“What’s going on?”
“You didn’t hear it from me. Jocelyn is blackballing your name all over town.”
I gripped my phone. “What?”
“I walked past her door while she was on the phone with Amazing Events and Catering. She was weaving stories about you. She’s going to make sure you never work an event again.”
“That’s illegal! It’s defamation of character!”
“She wants you to crawl on your hands and knees, begging for your job.”
“There’s no way I’ll beg for my job. I’d rather wear the tight shirt at the bar for the rest of my life than to grovel to Jocelyn.”
“Maybe you should reconsider the tight shirt job. Gravity isn’t kind and you have some large girls. They’ll be to your knees by the time you reach forty and you’ll have to find another job.”
“Forty?”
“Large girls . . . large gravitational pull.”
I sat on the couch reading CAD so I could understand LMAO, TTYS, and other such acronyms. It took Mrs. J
anowski and her band of senior hoodlums to bring me back to current trends. I was quite happy in my ignorance.
I tossed the book onto the coffee table and jogged upstairs to take a cool down shower before heading to Predator Patrol station. The shower was needed after a day of hitting the bars and filling out useless applications. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to hear a reply. There were too many eager college students.
I had one more job I could apply for but left it as a last resort. The Road Hog Bar was a biker bar with grizzly men and hardened women. I doubt they'd hire me, but I was desperate.
Evan sometimes goes there now that he owns a Harley. It was another reason I didn’t want the job. Somehow our friendship took a turn . . . which is odd because nothing happened between us. There was always heavy flirting on both sides, but I never wanted to be in his collection of one night stands. So, we remained friends. Then Brett came along and stirred the pot. What was once a friendship with Evan became something more substantial then disappeared altogether.
I hopped out of the shower and dressed. After giving my hair a couple passes with the brush, I ran downstairs and over to Mrs. Janowski’s house.
I gave a brief courtesy knock before letting myself in. The dining room was set off to the side of the living room. The Predator Patrol ladies were all assembled plus one addition. Kym.
I eyed the ladies suspiciously as they scurried from their huddled position. Edna’s face turned bright red as she resumed her post . . . fanning herself. Mrs. Janowski had the air conditioning cranked up to the max, so I knew she wasn’t fanning herself because of the heat.
“What’s going on?” I asked, eyeing each lady for signs of troublemaking in progress.
“I decided to join Predator Patrol,” Kym said, smothering a grin.
“We’re giving her an orientation,” Mrs. Janowski added. “I’ll have to make another hat. I have your hat ready, Mars.” She shuffled to the side table and retrieved a PP adorned baseball cap. The ladies gave a round of applause as Mrs. Janowski plopped the hat on my head. “You’re official.”
Predator Patrol (Mars Cannon Novel #2) Page 2
