"Selena?" He sounded on-edge. "You're okay, right?"
"I'm fine," I said. "It wasn't as bad as it looked."
After a long silence, Bishop said, "You really expect me to believe that?"
I dodged the question. "Thanks for the ammo," I said.
"I bet my good buddy Conrad sent flowers."
"Let's not talk about Conrad."
"So he did?" Bishop chuckled without humor. "Predictable son-of-a-bitch."
"Not everyone's you," I said.
After a pause, he asked, "Any luck in finding those guys?"
"Not yet. But the police are looking."
"So am I," he said. "And I'll tell you this. I will find them."
Something in his voice was setting off warning bells. "You don't have to do that," I said.
"Yes," he said. "I do."
"Well, don't do anything stupid, okay? It really wasn't that bad."
"I want to see for myself."
"No. That's alright."
"Listen," he said. "We both know I could've forced my way in, got a good look at you whether you wanted me there or not."
"Is that supposed to be reassuring?"
"No," he said. "But I want you to know that I'm trying."
"To do what?"
"To respect your wishes."
I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing.
"You up for a visit?" he asked.
"From you?" I kept my tone light. "No way."
"Why not?"
"Because all we do is fight," I said. "I've had enough for a lifetime."
"No fighting," he said. "Not this time."
"The best laid plans..." I said.
"I promise. I won't fight with you. You can fight with me. I won't even fight back. Just say yes."
"That's not a good idea," I said.
He was quiet a beat, and then said, "How about tomorrow?"
"I don't want to fight tomorrow either."
Again, he was silent. Then, he asked, "Is there something you want to tell me?"
I let out a breath. "The other night, some of the things you said–"
"I didn't mean them."
"Yes, you did," I said. "I saw it all over your face."
"Selena–"
"Please," I said. "Let me finish. I can't change what you think. I'm not even mad anymore. But look what kind of person you think I am."
"I like who you are."
"Really?" I said. "A gold-digger? A coward? A liar?"
"I'm coming over," he said.
"Please don't."
The silence stretched out, and then he said, "Not tonight? Or not ever?"
"Those are two pretty strong extremes," I said. "You sure you want me to answer that?"
He made no response. I waited a couple of seconds before saying, "Bishop?"
"Yeah?"
"I really am sorry."
I broke the connection and leaned back into the sofa. I closed my eyes, just for a minute, to think. The next thing I remember, there was a tapping at the door to the hallway. I glanced at my watch. It was a little after eleven, just minutes into the local news. This couldn't be good.
"Just a second," I called. I rose from the sofa, wondering what Crystal would tell me this time. I prayed for something positive. We had all the negative publicity we could handle.
I opened the door. But instead of Crystal, I came face to face with the two thugs from Edgar's house. Both had guns raised. Neither looked particularly friendly.
Chapter 71
I gave the door a shove, hoping to slam it in their faces. The bigger of the two caught the door with his foot, shoving it open. He barged in, aiming his gun at my head. Quietly, the smaller thug pulled the door shut and joined his friend.
"On the couch," the smaller thug barked. "Now."
My eyes drifted to the door of my bedroom, where I kept the Ruger. As if reading my mind, the thug racked a round into the chamber. "I ain't feeling particularly patient right about now."
I made for the sofa and sat. "How'd you get past the store's alarm?" I asked.
"Easy." The thug smiled. "We just sit back, wait for a nice big group of picketers to come in, and make our way into the store with the rest of 'em."
"But we closed hours ago," I said. "Where have you been?"
"In the nap room," the larger thug said. "Caught us some shut-eye."
"The hypnotherapy room?" I said, realization dawning. "We thought the door was jammed."
"It was," the smaller thug said. "Courtesy of my friend here."
The larger thug smiled. "Might need to get yourself a new lock."
It wasn’t hard to figure out how they’d found me. "So you guys watch Channel Thirteen, huh?"
