Predator Patrol (Mars Cannon Novel #2)

by Nicolette Pierce

  “Or drunk. Which is nearly the same thing.” She slid the phone back. “I’m not going to erase the number. You have to be strong enough to do it yourself. Think of it as therapy. When I erase a guy’s number, it means I no longer want him in my life. When I erase his number, I erase him. Well, that’s what my brain says. Sometimes the heart is harder to fool.”

  I pocketed the phone with Brett’s number still in my contacts. “I’ll erase it later.”

  The woman’s eyes drifted to the door where a group of elderly women stood; their baseball caps firmly in place. Each one, except for Edna, looked around the room, assessing the situation. Edna tugged on Mrs. J.’s arm and whispered. The only PP members missing were Ida and Kym.

  “I think the senior home lost a few residents,” Brandy said.

  The PP squad waved as they weaved their way over to the bar.

  “Nope. They came here on purpose.”

  “They’re going to get hurt. Someone needs to stop them.”

  “Don’t underestimate the PP gang’s power,” I said. Even though I was joking, a wave of uncertainty jostled my calm.

  Their entrance didn’t go unnoticed by the Blue Thunderballs. Most of them watched, wondering how or why three elderly ladies wandered in. Some of them snickered. There was one who scowled; Bull. His nickname seemed very appropriate.

  “Mars, we came to help,” Mrs. Janowski said. “We’re loaded with weapons if things get out of hand. We’ll help you get this job and keep you safe.”

  “It'd be easier if you found a different job,” Edna said as her eyes darted around the room.

  “Weapons?” Brandy asked, amusement tickling her lips.

  Mrs. Janowski gave the woman a onceover. “Nice leather. How does the vest hold up the girls so nicely? They look like softballs.”

  “It works like a corset so they’re pushed up.”

  “I might have to buy one. My girls haven’t looked like softballs in a good forty years. It’d be nice to see them youthful again.”

  “Mrs. J., everything is fine. There’s no need for weapons or for the PP’s involvement.”

  “We’ll be the judge of that. That rascal over there is giving me the stink eye.”

  “That’s Bull. Please stay away from him.”

  “What kind of weapons are we talking about?” Brady asked. “I have a stun gun in my purse. It looks like lipstick and zaps like a hornet.”

  “I’ve seen those in magazines. I always wanted to test one to see how it works.”

  “It’s amazing. Dropped a six-four three-hundred pound man on his face a few weeks ago.”

  Mrs. Janowski’s eyes lit up. “Can I see it?” She begged. “I’ll show you my weapons if you show me yours.”

  “Mrs. J., the only weapons you have are frying pans. I can see the outline in your bag.”

  “Not true. I have a whole arsenal ready and waiting.”

  “Like the paintball gun?”

  “It’s already taken down bad guys.”

  “And one ticked off boss.”

  “I brought my frying pan,” Edna said. “Don’t worry; I’ll use mine cautiously. They can be deadly. So can knitting needles. I hate to think something so innocent can be used as a weapon. But the instructor told me to grab, stab, and bag if I ever needed to.”

  “Is this the instructor I’m going to meet tomorrow?”

  “Yes, and he’s no nonsense,” Sylvia said.

  “He’s not much to look at, but he has biceps as round as a cannon barrel,” Ida said.

  “When did you get here?” Mrs. Janowski asked.

  “Long enough to hear about softballs. You’ve got no shame. I like that about you.”

  “Ah, shit!” Hank grumbled from across the bar. “Clear out, you old birds! I’m busy serving drinks not running a senior daycare.”

  “You better go easy on the senior stuff. You’re only a few years younger than I am,” Ida barked, plunking down her flask. “Make yourself useful and give me a refill.”

  “Mars can do it,” he muttered and turned away.

  A glass breezed by my head and smashed into the mirror behind me. I ducked as it shattered. A scuffle broke out near the middle of the room. Shouts filled the bar from every direction. Hank was shouting too, but all I could see was his mouth moving quickly and pointing directly at me. Maybe this was my time. My time to stop a fight.

