by Casey Morgan
“You’re fine. Your memory is just as good as always, girlie.” Through the phone, I heard a faint blow of the wind. A curl of cold air. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. And then we can put up all those awesome decorations together.”
“Sounds good, Tina. Thanks for being such a good friend and worker,” I said.
“You betcha.” With that, she hung up, but I was immediately set upon by another phone call. Before I even had time to bring the phone down from my ear, it was ringing again. Puzzled and surprised, I hit answer, before even bothering to look at the screen.
“Hello? Gwendolyn Bishop speaking.”
A short pause, then:
“Good morning, Gwendolyn,” said a voice I was familiar with, but hadn’t heard in a long time. Rough and baritone, it reminded me a little bit of my Dad, who had died when I was young, but more organized. Straightlaced. “It’s Tom Beringer. I know it’s been a while since we talked last, and that it’s a bit early in the morning for you, but I wanted to call and talk to you about something.”
Tom Beringer. My banker friend. He’d worked with my grandmother and great grandmothers, before working with me. Unlike most bankers, he really had my best interest in mind and heart. Not just gathering interest on my loan, which now that I was talking to him on the phone, I remembered that I was a month overdue on paying. “Oh, shoot,” I said, pressing my hand into my forehead. “I’m so sorry, Tom. I know I’m behind a month on paying the loan that I worked into the mortgage. I’m so, so sorry!”
Tom huffed sadly, and I knew this was the exact reason he called. “I know you are. I know you have some extenuating circumstances. Business hasn’t been as great as it used to be for you these past few months, so I really hate to be calling you about this this morning, but my boss’s boss, is really starting to have a problem with the fact that you are a month late. Also that the payments you’re making are barely enough to cover the interest that’s accrued since you took out the loan for renovations and remodeling a few years ago.”
He paused, and in that pause, I heard the weight of his job. Also the cloud of Maxine’s threat, threading through unspoken. “He’s been pressuring me endlessly this morning about taking that loan into delinquency and foreclosing on the bar, Gwendolyn.”
He sighed again, this time sounding angry and sickened.
“He’s adamant about it. I wouldn’t have as much problem with it if you were one of our irresponsible customers, if you were constantly coming up with excuses for why you couldn’t pay, but you’re not. I would also feel differently if I didn’t know that my boss’s boss wasn’t in the pocket of Mr. and Mrs. Axelrod. Their real estate business as an investor. It’s a conflict of interest at the highest degree, but there’s not anything I can do.”
My heart raced like Maxine and her fucking husband were zombies clawing at my door. Their real estate business the plague. The infection, that wiped out more than half the block.
“I know you can do much about what’s being asked of you, Tom, but please! I’ll be able to pay off my late loan payment after tomorrow. Tomorrow is my biggest day at the pub. It’s the Harvest Festival. Please don’t bring me into delinquency status. Please don’t foreclose on me, Tom! I promise. I’ll have the money to you by tomorrow evening!”
Even as I thought of the Harvest Festival the customers I would have here, my mind went to Black Diamond. The auction Travis and the others had mentioned.
“Just give me a little more time. I know I’m already a month late, and thousands of dollars in the hole, but I’m so close to making this work!”
Tom was silent for a long moment.
I feared he wasn’t going to care. I feared that he was going to decide his relationship with my grandmother didn’t matter in the face of his boss’s boss. Then, after an agonizing wait, “Fine, Gwendolyn. You’re a good girl. A responsible young lady, and I’d hate to put you in a bad way. Your grandmother was a good woman, and I gave her my word I would look after you. So that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to delay the paperwork for a day, two tops. That’s all I can do, before my bosses get wise and force me to take things to the next level.” He blew out a burdened, frustrated breath. “I wish I could do more, Gwendolyn. I wish I could keep your loan and your business from ever going south, but I can’t. At the end of the day, I have to do what the bank’s policies command.”
Despite myself I smiled. I felt joy, even if Tom could only prevent doom from coming for a short while. That short while might be enough, if I moved quickly. If I took a real risk, as I was already planning to do. “Thank you, Tom. That’s all I could ever ask. That’s all I want. Just a little more time, and I promise I will have this solved.” I smiled again, feeling tears threatening. “I promise you won’t regret this, Tom. I promise I’ll come through on this.”
“You always do, Gwendolyn.” I heard the matching smile in his voice. His desire for me to fight and win. Come out swinging, to come out on top. “You always manage it in the end. Go get ‘em, Tiger.”
“I will,” I said, surprised by my conviction. My calm.
“Talk to you in a few days. If you are able to get the money, I can talk to you about where we go from here. If not…I’d rather not discuss that yet. No use in giving you extra time, only to muck it up with thoughts of misfortune.” A pause. “Your grandmother would be proud of you, Gwendolyn. If she were here today, she’d admire your strength and courage. Remember that.”
“I will,” I said, my voice spontaneously breaking and tears welling. “I do. Every day.”
“I know, Gwendolyn. Talk to you soon, sweetheart.”
I nodded silently, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. I allowed the call to drop after that, taking a moment to compose myself. Wipe at tears slow to follow, and swallow sorrow already webbing into my lungs and chest.
