Deadly Dancing

by Nicolette Pierce

  “Someone broke into my house. Brett is taking her to the police.”

  “A woman? You don’t say!” Mrs. Janowski looked as happy as punch. “In my day it was only the men who did things like that. I guess that’s why people say it’s now an equal-opportunity world.”

  “I guess it might apply to criminals too.” I headed to my door. “I need to get these up to Brett.”

  “Ten four! I’ll be standing guard tonight with ol’ Bessie. You can rest easy.”

  “Thanks. If you see any crazy women around my house, just start shooting,” I teased.

  “Roger that!” she said, hurrying back to her house.

  I ran upstairs and handed the shackles to Brett.

  “I’ll fucking kill you,” Annie roared at me. Her face distorted with hatred. “I’ll escape again and hunt you down. You better run, bitch.”

  Seeing her locked up and a gun pointed at her gave me a tiny spark of vigor.

  I knelt down and whispered in her ear. “Brett said he loves me. I’m going to marry him and have his babies.”

  Annie twisted to attack. I quickly moved out of her way. Maybe it wasn’t good to provoke a broken mind, but it gave me my strength back. Strength to know she couldn’t frighten me again.

  “What did you say to her?” Brett looked curiously.

  “Girl talk,” I said.

  Brett escorted Annie down to the car and seat belted her in. She struggled with him. I could see him grasping at his last ounce of restraint. She sunk her teeth into his arm.

  “Ow!” he yelled, slamming the door shut. “Do I need to worry about rabies?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “She’s crazy, not rabid.”

  Brett smiled before he bent to give me a long, lingering kiss. It was sweet and passionate. I resisted the urge to throw my arms around his neck.

  He stepped back. “I’ll see you soon, sweet thing.”

  I nodded.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  I wasn’t sure what I believed. I kept quiet.

  “Sweet thing, you have to learn to trust me.”

  He left me with a tender kiss that tingled my lips. I gave him a small wave as he backed out of the driveway and took off down the road.

  I sighed and trudged back inside the house. I climbed upstairs to shower and change. As I slipped into my bed, a rapid knock on the front door gave me a jolt.

  “Mars, I know you’re in there!”

  The doorbell buzzed like a furious bee.

  “Brett was my territory and you moved in on him. You stole him!”

  I peeked out the window. Jocelyn. I knew this was going to bite me in the ass.

  I opened the window and called down to her. “Jocelyn, I’m sorry. It just happened. But he’s gone now. He left for Texas.”

  “Nice try! You’re fired! Do you hear me? FIRED!”

  The rapid sound of ol’ Bessie blasted through the night air. Jocelyn screamed as an onslaught of paintballs pelted her. She bolted for her car and peeled out, giving the sniper access to her silver BMW, which was quickly becoming polka-dotted with lime-green paint.

  “Thanks, Mrs. J.,” I called out.

  She gave me a salute.

  I fell back into bed. My cell phone chirped. I cringed at the possibility that it might be Jocelyn. I looked at the phone with one eye shut, just in case. It was a text from Evan.

  We’re going riding tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at two.

  Even though I was now jobless, I couldn’t help but smile. Here we go again.

  FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT IN:

  Predator Patrol

  Keep reading for a first chapter preview . . .

  Chapter 1

  My eyes drew together in a wrinkled pinch as I stared at the monitor in front of me. It was an ancient monstrosity with a screen that flashed and rolled.

  GGP BRB.

  I contemplated the letters as if they were in ruin script. What does GGP BRB mean?

  Rubbing my temples in a deep, circular motion, I sighed. I leaned back in my chair and watched the ladies around me typing with animated fingers.

  We were sitting around Mrs. Janowski’s dining room table. The lace and doilies had been removed from the area. In their place was a circle of clunky computers that whirled and clicked as we forced them back into a life of servitude.

  The four ladies sitting around the table were well into their seventies and beyond. Mrs. Janowski was at the head of the table, wearing a baseball cap. The letters PP were hand-embroidered on the cap with hot-pink thread. Her fingers stabbed at her keyboard as if she was punching letters on a rusty typewriter.

  “Ladies, does anyone know what GGP BRB stands for?” I asked.

