“Can I help you?” she asked Mason as the boy turned around and took fast steps backwards, escaping back towards the house. Mason stepped behind him, herding him back to the woman. “I’m Davis Mason; I live over there.” He pointed. “It looked like you might need some help, so I thought I’d do the good neighbor thing.” Looking pointedly at the boy, he asked, “Don’t you need to make a call, son?”
“Thank you, Mr. Mason, but I can manage.” She stepped between him and the boy, putting her back to him.
She turned her fucking back on me? What the hell?
The boy looked at him over her shoulder, pulling his phone out. “Ms. Scott, I’m calling right now. Give me two seconds and I’ll have my boss—” There was a brief pause. “Hey boss, I got a problem; the customer would like to talk to you.” He pushed the phone at the woman. Mason realized she hadn’t introduced herself back to him. He frowned down at her fucking Cowboys cap on top of her head.
He reached out his hands, remembering at the last moment he was covered in grease, and pulled back. He stood listening as she explained to the moving company owner about the ruts in her yard, but he was clearly an unsympathetic audience, because she wound up repeating the same things again in a different tone of voice. Like that will make a fucking difference, he thought.
Mason looked up at the name on the side of the truck—Mitchell’s Movers—and walked back across the alley. He dropped his grease rag onto the workbench, and then scrubbed his hands and forearms at the sink before he headed into his house. Looking across the way, he saw the front yard next door was now vacant of people.
Scooping up his phone, he dialed a number and waited. “This Mitchell’s moving company?”
“This is Davis Mason. Your boys are moving Ms. Scott today, and I have a problem...”
7 -
Working relationships
Jess leaned her elbows on her desk and sighed, annoyed, raking her hands through her short blonde hair for about the hundredth time today. “Mica, I can’t get past this design. It is total and utter crap, and I don’t know who did it, but they need to go die in a ditch somewhere. A painful death. Seriously. Especially if it was who I think it was.” She sighed again, pushing back and away from her screens. “There are so many UI flaws I don’t know where to start. It’s way too late in the day for me to be kind, either, so don’t give me any shit.”
Sitting at her desk in the small warehouse loft she had converted into office space, Mica winced at Jess’s words. She was a great employee, and a better friend, but she really did not like Mica’s brother. Reaching behind her to the credenza, she tapped her playlist on and picked an Ed Sheeran favorite to start with, ‘Lego House’.
Mica sighed. “Michael did that one, Jess, and you know it. Please tell me it’s salvageable; it’s for the Donnelly and Sons project. Please, oh, please, oh, please, tell me you can fix it.” Mica was at the end of her proverbial rope with the tension between Jess and Michael, and was tired of how it seeped over into every space of her entire freaking life. Shit leaked, and her life was a sieve.
The Donnelly and Sons title search office was a big account, one that they could not afford to lose. Thomas Donnelly was her contact there and the owner’s youngest son. Thomas was running this project for his company, and he wanted it to really shine for his father’s approval. She wanted it to shine for her own reasons. Getting this one right could possibly be leveraged into them doing additional projects for the company, and maybe even introductions to others in the Chicago area.
“Oh, I can fix it; I am a fucking wicked development wizard, but this design, and the last one, and this whole arrangement with Michael is shit and you know it. You have got to stop letting him do this to us, girly. It takes me too many unbillable hours to fix his designs, and you know how I hate working for free.” Jess knew she was being brutal, but maybe raw was what would make Mica pay attention. “Let’s put on ‘Break Stuff’; that song should get me in the mood.”
“Har, har, Jess. Oh, oh, you are so funny, but I get it and I know. I’ll fix it; I promise. Not this design though, the Donnelly one is all you, because we’re too far into the process, but I’ll pull everything else he’s working on and pass it off to Gentry Dalton.
Gentry’s got a couple new web designers he wants to freelance things to, so I know he has the design cycles to get everything done on time. Plus, it’s Gentry, and he loves you and Brandy, so he’ll do anything for MishMash in an effort to impress you two.” Mica picked up the phone to make the calls, starting with the easy one first as she worked rapidly on the computer, trying to collect the files Gentry would need for the projects she was sending his way.