I took my phone off my ear and did a quick search for Black Diamond social club. Finding the number, I pressed the hyperlink and let it dial in to the line.
As I waited for someone to pick up, I thought about how early it was. About the likelihood of someone at a club run by a vampire actually being there to answer my call this early. Which might mean nobody was at the helm until closer to dark.
To my surprise, however, someone did answer.
“Black diamond. Sylvan speaking, how may I help you?”
God, even answering the phone these people sounded like silver-hoarding vampires, but judging by the time, Sylvan was not a vampire.
“Ah, yes, I was looking to talk with you, Sylvan. I heard from a few friends of mine Alex and David, two of the gentlemen who own Reverb Tech” — momentarily, I felt self-conscious and important throwing around a big, wealthy name like that, but it quickly faded under very real, very imminent need — “I was told that there was going to be a special, invitation-only auction.”
Sylvan paused a moment. Almost as if he was vetting my information. “Yes, Miss. There is an auction, and normally, Jorin is the man you want to speak with about participation, but he’s not in at the moment. Won’t be in until the auction is already underway. It’s being held tonight, beginning at seven p.m. sharp. If you are intent on attending, miss, be advised, this isn’t your normal auction.”
“Oh, I’ve already been informed.”
“Good,” said Sylvan. “Then all I need to tell you is to dress nicely, and be prepared to offer something valuable.”
“Understood,” I said. Briefly, I wondered what the boys would think and feel when they saw me standing up there.
They wouldn’t be getting any forewarning, of course. I would just show up there, surprise them, and they would just see me if they were also in attendance. If they weren’t, well, that would be a problem.
“Well, if you’re all settled on what you will be offering, then the last thing I need from you is your name and your age.”
My cheeks flushed, sending my heart rate up. “Gwendolyn Bishop. Twenty-eight years old.”
He paused as he wrote down my informat
ion. “You’re all set, Ms. Bishop. Be here at seven p.m. sharp. Otherwise, I cannot guarantee you a spot on the auction floor, let alone on the auction block.”
“Understood.”
“Goodbye, Miss.”
“Bye.” Even before this word finished clearing my lips, the line went dead.
I hung up the phone, just as Tina came storming through the door. She brought a cloud of smoke and fear with her. And not cigarette smoke. The kind of smoke that only came from a fire.
“Oh, my God, Gwendolyn!” The wildness in Tina’s blue eyes made me panic before I knew the reason. Quickly, I put my phone in my apron, and dashed around my bar. Move toward her, already fearing fire. Catastrophe.
“What is it, Tina?”
“Sandy’s bakery, a few doors down,” she said. “I just walked by there.”
My stomach dropped. Twisted.
“It’s a raging inferno!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Gwendolyn
Wasting no time, I ran out of The Lucky Spell Pot trailing Tina. As I did, I called 911, in case no one around here had the balls or ovaries to do so. In case the Axelrods were somehow in the pocket of the police as well, not just the local lender.
The 911 operator picked up, before I saw the carnage, but I smelled it.
“What is your emergency?” he asked. This was just as Tina and I came to a stop in front of a raging, smoldering bakery. Sandy’s pride and joy. A sweet tooth’s Mecca, a chocolate lover’s paradise for almost as long as The Lucky Spell Pot had been serving up spirits and good times.
“Yes, I’m calling to notify you that Sandy’s Bakery is on fire. Like, really on fire.” As if to prove my point, an explosion sounded. Smoldering increased, and I heard the flames actually lick and roar into the air. My heart followed, exploding with worry and fear through my chest.
Out the front door, I saw Sandy stumble out. Covered by smoke, marked by soot he looked like a black dove escaping the pits of hell. His family’s legacy going up in smoke. Not just the building, but memories.
“Please hurry,” I said to the 911 operator. “1935 Southwest Nolan Street and East 27th. It’s burning like crazy, and I just saw the owner, Sandy Dwight, stumble out of the building. Hurry! At this rate, there won’t be much left of anything! Of his business or anything!”
As I rushed over to him, helped Sandy get away from the smoldering skeleton that was his livelihood, and his family’s roots from over a hundred years ago, checked in with him about how he was feeling, I heard the 911 operator say, “All right, miss, I’ve alerted fire and rescue. Fire personnel are on their way.”
“Okay,” I said, marching Sandy further away from the danger zone, even though I could feel him resisting. Pulling against me, desiring to do nothing more than rush back in and save priceless, irreplaceable heirlooms. Much like I would do if I were in his position.
When we were a safe distance away, I continued to follow the 911 operator’s instructions to stay calm, and to stay away from the burning building. Also to refrain from touching or messing with anything that put might be considered evidence, or important in understanding what took place.
I followed his instructions to the letter, and, ten minutes later, I heard the scream and honk of at least three or four firetrucks. They pulled up, bright and ready for battle, immediately letting go of their battalion of firefighters. Fire hoses and other gear followed suit, and soon the building was a mix of water and fire. Flame and crystal, but it wasn’t enough.
While the fire was able to be put out rather quickly and painlessly, given the glutton the flames seemed to be for the poor old building, it didn’t do any good. There was virtually nothing to be saved or salvaged. Nearly every part of the building had been burnt. Reduced to ash, charred metal and the barest remains of some baking equipment.
