Security Squad

by Nicolette Pierce

  Security Squad

  By Nicolette Pierce

  Published by Nicolette Pierce at Smashwords

  Security Squad is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Nicolette Pierce

  Cover design by Frank Wassenberg

  All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  To my mom, Judy Hanson, who is my biggest cheerleader. Thank you for being you.

  Acknowledgements

  An enormous thank you to Amber Barry, who has stuck with me this last year editing and editing . . . and editing, with more editing to come. Thank you, thank you . . . and thank you!

  To Judy Hanson, who always has first dibs at editing. Thank you for all of your suggestions and hard work.

  Frank Wassenberg has once again designed a great cover, even though I had the audacity to request it right before his vacation to France, which he replied in kind with a photo of the picturesque town overlooking the azure ocean. Thanks.

  And to Rick, Kathy, and Bill, who have helped watch my sweet baby doll so I could work.

  Books by Nicolette Pierce

  Mars Cannon Novels

  Deadly Dancing

  Predator Patrol

  Security Squad

  Biker Brigade

  Nadia Wolf Novels

  The Big Blind

  High Stakes

  Cashing Out

  Squeeze Play

  Nadia Wolf Character Novels

  The Last Tailored Suit

  My Traitor

  Please visit Nicolette on her website at:

  www.nicolettepierce.com

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Books by Author

  Visit Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 1

  “Ladies!” Mrs. Janowski’s voice wavered as she hollered over boisterous bickering in the dining room. “We’re only choosing colors. It can’t be that hard.”

  “It wouldn’t be if Sylvia would stop picking animal prints,” Ida said.

  “Edna keeps picking mauve,” Sylvia retorted. “Not everything needs to be pink.”

  “We’re not choosing either of those,” Mrs. Janowski said. “These are security uniforms, not our bowling shirts.”

  “Speaking of which,” Ida interrupted, “we really need to update those shirts as well.”

  “I agree. Brown and orange does nothing for my complexion,” Sylvia said.

  “We should have pink bowling shirts,” Edna said, her bespectacled eyes twinkling. “It would match my bowling ball.”

  “Enough with the girly colors,” Ida grumbled, taking a fortifying swallow of coffee, which we all knew was laced with whiskey.

  “What’s wrong with brown and orange?” Mrs. Janowski asked. “They’ve served us well these last three decades.”

  “Exactly. Three decades!” Sylvia stated. “It’s time for a fresh look. What about tiger print? We could rename our team Tigresses.”

  “Too many S’s,” Edna said.

  “I’m not wearing animal print,” Ida said. “Blue. Just plain blue.”

  “I might agree with blue,” Edna said thoughtfully. “If it’s a baby blue.”

  Ida blew out a great sigh and dug out her flask.

  “Ladies, we’re here to discuss the security uniforms,” Mrs. Janowski repeated. “We’ll worry about our bowling shirts some other day. Now, what color should we choose?”

  “Blue,” Ida stated.

  “Mauve,” Edna said.

  “Zebra,” Sylvia said.

  “Camouflage,” Mrs. Janowski added.

  They all turned to me. Oh brother.

  “Mars, what would you choose?” Mrs. Janowski asked.

  “Well,” I said, scanning the samples strewn over the table. I felt the weight of several stares as I contemplated my answer. No one was going to be pleased with my choice. “Why don’t we ask an expert?”

  “Who?” was the unanimous owl response.

  “I’ll call T. He’ll pick the color.”

  “Men don’t have any fashion sense,” Sylvia said.

  “Neither do you,” Ida mumbled into her cup.

  “I think it’s a great idea,” Mrs. Janowski said. “Go ahead and call him. Since he’s the expert, we’ll defer to him.”

  “He’s not an expert,” Ida argued. “He’s an ex-con who worked for a corrupt mayor.”

  “Exactly,” Mrs. Janowski agreed with a smile. “He’s been around uniforms for a chunk of his life. He’ll know exactly what to pick.”

  “Just as long as he doesn’t pick an orange jumpsuit,” Sylvia retorted.

  “He recently opened his own private security company,” I said.

  “People hire an ex-con for security?” Edna asked.

  “Who better to hire than someone who has an inside track to a criminal mind?” Mrs. Janowski answered. “But this puts a kink in the chain.”

  “What kink?” Ida asked.

  “What chain?” Edna chirped.

  “T is our competition,” Mrs. Janowski replied.

