Black Friday

by Judy M. Kerr

  She pulled Barb into an embrace and kissed her. Slow. Deep. They ended the kiss, and she leaned her forehead on Barb’s.

  Barb said, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Thank you.”

  Barb stepped back and gazed into MC’s eyes. “What are you thanking me for?”

  “For being you. For putting up with me. For loving me.” MC kissed her again. “Now I’ll go change quick.”

  “I’ll meet you in the living room.”

  Barb hummed along to Amy Ray’s “Goodnight Tender.” This particular song fit MC’s current mood, and she quietly sang along as she climbed the stairs to their bedroom to change into her flannel pajama pants and a faded Minnesota Lynx T-shirt. She grabbed her phone and composed a quick message to Wilcox.

  “MC? What are you doing up there? Tea’s ready.” A creak sounded.

  MC quickly finished and sent the email. She tossed the phone on the dresser. “Coming.”

  By ten p.m., Len Klein noted that the rabble rousers were really winding up. The high-end chic caterer Mike had hired was running ragged keeping the platters of food filled on the dining room table.

  Klein figured another hour and the party would be in full swing and by midnight, nearly out of control. He’d dispatched Nick and Quentin to patrol the property and make sure no one accidentally wandered into the frigid lake. The last thing he needed was some dumbass drowning. They were due to check in with him in thirty minutes.

  Klein stood near the bar and watched Mike weave his way from the front door across the family room to him.

  “Len, at around eleven, herd people back into this area. I’m making an announcement, and I’d like as many people gathered as are able to still stand. You’ll handle it?”

  “Sure will, boss.”

  He clapped a hand on Klein’s shoulder. “Have you seen Gavin?” Mike wiped his nose on the back of his hand. A whitish residue lingered beneath his boss’s nose.

  “I haven’t seen Gavin. Maybe he’s downstairs. I think there’s a bunch in the theater and another group playing pool.”

  “Excellent.” Mike stumbled a bit, but quickly regained his balance. “Now, where is Tori? I need more of that kickass white powder. Tori?” He waved his arm and made a beeline for the living room where Tori was holding court with four or five of her Barbie-doll friends. They were sprawled out on a couple of black leather sofas on either side of an enormous oak coffee table that had a glass top. The surface was perfect for the lines of coke waiting to be huffed up someone’s nose.

  Klein wandered down to the theater. A curtain of marijuana smoke hung heavy in the air and a dozen people guffawed over the movie, Pineapple Express. He scanned the attendees. No sign of Gavin. He didn’t figure the movie as Gavin’s cup of tea, anyway.

  Klein felt his cell vibrate and found a text from Nick. Q and me by lake. F’n freezing! Chk pool/hot tub next.

  He responded using voice dictation. “Make double damn sure no one is skinny dipping or doing anything stupid. The last thing we need is someone stoned out of their gourd wandering naked into the lake and dying from exposure or drowning. Be back inside by eleven. Stennard is making some big announcement and I want you two close by.”

  Nick: K.

  At five minutes past eleven Gavin Thomson stood in front of the guests, his voice booming over the din. “Everyone! Can I have your attention?”

  He set his highball glass on a nearby side table. “Hey! Everyone! Please quiet down!”

  Someone from the other side of the room tittered, followed by several giggles.

  Klein glanced around, searching for the location of the disruption. He spotted Tori and one of her ditzy friends in a corner of a sofa, high off their asses, and behaving like a couple of sixteen-year-olds. He leveled his gaze right at Tori, willing her to notice him. When she did, she flipped him the bird, but elbowed her friend and shushed her.

  Gavin gave it another shot. “Everyone, please be quiet. My friend and our gracious host this evening, Michael Stennard, wants to make a very important announcement.”

  The stoned group from the theater filed into the family room along the far wall. Klein also noticed Nick and Quentin standing midway up the stairs leading from the lower level. He nodded at them and signaled for them to stay where they were.

  Gavin shouted again, “Please! Quiet!”

  The noise fell to a dull roar.

  “Thank you.” Gavin picked up his drink and took a healthy slug. “Without further ado—Mister Michael Stennard.” He clapped.