  I peeked above the bar to see bikers circle around two men. Okay, it’s only two men fighting. Think . . . two men is better than a full bar brawl.

  The PP ladies dug through their bags. I had to act quickly before bikers were bludgeoned with frying pans and irons.

  “Mars, you better sit this one out. It’s Bull,” Hank said and swung around me.

  “I can do this,” I argued.

  “You’re white as a ghost. I can’t afford another repair bill.”

  “Give me a chance!” I yelled over the rising noise. I didn’t wait for his answer because I knew he’d say no. As I struggled to get to the fight, I heard the girls following.

  “Give me your pan!” Mrs. Janowski hollered.

  “I don’t want blood on my new set. I only brought it along so you’d stop hounding me.”

  I squeezed between two bikers to find myself within the circle. Bull and another man had thrown several punches and neither were ready to back down. In fact, there were a few men on the sideline, red faced with bulging neck muscles itching to join the fight.

  “Show them your boobs,” Brandy suggested and gave me a push forward. “They’ll stop immediately and forget why they're fighting.”

  “I can’t do that! I’ve never flashed anyone in my life. I refuse to do it in front of a bunch of scary men I don’t know.”

  “I'd do it but they’ve all seen mine before so it’s nothing new to them. They’d only stop for a moment to gawk.”

  “Maybe a moment is all I need. I’ll drag one away while the other is gawking.”

  “You can’t drag anyone away. They’re both over two-hundred pounds.”

  “Leave the flashing to me,” Mrs. Janowski said, brushing past. “These babies have stopped men in their tracks before!”

  “No!” I shouted as she entered the circle, pulling at her shirt. The hem caught on the bag zipper slung over her shoulder. She wiggled to remove it.

  “Hang on. I almost have it!”

  I ran in front of her to cover the small bits of well-seasoned stomach. “Mrs. J., put your shirt down!”

  The commotion stopped. The room stilled. All eyes were on me and a struggling Mrs. J.

  “What’s going on?” A fighter asked as if afraid to know the answer.

  “She’s trying to stop the fight by flashing you both,” Brandy explained. “If you don’t stop fighting, you’re going to see eighty-year-old boobs.”

  This brought a quizzical brow from the fighter. He looked at Bull and raised his hands to signal yield. “I won’t fight. She can stop struggling with her bra now.”

  “Mrs. J., stand down. They stopped fighting.”

  “I almost got the darn thing. You’d think bras would be simpler the older you get, but you need so much darn support. It’s like being wrapped in a cast.”

  “Then leave it on to fight another day.”

  “Good point. I wouldn’t want to waste this ammo.”

  I sighed relief when she tugged her shirt back into place.

  “Had to use an old lady as an excuse to stop the fight? Too scared I’d beat you?” Bull taunted.

  Both fighters’ fists flew through the air and connected with thuds. They scuffled; each inflicting as much pain as possible. I watched dumbstruck as they bashed into tables, people, and even the floor.

  Ida marched past and stood in the widening circle and debris. With lighting fast reflexes, she grabbed the back of Bull’s shirt and kicked his legs out from under him. As he fell face first, she followed him down. Her hand clenched around his wrist and twisted it up towards the back of his neck. He yelped. Ida straddled him and
sat down with a plop. A groan came from beneath her full figured form.

  “Mars, do the same to the other man,” Ida instructed.

  His eyes widened as he took in the scene of the plump elderly woman who took down his foe in a second.

  “Damn, you’ve got some moves for a senior,” he said, cracking a smile. “I won’t fight as long as he promises to forgive and forget.”

  “What did you do?” Ida asked.

  “It was a prank; that’s all.”

  “He doesn’t seem to think so.”

  “I only glued shut his saddle bags.”

  Ida squinted her eyes and pursed her mouth. “Anything else?”

  He looked down at the floor and kicked a bit of dust. “When he pried them open he might have found a smelly surprise.”

  “Damned if it isn’t like living with a house filled with boys. Say you’re sorry and promise to buy him new bags tomorrow.”

  The man waivered as he eyed Ida. “He plays pranks on me all the time.”

