“Use your gun!” Mrs. Janowski yelled.
How was I supposed to do that while running away from certain paintball doom?
But it was worth a try. I aimed my rifle backwards over my shoulder and squeezed the automatic trigger.
Yelling echoed around me. Did that mean I hit someone? But there were five men. I couldn’t have possibly hit all five. So, I kept running and shooting until the deep voice from above ordered me to cease fire.
“Team Fearsome Foursome is disqualified.”
“Why?” I asked, turning to find I had shot many, many people. Not only did I hit the enemy, but I hit the other teams. And my own team. It was a purple bloodbath. “Oh.”
They glared at me from the drips of paint.
“Shouldn’t this mean we won?” I asked.
The teams didn’t look as if they agreed. The angry enemy aimed their guns at me.
“Hang on!” I held up my hands in surrender.
“Team Warrior Tribe, stand down,” the voice said.
When they didn’t lower their guns, Mrs. Janowski ran out to stand in front of me, her own rifle pointed at them. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Team Fearsome Foursome, leave the floor.”
“Not until these guys do!” Mrs. Janowski yelled.
When it didn’t look like they were going to back down, Sylvia and Emmy ran over to us, though I wasn’t sure what they were planning to do. Emmy stood petrified next to me, hugging her rifle. Sylvia glared at the other team, yet still had time to wink at the tall one, giving him an occasional perusal.
“We should go,” I said, tugging at Mrs. Janowski’s arm, making her gun sway back and forth. Unfortunately, her finger moved as well, and the gun unleashed a rapid flow of ammo, nailing the team where it really had to hurt. A lot!
Each fell to their knees, grunting and cursing. Except for the tall one. He didn’t move. Only a small wince let me know that he did feel it. When the felled team stood with a feral gleam in their eyes, Mrs. Janowski took a step back, right into Emmy who also had a happy trigger finger. They all flinched as the gun released again. Thankfully, only the ceiling was blasted that time.
“We need to leave,” I said.
Mrs. Janowski scanned the room filled with irate and armed men. “That means they win. We paid good money for this.”
“You just shot them in the balls. I think you won.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She lowered her gun, ready to leave. “This was fun. We should do this again sometime.”
“Fun?” Emmy’s paint-coated hair stuck out at interesting angles.
Mrs. Janowski looked to the ceiling, now dotted in purple. “Do we get a refund?”
“No,” the voice answered.
“Why not?”
“It’s against the rules.”
Mrs. Janowski scoffed. “You and your rules can go to—”
I clapped my hand around her mouth before she could cause more trouble.
“Team Fearsome Foursome is banned from Waterloo.” I heard a thread of glee in his voice.
“Banned? You can’t ban us.”
“Yes, I can.”
“No, you can’t!”
“Yes, I can.”
“I want to speak to the owner.”
“You’re speaking to him.”
Mrs. Janowski frowned. “How do I know you’re real? Come out where I can see you.”
No answer.
“Did you run away, coward?” Mrs. Janowski yelled.
A panel on the wall, painted to look like scenery, opened. A young man much thinner and shorter than I expected walked out. He held a rifle as if to defend his keep. How did that deep voice come out of that little body?
“I’ve had enough of your team,” he said, his voice squeakier than it was on the speakers.
Mrs. Janowski frowned. “Your voice changed.”
“It’s an app,” he said. “It changes your voice. You have one minute to get off the floor or I’m calling the police.”
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Mrs. Janowski insisted. “Wars are messy. You should consider that when you make your lousy rules.”
“My rules are standard. It’s your team that is lousy.”
Mrs. Janowski bristled.
“It’s time to go,” I said, linking my arm through hers. I tugged, but the stubborn woman wouldn’t budge.
“This isn’t the last you’ve heard of the Fearsome Foursome,” Mrs. Janowski said.
“Yes, it is!” the man said. “You’ve been banned, or are you all deaf as well as old?”
