Daddy Boss

by Claire Bishop

  As I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and started to apply my makeup, my mind started drifting back to previous dates. I couldn't help but shudder as I thought of the last guy I'd been on a date with. That had been around six or seven months ago, and it had been the one that had convinced me to throw in the dating towel altogether.

  The guy, Nigel, was an investment banker, 34 years old. Pretty good-looking and well-built, and he drove a nice car, too. Not that I was into cars, really, but hey, it had been nice to ride in a Porsche, as it wasn't exactly something I got to do very often.

  We'd gone to a very nice, classy restaurant – and sitting down at the table had been where the evening had peaked; it had all gone downhill pretty quickly from there. I had barely gotten a word in about myself or my own life; Nigel had been one of the biggest narcissists I had ever had the displeasure of coming across in my life. All he did was talk endlessly about himself, boasting about his money, his achievements, how much he could lift in the gym, how fast he could run, how much his car was worth... Jeez, it had been such a bore. And then at the end of the evening, he tried to make me go home with him and acted like I was a bad person for refusing to have sex with him. Needless to say, his number was promptly deleted from my phone, and he never heard from me again.

  And since then, I'd really been off men. I hadn't anything to do with them, not after the series of losers and narcissists I'd been on failed dates with, ever since I finally escaped the nightmare that was Simon.

  But now, quite by chance, I had met someone who seemed to be a genuinely decent human being – not to mention being really attractive, a very welcome bonus.

  I was doing my best to be grounded and not get my hopes up, because I'd had enough disappointments to last a lifetime, but it was hard not to have at least a little bit of girlish excitement going. From the interactions he and I already had, he really did seem like he might be someone I could really click with on a number of levels.

  I looked at my watch; it was seven o' clock now. Not too long to go. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and couldn't help but flash myself a proud grin. I'd always been handy with makeup, and boy, was I working it tonight.

  “Lookin' good girl, lookin' good!” I said to myself.

  I had a few more touches to add, but there was no need to rush as there was still plenty of time before Everett was due to pick me up. I applied some more mascara; I had become quite an expert in the application of it over the years.

  After I was finally done with my hair and makeup, a task that had taken me the best part of an hour, I just headed into the bathroom. I checked my watch and saw that it was 7:15; almost time to go, but at least I had gotten done with a few minutes to spare. I certainly didn't want to be tardy on our first date. As I sat down on the toilet, I heard the roar of a car screaming off down the road, and strangely enough, it sounded a lot like Everett's truck. That was weird, because nobody else on this street had a truck like his, so it was unlikely that it belonged to any of the neighbors. Perhaps it was just a visitor to one of the neighbors’.

  Still, I pulled out my phone and checked to see if Everett had sent me any messages, as I was sure that he would let me know if something came up, especially at the last minute. There were no messages, except one that he had sent about an hour earlier. It said,

  “Can't wait for tonight. See you soon.”

  Well, it looked as if everything was still going according to plan. I finished up in the bathroom and headed out into the living room to watch a bit of TV while I waited the last few minutes before Everett would come and pick me up. On the way to the living room, I happened to pass by a full-length mirror, and I smiled as I caught my reflection. I was in a figure-hugging red dress, short enough to show off my curvy legs, but not so short to come off as being slutty. My black high heels accentuated the curve of my calves, and gave a nice boost to my height. I had straightened my hair, and it shimmered quite gloriously in the soft light, and the handbag I had chosen matched my outfit perfectly. All the effort had been worth it; I looked like a movie star, if I didn't say so myself.

  I sat down and flicked on the tube, taking care not to crinkle my dress too much on the sofa. I flicked through the channels until I came to VH1, where they were showing a few clips of classic rock concerts from the 80’s. The live clip I happened to land on during the show was Journey's Don't Stop Believing, another one of my dad's favorites, but now, unlike the other day when I'd had to switch radio stations due to Sweet Child 'o Mine playing, now I actually left Don't Stop Believing on, and thought of my father with fondness.