Holding the handset to the side of her head with her shoulder, Mica waited for the ringing to stop. “Hey, Gentry, it’s Mica...yeah, yeah, I know it’s late… Yeah, going really well here, how about for you?” She paused again to listen to the voice on the other end of the phone line. “Uh-huh. Sounds great, Gentry. Hey, you got cycles for some short-timeline designs?”
Moving the phone to her other ear, holding it in her hand now, she shifted backwards in her chair. “Wonderful, I have six briefs I’ll send your way, along with logos, color selections, wireframes…” Here, there was a longer pause, and Mica twisted her chair slowly back and forth, ignoring Jess, who watched laughing silently and pointing at her, clearly loving the sight and sound of Mica groveling a bit.
“Yes, I know it’s a more complete package than we normally have, but I’ve had these requests for a while, so I tidied them up a—” She groaned and waved a ‘stop it’ motion at Jess. “Are you going to make me say it, really? Yeah? Okay, I can be the bigger person. Watch me. Oh, please, Gentry, I need your help to fix a screw-up mistake I made. Can you help me out? I’ll even pay you. There, you happy now? The files are on the FTP; you know your creds. I’m hanging up, so you can stop laughing at me.”
Hanging up the phone with a bang, she turned and glared at Jess, who was helplessly snickering, draped across the back of her office chair. “I hope you are happy; he’s going to hold that over me forever. Gah! Would you get to work on the Donnelly project, please? And stop laughing at me!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jess retorted, turning back to her screens, but not before she laughed out loud again at the image of Mica so embarrassed during the phone call with Gentry.
Taking a deep breath, Mica dialed Michael’s cellphone next, hearing loud laughter and fast rock music when he answered. She closed her eyes and asked, “Hey, Michael, where are you on the Smithson design?” He responded with a laugh and shushed someone near the phone. “I’m working on it right now, Sis. Got changes or something for me before I book for the day?”
Brushing her dark bangs back from her forehead and biting softly on her thumb, Mica closed her eyes to ask the question she dreaded, “Michael, have you been drinking?”
Clinking glassware sounded clearly through the phone. “No, Sis, I’ve not been drinking, fuck you very much.” Hearing laughter in the background again, and a voice that said, “The fuck you have not been drinking; here’s the next round, you bastard,” she knew it was time to cut the cord, probably for the last time. They’d been down this road so many times over the past six months, but it was finally time to turn that corner for good.
“I told you what would happen the last time you did this, Michael. You can’t keep doing this to yourself…and me. I can’t let you. We all know it’s not your fault Emily died. No one blames you, Mikey. Her life—well, we both know how hard it had been. She—it’s simply…you are killing yourself just as surely this way as any other.” She stopped to take in a deep breath. “But this is it, I’m sorry. I’ll have all your stuff boxed and sitting at the end of the driveway by the time you get to my house. Don’t try to come in; you are not welcome in my home any longer.” Michael started yelling at her, but Mica just kept talking over him steadily and without anger. “Anything I miss packing up can be mailed to your new address, once you have one. Locks will be changed b
y the time I get home, so don’t bother keeping the key. Goodbye, Mikey.”
Abruptly hanging up the phone despite his protests, she put her cold, tense hands on either side of her face and asked Jess, “Did you hear?”
Nodding sadly, Jess affirmed without speaking, keeping her gaze steady on Mica’s face. Picking up the phone again, Mica called a locksmith she had used for the loft and made arrangements for him to change all the locks on her house. Thank goodness I didn’t give Michael a key to the office, she thought as she sat back in her chair. The emergency service call and work on her home would set her back a few hundred dollars, and that would hurt dipping into her slim reserves.
