Rocky Road & Revenge

by Erin Huss

  I heard the sirens.

  I smelled the smoke.

  I tasted the blood in my mouth.

  It sounded as if a band of bass drums were practicing next door, but it was just my heart pounding in my ears. My eyes darted around the patio in search of a weapon should our killer find us. A few rocks, leaves, a palm branch, ants, and the book I threw out there yesterday with the spider—Princess and the Frog.

  Great. I could paper cut our hit man to death.

  Tom pressed his face up against the wooden panels to peek through the cracks. "SWAT is here. A whole army of them have guns drawn and are marching through the gate…is that?" Tom gasped.

  "Is that what?" I asked.

  Tom shook his head and pulled the three of us in tighter. "Nothing." He exhaled and dug his chin into the top of my head. I closed my eyes and waited.

  The patio door slid open, and detective Hampton peeked his head out. "You're fine now." He used a soothing yet authoritative tone. "We've got the guy. Now we need to get you all out of here. Come on."

  Hampton helped me to my feet. I put pressure on my knee and collapsed. Hampton shoved his arm around my waist to help steady me. Tom took over as my crutch, and we limped down the hallway. Munch walked on his own accord, wagging his tale and trotting along proudly like the amazing guard dog he was. The living room was filled with a thin layer of smoke, and we all hunched over and coughed.

  "Fire department is two minutes out," Hampton said.

  Two minutes? A lot could happen in two minutes.

  "We need to evacuate the nearby apartments," I told him.

  "We've got it covered," he said.

  Residents were congregated in the courtyard. It was late—past 11:00 PM—and everyone was in their pajamas. Tom and I collapsed onto the grass. Lilly and Munch took a seat on our laps.

  "Wow!" Lilly said in awe. "That was crazy."

  That was another word for it.

  The flames poured out of the windows in a fury. We were a good fifty feet away, and I could feel the heat on my skin. Smoke filled my apartment, and I thought about running in to gather priceless belongings. Like Lilly's locks I'd saved from her first haircut, the apron Grandma Ruthie had made me the Christmas before she died, pictures, and old yearbooks. The stuff that could never be replaced. But then, I realized everything I needed was beside me. My family was safe. Everything else was just stuff.

  Also, I couldn't move my leg.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  See also: Just a girl standing in front of a building, asking it to stop catching on fire

  Thirty minutes later, flashes of blue and red lights alternated across the faces of the emergency service personnel going to and from the wreckage. The helicopter returned and hovered above the building, shining a bright light down on the parking area, where I assumed the person responsible for the shooting was still being apprehended. According to the fire captain, a bullet hit the hydroxyl machine and it exploded. Two fires in less than seventy-two hours. That had to be some kind of world record.

  It felt like déjà-freaking-poo.

  Same crap situation, different day.

  Well, not quite the same. The first time was a wax melter, the second a maniac with a semiautomatic weapon. Minor difference.

  The press caught wind, and the police worked quickly to set up steel barricades across the street to keep the sea of photographers and journalists at bay. A chorus of click, click, click came from the hundred or so cameras aimed at the building, and tiny microphones stuck out of the crowd like baby giraffes. Residents grouped behind the steel barricades and gave interviews to various press outlets. A small group of cameras were horseshoed around Silvia and Harold. The two relished in the spotlight.

  I had Munch tucked under my arm and my eyes glued to the driveway. I suspected Chase was in the parking lot under the helicopter searchlight. I waited anxiously for him to emerge to be sure he was unharmed.

  Tom and Lilly were checking out a "super-cool" fire truck. Lilly sat behind the steering wheel with a hat on and pretended to drive. She was in heaven.

  Ironic, because it felt like we were in hell.

  Luckily, the fire was contained to the lobby and office. My apartment sustained smoke damage. No one was hurt. Not physically anyway. I might never sleep again.

  Munch barked and tried to break free. I held him tight. Hampton walked down the driveway and cleared a path for Chase to follow with…Jack the Cadaver's guy?

  I shook my head and blinked.

  Yep, still Cadaver's Jack.

