Security Squad

by Nicolette Pierce

  “Oh, here and there,” he said.

  Evading the question? “Where do you work tonight?”

  “Uh . . . across town,” he answered, inching his way to the door.

  “What kind of work do you do?”

  “Oh, this and that,” he said.

  I pursed my lips. Something was definitely wrong. He normally tells us everything to the point where it becomes too much information. “What about tonight?” I asked. “There must be one thing you’ll do more than the other.”

  “Oh, sure,” he said, moving closer to the door. “It’s not terribly exciting, and I wouldn’t want to be late. So, if you’ll excuse me . . .” He ran out the door.

  Bob ran out the door?

  I stared at the door for a moment before turning back to the boys. “Was that odd, or was it just me?”

  Mac scratched his beard. “That was a bit odd.”

  “Even for Bob,” Hank added.

  “In the words of Mrs. J., ‘Ladies, I think we have a mystery on our hands,’” I said. “A mystery I intend to unravel.”

  “Don’t go snooping into his affairs,” Hank warned.

  “Someone has to figure out what’s going on,” I said. “If I’m not allowed to snoop, then one of you three has to do it.”

  A hesitant glance was exchanged between them.

  “Mac, you should go check on him,” I said.

  “Why me? I don’t even know where he works.”

  “I do.”

  “Were you spying on him?” Hank questioned.

  “No. I happened to see him go into the same place twice. It’s near Shanty Arcade, where the ladies are working.”

  “Which place?” Mac asked warily.

  “I’m not quite sure,” I said, and I really wasn’t. “I don’t think they have a sign up.”

  “Are you sure?” Mac asked.

  “I’m pretty sure I didn’t see a sign.”

  “No. I meant that Bob went in there.”

  “I’m one hundred percent positive that he did.”

  Mac gulped down his beer, slamming the mug onto the bar with a curse. “I’ll talk to Bob. Don’t step foot into that place!” he warned and stormed out.

  Jack stared at the door and then turned to me. “I’ve never seen him like that.”

  “Where is this place exactly?” Hank asked with a worried brow.

  “It’s the bar near the arcade. Do you know anything about it?”

  Both Jack and Hank shook their heads.

  “Well, at least Mac will talk to Bob,” I said. “This will be all sorted out soon.”

  They didn’t look convinced.

  Chapter 9

  Evan was waiting at the restaurant entrance for me. He still had his uniform on and looked a little worse for wear. His eyes didn’t have their usual sparkle, instead they had dark rings. His posture was slouched with fatigue. Evan looked like a man ready to collapse.

  “Hey, sugar,” he said, wrapping his arm heavily around my shoulders.

  “When was the last time you slept?” I asked, standing rigid to support his leaning weight.

  His eyes lazily rolled up to the sky, calculating. “I have no idea.”

  I knew he had slept at my place the night before last. But it was only for a couple of hours. I bet he hadn’t had a decent sleep for a long time.

  “Come on,” I said, nearly dragging him to my car. “You’re going to bed.”

  “I only have an hour and then I have to go back to work.”

  “You’re not going back to work,” I said. “You’re going to bed. I’ll call and let them know.” Before he could argue, I added, “How could you possibly save a life when you can barely stand?”

  He didn’t say a word and let me lead him to my car. He fell asleep as soon as he snapped the seatbelt. Since I didn’t know where Evan lived, which briefly flittered through my mind as odd, I took him to my place.

  He groggily walked up the stairs, mumbling his apologies. Once in bed, he passed out instantly. I gave him a kiss and walked downstairs, dialing his employer. I still had them programmed into my phone from when I worked as an events coordinator.

  “Hi, Sam,” I greeted. Sam was my events contact whenever I needed an ambulance on-site. “It’s Mars. How are you?”

  “Oh, hey! I haven’t heard from you in awhile. Do you need to schedule a truck?”

  “No, I’m actually calling on behalf of Evan. I don’t know who I should speak to. Can you help me?”