  “You may want to check the CAD,” Edna said, sipping her tea. Her knitting project sat next to her in case there was a lull in work. “BRB means Be Right Back.”

  “What’s CAD?” I asked.

  “It’s the Chat Acronym Dictionary. It’s in the middle of the table.”

  The ladies nodded and resumed their key clicking.

  I gazed at the ladies, allowing my eyes a needed break from the computer screen. All four of them were wearing a variation of running suits. The colors were different, but the soft material and zippered jackets resembled each other. Their shoes were sensible, and they each wore their hair in the same curly poodle fashion. Their matching baseball caps rested gently on their hair so as not to mash their curls. A mug of either tea or coffee sat in front of each one. Only Ida had a hidden flask she’d used to spill a few drops of amber liquid into her coffee. She hurriedly assured me it was for added flavor and nothing more. But at seventy-something years old, she was allowed such mischief. I wouldn’t be surprised if I caught her nipping from the flask from time to time.

  I picked up the thin CAD book and thumbed through it. GGP . . . hmm. My finger lazily trailed over the section of G acronyms until I found what I was looking for . . . Gotta Go Pee.

  Really?

  “Did you find it, dear?” Edna asked.

  “Yes. According to CAD, it means Gotta Go Pee. I really didn’t need to know that from a stranger.”

  “Oh, these kids today are all alike. They tell far too much information to complete strangers. Why, I had a kid just yesterday write BAG.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Boobs Are Great,” she answered with a tisk. “I know men think they are, but kids shouldn’t know.”

  “Edna, BAG doesn’t mean Boobs Are Great,” Mrs. Janowski said. “It means Busting A Gut.”

  “Or an alternative would be Big Ass Grin, depending upon the context,” Sylvia added.

  “Oh, dear,” Edna said. “I’m glad I didn’t scold him. I had a mind to tell him proper young men don’t speak about boobs. That would’ve blown my cover.”

  “It’d be a tragedy. These kids are wily creatures. We can’t give them cause to know what we’re up to,” Mrs. Janowski said.

  The ladies nodded in agreement.

  “When does Mars receive her official hat?” Ida asked.

  “I’m making her one. I should complete it tonight.”

  “I wish you would’ve let us name the club,” Edna tittered. “I don’t like walking around in a hat with PP embroidered on it. Earl asked if it’s a promotional hat for a bladder incontinence medication. You know I’ve had my eye on him ever since banana bingo. Now I’m too embarrassed to look at him.” Edna sighed as she whirled her knitting hooks together to make a row with her nervous hands.

  “Predator Patrol is a great club name,” Mrs. Janowski said. “It’s unfortunate its acronym is PP. But as a secret club we can’t write our full name on the hat. It’d let predators know we're out to get them. This is war; not a dating club. Just grab Earl’s butt. He won’t care about your hat.”

  Edna cheeks bloomed the brightest shade of pink, bringing out the blue in her spectacled eyes. “Oh, dear! I couldn’t do that!” Her thin hand waved to cool her face.

  “All you need
is a little nip from the flask and you’ll be pinching his butt. If you drink Irish whiskey, you might be doing a lot more than just pinching,” Ida said with an exaggerated wink.

  “Oh, dear!” Edna gasped, her knitting needles flurried.

  “Ida, don’t go getting Edna all in a twist. They’ll do the bedroom tango eventually,” Sylvia said.

  Edna squeaked, keeping her eyes on her knitting.

  “I heard he was a big one. You know . . . in the pants,” Mrs. Janowski said.

  Ida snorted. “Earl?”

  “I’ve heard that too,” Sylvia said. Her finger twisted her large pearl necklace. “You know that hussy Lucy? She’s been fiddling around with all the johnsons at the senior center; she even has them star-rated.”

  Ida barked with laughter. Her pudgy fingers uncapped her flask and freshened her coffee with a few drops. “Lucy is ninety-six years old. She’s lost half her marbles and wouldn’t even know what to do with a johnson.”

  “I’m just telling you what was told to me,” Sylvia bristled.

  “Can we change the subject?” Edna pleaded. “All I wanted was a new hat that doesn’t say PP.”