Oh, dear. He’d said the wrong thing. Not to Mrs. Janowski, but to Sylvia, who never wanted to be reminded that she was a bit past her youth. She aimed and fired, shooting him several times in the stomach. He clutched his belly. The Warrior Tribe trained their guns on us. And as the first paintball released, I knew we were in trouble.
Mrs. Janowski got her war.
Chapter 15
“You had to go to war, didn’t you?” Edna accused Mrs. Janowski as she sat on the edge of a bench. She meekly scanned the jail cell we shared with a host of other women. “We had a chance to walk away and now look at us. We’ve been tossed into jail for resisting arrest, public disturbance, vandalism, destruction of property, and indecent exposure! My membership to the ladies’ knitting circle will be revoked, and it’s all your fault.”
“Bah!” Mrs. Janowski paced the cell. “It was Sylvia who took the first shot.”
“He said we were old!” Sylvia said.
“None of the charges will stick,” Mrs. Janowski said.
“You toppled the stone monolith,” Edna said.
“It wasn’t accurate, anyway. I did them a favor.”
“Well, you didn’t do us any favors,” Edna continued. “We’ll be cell mates with Ida.”
“Poor Ida,” Mrs. Janowski said. “I wish we could help her.”
“Forget about her,” Sylvia said. “We need the help now. Is anyone coming to bail us out?”
Edna shook her head. “My gentleman friend said he couldn’t come because the game was on.”
Sylvia tsked. “If he was my gentleman caller, he’d have come straight to get me. Can’t stand a moment without me.” She smiled at the prostitute who was listening to our conversation. “If you get my meaning.”
“Then why isn’t he here?” Mrs. Janowski asked.
“He was lost without me. The separation must have tasked the old ticker and he died.”
“What a load of poppycock,” Mrs. Janowski said.
Emmy looked at Mrs. Janowski. “Please tell me you found someone to come and get us.” Emmy’s hair, covered in a rainbow of dried paint, jutted out in punk-band fashion.
Mrs. Janowski shook her head. “I couldn’t think of anyone to call. You’re all here.”
Emmy’s face fell, big bubbling tears welled in her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I called someone. He should be here soon.”
“Not Brett!” Emmy squealed. “He’ll tell T, and I don’t want that. It’s his fault I’m here.”
“His fault?” Although I’d love to blame this fiasco on T or even Brett, I knew who the culprit was.
“I’d be at work now,” she said. “Finishing up another day and then going home to make dinner. I had this week’s recipes planned. If T would’ve listened to me, I wouldn’t be in jail right now. And if Brett wasn’t stashing that stripper in his office, then you wouldn’t be here.”
I was pretty sure I would have landed here anyway, but it would have been nice to call Brett to help me out of this scrape.
“Didn’t want to call the golden child, did you?” Rand asked as an officer let him into the holding area. “You know this is going to cost you.”
“As long as Brett doesn’t find out, I don’t care,” I said. “You can take it out of my salary.”
“I said it would cost you. But not in dollars and cents, sweetheart.” He smiled.
“I’m happy to pay your
price,” Sylvia said, inserting herself between Rand and me, the bars preventing her from glomming onto him.
He took a step back. “I didn’t mean it like that. But, Mars, I’ll ask for a favor someday and you can’t say no.”
An unknown favor for Rand should have caused concern, but I wanted to go home. “Deal.”
“How did you end up here?” he asked.
“A misunderstanding,” I said.
“Misunderstandings don’t land you in jail.”
They do when they involve Mrs. Janowski. “Did you pay our bail?” I asked.
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t trust you. Any of you. If you want me to bail you out, you’ll sign these contracts.” He pulled folded papers from his coat pocket.
“What is it?” Mrs. Janowski asked.
“Should you jump bail, you will forfeit all assets over to me.”
“Rand, no one is going to jump bail,” I said.
He waved the papers in front of me. “This legally binding contract will make sure of it.”