  “If it’s about the going-away party, we already have it covered,” he said, breaking into a list of everything party-related.

  Going-away party?

  His co-workers know he’s leaving, but I officially don’t.

  Son of a . . .

  “You should come too,” Sam said, cutting off my silent curse.

  “When is it?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Before I hung up with Sam, I told him to relay the message that Evan wouldn’t be in for the rest of the night. I also asked for Evan’s address so I could pick up clothes for him. It was an excuse, and Sam should’ve said no since it was private information, but that’s what happens when you have friends on the inside.

  I stepped into the car and headed for Evan’s apartment. I knew he had a roommate and hoped he would be there to let me in.

  I didn’t know what I expected to find at Evan’s apartment, but I really did want to pick up clean clothes for him. Having to wear a dirty uniform didn’t sound too pleasant.

  After parking in the lot, I found my way to the apartment. Hearing music beat through the door, I knocked loudly. And knocked again. Eventually, after a couple of minutes of knocking, a man in his early twenties opened the door.

  “Who are you?” he questioned with red-rimmed eyes.

  “Hello to you too,” I replied, brushing past him.

  “You can’t come in here,” he said, attempting to block me but was too sluggish and awkward.

  “I’m only here to get clothes for Evan.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Are you that girlfriend he keeps talking about?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said, heading to a hallway. “Is his room down here?”

  The roommate trailed after, scattering dust bunnies and empty beer cans. “Yeah. On the right.”

  The door was cracked open.

  “What are you waiting for?” he asked when I stalled.

  “I don’t know,” I said, pushing the door open. Moving boxes were stacked high against the walls. Everything was packed and disassembled. “When did he pack?”

  “Uh. I think the last few nights.”

  “When is he moving out?”

  “I dunno.”

  “You don’t know when your roommate is moving out?” I questioned.

  “He keeps telling me to look at the calendar, but I have no idea where the calendar is.”

  I eyed him. “Did you ever think to ask?”

  “Nah,” he said with a lazy shrug.

  I pushed past him and headed to the kitchen. Doesn’t everyone keep a calendar there? I stepped into the kitchen and was immediately sorry I did. The smell coming from it was pungent.

  I’d better look fast.

  The calendar wasn’t hanging on the walls or refrigerator. The counters were too cluttered with dirty dishes to see anything. I whipped open the broom closet and found a calendar hanging inside the door.

  “It’s no wonder you never found it,” I said.

  He peeked in. “Oh. I never go in there.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” I muttered, holding my nose while reading the calendar.

  A date was circled. Inside the circle was Evan’s scrawl: Move.

  Three days away.

  I left without getting clothes.

  As I was heading back to work, Edna called me. I knew it was her from her frantic squeak.

  “What’s wrong, Edna?” I asked.

  “She refuses to listen to me. She sa
id she’s going to the arcade whether I help her or not. She can barely move.”

  “I assume we’re talking about Mrs. J.,” I said.

  “Who else?” she asked.

  “Where is she now?” I asked.

  “Crawling to the car,” she said.

  “Crawling?” I questioned.

  “Yes. On all fours. She said her back might hurt, but the rest of her works just fine.”

  Oh brother.

  “Get her into the car,” I said. “I’ll meet you at the arcade to help her into the concession area, but only if she promises to stay seated. We can’t have her crawling her way through the arcade.”

  After a moment of mumblings on the other end of the line, Edna said, “She agrees.”

  “All right. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  Twenty minutes later, Mrs. Janowski was sitting at a table in the concession area rather fatigued, but with the smug expression plastered on her face, you’d never know. The Security Squad crew was all accounted for except for Kym and Aaron. They had plans they couldn’t cancel. Or didn’t want to. Either way, I didn’t blame them.

  “Mars, since I’m stuck here,” Mrs. Janowski said, “I’ll need you to be my eyes and ears. Is Hank expecting you back at work? I’ll call him if you need me to.”