  Jack had on his wing-tipped shoes and suspenders. He limped along with his hands cuffed behind his back, his shirt ripped open, his right eye swollen, and blood dripping from his mouth. Chase had a firm grip on Jack's arm and steered him to the black sedan parked at the curb. The click, click, click symphony grew louder.

  And suddenly it all made sense. Jack the Cadaver's guy, the man proficient in death, was the killer. Shanna must have known Jack, which was why they'd sent Amy to the Cadaver's parking lot. Jack had known she wouldn't be on any surveillance cameras. Shanna had asked why I hated her. First I'd taken the urn. Then I'd gone to Cadaver's looking for information to exonerate Amy. No wonder she'd wanted to wash me out of her life. The same way she'd washed Lance and Zahra.

  If I hadn't gone to Cadaver's Caverns, I wouldn't have been on her radar.

  In my periphery I saw Mickey behind the barricade. He stared at me with the same intensity as earlier. I was about to roll my eyes, when it suddenly dawned on me that Mickey's last name is Smith.

  Mickey Smith.

  Mickey had lived there so long, his file was three pieces of paper, and the copy of his driver license was unreadable. In the system he was Mickey Smith. On his lease he was Mickey Smith. His folder said Mickey Smith. But deep down in my subconscious, Michael Smith sounded right.

  I knew the name sounded familiar!

  I limped over to him with Munch still in my arms. "You doing OK, Mickey?" I asked.

  The whites of his eyes had a yellowish hue to them, and his bottom lip quivered.

  "The government is corrupt," he said.

  "Probably." I paused to sneeze. "Mickey, did you know Shanna?"

  He shook his head.

  "Do you know Chase?"

  He shook his head.

  "Do you know something about what happened to Jessica Wilders?"

  He pointed to Jack. "See, see, I saw the, the girl in Apartment 15 put an envelope in the cabinet the other morning. Then, then the guy with the suspenders came and took the envelope and put the urn there." Mickey shook his finger. "I thought it was bad because it wasn't Apartment 15's carport, but then I thought, maybe, maybe, they did that so, if they, they were caught, then it, it wouldn't be traced back to Apartment 17."

  "Good point."

  "Yeah, yeah, then you took the urn and, after you did, that girl in Apartment 15 showed up and looked, looked for it. She was mad and called, called the guy with the suspenders and, and accused him of taking the money and not giving, giving her the urn. She looked, looked all around. So I called the tip hotline and told them that I saw a guy put an urn in a carport."

  "So you think Shanna, in Apartment 15, paid Jack, the guy with the suspenders, to kill Jessica Wilders and give her the urn," I asked.

  "I think the government has implanted microchips into our brains and soon we'll all be zombies."

  "Or that."

  For the record: I still think he's ex-CIA.

  * * *

  The black sedan left, and the helicopter followed. The police taped off the front of the building, and the CSI trucks arrived. Exhausted, I leaned against the hood of a police car with Munch still tucked under my arm. I didn't have to turn around to know Chase was behind me. I could feel him there.

  "I think it's time to seriously reconsider my life choices," I said. "Or take a vacation. Or both."

  Probably both.

  Chase reached to put his arm around my shoulders. Munch barked and bared his croo
ked teeth. Chase retracted his arm. I guess Munch was Team Tom.

  "It's not for common knowledge yet," Chase said. "But Shanna Roberts came clean, and she's looking at three counts of first-degree murder."

  "What about Jack?" I asked.

  "Again, between you and me and…what did you name the dog?"

  "Munch."

  Chase nodded, remembering. "Between you, me, and Munch, this is a twisted feud that goes way back."

  He had my attention.

  Chase looked around to be sure no one was within earshot. When the coast was clear, he spoke. "It was all about the urn. According to Shanna, she proposed they split the ashes, each getting half, but Jessica wouldn't do it. In the meantime, Jack—who not only works at Cadaver's Caverns but used to work on Ghost Confidential doing props and makeup—he and Jessica'd had a short-lived fling last year that ended on a sour note, and Jack was fired. You following me?"

