“That’s because you’re a know-it-all.”
She swats me and winks. Teagan will be a freshman at Whitney Briggs this fall, and she’s made it no secret that she’s already moving her things into Colby’s dorm room. Colby is the sister of the third partner in this place, Brody Wolf. She’s wild and out of control, and thanks to an enormous windfall that Brody came into last fall she happens to be loaded as well. Brody was generous enough to split the money with his parents and sister.
“I’m actually not a know-it-all.” She tilts her head while inspecting someone at the bar. An all too familiar jock from Whitney Briggs. “Believe me, if I were in the know, I’d not only have his name rolling off my tongue, but I’d have his number, too.”
I wince at the thought of my sister wanting anyone’s number. Teagan will always be my baby sister, and thus far too young and immature to qualify to date. Serena and that dating app she dreamed up on the spot come to mind. I’ll be damned if it didn’t sound like a gold mine of an idea, but I’ll be the last to tell her that. As much as I do want to encourage her, and will for the sake of scholastic achievement, I’m slow to stroke her burgeoning ego.
I follow Teagan’s gaze to the bar. “I know him.”
Her mouth rounds out with surprise. “You’re the know-it-all! Perfect. Let’s get him knowing me and let the number exchange commence.”
“Not so fast.” Before I can properly get into the first few hundred reasons why Teagan simply cannot date on my watch, the infamous jock from WB turns and does a double take in my direction.
“Dude.” He hitches his head my way, and both Teagan and I make our way over.
“Eli, this is my baby sister, Teagan. She’s off-limits by the way. And Teagan, this is Eli Gates, the TA in my entrepreneurial sciences class.”
Teagan stomps over my foot while holding out a hand to Eli. “So nice to meet you. Please feel free to ignore any and everything my much older, gray matter challenged brother relays to you.”
He lets out a howling laugh as he shakes her hand in return. “Duly noted. It’s nice to meet you, Teagan. You look familiar. Have I seen you at Briggs? Oh wait, you were at the Beta house party last weekend. You were with Harley.” He grimaces as if that were her only error.
“Beta house?” I lift a brow to my sister, completely unamused. “As in Beta Kappa Phi?” I’m all too familiar with the notorious fraternity. I happen to be a brother.
“I can explain.”
No sooner does Teagan stutter out the words than I spot Bryson at the entry laughing it up with Levi, the other partner in this place.
“Behave,” I say to my sister. “I’ve got a meeting to tend to.”
I head over and slap Bryson five before taking up a booth near the front. Low, Levi’s wife, comes over and takes our orders. Her belly hangs heavy, protruding at least a good foot in front of her. She and Levi are thrilled to be expecting. What I wasn’t expecting was seeing her around the bar taking orders so late in the game. Bryson and I each put in for a burger and two beers, and he stares at me a good long while until Low disappears.
“It’s been over a week and the damn police don’t know a thing.” The muscles in his jaw pop as he says it. He’s pissed. He’s furious. And I can’t blame him. Business has tapered off quite a bit. It’s noticeable. The lunch rush here at The Pelican would be a gold rush of a day at the Black Bear right about now or at any hour. “So, what do we know?”
“Nothing more than where we started. Barry Larson. A welder by trade. Shot twice point blank to the chest with a .45. The end.”
Bryson skirts the periphery of the place with his eyes oscillating as quick as that mind of his is spinning. “He’s a welder. Do we know where?”
“Jepson? There’s a trailer manufacturing plant at the base of town. Only place I know of that might require a welder.”
“Good.” His eyes brighten as if I gifted him the killer. “I’ll get down there and start asking around.”
“Whoa, whoa.” I hold up a hand. “First—the guy was murdered. This is a homicide investigation in the event you’re not aware. Secondly—you’re married. You have a wife to keep safe, a restaurant to run. I don’t think you should be hauling around, landing yourself in dangerous, potentially deadly situations.”
He swallows hard, that look of ripe anger still alive on his face. “You do realize that had Serena been taking out the trash just a few minutes earlier, she herself could have been in a dangerous situation.”