  Some people followed Gavin’s lead and politely clapped. Others seemed confused. Most simply sat or stood, waiting.

  Mike shook hands with Gavin and did the unbearable-to-watch one-armed bro hug.

  “Thanks, buddy. Is everyone having a good time?”

  This drew a few wolf whistles and a smattering of applause.

  Mike beamed and raised both arms in the air like a champ. “Super! I know I’m having fun.” He cleared his throat and tossed a quick glance at Gavin, who almost imperceptibly inclined his head. “I’m glad you’re having a good time. The good news is we’re here to have the best party ever. The bad news is, well, the bad news is this is the last party I’ll be hosting for a while.”

  Groans rippled through the throng. The volume increased as people absorbed Mike’s words.

  Someone from the crowd hollered out, “Why?”

  “I’ll tell you why. Today was a dark day for Stennard Global Enterprises. A shitload of cops and feds showed up bright and early this morning and executed a search warrant on our business. There’s talk of a federal investigation, so we’re taking a temporary hiatus. Our attorneys are working around the clock to resolve the issue.” He stopped and guzzled from a bottle of beer someone handed him. The drink tipped his speech into slurred territory.

  “Bullshit is shwat . . . what . . . it is.”

  Klein swore he saw tears glimmering in Stennard’s eyes. He wrote it off to the intensely bright track lighting hanging above Mike’s head.

  Mike continued. “Gavin and I discushed,” he coughed, “discussed our current state of affairs and decided it would be best to keep a low profile while the situation plays out. No more parties.”

  “That’s fucked up.” A shout from the crowd.

  “Yesh. It’s fucked up. But this ish . . . is . . . really a time to lie low and get our ducks in a row. We appreshate your support. Things’ll clear quickly and we’ll be back at it. But for tonight—party on!” Mike held the up the beer bottle and the crowd whooped in response.

  Klein watched as Nick disappeared down the stairs to the lower level. Quentin followed suit, shoulders hunched up around his ears.

  “You fucker!” A high-pitched voice behind Klein screamed, followed by the crash of glass.

  He spun around in time to see Tori, claws extended, flailing at Mike. “You lied to me. You said there wouldn’t be any trouble. We’d be able to go to Vegas for Thanksgiving.” She tried to slap Mike and tripped over her friend’s foot, taking a header into a couch.

  Mike staggered and bent to help her up. “Tori, baby, trush me. This will blow over and we’ll be right as rain before you know it. I have it all figured out. Gotta trush me.”

  Tori slapped his hand away. “Get away from me. You’re an asshole.” She stood up, wobbling on five-inch stiletto heels. “I wanna leave. And next time, find someone else to cover for you.”

  Mike reached for her. “Tori, sweetheart, you’re drunk and high.”

  “Fuck you! Whose fault is that? If you didn’t have all this coke,” she whipped her hand through the remaining snowy lines on the glass-topped table, sending a cloud into the air, “I wouldn’t be fucked up.”

  “No one forced you to snort it, darling.” Mike’s face was turning as red as Rudolph’s nose. “You’re a big girl. You made your choices.”

  “Fuck you! C’mon, Misty.” She reached for her blond-haired friend’s hand. “Let’s get our stuff and get the hell outta here.” />
  “You’re not driving anywhere.” Mike tried to grab Tori’s arm.

  She shook him off. “Misty can drive.”

  “Yeah.” Misty weaved back and forth. “Misty can drive. Oh, maybe not.” She tittered and put a hand over her mouth. “I feel kind of light and floaty, Tori.”

  Mike spun around and locked eyes with Klein. He waved him over. “Len will drive you both home.”

  Klein said, “Mister Stennard, I can have one of my guys drive them. I should really stay here and monitor your security.”

  Mike put an arm across Klein’s shoulders and guided him away from the renegade women. “Listen, Len, I’d much rather you take care of this pershonally. I trush . . . trust . . . you implishitly.” He covered a belch. “But those other goons—I dunno ’em so well. I hope you can apprshate why I want you on da job for thish . . . this . . . one. Loyalty is important.” He jabbed his pointer finger up in the air.

  Klein realized Stennard was beyond shitfaced and gave in. “Sure, Mister Stennard. I’ll handle it. I’ll get my guys up to speed. Then I’ll escort the ladies home.”