“I gotta go take care of this; I’ll try to be back later,” Mica said, jackknifing up to snag her coat and purse as she fled the loft and space that had so often been her refuge. She knew her family was shit, but couldn’t bear Jess’s pitying looks any longer. “I’ll take the train down. I’m leaving the car here in case you need it. If you don’t, then leave it in the lot and I’ll pick it up tomorrow.” Tossing the car keys from her purse onto the desk as she went through the door, she wound a scarf around her neck while waiting for the elevator.
Jess watched her leave through the glass doors, and waited until Mica had descended out of sight before she picked up the phone to make a call of her own. “Mason, shit’s hittin’ the fan, man. She’s gonna need you and your Rebels.”
8 -
In an instant
Exiting the train a few blocks north of her house, Mica walked briskly down the sidewalk while keeping her head and gaze down thoughtfully. It was a beautiful evening, the air soft and chilly, but not quite cold against her skin. The weather was fairly nice for a Chicago November, and these cozy neighborhoods were filled with the sounds of families and couples winding down from their frantic career race into the pleasant stillness of home.
She turned to cut down an alley shortcut, and Mica was rehearsing lines in her head for what she could say later tonight. She wanted to be ready for when Michael came banging on her door with his drunken apologies as she knew he would. She knew she needed to stand her ground this time and make sure he understood that she was done. She was simply done putting up with his shit, finally. He needed somewhere else to call home. “Home,” she scoffed, because it had become more like a battleground in the months he had lived there, no longer the sanctuary it once was.
A sound from up the alley caught her attention, and she whipped her head up to see two men in front of her. They were stepping away from the walls, walking to the center of the alley from the sides. Stopping quickly, she backed up a step and turned to run back the way she had come, only to see two more men at that end of the alley.
Oh, shit. Okay, put a good face on it; this is no worse than the cowboys at home. No doubt. Just breathe, Mica. I’m sure they’re just playing around. Yeah…that’s right, she thought. Straightening her shoulders and gripping her purse strap a little more tightly, she reversed her direction and strode forward again, angling to the right of the first two men. “Excuse me,” she said politely as she moved to the side to pass them courteously.
Her head hurt unexpectedly, ears buzzing deafeningly. Her eyes were watering, but through the blur, she could see she’d been spun around into the brick wall. The pain was from smashing the back of her head against the hard surface where she was being held. Instinctively, she brought up her arm, using her elbow to break the man’s hold on her upper arm, clipping his chin hard as she twisted sideways.
“Bag, bitch,” a muffled voice croaked in her ear, “be fucking still.” A heavy body pulled her out and then pushed her face-first into the wall, smacking her head against the bricks again. She rose onto her toes as her right arm was twisted high behind her back, her shoulder hurting brutally as the joint gave abruptly, popping out of socket with a sickening snap. Mica screamed breathlessly in pain, but she kept fighting both against her attacker and the waves of dizziness and nausea assaulting her body. She used the sudden leverage given to her from her attacker’s change in grip to bring her head back into his face, feeling a sickening rush of warm fluid down her back as his nose broke.
A rasping voice called from behind her, “Bitch, fucking bitch, give me the fucking bag. Dammit, get her down boys. Get control.” She twisted and kicked out blindly, putting her hip into the wall to give the kick greater force. Remembering a tip from a defense lesson, she threw her purse far across the alley.
Two men lay at her feet, looking up at her with anger twisting their features as they moved to stand again. Please, God, let them go for the bag. Let them go for it, let them go for it, go for it, she thought. She shifted against the wall, compacting her stance and preparing to run if the purse was what they wanted and they gave her an opening.
Her ears had started working a little again, and she heard a rumble of noise. It was a wave really, and came down the alley towards them from one end. Scanning the other way, she saw a car had pulled into the other end of the alley, disgorging its driver at a dead run towards the knot of men and Mica.
Still crouching slightly, she closely watched her assailants to see what this meant for a continued attack. Keeping her dislocated arm as still as she could, she angled it straight down by her side, but the pain kept everything going in and out of soft focus. Mica lifted her good arm in a defensive pose as the car’s driver reached the first man and took him down with seemingly no effort, using a stiff forearm hard to the throat of the largest attacker who was still on his feet.