  I didn’t think T considered the girls competition. They didn’t even have a paying gig yet. To Hank’s chagrin, the ladies have taken up security posts at the Road Hog bar. He barks at me every time they show up for duty. However, I use the word “duty” loosely. Sylvia flirts with the patrons; more often than not, it’s just Mac and Bob. Edna stands in a corner and squeaks if anyone comes too close. Ida sits at the bar with her customary bottle of whiskey at hand. Mrs. Janowski is the only one who actually walks the perimeter and keeps an eye on things . . . which worries me to no end.

  “Should I call him?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Janowski replied. “Let him decide. It’s obvious we won’t reach a decision on our own.”

  I quickly called him.

  “T.” It was his usual greeting.

  “T, it’s Mars.”

  “What’s up?”

  “The ladies are having a problem deciding on a color,” I said. He knew exactly who I was referring to. “Ladies” was our standard code for the four troublemakers.

&nb
sp; “I don’t do colors.”

  “They’re trying to decide on security uniforms.”

  “Heaven help us. Have they taken any jobs?” T asked.

  “The Road Hog.”

  “Has Hank had a coronary?”

  “He’s close,” I said, remembering how he turns crimson every time he sees a woman with tightly curled gray hair, whether it happens to be one of the “ladies” or not.

  “Tell them to choose fluorescent yellow.”

  “Won’t that stand out?”

  “Yes. They’ll get into less trouble if people can see them coming from a mile away.”

  “Brilliant,” I said, eyeing the ladies who were hanging on my every word. “I’ll let them know.”

  “Did you open the envelope?” he asked.

  I knew exactly what envelope he was referring to. The envelope Brett had left for me was a source of internal conflict. But I couldn’t ignore it. “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good. Did you tell him?” T asked.

  “No. I was hoping you could.”

  I heard a mutter and then silence.

  “T?”

  “Fine,” T finally agreed. “I’ll talk to him later.”

  I thanked him and ended the call, looking up to find four pairs of eyes glued to me. They leaned in.

  “Where are you going?” Mrs. Janowski asked.

  “And who with?” Sylvia asked with a curling smile.

  “It’s nothing,” I said, feeling like it was anything except nothing.

  “Girls, I think we have a mystery on our hands,” Mrs. Janowski said.

  “There’s no mystery,” I stated.

  “Then you won’t mind answering the questions,” Ida said.

  “There’s nothing to answer.”

  “Evading the question.” Mrs. Janowski eyed me from across the table. “A mystery, indeed.”

  “This mystery won’t be solved today,” I said. “I have to get to work before I’m late.”

  “You can be late. Hank won’t mind,” Sylvia said.

  My lips pursed. “Have you not met Hank?”

  “Sylvia’s right. He’s all bark and no bite,” Ida said.

  “Yes, but I’d rather not have to listen to his barking,” I said, standing to leave. “It makes for a really long shift.”

  “Before you go, what color did T choose?” Mrs. Janowski asked.

  “Fluorescent yellow.”

  The ladies crinkled their noses.

  “I haven’t worn fluorescent yellow since the eighties,” Sylvia said. “And even then I wasn’t a fan.”

  “Did he say why?” Mrs. Janowski asked.

  “Well,” I said thoughtfully. I couldn’t relay what T’s reasons were. They’d never agree to the color and we’d be back to square one. But I could shape it to sound reasonable. “One of the reasons is safety. Emergency crews sometimes wear fluorescent yellow so they can be easily seen.”

  Mrs. Janowski frowned. “I don’t know. I think the whole point is that we should be able to fly under the radar. Get those crooks before they know what’s coming.”

  “But what if someone needs help?” I asked. “If you wore a fluorescent color, they’d be able to find you.”

  “That’s true,” she agreed hesitantly.

  “What if we choose fluorescent blue instead?” Ida asked. “It wouldn’t be as loud as yellow.”

  “What about lettering?” Sylvia asked. “What lettering would match with a fluorescent color?”

  “What about the hat?” Edna asked. “I don’t want a repeat of the PP baseball caps.”

  “No one wants a repeat of those,” Sylvia agreed with a shudder.

  I glanced at the clock and frowned. I should have left five minutes ago. Hank’s going to be out of sorts for the rest of the day if I don’t get there soon.

  “Ida, you pick the fluorescent color for the shirt. Sylvia will pick the lettering. Edna can choose the hat, and Mrs. J. will pick the logo,” I suggested, hoping that it would appease everyone.

  They all gave a tentative nod, which told me I was off the hook. I quickly said my good-byes and hurried out the door and across the street to my house. I only had to grab my purse and then I could be on my way.