  "Yes, it sounds an awful lot like the plot to one of my television shows."

  "Like Ghost Confidential?" Chase asked.

  "I was going to say Jerry Springer, but close enough. How'd Shanna meet Jack?" "Tinder."

  My mouth dropped. "You can find hit men on Tinder?"

  "No. They went on a date, and didn't hit it off." Chase smiled, proud of his pun. "She had explained her history with Jessica Wilders. Jack had explained his history with Jessica. They bonded over their mutual hatred. He offered to steal the urn for a price. Shanna claims she had no knowledge that Jack planned to kill Jessica too."

  "You buying that?" I asked.

  "Nope."

  "Good. Me neither. Go on."

  "She claims that once Jessica was killed, Jack had to kill Zahra because she knew too much about Shanna and Jessica's relationship."

  "What about Lance?"

  "This is where it gets Jerry Springer-esque. Jack killed Lance because they too had had a short-lived fling last year that didn't end well. Not sure if the flings were at the same time and that's why they ended. I'll let your imagination fill in the blanks."

  Ugh. I had a pretty wild imagination.

  "So now they'll both be charged?" I asked.

  "Let's put it this way. You don't have to worry about them anymore."

  "Good." The whole thing gave me a stomachache. "At what point did I become a problem in this?"

  "When you took the urn and snooped around Cadaver's Caverns. CSI found the part about you being shampooed in the notebook and notified me immediately."

  "Pffft. You were about fifteen minutes too late."

  Chase frowned. "We need to work on our timing."

  "No joke," I said. "Where is the urn, by the way?"

  "It's at the station. We'll notify whoever is handling Jessica's property to come get it."

  "And Mickey said he called the tip hotline and told you everything he saw in the carports. Why didn't you follow through?"

  Chase gave me a look. "You can't possibly be talking about Michael Smith? That guy left a message saying he watched a man with suspenders take money. That's it. When we tried to interview him he wouldn't talk to us, said we were corrupt."

  "Yeah, that sounds like Mickey." I moved Munch to my other arm. "I'm pretty sure he's ex-CIA."

  Chase laughed. "I'm pretty sure he's a retired mailman."

  "It's a cover."

  "At this point, I'd believe just about anything."

  Munch barked and squirmed to break free from my grasp. I looked up. Tom approached with Lilly on his back. She had on a red plastic firefighter hat, a golden police sticker stuck to her chest, and a huge smile on her face.

  Tom unhooked Lilly's arms from around his neck and put her on the ground. "Thanks for looking out for us," he said to Chase. "I saw you run past the armed SWAT team to take out the shooter. That was ballsy."

  Chase shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal.

  "What does ballsy mean?" Lilly asked.

  "It means stupid," I said and shot Chase a look. "I'm all for a heroic effort on my behalf, but running past a heavily armed SWAT team to take out a heavily armed cadaver specialist was stupid. You could have gotten yourself killed."

  "I'll never be ballsy, Mommy," Lilly said. "Never. 'Cause when I grow up, I don't want to be an idiot."

  "That's a good goal," Chase said and gave her a high five.

  "What's an STD?" she asked.

  Both Tom and Chase looked at me.

  "Ummmmm, it's not me…I'm good."

  "You get them in jail," Lilly added.

  "What are you letting her watch?" Tom asked.

  Before I could answer, Munch leapt into Tom's arms and began to obsessively lick Tom's face.

  "Looks like your dry spell is over," I said.

  Tom rolled his eyes. "What's going to happen to this dog anyway?" he asked Chase.

  "There's protocol when it comes to pets. It's not my area of expertise, but I assume he'll go back to the shelter."

  "What's a shelter?" Lilly asked.

  "It's a place where animals that don't have homes go," I said.

  Her little eyes watered, and she looked up at Tom. "Daddy, you can't let hers go to a shelter." She clasped her hands together. "Please, Daddy. Pleeeeeaaasseee."

  "Thanks, Cam," he said under his breath.

  "You're welcome."