  “We can take a vote at the next meeting,” Mrs. Janowski said.

  I realized I’d been watching the ladies with wide eyes and an open jaw.

  Mrs. Janowski had been hounding me for the last month to help with Predator Patrol. I dodged attempts by telling her I was job hunting and couldn’t possibly have time to help. But with no job, no money, and no boyfriend, dodging Mrs. Janowski was becoming impossible. I finally gave in yesterday, and now I’m part of Predator Patrol.

  Mrs. Janowski started the club after watching a special news broadcast on community watch groups. Some groups use the Internet to locate predators that prey upon children playing on various websites. So far, the groups have been successful at finding predators then luring them to a safe spot for cops to arrest.

  We are each assigned a fictitious character with a picture and background. We chat and play games amongst the children and teens. Edna and I are pretending to be girls, while Mrs. Janowski, Ida, and Sylvia are pretending to be boys. So far, our group hasn’t come across any would-be predators. I have small hopes of ever doing so . . . especially with our group.

  “How do I know if I’m talking to a predator?” I asked.

  “You probably won’t know at first. I’ve been reading up on it,” Sylvia said. “They may play a game and chat a little at first. Then they begin asking general questions. It’s to start you talking. Once they have your trust, which is easy to do with kids, they become bolder with questions and requests.”

  “Requests? Like what?”

  “It could be as simple as asking for a picture, personal email address, or phone number. But it could get as far as a nude picture request, depending on the developing relationship.”

  “And if they type WLMIRL, watch out,” Ida said.

  “What does that stand for?”

  “Would Like to Meet In Real Life.”

  “That’s when we start involving the police,” Mrs. Janowski said. “I can’t wait to receive a WLMIRL. I’ll pulverize the pervert!”

  “I’m glad I’m pretending to be a girl,” Edna said. “I don’t understand boys. They have a love of dirt and are constantly diddling with their tinker. How are you supposed to talk to someone if you don’t know where their hands have been?”

  Ida choked on her coffee. “Diddling with their tinker? Well, I don’t mind being a boy. I don’t have to worry about current fashion or type OMG every other sentence.”

  My monitor flashed. My computer buddy was back online.

  IB. R u there?

  I assumed IB meant I’m Back. “Mrs. J., can I bring the CAD home tonight to study?”

  “Of course. Just bring it back. There’s always one kid who feels the need to put everything in code and throws us a doozy of a sentence.”

  I typed in Yep, I’m here.

  Instead of codes, I was going for the casual and carefree method. Hopefully they didn’t see through it. According to my profile, I’m twelve and therefore could probably get away with it due to being on the edge between teen and child.

  WTPG?

  I snatched the CAD again and leafed through it. Ah . . . Want To Play a Game?

  OK.

  I smiled. That’s a universal code. I’m all over it.

  A screen popped up with a game similar to Scrabble. I’ve never been good at Scrabble. However, this may be easier since it’s for kids. I wasn’t sure who I was talking to or playing against. I wasn’t even sure if it was a boy or girl. Their screen name is Cybernaut. I guess a boy.

  It was my turn first. I arranged the word LOG. Cybernaut arranged his word as GIRAFFE.

  I shuffled my letters until I found I could spell ICE.

  Cybernaut used all the tiles to spell AIRPLANE and thereby quickly demolishing me and winning the game.

  Ur not good at this game.

  I sighed and typed Not at all.

  AIR. H2G. TTYT?

  Ugh! “Mrs. J., can you come over and read this? It’ll take me forever to decipher this with CAD.”

  Mrs. Janowski stopped hammering the keyboard and shuffled over. She puzzled for a moment before she grinned.

  “Adults In Room. Have To Go. Talk To You Tomorrow?”

  “Thank you.”

  Placing my fingers back on the keyboard, I typed OK. I wasn’t ready to try anything harder.

  CU @ 4 :)

  OK

  All right. I have a date with my kid buddy at four o’clock tomorrow. I think that means I was successful. I patted myself on the back for my first day on the job.

  “Mrs. J., my kid left. I think I’ll go as well. I need to study this book and make phone calls about possible jobs.”