My blood runs cold. “I am well aware.” And I’ve lost sleep over it, too. I talked to Cole, the bartender who does the schedule, and asked him not to put her on late shifts anymore. Lucky for me, I’m her field supervisor and have a minute say in what goes where as far as Serena is affected—at least concerning the Black Bear. “Look, I’ll go down to the plant myself. I’m an adjunct professor for Briggs, and I’ll tell them I need to drum up a few more internships. It’s easy to fall for.”
His brows bounce in amusement. “Please tell me it’s just a cover. I don’t think I could handle the thought of a bunch of kids from Briggs landing in a murderous pile of manure.”
“It’s a cover. And relax. I can tell this has got you tense. We need to have a little faith in the Hollow Brook PD. They’re on it, man, I swear.” I lean in. “Just between you and me, Serena’s brother is on it, too, and he works for the Jepson division. My guess is, they catch whoever did this in less than a couple of weeks.”
He moans while grinding his palm into his eye. “Fine. But a couple of weeks feels like an eternity, especially when I want to do my best to ensure that my customers and my family are safe. I’m hiring a private security firm to police the Black Bear.”
“Good thinking.” A visual of boys in blue surrounding the place bounces through my mind, and I shake my head at the idea. “On second thought, you might want to make sure to hire plain clothes security. The last thing a bunch of college kids want to do is hang out with a fleet of cops on a Friday night.”
“Shit.” He closes his eyes. “You’re right. Plain clothes it is.” He gives a brisk knock over the table.
Our food arrives, and we chow down. We keep the conversation light, and once we’re through, I offer to pick up the tab.
“Your next meal at the Black Bear is on me.” He stands to leave and slaps me over the shoulder. “Do me a favor and don’t tell Serena about this. I don’t want anyone who works for me to know I’m spooked. But spooked is good. It keeps me on my toes.” He shoots me with his finger and grimaces at the idea of it. “I guess that gesture is off the table. I’ll see you around.”
He ducks out just as Colby Wolf bounds inside. She lifts a hand my way in lieu of a greeting, but her jaw unhinges as soon as she spots Teagan talking to Eli. It takes a few minutes for Eli to untangle himself from that knot before heading over.
“You made a clean getaway,” I say, turning to find both my sister and her best friend looking in our direction. “I’m impressed.”
“I’ve got a couple of errands to run.” His face brightens a shade as if he just spewed a lie, but I do not care. I’ve been in the position where hungry girls are willing to do whatever it takes to get a bite in even if you’re not feeling it. Not that my baby sister should be looking to take a bite out of anyone—nor will I allow it, especially not Eli. I like the guy. The last thing I want to do is to have to knock him into tomorrow.
“Have fun running those errands. If you’re smart, you’ll move quickly.”
His cheek flexes to the side because he realizes he’s been caught red-handed. “Speaking of fun. Did you ever check out that nightclub I told you about?”
“Anonymous?” I whisper in the event Teagan and Colby get any bright ideas. “No, why? You get a discount on your membership if you bring in a friend?”
He barks out a laugh. “I wish. But no. Anyway, you should check it out. It’s a pretty wild scene. And if you do get in and find a smoking hot chick, don’t hesitate taking her to the Panic Room. That’s w
here all the real fun begins.”
“How so?” And did I need to ask?
“There’s a no kissing, no heavy stuff policy in the club outside of that room. The place is loaded with bouncers. They take their rules pretty seriously. Anyway, it might help you relax, loosen you up a little. No offense, but you look tense as a brick wall.” He lifts a hand as he starts to drift toward the door. “I’m off. I’ll see you on the flip side of the weekend.”
“You bet.”
I think about it for a while. I had just told Bryson to relax. Of course, he has a perfectly good wife to relax with. I’m down a spouse at the moment. My fingers twitch over the table, beating against the wood as if it were a jungle drum. I could use a little relaxation myself. Maybe I will head down to Jepson Friday night. Right after I check out that trailer plant. Something tells me once I’m through snooping around that seedy part of town I’ll be in need of a good stiff drink, and maybe something a little softer, warmer, to fill the rest of the night.