Idling up the alley, Mason was looking for Mica. She wasn’t home yet, and he was thinking he could give her a ride back to the house if she was walking. Jess had sounded worried about her, and he knew Michael was an asshat, and he wouldn’t put it past him to try to weasel out of whatever Mica had planned for him.
Pulling his bike around the corner of the alley, he saw a group of people ahead of him. Men standing, men on the ground, a woman against the wall—between one breath and another, Mason recognized Mica as the woman against the alley wall, her coat laying on the ground and her shoulders covered in blood.
Without conscious thought, he put down the kickstand and killed his bike as he leapt off it towards her. As he ran, he evaluated the five men surrounding her, some of them beginning to struggle back to their feet. Mason was confused at the action he saw, because they seemed to be fighting themselves. Not stopping to alert anyone to his presence, he waded into the bodies, punching and twisting into kicks with an efficiency that spoke of training and long exposure to violence.
Coming closer, he shouted, “Run home,” at Mica as he grabbed the shirtfront of the first body he found. He dragged the figure upward and forward into his fist, knocking the man back off his feet to fall limply into a pile on the ground. “Mica, run home, babe,” he said again steadily, backing towards her to stay between her and the last man standing. He shook his head; he had a moment to think about how he’d only taken down two of them, and wondered what happened to the rest. He heard a soft rustle of clothing behind him and looked back at Mica as she slid down the brick wall to land on her ass in the alley, loose-limbed with a wounded expression on her face.
Mica squinted against the pain, looking at the two men in front of her. A deep voice spoke softly, “Miss, are you okay?” vying with Mason’s much louder, “Mica, babe, where are you hurt?”
She calmly watched with wide-open eyes as Mason moved towards her, watching as he turned again to the stranger and put his hands out in a grappling position. He stayed like that, keeping himself between the unfamiliar person and her. “Oh, Mason. Hurts,” was all she could ground out between her teeth before her eyes closed.
9 -
Whatcha need?
Hearing the pain in her voice, Mason had charged at the man in front of Mica, trying to move him back. He wanted to put as much room between her and that man as possible, when the guy shouted at him, “I’m helping here. Let me help; she’s hurt,” even as he stepped agilely out of the way. Mason snagged
his arm, pulling the man into a close clinch in front of him, holding him still as he asked tightly, “Helping?” He turned them to see Mica had fallen against the base of the wall. “Yes, man, she needs help,” was the man’s response.
Mason made a decision and released him, shoving the guy away. He sprinted towards Mica, pausing only to level a kick at one of the men on the ground who was looking to wake up. A sudden shout turned his head, and he saw car keys flying through the air at him; his hand reached up and caught them reflexively. “Open the door; I can get her to the hospital faster than waiting here for an ambulance,” said the man as he scooped Mica effortlessly into his arms and turned towards the car.
Mason hurried in front, grabbing her bag from the ground along the way, unlocking and opening the backdoor of the car. He watched the man lay her gently into the backseat, stretching her out and clearly being careful of her shoulder. “I’m right behind you, man,” Mason shouted as he tossed the keys into the front seat and ran towards his bike. “Daniel Rupert,” came the shout behind him, and he responded, “Whatever, fucker, just get going.”
Sitting at the hospital a little while later, Mason was listening to Rupert deal with the cops and considering everything he had seen during the few minutes they were in the alley together. After the cops left, he asked Rupert, “Lemme get this straight. So you just happened to be driving by, and happened to see something suspicious, and then fucking happened to get involved?”
Rupert touched the side of his jaw, wincing. “Yeah, something was off the way those guys followed her into the alleyway, and it didn’t look like she was paying much attention. I feel like I was too late, though, since she got hurt so bad.”
Mason nodded, understanding. “I’m glad you were there, man, and more glad you weren’t afraid to stick your nose in. Sorry for thinking you were one of those assholes.” He held out a hand. “Davis Mason.”
Mica (Rebel Wayfarers MC) Page 4