  He tracked down Nick and Quentin. “I have to run an errand for Mister Stennard. You two watch over things and call me immediately if something happens. I shouldn’t be gone long. I’ll meet up with you when I get back.”

  Nick asked, “What you gotta do? Need more coke? Someone said a chick threw a hissy fit and sent a bunch of snow flying everywhere.”

  “No. I’m not getting more fucking coke. Don’t worry about what I’m doing. Keep your eyes and ears open for trouble while I’m gone.”

  Nick said, “Is the big boss up there? I wanna chat with him.”

  Klein said, “You stay away from Stennard. He doesn’t have time to talk to lowlifes. Steer clear.”

  “Okay, okay. We got it. Right, Q?” Nick stuck a cigarette in his mouth.

  “Got it,” Quentin said.

  “I’m stepping out for a smoke.” Nick grabbed Quentin’s arm pulling him along.

  “Great, I’m feeling so relieved.” Klein’s sarcasm was lost as the two men wandered toward the door. “Fuck me.”

  He ducked out through the three-car garage and jogged down the long driveway to where he’d parked his Escalade. He actually felt a giddy-up in his step at the thought of dragging Tori away from the fun. The party would probably be more enjoyable for everyone with her out of the picture.

  He drove up to the front entrance, left the car running, and found Tori and her goofy cohort tottering on their stilts in the foyer. “Your chariot awaits, ladies.” He mock bowed and held the front door open as the two inebriated dimwits wobbled down the stone steps, holding each other up.

  Tori tried to spin around and lost her balance. “Holy hell!” Misty grabbed her arm, saving her from sprawling face first on the driveway. “How’re we supposed to get up into this monster truck?”

  “Take a running start and leap for all I care.” Klein stood stunned at the ridiculous scene unfolding before him. “Get the fuck in, already.”

  Misty boosted Tori into the backseat and held down her own micro-mini skirt with one hand as she tried to hoist herself up with the other. “A little help, Tor?”

  “Gimme your hand.” Tori grabbed Misty’s hand and pulled. Like Winnie-the-Pooh stuck in the honeypot, Misty jettisoned through the door and sprawled on top of Tori across the backseat.

  Klein stuffed Misty’s feet inside and slammed the door closed. “Fucking worthless twits,” he muttered.

  When he returned to the party, Klein was pleased to find his parking spot still open. He let himself back into the house. The noise hit him like a sonic boom.

  He stepped on a half-eaten sandwich lying on a paper plate in the middle of the ceramic tile foyer.

  “Shit!” He shook his foot to get the goo off. He picked up the plate and wound his way through the undulating humans and into the kitchen to toss the mess.

  He washed his hands and dried them on a towel he found bunched up on the Titanic-sized butcher block center island. He sent Nick a text. Where are you?

  Nick: Patio.

  Stay put, I’ll be right there. Klein grabbed a roast beef sandwich and wolfed it down on his way to meet Nick and Quentin.

  He found his two hired flunkies pacing on the patio, or, rather, Nick was pacing, and Quentin stood robotically smoking a cigarette.

  “Everything okay?”

  Nick said, “Coupla loud mouths tried punching each other over who won a pool game. We split ’em up. Everything’s cool.”

  “Good. So, here’s the deal. You guys can take a break, grab some grub—from the kitchen, not the dining room—and chill ’til midnight. But first I need to let you know that after tonight I probably won’t have any work for you, at least for a while. You heard Mister Stennard’s spiel earlier.”

  Nick kicked at some shrubbery next to the patio. “You kidding me? I fuckin’ need this job. We need this job.”

  “Keep it down, Wooly. And stop destroying property. Don’t make me boot you tonight without pay.”

  “I bet it’s all the damn postal chick cop’s fault. She needs to be taught a lesson.” Nick paced in circles on the patio, arms waving like pinwheels. “We’re the perfect ones to do it.”

  “Wooly. Fucking lower your voice,” Klein said. “You don’t want to go making threats where people can hear you. Don’t be a dumb shit. This isn’t any one cop’s fault. Something big is going down.”