  “Okay, Mars. Good job today. War begins promptly at three tomorrow. Feel free to come early if you want.”

  “I’ll be here,” I said as I stood with a stretch.

  “Oh, Irene, did you ask Mars about a certain gentleman yet?” Ida asked with a wink-wink-nudge-nudge expression.

  My eyes caught Mrs. J.’s, aka Irene’s. She gave a cluck with her tongue to keep Ida quiet.

  “Mrs. J., have the ladies and you been discussing my love life?” I asked with a stern tone and inquiring eye.

  “We may have noticed you’ve been alone for a couple of months. Not one of the rascals sniffing at your back door has been around.”

  “Did they get their itch scratched and bolt?” Ida asked, shaking her head. “You can’t trust men. Not one! Not even the Pope.”

  “Ida!” Edna gasped. “Don’t listen to her, Mars. There are some men you can trust, and you can always trust the Pope!”

  “I don’t believe that for a second," Ida argued. "The Pope can get away with anything. He can say it was ‘God’s will’ to cover his tracks.”

  Edna squeaked. Her hands frantically dug through her purse.

  Sylvia sighed. “Edna, what are you looking for?”

  “My rosary! If Ida wants to burst into flames, that’s her business!”

  “Ida, you’ve done it again. You’re going to make it so Edna can’t even walk in here without ten rosaries strung around her neck to ward off your whiskey tongue,” Sylvia scolded.

  “Bah!” Ida scoffed. “I go to church every week. God always forgives me.”

  “Can we return to the topic at hand?” Mrs. Janowski asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Ida nodded. “I want to hear the story of scandalous, unrequited love. Hang on. I need to freshen my coffee so my ears turn on.” Ida dug out her flask.

  “Ida, there hasn’t been coffee in your mug for the last three hours. You’ve just been topping off hooch. I’m dizzy from the fumes,” Sylvia said.

  “You need a little dizziness,” Ida said, dropping a splash of liquid in her mug. “You’ve been in a snit ever since Frank gave you the heave-ho. I’m about ready to spike your coffee.”

  “He didn’t give me the heave-ho,” S
ylvia bristled. “I merely pointed out that he could do some ‘landscaping in his yard.’ The man has wild hair growing everywhere. I’m sick of my drains clogging. He got all huffy and decided Mirabel made fewer demands. She can have him. I’ll give them a good three months before she tires of her clogged drains.”

  I promptly stuck my fingers into my ears. I could be looking for a job right now or doing something remotely important like cleaning my house before it forecloses. I sighed. This month alone I had sent out hundreds of resumes. I’d only received two replies that I quickly turned down. I wasn’t desperate enough to get involved with pyramid schemes . . . not yet anyway.

  A sharp whistle blasted through the dining room, with Mrs. Janowski firmly planted at the head of the table, a silver whistle poised in her mouth.

  “Ladies!” Mrs. Janowski scolded. “You’re acting like a bunch of old fuddy-duddies. You’re scaring our newest recruit. Stop your bickering and get back to work. We can talk to Mars tomorrow but only if you’re on your best behaviors!”

  I gave them a smile that turned out as a lopsided facial twitch and scurried out the front door. Returning in less than twenty-four hours will give me time to regroup for the next interesting session of Predator Patrol with the offbeat golden girls.

  I walked across the street to my house. I love my house. At two stories, some people would assume it’s big. Not so. It’s so unnaturally narrow that an illustrator might draw it in a whimsical children’s book. The first floor includes the living room and kitchen while the second floor has my bedroom and a bathroom. That’s it. It’s small, but it’s mine. Well, it’s mine until the bank forecloses.

  I stood in front of my mailbox contemplating if I should open it. I haven’t been able to pay bills for two months. So far, I haven’t received any delinquency notices. But it’s only a matter of time. One day soon I’ll open the mailbox and a mountain of collection notices will tumble out, crushing me to my spot. I sighed. Okay, it’s a ridiculous theory, but it sure feels like that’s what will happen.

  My cell phone rang. I slipped it out of my pocket and gazed longingly at it. Someday soon it will cease to ring and tweet. No one will be able to get in touch with me, and I won’t be able to call for help when I’m crushed under the mailbox wreckage.