  Kevin appeared out of nowhere with his phone on a selfie stick. "I'm with Cambria Clyne, the apartment manager and Amy Montgomery's best friend." Kevin put his arm around my shoulders and brought me into the shot. "Cambria, do you have anything to say?"

  "Get the camera away, or I'll punch you in the face."

  "I'm live," he said through a smile.

  "Fine. Amy Montgomery had nothing to do with this. And who are we live to?"

  "My blog," Kevin said. "This is Dirty Dan reporting live. I'll be back with more." He stopped recording, and I punched him in the arm.

  "Ouch. What did you do that for?"

  "You're freaking Dirty Dan. What is wrong with you?"

  "It's your fault."

  "How so?"

  "If you hadn't thrown away my plants, then I wouldn't have had to find a new source of income."

  "What plants?" Chase asked.

  "W-e-e-d," Lilly answered. "Mommy didn't waters them."

  Oh for heaven's sake, I'm officially done with today.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  See also: Zookeeper

  It had been three months since the last time the lobby burned down, and life had finally returned to normal.

  Normal in a relative sense.

  After the shooting, and fire, and media blitz (oh my!), I was left with six vacancies. That was a 15 percent vacancy rate. Neither Patrick nor Trevor held it against me because, as Trevor put it, "A lesser soul would have deserted this place months ago."

  Pretty sure a smarter soul would have quit months ago, but I was still there, plugging along, collecting rent, filling out work orders, muddling through complaints, and renting apartments.

  I was down to one vacancy.

  Shanna's old unit.

  "The kitchen is really big," Julia said to her brother, Kane. The brother and sister duo had come in an hour before to tour an apartment. They were looking to cut costs and bunk together in a one-bedroom. He would get the living room. She would get the bedroom. Not a terrible idea.

  Julia had short, spikey red hair, and Kane had short, spiky blue hair. Both had rings in their noses and lips, and Julia confided in me that she'd recently pierced her nipples, even though I clearly didn't ask for that information. But who cared? Her entire body could be one big piercing so long as she wasn't a murderer, psychopath, drug dealer, or parrot owner and she paid her rent on time.

  "Julia, look at the bathroom," Kane said, and the two marveled at the long vanity and spacious setup.

  "Our one-bedroom apartments utilize every inch of square footage to give you a spacious floor plan with maximum storage," I said in my best sales-pitchy voice. "You won't find another apartment like this under three grand
in Los Angeles."

  "It is a good price." Kane opened the hall closet. "What the…" He picked up a bobby pin painted white.

  Note to self: make sure the painters look before they slather on the paint.

  Sub-note to self: ask them to stop watering down the paint too.

  Sub-sub-note: find new painters.

  "I like it," said Julia. "This place has great reviews on Rent or Run dot com too."

  "We aim to keep our residents happy," I said with a smile. It was hard to rebuild our reputation after it had been blasted on national news, but surprisingly easy to open new gmail accounts, create new profiles on Rent or Run dot com, and leave fake reviews.

  Just call me CJ Vanilla or JC Roads.

  "This apartment also has a big balcony. Right out here." I led them into the master bedroom and out to the balcony that, according to our brochure, was "an entertainer's dream!" If the entertainer only had three friends.

  "It's big, but the view sucks," Kane said.

  "I like it." Julia cupped her hands around her eyes like they were binoculars. "You can easily see into the apartments next door. Great people-watching opportunity. Look. That guy is about to take a shower."

  The three of us squinted to get a better look and, yep, big, hairy man about to step into the shower. But first, he had to inspect his backside in the mirror.

  "You could easily fit a table and propane grill out here," I said, in hopes of turning their attention away from the big, hairy man who was now doing squats.

  "I like it. What's the deposit?" Julia asked.

  "You're in luck. Right now we're running a move-in special. Ifyouqualify it will only be a five-hundred-dollar move-in, and that includes deposit and first month's rent."

  "Five hundred?" they replied together.

  "I mean, that's cool," said Kane. He tried to play it cool, but I knew I had them. "What about four hundred?"

  "Four hundred, plus one hundred, will get you in. Shouldyouqualif. I can waive your application fee if you're approved today."