  “Ah, Dad,” I said, speaking to him, as I sometimes did. “You'd like Everett, I think. He’s your type of guy. I'm so sorry I didn't listen to your warnings when I first started dating Simon. You could see what kind of guy he truly was, and I should have paid more attention to your wisdom. I'm glad, at least, that you weren't around when things got bad between him and I. It would have hurt you so much to have seen what that maniac did to me. But now, Daddy, now I think you'd finally be happy with the guy I've chosen – the guy who has chosen me. Oh, just listen to me! I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here. We haven't even gone on the date yet. But you know, Daddy, I really do have a good feeling about this guy. Like I said, he seems like your kind of guy, even though he's not a musician. I bet he's into 80’s rock, though. I'll make sure I ask him about that later tonight. And me flipping through channels and randomly finding Don't Stop Believing, one of your favorite songs, it has to be a sign, right? I sure hope so... I miss you, Dad. I really do.”

  As the song played out, I checked my watch again. It was now 7:32. Two minutes late; well, perhaps our watches were on slightly different times. No need to worry. Still, I did get up from the sofa and walk across to the window. I parted the curtain slightly and peered out at Everett's house. The lights were all still on, so I guessed that he was just doing some last-minute things to get ready. I sat down and continued to watch the show. The next song was Bon Jovi's Livin' On A Prayer. They were really hitting me with some good tunes tonight.

  After the song was over, I checked my watch again. Now it was 7:37. Alright, you know, less than 10 minutes late, still not a big deal, but not what I expected from a high school principal whose job depended on him being punctual. I thought briefly about calling him but figured it might come across as being a bit demanding or overly eager, and I didn't want to give that sort of impression right off the bat.

  The next song that came on was Metallica's One. This was a long song, and if he hadn't arrived by the time it was over, then I would know that something was up.

  I sat through the song, trying to get into it, but I couldn't help feeling distracted. Where was he? Why hadn't he called? What was taking so long? Halfway through the song I got up and looked through the window again. All of his lights were still on, so he had to be in there. But what the heck was he doing that was taking so long? Had he lost track of time or something? Guys never take this long to get ready for dates, not like us girls do. This was starting to get weird.

  I sat back down and watched the rest of the song, which had a long, extended finale due to it being a live performance at a huge concert. After this I checked my watch. It was now 7:50.

  Alright, something was definitely up now. He couldn't have simply lost track of time, not for 20 minutes. I got out my phone and dialed his number. The phone rang for a while, and then it went to voicemail. What was going on? Was he in the shower or something?

  Well, there was only one way to find out what was going on. I picked up my bag, headed out, and locked my front door. Perhaps there had been some sort of miscommunication. Maybe he had been waiting for me to come over the road to his place, although I was pretty damn sure he said he would pick me up.

  I strode briskly across the road, trying not to feel too upset, and telling myself to be calm. After all, this was probably just some misunderstanding. I walked up to his front door and knocked on it.

  “Everett?” I said loudly.
“Hey, Everett, are you here?”

  There was no reply from indoors. I knocked again and waited, but still, nobody replied. Now I had to try something different, so I turned the doorknob intending to just stick my head in. It opened. Alright, the house wasn't locked – he had to be inside. I walked in one step cautiously, not wanting to appear rude.

  “Everett, hi, I'm here,” I said loudly. “Are you ready to go? I don't know if you noticed, but it's already 7:50.”

  Still, there was no response.

  “Everett?” I called out as I began to walk from room-to-room.

  Silence.

  Eventually I had been through the whole house, and there was no sign that anyone was home. A creeping feeling of disappointment and despair was now beginning to trickle down my spine, and I was really feeling pretty terrible about this. Now there was only one last thing to do, and that was to check if his truck was still in the garage. Maybe it had been him I had heard at around 7:15.