Sounds like a hell of a plan. Let’s hope it doesn’t land anyone in the morgue this time.
After yet another caustic fallout at the Black Bear with Serena—my God, that girl knows how to crawl all the way under my skin and stay there—I head down to Jepson, down to the plant where they manufacture trailers and stare up at the open mouth of the warehouse. It’s a behemoth building, well lit, sparsely populated, but then, it is Friday, well after four o’clock. The truth is, I don’t really want to speak with anyone, let alone a manager. Had I wanted to, I would have understood that most of them have started their weekend by now. Not that I blame them. But the real story, the real meat of the Barry Larson mystery will most likely unfold between the layers of his coworkers. In other words, the people who actually knew him.
A shorter gal, about half my height, comes stalking out. Her dark hair looks freshly dyed a garish hue of magenta. Her pale face sours at the sight of me.
“If you’re looking to make a purchase, you just came upon the working end of the plant. Sales is down the street. Make a left on Willow.”
“No, actually, I’m looking to speak with a manager. I’m a professor from Whitney Briggs University.”
She jumps back and clamps a hand over her mouth. “Wh-Whitney B-Briggs?” she stutters the words out as if I had just cast a hex on the place.
“I apologize.” It’s obvious she’s putting together the proximity of the school to the murder. “I’m looking to see if you have any internships available for my students. Something simple. It could be clerical. Just anything really.”
“No.” The worry lines on her forehead smooth out. “For a second, I thought you were another reporter snooping around, wanting to get me to talk about my brother’s murder.”
“Your brother?” I lean in, suddenly very interested.
She winces. “Unless you’re living under a rock, I’m sure you heard about it. Handsome fellow with a foul mouth turns up dead in an alley?” She snarls as if the thought offended her, and it should. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it with reporters, and I sure as heck don’t want to talk about it with you.”
“Not a problem. I just thought maybe—”
“Yeah, yeah, the school.” Her upper lip twitches unnaturally, and at first I think she’s near tears, but that heavy scowl she’s emitting my way makes me think otherwise. “I think it’s best if you find somewhere else to place your students. It’s bad enough around here with the regular crew. We don’t need to be adding to the misery by having a bunch of college students running amuck doing God knows what. You can slice a hand off with some of this machinery and not notice for a solid minute.”
An explosion of light goes off behind her as sparks fly through the air, and I watch for a moment as a welder blasts something to hell quite literally.
“You’re probably right,” I lament. “It looks a bit too hazardous.” I pump my shoulders as if accepting my fate. “Hey, I’m sorry about your brother. I lost my sister last year unexpectedly. I know how hard that can be.” And I mean it. Losing Emilia was the hardest thing I’ve gone through in my life. It was gut-wrenching when it happened. Still is. Time doesn’t always heal all wounds. It simply draws them out and reconfigures them for another day.
She barks out a laugh. “Oh, hon, it’s not that hard, trust me. He wasn’t the easiest person on the planet to get along with.” My brows bounce at her strange response. “I guess it hasn’t hit me yet, though.” She shrugs it off. “I’m not big on feelings and all that crap anyway, so I doubt it will.” Her face twitches up at me. “Sorry about your sister, though. I can tell she meant a lot to you.”
And I can tell her brother didn’t mean a lot to her.
“Thank you. I didn’t get your name.” I’m quick to extend my hand. “I’m Shep Collins.”
“Shelby Trainee.”
“Shelby. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Whatever.” She takes off back into the smoking maw from where she came.
Strange.
I head to my truck just as the sun dips behind the horizon. Instead of heading home, I take myself to dinner at a grease pit down the road and contemplate Emilia and all the things she’s missed out on in one short year. I think about the kids she’ll never have, the husband she’ll never marry, and suddenly I’m infuriated with whoever the guy would have been for trotting off and finding some other woman.