“This is unnecessary,” I said, holding onto the bars. “We’ll all go to our court dates and pay the fines.”
“I won’t,” Mrs. Janowski said. “This wasn’t our fault. It’s that weasel at Waterloo. I plan on making him pay.”
“Mrs. Janowski, just let it go. He’s not worth it.”
“Justice is always worth it. He had it out for us from the beginning.”
Emmy pushed past me and reached through the bars to grab the papers from Rand. “Where do I sign? I just want to go home and take a shower.”
Rand handed her a pen and pointed to a signature line. She scribbled her name on the paper and handed it back.
“What about T?” I asked her. “He might be at home. Are you going to work things out with him?”
“No, I’m changing the locks,” she said. “He can sleep at the office with the tramp. They can make her the new receptionist.”
“What tramp?” Rand asked.
Sylvia saddled up to Rand. Well, as close as she could get with bars in her way. “Looks like Brett has a side piece. Not that it wasn’t unexpected. I’ve been told Mars’s curtains haven’t closed in some time.”
A slow grin spread across Rand’s face. “The golden child cheated on you?”
“No,” I said. “Well, I don’t know.” I turned to Sylvia. “Have you been looking in my windows?”
“Not me.” She nodded over to a woman covered head to toe in multicolored paint.
“Mrs. J!” I scolded.
Mrs. Janowski didn’t have the grace to look guilty or sheepish. “It’s not my fault. Your windows face mine. I can’t help but notice.”
Rand couldn’t stop smiling. “The fall of the chosen one.”
“Stop it,” I said. “Brett’s been working around the clock and is tired. That’s all.” I didn’t know why I defended him. Perhaps it was because he worked hard to rebuild the fortune I had decimated. Perhaps it was because I wanted to believe that the stripper was truly just sleeping in his office and not offering anything else. “Can we talk about this later? I have to find Detective Spooner.”
“Who’s that?” Mrs. Janowski asked. “I thought I knew everyone in the department.”
“He called earlier and wanted the necklace I found. I’m supposed to meet him. I hope I didn’t miss the appointment. What time is it?”
Rand looked at his watch. “Five o’clock.”
“Perfect. That gives me time to shower and get the necklace.”
“Are you sure you got his name right?” Mrs. Janowski asked.
“Yeah. Positive.”
She pondered for a moment then shrugged. “Maybe he’s a new guy.”
I thought that was a reasonable conclusion. However, on our way out, I asked an officer. He said that no one by that name worked there.
Mrs. Janowski exchanged a worried glance with me then nodded. “It’s time to load up, girls. The Fearsome Foursome and Emmy are on the move.”
“No,” Emmy pleaded. “I just want to go home.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Janowski replied. “The Fearsome Foursome sticks together. We have an obligation to find out who this Spooner guy is. Also to uncover the truth about the stripper and help Ida.”
“Let’s focus on Spooner first,” I said.
The more I thought about it, the more something didn’t feel right. Why would he lie about who he was? And why did he want the necklace?
Mrs. Janowski charged out of the police station. “Come on, ladies. We have to prepare for this Spooner character.”
I feared that with her leading the way, we might find ourselves back in jail by the end of the night.
* * *
At the designated time, I waited on the corner Spooner had requested. The ladies and Emmy hung back and watched from Mrs. Janowski’s car, which was parked down the road. Mrs. Janowski assured me that she’d have her binoculars, Sylvia would have nine-one-one ready in her phone, and Edna would take video. None of that made me feel any better.
Yet, I couldn’t turn around.
Who would want this necklace besides Hank, Ida, or the daughter?
An old lover?
As I waited, a chill stole through me, raising the fine hairs on my arms. It didn’t help that the old crumbled streets were quiet from abandonment. Cracked windows and sidewalks framed them. Crunchy leaves circled my feet before joining the litter in the gutters.
I should have called Brett. He’d know what to do.