  I walked briskly with purpose and more than a little anger in my stride, and as soon as I got to the garage, I threw the door open.

  Disappointment and anger hit me like a ton of bricks as I saw that the truck was gone.

  “I don't believe it,” I grumbled to myself. “I don't believe it! He stood me up! The jerk stood me up! Not even a word of warning! He just up and took off!”

  I stormed back across the road to my house, wrapped up in a storm of negative emotions. I'd been so stupid, so naive to think that this guy was different. Of course, he had been too good to be true – guys like the type I had hoped he was simply didn't exist in this world, and I had been a fool to believe that they could.

  I had gone to all this effort, taken all this time to make myself look pretty, and had allowed myself to get all excited about this – and now it wasn't even going to happen.

  I was about to sit down and sulk about it – because really, what else could I do now that my evening was ruined – when I remembered Angie. She had wanted to go out and party with me – so what better time than now, when I was all dressed up? I'd show that jerk Everett that I could have a great time in spite of his standing me up. Well, as long as Angie wasn't busy, of course. I prayed that she wasn't, because I didn't think I could handle being stuck in my house now.

  I found her number and called her up. She picked up right away.

  “Hi, Angie, it's Vivienne.”

  “Vivienne? Uh, sorry, I don't remember a Vivienne...”

  “Alicia. Remember, I bumped into you at the bar the other night? I told you, I've changed my name to Vivienne.”

  “Oh, right! Sorry, guess I had a brain fart, totally forgot about that. How are you? What are you up to on this awesome Friday evening?”

  “Not much, Angie, not much. Actually, I've just been stood up.”

  “Oh no! You poor thing. That's just the worst. What sort of jerk would stand a girl like you up?”

  “I don't know, Angie, I really don't know. I'm all dressed up, and now I have nowhere to go as the saying goes.”

  “Well, hey, why don't you come out with me? I was thinking of heading out to a cocktail bar and having a few drinks. You wanna go with me? Have a drink or two, see where the night takes us... and forget about the idiot who just stood you up?”

  I smiled.

  “Yeah... that would be great, Angie, that would be really great. I need to get out of the house. I can't just sit here like this, all dressed up and made up, and think about how miserable I am that this guy did this to me.”

  “No, you certainly can't. Well, can you give me say an hour to get ready? I also need to get my makeup on and do my hair and all that. Then I'll come by your place in a taxi and pick you up. How does that sound?”

  “That sounds just great. Perfect, actually!”

  I gave her my address and made plans to meet in around an hour, and when I cut off the call, I was smiling.

  “There you go, Everett James,” I said. “I don't need you to have a good time on a Friday night. And I hope you know I don't give second chances, so you better know that you blew it tonight with me; you blew it tonight...”

  Chapter Eight

  Everett

  A blast of frustration and anger shot through me as I realized I'd left my phone at home. This was great – this was just great. Two minutes before our date, and I had no way of telling Vivienne that I would be late.

  Still, if things went well here, I could catch this Mr. Mask scumbag, throw him in the back of my truck in cuffs – I had a pair in there – and be back in half an hour. With enough apologizing, perhaps Vivienne would forgive me for being half an hour late.

  But the lack of a phone also meant that there were other issues I had to deal with. I didn't know if Panetti had also sent a message to Ben, so I had no idea if he was going to be showing up. I knew I might be here all alone, without any backup. It wouldn’t be the first time I had found myself in circumstances like this, and I was confident about my ability to handle things due to what I had been in my past – and I sure as hell might need those skills right now.

  I suddenly wished that I'd brought my shotgun with me, but as things stood, I had been in too much of a rush to even think of grabbing it. My instincts in that regard were somewhat rusty. I hoped that other instincts in that skillset were still sharp, as my life might very well depend on them.

  Also, not having a phone meant that if things went badly and I got in over my head, I wouldn't be able to call for help.