  “No need,” I said. “I already did. There were no customers, so I’m free to stay.”

  “Good. Edna and I will take this area. Mars can walk the inside. Sylvia and Ida can walk the outside perimeter.”

  “I wore my heels,” Sylvia said. “The parking lot is too rocky. I’ll end up twisting my ankle.”

  “That’s not proper squad gear,” Mrs. Janowski scolded. “Edna, you walk outside with Ida instead.”

  Edna squeaked.

  Mrs. Janowski rolled her eyes. “What now, Edna?”

  “It’s rather dark out there, and that seedy bar is across the way.”

  “I’ll take the outside,” I volunteered. “I don’t mind.”

  Mrs. Janowski gave a nod. “All right, Mars and Ida will take the outside, and . . .”

  “I’ll need to stick close to the bathroom,” Ida interrupted. “Got a bit of a stomach bug.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mrs. Janowski flustered. “Sylvia with me. Ida and Edna inside. Mars outside.”

  “Will you be okay by yourself, Mars?” Edna asked.

  “I’ll be fine.” As long as it got me out of here.

  * * *

  The air was dropping to a chilly temperature. I walked the perimeter of the building twenty times in a slow, steady pace, rubbing my arms to keep warm.

  What a mess, I thought.

  Walking without anyone to talk to gave me way too much time to dwell on my own problems. Not only were there several messy situations, but my own mind was just as cluttered and confused. It jumped sporadically from Evan to Brett, Bob to the bar, competition to money.

  And now back to Evan.

  A noise in the parking lot caught my attention. It was a rattling sound followed by a release of air. I glanced around but didn’t see anyone. Maybe the sound was coming from around the corner. I walked in the direction of the sound until I came to the end of the building. Slowly, I peeked around and saw two men dressed in black, spray painting the wall.

  Oh, damn.

  What do I do?

  I never actually thought I would run into “hooligans.” Maybe if I pretend that I’m just passing by, I’ll scare them off.

  Whistling a nervous tune, I strolled out. They stopped immediately and watched me. I didn’t want to get too close, but there was really only one path to follow. They weren’t fleeing like I thought they were going to. In fact, they watched me intently.

  This was not working the way I had thought it would.

  As I stepped closer, I was able to make out their faces. They were rather old to be tagging walls. Not that they were ancient, but they were in their thirties. Old enough to know better. And, unfortunately, old enough not to be frightened by me.

  Damn.

  Direct approach, perhaps?

  “Uh, excuse me,” I said. “I couldn’t help but notice your . . . artwork. While I enjoy art, I do think it belongs on canvas and not on a wall.”

  “You do, do you?” one man asked with a hint of snarl. “I think you should mind your own business.”

  I pointed to my hideous T-shirt with the Security Squad logo. “It is my business, but I’m not looking for trouble. Let’s just both walk away and forget this happened.”

  The taller of the men moved toward me. “Maybe we don’t want to forget.”

  I stepped back. “Seriously, I’m not looking for trouble. We’ll just walk away and I promise I won’t remember your description.”

  “And how do we know you’ll keep your promise?” the tall man asked, stepping menacingly toward me.

  “You were only tagging a building, not committing a felony,” I said, shuffling back. At least I didn’t think it was a felony. “It’s not worth the effort.”

  “We were just warming up,” he said with a slippery grin that turned my stomach sour. He lurched forward, grabbing my arm in a painful grip.

  I struggled to free myself, but his hold only became stronger.

  “Trying to run away?” he snarled. “Like I said, we’ve only just begun.”

  “Let me go!” I struggled.

  “Get the truck,” the taller man ordered his partner.

  I stomped on his foot.

  His head whipped back to me, his eyes slits. “I think a little ride will cool you off,” he gritted, shaking me.

  A shadow appeared behind the man.

  Oh, God, now who?

  I twisted and turned, trying to slip free. The man had an iron grip. The shadow drew closer and I squeezed my eyes closed.