"Yeah, you're a regular celebrity," the smaller thug said, glancing around. "So, where's your friend?"
I knew exactly which friend they were talking about. "He's on his way over," I said. "Matter of fact, I thought you were him."
"Cut the crap," the smaller thug said. "That's why we waited so long to come up, figured if he's gonna show, he'd have been here by now."
"I suppose you want the tapes," I said, hoping it was all they'd come for.
Suddenly, a knock sounded at the hallway door. We all turned to look. Another knock was followed by Crystal's voice. "Everything okay in there?"
The larger thug made his way to the door, gun drawn. The smaller thug turned to me and said in a low, quiet voice. "You want him to get the door?"
I shook my head.
"Then get rid of her," he said.
I called through the door. "Yeah, everything's fine!"
"You got someone in there?" she asked.
"No, it's just me."
"I thought I heard a man's voice," she said. "Maybe two. What is it? You got a couple of guys in there?"
"No, you must've heard the TV."
"You're fibbing, aren't you?"
This was bad. The smaller thug joined his friend at the door. His hand was on the doorknob. I was about to spring from the sofa when Crystal spoke again. "But I can take a hint," she called. "You want your privacy, am I right?"
"Yeah, that's right," I called. "See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow!" Her footsteps receded in the hall.
I let out a breath. The thugs stepped away from the door. No one spoke.
A few seconds later, Crystal returned. "Selena!" she called through the door. "You still there?"
"What!" I called, desperate for her to go away.
"You know I respect your privacy," she said. "But there's something I gotta say, mother to daughter."
Stifling a feeling of dread, I made myself ask, "What's that?"
"We all go through phases where we try new things," she called, "you know, to relieve stress."
"Yeah?"
"Well, I guess what I'm saying is," she blurted out, "I know what a ménage a trios is. And I just wanna let you know, if you think it'd make you feel better, you should go for it."
"Oh for crying out loud," I called back. "I'm not having a ménage a trois!"
"Whatever you say, sweetie," she said. "See you in the morning."
The two thugs looked at me. I looked at them. "What the fuck?" the smaller one said.
I looked away, wondering if Crystal had put ideas into their heads. "Look," I said, "I know what you might be–"
"Oh shut the fuck up," the smaller one said. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I ain't gettin' within ten feet of another guy's wanker."
"Me neither," the other one said. He turned to his companion. "No offense or nothin'."
I stood. "I'll get the tapes."
"Your ass," the smaller thug said. "Tell us where they are. We'll get 'em ourselves."
I directed them to a drawer in the kitchenette. The larger thug opened the drawer and pulled out the tapes. He held them aloft for his companion.
"Lucky for you," the smaller thug said, "our customer don't know you got these."
"Lucky for us too," the larger one said. "We don
't want to get in trouble."
"She don't need to know that," the smaller thug said.
I turned to the larger thug. "How'd you explain losing them?"
"Our customer don't know we lost 'em," the larger one said.
The smaller one turned to his companion. "Shut the hell up, will ya?"
"No, you shut up."
Shaking his head, the smaller one turned to me. As if addressing a two-year-old, he said, "Look, our customer don't know we lost 'em because they don't know we ever found 'em. But they will tonight, and it's payday for me and my blabby friend here."
"I ain't blabby," the larger one said. "You're blabby."
The smaller one turned back to me. "Look, me and Blabby felt kind of bad when we saw you on TV. We don't like roughing up chicks – not like you don't have it comin' after that shit your boyfriend pulled."
"He's not my boyfriend."
"And," he said, as if I hadn't spoken, "he stole our guns."
The larger one piped in. "Lucky for him, them guns weren't ours."
"Whose were they?" I asked.
"Methyl's." The big guy pointed to his partner. "His cousin."
"How many times do I gotta tell ya," the smaller thug said. "Don't be calling her that."
"But everyone calls her that."
I simply had to know. "Why do they call her Methyl?"