Sandy put his still-flour-dusted hands up to his face. Wailed like the werewolf he was, swooning over the remains of what up until today, had been his life. His family’s identity. “All gone. It’s all gone,” he mourned loudly, looking moments away from fainting and raging at the universe. “It’s all destroyed, never to be rebuilt. Never to be what it was!”
Now the police arrived, and began to look for him. Ask for Sandy.
Though I knew I should be opening my restaurant, I didn’t have the heart to do any of that now. I didn’t have a reason to anyway, considering anyone and everyone who might be heading to my establishment was now gathering in droves outside the smoldering wreckage of Sandy’s Bakery.
I stood there, feeling a pit growing in my stomach. Knots growing in my throat and chest like tree roots. Not just for Sandy’s misfortune, but for one fact I knew he wouldn’t tell the cops. That he’d been being pressured by Maxine and Carl for months to sell his property. Sell his business, or else.
He’d refused of course, but kept going strong. Bringing in customers, despite some thinly-veiled attempts of theirs to change the public perception of Sandy and his bakery. None of that worked, though, and Sandy told me they didn’t like that. They ramped up their efforts to get him to sell, to move out of the area after that.
They had threatened him with “other ways” of getting him to do what they wanted, just like Maxine had done with me, and I had a bad feeling about all of it.
“It smelled like natural gas when I walked in this morning,” sobbed Sandy. “I should’ve never fired up the ovens. I should’ve never turned on any of the equipment. I should’ve listened to my nose—never let me down before—and gotten out of that. Closed up for the day and called you guys or something.” More pitiful tears.
“Any idea who did this Mr. Dwight?” That was the captain. The police chief.
I had some idea, but I knew somehow, even before Sandy responded, that he wasn’t going to tell them his theories. His speculation. After all, Maxine and Carl had gotten away with arson before. Many times before this, as far as most of the community was concerned, and the police had done nothing about it. To prove it substantiated or not.
“No idea,” he said.
“Anyone who would benefit from doing this you? Any enemies?”
“No. No. None,” he said.
With that, the police walked off, got on their radios, and contacted the station. Got the arson department en route.
Only then did I wander up to my friend and fellow long-time entrepreneur. Family man and living legacy to this community. “Hey, Sandy?”
He looked up at me like a man who would never find himself again. Never know happiness.
“You want to come to The Lucky Spell Pot for drink or two? On me, of course?”
He nodded, and although we both knew free booze was not about to fix the despicable crime that had just been committed against him, it would numb him to the pain for a while. Take him away from it for a while, until we could find some way to deal with it. Or get Maxine and Carl on the hook once and for all for their financial and legal terrorizing of the community.
Trouble was, I had no fucking clue what to do, or who to talk to. That was, until noon, when David and the rest of my boys arrived.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Gwendolyn
The boys were still in shock.
It’d been well over an hour that we’ve been talking about what happened, who we thought was involved, and still all four of the human men were in complete and utter shock. They still couldn’t believe that Sandy’s entire bakery burned down to almost nothing and in little less than an hour.
“You said the whole area smelled like natural gas or some kind of accelerant, correct?” That was Eric, looking and sounding hungry for blood. Very much not in his usual easy-going nature.
“Yes,” answered Sandy, taking another sad swig of his beer. “I should’ve just left. I should’ve never fired anything up, because now everything I ever owned is up in fucking smoke.”
David patted his shoulder. “It’s all right, Mr. Dwight, I don’t know what we can do. But we will do something for you.”
“We w
ill, because I think I know who’s responsible for this, and I think I know how to get them on it. I just need you to tell me as much as you remember, and then David and I will think of something.” This was Eric again, looking like a blood-lusty Buddha. “Tell me again: was there anything strange that happened before you came into work today? Was there any kind of encounter that seemed more intense than any other? With Maxine or a man named Carl?”
“Yes, they’d been pressuring me for months to sell them my property. My business, and the building associated with it.”
Sandy disappeared behind another swig of his drink. As he drank deeply, he thirsted for release from his agony. From his misfortune.
“Yesterday had been the final straw for me. They’d offered me more money for my property. They jumped from 50% more to 80% more.” He paused, taking another drink. “I told them it wasn’t about money, or about what or how much they could ever offer me. That this was my business, all I had left from my father, grandfather and great-grandfather, all the way back to the patriarch of our family.” He paused, looking like he was about to throw up. Or go on the warpath.
David flicked me a worried glance, saying what I already feared as well. That I might be next. That The Lucky Spell Pot might be the latest casualty. I needed my business to not only stay afloat, I needed it to stay arson free.
“Carl said that he didn’t understand why I was being so difficult, and that he had ways of making me understand how valuable my business was, and how I’d be smart to invest it properly with them.” Another heavy, damning pause settled in between everybody. “I’d heard other business owners in the past tell me about their tactics. Their intimidation, when the sweet cold hard cash didn’t work, but I didn’t believe them. Not until Carl told me he had ways. Told me to get ready for fireworks, when I hung up on him.”