  “Then it sounds like you both need to grow up. I hereby issue a ceasefire on all pranks and fighting. This counts as an overall apology on both sides. No words need to be spoken except for a verbal yes. Do you both agree to stop all pranks and forget all incidents?”

  “Yes,” the man said.

  Ida looked down to Bull. “I don’t hear anything from you.”

  “I’m not agreeing. He’s gone too far.”

  Ida yanked his arm a little further up and settled her weight down. “Do you agree?”

  “Yes,” he groaned as air pushed out.

  Ida picked herself off Bull and helped him up. “Shake.”

  They both glared at each other but shook hands.

  “Now, get back to drinking. It’s a good thing neither of you boys caused serious damage, or I’d be charging you.”

  The crowd dissipated along with Bull and the other fighter.

  “Grandma, it’s good to see you back in action,” Jack said.

  “Grandma?” I repeated as I looked from Jack to Ida.

  “How’s my adorable grandson? Are you keeping Hank in line?”

  “You know that’s an impossible task. Mars, this is Ida, my grandma. She’s the one I was telling you about.”

  “If Ida’s your grandma and Hank’s your grandpa, does that mean Ida and Hank are married?” I asked, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together.

  “Not anymore. I haven’t been married for a long time, and I don’t plan on changing that.”

  “This is starting to make more sense,” Sylvia said. “It’s no wonder you have a flask with you at all times. A setting like this could turn anyone into a drunk.”

  “Don’t kid yourself. I built this place from the ground up with a flask already glued to my hand. The bar hasn’t changed in all these years.”

  “Or cleaned,” Sylvia muttered.

  “That would explain the smell,” Edna flicked a tissue out of her pocket and held it to her nose.

  “I’m not a drunk. I’m a connoisseur of fine hooch.”

  Sylvia chuckled. “Fine hooch? More like a brown-bagger’s value hooch that could singe the hair off a man’s behind.”

  “Perhaps you should give a few swigs to Frank,” Ida replied with a smirk.

  Sylvia bristled. Edna blushed and clung to her tissue.

  “Would you two ninnies take a break,” Mrs. Janowski scolded. “We represent Predator Patrol and our work here is done. The Bachelor Pad airs in twenty minutes. I can’t miss it.”

  “It’s summer. It’s a rerun,” Ida said.

  “I know. I missed the episode last season and I swear, for a couple weeks after, I panicked because I couldn’t follow what was happening; thought I might be having an unexplained senior moment.”

  “Or alien abduction,” Brandy said offhanded.

  Mrs. Janowski shook her head. “I ruled out aliens. The abduction security system was still intact.”

  “Mars!” Hank hollered.

  Relieved to be called from the conversation, I weaved back to the bar.

  “I need some help,” he said.

  “Sure, no problem.” I slipped in next to him. “So, I witnessed my first bar fight,” I said.

  “It was barely a fight.”

  “They were fist fighting.”

  “What do you expect them to hit each other with . . . pillows?”

  “I’m just saying fist contact is considered fighting.”

  “Just wait ‘til they start using chairs to whack each other.”

  “I didn’t hide under the bar like you thought.”

  “You didn’t stop the fight either.”

  “Can I at least have a cut of the tips tonight?”

  He nodded with a grunt. I smiled and took it as a win.

  I met Evan after closing. He straddled the Harley and relaxed as he waited. I could begin to like this job if he was waiting every night.

  “Why didn’t you come inside?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a beautiful evening, and it looked crowded inside.”

  “Didn’t want to have to fend off women, did you?”

  A smile played at his lips. “Perhaps.” He shrugged as his eyes fell to mine, darkened by the dimly lit parking lot. “I’m only here for you, Mars.”

  My heart leaped like a ballerina.

  “Hop on. You look like you could use a shower and massage.”

  “I wouldn’t say no to either.”

  Evan smirked with a devilish spark. “Glad to hear it. I’ll have you home and lathered in ten minutes.”