“Do you have the necklace?” The question was asked politely.
I followed the voice to find a man possibly in his mid-sixties. It was hard to tell in the dark. Shadows distorted his features. Dressed in jeans and a plaid coat, he didn’t resemble any detective I’d seen on television. Of course, that didn’t mean much. He had said he was on stakeout and therefore would want to blend in. If, in fact, he was a detective.
“Can I see your badge?” I asked, suspecting what his answer would be.
“I never carry it on a stakeout.”
Of course. That didn’t alleviate the nagging, gut-twisting reaction to run. But I was held back by one thing: Why?
“Are we safe here?” I asked. “Aren’t we in full view of the people you are watching?”
He looked left and right, scanning the roads. Thankfully, the girls were too far away to be noticed. Mrs. Janowski’s boat blended in nicely with the other beater cars left to rot. Hers was the only one that still had tires.
“This is a perfect spot,” he said.
Yeah, it was perfect all right. Perfect for mugging, murder, and abductions.
“Why do you want the necklace?” I asked.
“It was at the crime scene. It should be included with the evidence.”
“It was outside of the police tape.”
“They should have enlarged their search.”
“Why? What would they have found?”
“The necklace.”
His answers came easily and quickly, not rehearsed. Just matter-of-fact. It wasn’t as if my questions had been tricky, but I couldn’t detect any falsehood in his words or manner.
“How come no one knows you at the police department?”
“You asked about me?” He slightly tensed. I almost missed the subtle change. “I’m new to the area. I worked down in Chicago for many years before I transferred.” He shifted on his feet, his hands coming to rest on his hips. “I need to get back to work. I’ll take that necklace now.”
“I don’t have it.”
His eyes, dark from the night, somehow grew darker. “Where is it?”
“At home,” I lied, not wanting to bring Hank into this matter.
“Why didn’t you bring it?”
“I didn’t have time.” Which was mostly true. “Who does the necklace belong to?”
“Most likely the killer.”
“Ida? I didn’t think the necklace belonged to her.”
“I never said it d
id.”
“Then who? Do you suspect someone else?” Having Mrs. Janowski and the others just down the road made me bolder than I should have been.
He paused to consider his answer. I thought I was getting through, that I was going to finally get answers. But then he stepped forward. “Don’t go looking for trouble. All I want is the necklace.”
“Okay.” I took a step back.
He straightened as if not expecting me to comply. He then nodded and took hold of my arm. “Let’s go get it.”
“What?” I tugged my arm away, but his grip remained firm.
“Let’s go,” he repeated. “The sooner you give me the necklace, the sooner I can go.”
“Go? Go where?”
“Never mind.” He began walking up the street, away from Mrs. Janowski and the others.
Struggling with him, I turned to flag Mrs. Janowski, only to be whipped back into place.
“Do as I say and you won’t get hurt.” He shoved me forward.
I tried not to panic. The girls must know by now that I was in trouble and they should help. Yet, he was still walking, and I was still struggling. There was no sign of movement behind me.
What were they doing? And if they weren’t going to save me, who was?
At first I thought of Brett. He always came to save me. But not this time. This time, I was on my own. I had to save myself.
I could do this. I didn’t see any weapons on him. He only held one arm. I still had three limbs and, per my mom, a very hard head.
With a quick breath, I stopped struggling and used his momentum to allow me to curl into him, then thrust my elbow directly into his stomach. He pulled back, winded, but not enough for him to let go. He yanked on my arm, bringing me down to the hard concrete. My knees painfully took the brunt of the fall.
He didn’t let go.
Turning my shoulder, I plowed into his thigh, hoping to unbalance him. It didn’t work; he wrenched on my arm, bringing me back up into standing position. Panicked, I wailed with my other arm and kicked with my feet.
Still, he did not let go.
He kept me prisoner no matter how many kicks and jabs struck true. His grip remained tight.
“Stop!” he ordered.
“Let go!”
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