  As I dashed over to the kitchen table to collect my purse, I upset a pile of papers in my hurry. An envelope fluttered to ground.

  The envelope.

  I stopped briefly.

  No. This was not the time to think about it. Later.

  Without picking up the envelope, I crossed over to the door and left.

  Chapter 2

  “I’m sorry I’m late!” I said, racing behind the bar, tossing my purse behind dusty liquor bottles.

  Hank grumbled while he wiped the counter. “Ain’t no one here anyway.”

  “I was thinking about that. The wet T-shirt contest was a success. It’s time to come up with another event.”

  His brow cocked.

  “Well, it was a success except for one tiny incident.”

  “You netted our customers like a school of tuna,” Hank said.

  That was true. But I couldn’t take the blame for it entirely. Mrs. Janowski was in charge of the biker brawl containment system. The enormous net contraption worked perfectly . . . except there hadn’t been a brawl in progress.

  We rigged it to not accidentally fall down again. Hopefully.

  “But other than that small incident, the event was a success.”

  “What did you have in mind?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. But I’ll think of something great. I just need inspiration.”

  “Nothing feminine,” Hank stated and then added, “and without the golden girls’ help.”

  Jack pushed through the kitchen door with a plate of onion rings, plunking them down on the bar with a smile.

  “Are you sharing?” I asked, smelling the wafting grease, onions, and something else. It was a good something else. I just didn’t know what.

  “Yes,” he said with his smile still in place. That bothered me. Jack gives a smile here and there, especially to pretty women, but he doesn’t keep the smile for this long and this wide.

  “What’s wrong with them?” I asked, inspecting the loaded plate.

  “Nothing,” he said. “I’m trying out a new recipe.”

  “These aren’t from the freezer?” I asked, picking up a ring.

  “They don’t even look like the freezer rings. Just try one,” he urged. “And there’s dip too.”

  I eyed the sauce. “What is it?”

  “I’ll tell you after you try it.”

  “Hank,” I said, pushing the plate toward him. “If I’m trying it, you’re trying it.”

  Hank picked up a ring, dunked it into the sauce, and swallowed it in one bite. Actually, I’m not even sure he took a bite before wolfing it down. “It’s good,” he muttered.

  That was good enough for me. I was hungry, after all. I gingerly dipped the ring and took a small bite. And then another bite.

  “Well?” Jack asked.

  “Can I have this whole plate?” I asked, snatching another ring.

  “I’ll take that as a thumbs-up,” Jack said, handing me a napkin.

  “They’re delicious. I can honestly say they are the best onion rings I’ve ever tasted. What’s the sauce?”

  “It’s a creamy horseradish with a few extra ingredients.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “That’s a secret.”

  Not caring that it was a secret since I had him around to make it for me anyway, I bit into another ring and sighed. I was either really hungry or these onion rings were to die for.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted the whole plate,” Jack said, stealing a ring out of my hand.

  “That’s mine,” I said, swiping it back.

  He grinned.

  “What made you want to experiment with a new recipe?” I asked.

  He gave a lazy shrug. “I
was tired of the same old frozen rings.”

  Eying him, I took another bite. He used to be happy with the “same old frozen rings.” Something was different. I didn’t know what, but it did give me an idea.

  “Do you think your rings could stand up in a competition?” I asked.

  “Why? Do you know of one?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Where will it be held?” he asked, stealing a ring.

  “Here,” I said, swiping it back. “We’ll have it in two weeks.”

  Hank stopped wiping the counter.

  I swear he’s been cleaning the same exact spot since I started working here. Well, I guess it’s not really considered cleaning when the rag hasn’t been washed since 1972.

  “A cooking competition?” Hank asked. “Here?”

  “It’s a great idea,” Jack said. “When my rings win, we can advertise them as the best in Madison.”

  Grabbing another ring, I said, “That’s perfect. We could use some good PR.”

  Hank grumbled, wiping the counter a little more aggressively than before.

  “Should I get the boys to make signs?” Jack asked.

  “I think not,” I said, remembering the handmade signs Mac and Bob had made for the wet T-shirt competition. Not only could a kindergartener have done a better job, they were clearly not for public viewing. “Every sign they made had mountain-sized breasts.”

  Jack smirked. “It was for a wet T-shirt contest. I’m sure they wouldn’t draw breasts for a cooking-competition sign.”

  “Cooking competition?” Mac asked, swinging through the door and settling himself on his regular barstool. “Who’s cooking what and when can I eat it?”