  Nick leaned into Quentin. “Man, we gotta do something here. This broad cost us our bankroll. No more parties, no more payout. Think about it, bro. Who’s gonna foot the bill for your momma’s nursing home?”

  Quentin twitched and tossed his cigarette butt into the landscape rocks. “Nick’s right. If I don’t have a job, I can’t pay my mom’s bills. She’ll become a ward of the county in some dump. I need the money.”

  Nick said, “We’ll find out where she lives. This cop—”

  “She’s not a cop, dumbass.” Klein sighed. “She’s a lousy postal inspector. And you best stay away. Mister Stennard doesn’t need any more trouble than he’s already got. Let him handle it. You make matters worse and you’ll never get another penny out of me.”

  “Whatever,” Nick said. “She owes us. Thanks to her, our golden goose has flown the coop. Maybe we find out where she lives and ransack the place. She must have some good shit we could pawn for some dough. Maybe she’s even got a wad of cash stashed.” He gnawed at his thumbnail. “Help tide us over until things are back to normal. Pay your mom’s bills, Q.”

  “You been sampling the product inside, Nick?” Klein got up in Nick’s face. “Stop talking like a fool or I’ll toss your ass outta here. I mean it, Wooly. Keep your nose clean and stay away from the inspector. Do. Not. Make. Trouble. Got it?”

  Quentin stepped in front of Klein. “C’mon, man. Tell me you got something else for us. I really need the money.”

  “Listen, kid, if I had anything, I’d have you on it in a heartbeat. I don’t even have a job myself at the moment. Not after tonight. Not until this situation is cleared up. I’ll put out some feelers, see if there’s any security gigs I could get for you guys. Best I can do. Sorry.”

  “Anything,” Quentin said. “I need the money.”

  Klein laid a hand on Quentin’s shoulder. “I know, kid. I heard you. I’ll let you know if I find anything. But in the meantime, go grab some food and drink—not too much drink though—and after everyone’s cleared out I’ll get your dough for tonight. It should be substantial. This is one of the biggest shindigs Mister Stennard has hosted and the guests are all enjoying themselves. Maybe you’ll make some extra ching in tips. So, mind your manners and be helpful. And smile, for Christ’s sake. You both look like someone shit on your new kicks.”

  Klein left them on the patio and went to see how the guests were faring inside and wondered where his next paycheck would come from if Stennard went under.

  Chapter Eight

  Thursday, November 27

>   Not one speck of light bled under the drawn shade on the east-facing window across the room.

  MC rolled over and snuggled against Barb’s back, carefully draping an arm over her hip. She felt Barb’s hand cover hers and pull her closer. MC considered how lucky she was to have Barb as her partner. Her mind turned to thoughts of a wedding—the kind Barb yearned for. A leap she couldn’t quite make.

  MC had much to be thankful for on this Thanksgiving morning. Work had been good this week. Less face time with Crapper always made for a good work week. The Stennard thing was moving along nicely, despite the setback with Arty’s murder and the missing USB.

  FBI Computer Analysis Response Team examiners were combing through all the computers, external hard drives and USB drives seized from the Stennard offices last Saturday. FBI forensic accountants along with Internal Revenue Service Criminal Investigation Division Special Agents were sifting through piles of records, piecing together a tale many speculated could be the largest financial fraud in state history.

  If they could locate the USB drive Arty was supposed to turn in, along with the findings from the items seized on Saturday, it would provide enough for additional search warrants to cover all residences, and all Stennard vehicles.

  The positives far outweighed the negatives on the side of the good guys.

  But Arty’s unsolved murder remained a thorn in MC’s side. She and Cam weren’t directly involved in the murder investigation, but she felt the need to keep a hand in the game. She wanted to find whoever was responsible for Arty’s death. Justice for Arty’s sacrifice weighed heavily on her.

  Arty wasn’t a horrible deviant. He was a guy who allowed friendship-fueled greed to cloud his decisions for several years, and when he decided to do the right thing, he’d been snuffed out, like a candle in a jack-o-lantern on a pitch dark All Hallows Eve. No one was all good or all bad.

  “Hmmm.” Barb mumbled. “What time zit?”

  “Shhhh. It’s early still. Go back to sleep.”