"Meth habit," the larger one explained. "She does anymore, and her face'll melt clean off."
The smaller one turned to his companion. "Will you shut the hell up? Shit, you wanna draw a fuckin' family tree?"
"I ain't drawin' nothin'," the big guy said. "You draw the tree."
The smaller thug turned to me. "That's it. We're outta here."
"Wait!" I said.
"What the hell?" the smaller one said. "You want us to wait?"
"Before you go," I said, "there's something you should know."
"What?"
"There's nothing on those tapes," I said. "I'm telling you up front, so you don't come back."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing but reggae," I said.
"How do you know?"
I pointed to my player. "Listen for yourself."
The smaller thug motioned to his friend. The big guy popped in one of the tapes. The strains of a Jamaican love song filled the room.
"You listen to all of 'em?" the smaller thug asked.
"Yeah," I said. "And I just saved you five hours by telling you that."
"How do I know you ain't just taped over 'em, lookin' to trick us?"
"You saw me on TV," I said. "Does it look like I have time to tape over anything? If I'd wanted them erased, I'd have just used a magnet, erased them the easy way."
"Does that really work?" the larger thug asked.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I've never tried it."
Another knock sounded at the door. "Hey Selena!" my mom called.
Gritting my teeth, I called back. "What?"
"Do you want to borrow my digital camera?"
"No!"
"It takes video too!"
So did my phone, but that was beside the point. "No!" I called. "Go back to sleep already!"
"Tell ya what," she said, "I'll just set it right outside the door. You can give it back tomorrow." Again her footsteps receded down the hall.
"What the hell," the smaller thug said. He shook his head. "Let's get the hell out of here before she brings in the fuckin' gerbils." He directed his friend to the alley entrance. "Get that door, will ya?"
"But it's all nailed shut," the larger thug said.
"It's just a fuckin' board," the smaller one told him. "Rip it off, for Christ's sake."
The smaller thug turned to me. "Some chicken-shit board's your idea of a security system? You really do got problems."
"Hey, my brothers did that," I said.
"Then your brothers are pussies."
The larger thug lumbered across the room. With his bare hands, he ripped away the board and pulled the door wide open. Cold air flooded into the apartment.
"Hey!" I said. "You're letting all the heat out."
"It's a damn ice box already," the smaller thug said. "What's the difference?"
The two men stepped out onto the landing. The smaller one looked back. "Lemme tell ya something," he said. "I don't care if you are a chick. If you tell anyone, and I mean anyone–"
Suddenly, both men disappeared from sight. I heard two thuds in quick succession. I ran to the doorway and looked down just in time to see both men roll off the dumpster lid and tumble to the ground. A second later, they rose unsteadily to their feet, and limped away, cursing, into the night.
I studied the wooden platform that had served as the stairway landing. Like a trap door, it swung back and forth from shiny new hinges attached to the framework. I leaned out and looked down, noting the dumpster, positioned perfectly below the landing.
I decided I owed the dumpster company an apology.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and hollered after them. "Take that for calling my brothers pussies!"
I slammed the door and twisted the lock. Then I stomped back to my living area and fell onto my sofa. I'd just caught my breath when I heard another series of knocks, loud and frantic. The pounding was coming from the alley door.
What now?
Chapter 72
I dashed to my bedroom and grabbed the Ruger. I stepped beside the door, raised the gun with trembling hands, and called out, "Who is it?"
"Open the damn door." It was Bishop, and he sounded even less cheery than the last time I'd seen him.
"Not if you're gonna be all crabby about it," I called through the door.
His voice was calm, with a steely undertone that should've scared the pants off me. "Open it up, or I'm kicking it down. Your choice."
"So much for not being crabby," I muttered, throwing open the door. Outside, Bishop balanced on the landing framework. Standing a couple of feet away, perched on the stairway's top step, was Lawton, Bishop's younger half-brother.