I do my best to shake all thoughts of my sister and her fictitious future out of my head. Instead, my thoughts drift back to Shelby and her odd mannerisms, that howling laugh she emitted when I let her know how hard life must be for her. Strange indeed and I tuck her away in the back of my brain to deal with later.
After dinner, I head downtown and am shocked to see the Vegas-like transformation of this once quiet, sleepy—yet perpetually seedy town. And then I see it, like a beacon begging me to come inside and forget all of my troubles.
Anonymous.
Instead of making a right and getting out of Dodge, I make a left into the lot.
What the hell. The worst that can happen is that I forget about life for a few good hours.
I don’t see the harm in that.
I’m pretty sure that’s what I said to myself on that fateful night I headed to the Black Bear, and that turned out to be an unforgettable event. Although, I seriously doubt this will be.
A thick crowd of beautiful women stream their way in, all of them in short sparkling dresses and heels that make their legs look as if they extend for miles. I don’t see a single thing that I don’t approve of.
On second thought, this might pan out to be an unforgettable night after all.
Death Becomes Her
Serena
Serena
Anonymous isn’t quite the dingy hole-in-the-wall I had pictured. Instead, we’re met with clean aesthetics, plush white furnishings, and marbled flooring. Chandeliers glitter across the ceiling in every shape and color, deep rustic ambers, ocean cobalt blues, and champagne pink. It’s a dream come true, a wonderland, and pardon my French, but a mindfuck all at the very same time. The entire establishment is rife with bodies, each and every face well-hidden beneath an exotic mask—beautiful bejeweled and feathered numbers for the girls and black fitted hoods for the men. It looks perfectly perverted, and, I won’t lie—the entire scene has got my thighs quivering just thinking about what or who could be lingering behind the male versions of those disguises, and what ambiguous things he might want to do to me. The music is so loud it pulsates right through my chest like a rhythmic heartbeat, and a part of me is loving the psychotic vibe. A very small, perverted part of me.
No sooner did Harley and I enter this fantasyland than we were ushered into a dimly lit room where we were briefed on their myriad of rules and regulations—and, my God, there were many. If there happens to be a pop quiz later, I can assure you I will ace the BDSM SAT. Not that there is anything remotely scholastic going on here.
Before we left the briefing chamber, as they so indelicately refe
rred to it, we too were offered an array of masks to help hide our features. The club, as its moniker suggests, is centered around anonymity. And although they graciously offered to hijack our phones for the evening, I aggressively declined. Instead, I signed a waiver that nary a finger shall twitch in that direction. They prefer all social media, texts, and other phone fondling tasks be done outside of their fine establishment in order to protect the rights of the not-so innocent.
I get it. People are lined up for miles outside just hoping to get in and get laid. Not physically on the premises—or at least I hope not. I swear, if I spot a single act of fuck-fuckery taking place, I’m hauling Harley and her sparkly, hot pink feathered bit of facial camouflage right out that bejeweled front door. And why does this entire scene feel as if we’re at a spoiled thirteen-year-old’s birthday party? It’s the perfect marriage of new money meets back alley porn.
My mask is a bit demure in comparison—peacock feathers woven together, high toward the ceiling in the shape of a giant heart. Thank heavens for the anonymity. God only knows who’s lurking in these unhallowed halls, and heaven forbid word gets back to my sister. Lex will have me roasting on a spit if she finds out I’m trolling the underworld for a sex slave—worse yet, offering up my vaginal services to the endeavor. Not that I’m doing so. Absolutely not. I’m simply letting Harley have her way on a Friday night. Next time I’m choosing the outing, and I much prefer the Hollow Brook Cineplex to the dark halls of this BDSM empire.
Before us is the main room with its naughty nightclub appeal, and to our left is a corridor lit with bright red spotlights that I’m guessing leads to a demonic coital playground. There’s an archway over the entry to that portal of sin made of chain link, and attached to it is every leash, collar, choker, and whip you would need to have a fantastic fit-to-be-tied time. Rest assured, neither Harley nor I will follow the fornicating crimson brick road.
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