  A part of me briefly considered leaving quietly. I'd be able to get back to Vivienne's place just 10 or 15 minutes late, which wouldn't be great, but it'd still be acceptable, and we could have the awesome evening together I'd been envisioning and looking forward to.

  No. A much bigger part of me shoved that thought right out of my head. That wasn't the kind of man I was. This bastard who was about to arrive here was destroying the lives of way too many kids, kids whose lives I had been hired to change. I had the opportunity to get him after he managed to slip through my fingers before, there wasn't any way I was going to let him get away again.

  “You're on your own out here, pal,” I muttered to myself under my breath. “Just do like you were trained to do, and you'll be able to handle it.”

  I breathed in deeply and got out of the truck, and then walked briskly but quietly into the alley and took cover behind a dumpster near the door where I would be hidden from view, but would be able to hear everything the dealers were saying with clarity.

  Damn it! That's something else I could have used my phone for: I would have been able to record their conversation, which could then be used as evidence against them in court. I shook my head – how had I been so damn careless? I was getting rusty.

  I didn't have time to stew on my regrets much longer because a black Mercedes with dark tinted windows pulled up outside the building. I crouched down lower behind the dumpster, making sure that I really was hidden and couldn't be seen.

  I peeped out from the side where I could see the back door of the building through a crack between the dumpster and the wall, and saw the same drug dealer Ben and I had seen from up on the fire escape come out of the back door and walked across the alley to the car. He had a briefcase in his hand. I saw him lean over by the car, and the passenger side window rolled down – and there he was, wearing this creepy clown mask that covered his whole head: Mr. Mask.

  The dealer opened the briefcase for him, and I saw a flash of money – stacks of hundred dollar bills, it looked like. Mr. Mask stared at the money for a while, adding up the total in his head, I guessed, and then he took the briefcase from the dealer. In return, he handed the dealer a backpack which was bulging with something – a whole bunch of Rocket, I assumed.

  Why the hell hadn't I brought my phone? Damn it! This was essentially a job for the police, but with no way to contact them, it was either intervene now or let them walk. There was no doubt they’d be armed, but hopefully they weren't actually proficient at using their weapons. Even if both of
them had knives they wouldn’t be difficult to handle, but if both of them had guns — and the odds were they would — that might be a bit more challenging.

  The bottom line, though, was that a lot of kids' lives and futures were on the line, and I had to act. I had to act quickly before the bastards took off.

  I removed my nine-millimeter from its concealed holster beneath my shirt hem and eased out from behind the dumpster.

  “Hands in the air!” I shouted. “You with the mask, hands where I can see them. Slowly, get out of the car. You with the bag, get down on the ground, face down! Hands flat!”

  The drug dealer turned and stared at me with surprise, and he dropped the bag of drugs. He started to comply with my orders, thinking I was a cop, but then Mr. Mask spoke.

  “Don't listen to that chump, Wilson – that's no cop, that's the dumbass principal of JFK!”

  The drug dealer, evidently named Wilson, froze in mid movement, unsure of what to do. I had no choice but to stay the course.

  “It doesn't matter that I'm not a cop! This is a citizen's arrest! You two are dealing in narcotics! Now get out of the car and get on the ground!”

  “Or what?” sneered Mr. Mask. “What are you going to do, cowboy?”

  "If you don't comply, I'm gonna be forced to use this.”

  “I wonder how fast you are, cowboy,” Mr. Mask chidded. “Because mine's already in my hand.”

  Then, before I could even move, he whipped his hand up and took a shot at me with a pistol he had been concealing behind the car door. The shot took me in the left shoulder and the force of it punched me rapidly off my feet; one minute I was looking at Mr. Mask and Wilson, the next I was laid out on the concrete, flat on my back and gasping for breath.

  “Get the hell outta here!” I heard Wilson shout.

  The Mercedes screeched its tires as it took off fast, and I heard footsteps bolting down the alley as Wilson fled on foot.