Dressed in winter clothes, the two brothers looked strikingly similar, except for their haircuts. Where Bishop's was short with the hint of a wave, Lawton's was longer, with tousled strands that framed his famous face.
Of course, if they were wearing summer clothing, they'd be a whole lot easier to tell apart, given that Lawton's tattooed body hadn't exactly been low-profile, media-wise.
I looked from Bishop to Lawton. "What are you guys doing here?"
"We're coming in," Bishop said.
As I watched, he took one long stride from the balcony framework and into my apartment. Lawton followed, and I shut the door behind them.
Bishop reached out and gripped my shoulders with both hands. He gritted out, "What the hell were you thinking?"
I shook off his hands. "What do you mean?"
"Wait. You're okay, right?" His gaze roamed the length of me. His grip tightened. "You're not hurt, are you?"
"What are you doing here?" I asked again.
The two men looked at each other. The silence stretched out. I waited.
Lawton grinned. "We were in the neighborhood."
I felt my brow wrinkle. "What are you so happy about?"
He glanced from me to Bishop. "Nothing," he said. "Just enjoying the show."
"What show?"
A knock sounded from my hallway door. I turned to look. When I glanced back, Bishop had his gun raised.
"Jeez," I said, waving the gun away. "It's just Crystal."
"You don't know that."
I held up a finger and called out, "Mom? Is that you?"
"It's Crystal, remember?" she said through the door. "Anyway, I got something else for you."
I looked back toward Bishop. His gun had disappeared. With a sigh, I went to the sofa and shoved my Ruger under a cushion. Against my better judgment, I flung open the door.
Crystal poked her head inside my apartment. She caught sight of Bishop and Lawton. She gave them a flustered smile. "Oh hi," she
said. Her gaze zoomed in on Lawton. She gave him a good, long look. "You're Bishop's brother, aren't you?"
"Something like that," Lawton said.
Crystal gave me a sly smile. "Brothers, huh? Niiiice." She turned toward the guys and held up a box of Girl Scout cookies. "Anyway, I thought you might want a snack," she told them. "For after."
Silently, I held out my hand. Crystal dropped the box into it.
"Alrighty then," she said. "I'm off to bed. Don't do anything I wouldn’t do!" On her way out, she gave me a big wink and thumbs up.
I sank down onto the sofa and closed my eyes.
"What was that about?" Lawton said, taking the seat across from me.
"Don't ask," I groaned, opening my eyes to look at him. "So what are you doing in town?"
He flicked his gaze toward Bishop. "Visiting him."
I felt myself smile. "Hey, I heard you're getting married."
His face lit up in a way that warmed the entire room. "Yup."
"Congratulations," I said. "Is she going to that Valentine's Day thing?"
Lawton's eyebrows furrowed. "What thing?"
"You know," Bishop told him.
"Well if she is there," I told Lawton. "Tell her in advance that I'm not a crazy person, okay?"
"Why would she think you are?" Lawton asked.
"Because you know, I'm playing the jealous fiancée from hell."
Lawton looked at Bishop. "What?"
"Long story," Bishop said.
Lawton gave him a look. "Sounds like a bullshit story to me."
"It's because of the groupies," I explained.
"What groupies?" Lawton asked.
Bishop whirled toward his brother. "Will you shut the hell up?" he said. "You're distracting her."
"He is not," I said.
Bishop turned back toward me. "Enough stalling," he said through clenched teeth. "What happened here?"
I gave him a brief rundown, watching his face grow pale, and his body tense when I relayed how the two guys had snuck in and pulled guns on me.
"I'm gonna kill 'em," he said.
I gave him a hard look. "You're talking figuratively, right?"
"I don't know yet."
"I'm serious," I said. "You can't do anything to them. You do know that, don't you?"
"Why the hell not?"
"Because," I said, "they were a lot nicer to me than you were to them."
"So?"
Illegal Fortunes Page 29