  I heard a thud and felt the force of my attacker falling against me. I stumbled and fell with him, his hand still clenched around my arm. Before I hit the asphalt, my eyes popped open to see T standing nearby with a thick antenna thing. He jumped forward, attempting to catch me. It was too late. I hit the ground and the air whooshed from my lungs. For several seconds I gasped without breath.

  T kicked the man’s arm away from me before yanking a Taser from his pocket and blasting the man. The man twitched right before his eyes rolled back and he passed out.

  “Breathe, Mars,” T ordered. “You only got the wind knocked out of you.”

  No kidding, I thought, but was unable to speak.

  A truck raced out of the parking lot.

  “I take it that was his friend,” T said with a shake of his head. He pulled out his phone, poked at the screen a few times, then stopped and looked down at me.

  “What did you just do?” I wheezed, regaining the use of my lungs.

  “I made a note of his license plate number,” he said, shoving the phone back. “Amateurs.”

  “Why are you here?” I asked, trying to stand. I was a bit wobbly on my feet.

  T’s arm shot out, holding me steady. “Mrs. Janowski called and said you were a couple of men down. I thought I’d check up on you all. I didn’t actually think you’d need me. I’m glad I came.”

  “Me too,” I said, rubbing my arm. “I think he gave me a bruise.”

  “That’s not all he was going to give you,” T said, starting to glower. “What the hell are you doing out here by yourself?”

  “Well, Mrs. J. can’t walk. Sylvia is wearing heels. Ida has to stay near the bathroom. And Edna . . .”

  T waived for me to stop. “I think I get it.”

  “What’s with the antenna thing?”

  He gave me a curious glance.

  “The thing you hit him with,” I said.

  “Oh,” he replied, pulling out the metal cylinder. With one flick, the cylinder extended into a long metal weapon. “It’s a retractable baton.”

  “Looks more like an antenna.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you were on the receiving end.”

  “Speaking o
f which, what are we going to do with him?” I asked, nudging the man with the toe of my shoe.

  “Call the cops,” he said. “They can deal with him.”

  The man stirred.

  “Go inside,” T said. “I can call them.”

  “I can’t leave you out here by yourself.”

  “I’m not alone,” T said.

  It took a moment for that to sink in — kind of like pudding through a strainer.

  My eyes darted around the parking lot. I couldn’t see anything . . . or more to the point, anyone.

  “I’ll be inside,” I said, turning to run.

  “Hang on,” T said. “What set this guy off? The cops are going to ask.”

  “I caught him and his friend tagging the wall. I thought I could scare them off.”

  T’s brow mockingly rose.

  “That didn’t work, so I tried to reason with them. That didn’t work either.”

  T took one look at the graffiti and ordered me inside.

  “But . . .”

  “Go!”

  Geesh.

  I turned and stomped inside to locate Mrs. Janowski. She was probably right where I left her.

  Hopefully.

  “Did you see T?” she asked.

  “Yeah. He’s outside waiting for the cops.”

  “The cops?” She leaned forward. “What happened?”

  “Two creeps spray-painted the building. T has one of them knocked out.”

  “Where’s the other one?”

  “He got away, but T was able to get his license plate.”

  Mrs. Janowski looked pleased. “Let’s get out there so I can survey the damage.”

  “Did you forget you can’t walk?”

  “I didn’t forget anything,” she clipped. “I just need your arm.”

  Before I could argue, she was scooting out of the booth. Well, scooting is a loose description of the actual event. It was more like: inch, yelp, inch, yelp, inch . . .

  Once she was finally ready to stand, she looked at me. “I don’t suppose you’d give me a piggyback ride?”

  “I don’t suppose I would,” I said. “If you can’t make it there on your own, you should stay put.”

  Her lips pinched in determination. “I’ll get there if I have to crawl.”

  I groaned. Not the crawling again. I should just give her a piggyback ride and be done with it. But, somehow, giving an eighty-something-year-old woman a piggyback ride didn’t seem quite right.