  Chapter 9

  Evan had stayed the night. He made good on the massage, but I stopped him from his promise of lathering me. Even though he wouldn’t admit it, I could feel the exhaustion through his hands and see it in the creases by his eyes. Fulltime school and work was draining him. For him not to come into the bar to flirt with women meant he was hurting from the lack of sleep and his demanding schedule. That, and he only made one failed attempt to kiss me and then fell asleep instantly.

  I watched him as he laid next to me. His hair tousled and his face pressed into the pillow. The rise and fall of his chest was soothing. I studied his features, lingering on his soft lips. I made my decision in that moment. I reached for my phone and scrolled through contacts.

  Brett Thompson . . . delete . . .

  Are you sure you want to delete? It asked.

  I stalled a moment and stared at his name. He’s never coming back. It’s time to move on.

  I glanced at the shadows playing on Evan’s form. I’ll trust him. He’s been my friend for so long. If I never took a chance, I’d kick myself until my last breath. He doesn’t need to marry me; he just has to respect me. I won’t expect anything more from him and will appreciate whatever time we have together.

  I smiled. I can do this. I was looking at our situation all wrong before. He won’t desert the relationship because we’ll always remain friends, no matter what the future holds.

  I clicked Yes and watched Brett’s name vanish. A few memories of Brett sparked then dwindled.

  “Goodbye, Brett,” I said, giving my phone a kiss before setting it on the nightstand.

  Evan stirred.

  “Mars! Over here!” Mrs. Janowski waved from across the senior activity room.

  A handful of seniors wearing soft jogging suits were lined and ready for the instructor. Sylvia wore a different outfit. It was a 1980’s leopard-print spandex leotard with matching leg warmers and sweatband.

  I crossed the room and smiled at the onlookers. Kym stood next to Mrs. Janowski faring better than Sylvia with a sports bra and matching boy shorts. The on looking men’s eyes widened as she stretched down to touch her toes. It was as if their favorite ham dinner was placed under their noses.

  “Kym!” I whispered. “You’re going to give the men strokes.”

  She popped up with a rounded mouth. “Oh!” She turned to look behind her with an apologetic look. The gleam in the men’s eyes said she was forgiven but defini
tely not forgotten.

  T walked into the room and greeted everyone.

  “T?” I wondered as he neared me.

  “Hey, Mars! I haven’t seen you since you zapped that psycho. How’ve you been? Are you taking the class?”

  “I’m good. I’m currently working at a bar notorious for fights so Mrs. Janowski urged me to come.”

  T glanced over at Mrs. Janowski. “She’s a firecracker. I’m sure I can teach you some moves. Ida’s rather good at it too.”

  “She demonstrated her moves last night. I was impressed.”

  “If I have half the pluck these gals do when I’m their age, I’ll be a happy man.”

  Pluck? Somehow shaved headed, tattooed, muscled bound T didn’t seem like a man who said pluck. Maybe the time at the senior center broadened his vocabulary.

  “All right class! Let’s start with a warm up.”

  I followed along marching in place and stretching. I wondered if T had heard from Brett but stopped myself. There was no need to cross that piranha infested river.

  “Mars, you’re up first,” T said. “Stand in front of me.”

  I shuffled to stand near T. I blinked and found myself twirled around. His anaconda arms wrapped around my neck and torso.

  “What do you do, Mars?” He asked.

  “I’d scream for help,” I replied.

  “Screaming can be good if you’re in a populated place. What if you’re in the middle of nowhere and there’s no one to help?”

  “Shouldn’t you train me first and then quiz me?” I yanked at his arm.

  “Does that happen in real life?”

  I sighed, “I guess not.”

  “Then what do you do? I’m stronger than you and meaner than you. I have you at a disadvantage. I’m going to steal your money. I might rape you. I might even kill you. Either way, I’ll be a shadow in your nightmares; an extra footstep every time you’re alone. You’ll be afraid of everyone and everything. Do you want to fight, or do you want to be a victim? What are you going to do?”

  His words stole my breath. I was already a victim to the Sledge Hammer. She haunted my dreams and made me relive the night over and over. I was allowing her control. Only the nights Evan stayed kept the dreams at bay.