Biker Brigade

by Pierce, Nicolette

  “Fake blood doesn’t smell,” I said.

  “Brandy, describe the smell,” Brett said.

  “Maybe like rotten meat,” she said. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

  I glanced nervously at Brett. “I’m getting a bad feeling. This doesn’t sound like anything I’d normally receive.”

  “Brandy,” Brett said, taking my hand to squeeze it, “check the box one more time for a return address.”

  “Hang on,” she mumbled, gagging several times before confirming there wasn’t a return address.

  Brett shook his head. “I’ll need you to call the police and keep the line open.”

  “Police?” Brandy squeaked. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s a warrant out for my arrest,” she admitted.

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  “Remember when I glued that witch’s helmet to her head and The Blue Thunderballs took off and stranded me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, they did a lot of damage first, and I was the only one left. I took the heat for it.”

  “Why didn’t you straighten it out in court?” Brett asked.

  “I met the Comets and took off with them before my court date.”

  Brett muttered a curse. “Brandy, stay where you are. I’ll have T come over.”

  “Okay, but can I wait for him on the porch?”

  “Yes, that’s probably best.”

  As soon as I disconnected with Brandy, I looked at Brett. His brow was creased. I’m sure it mirrored my own.

  “What do think?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I’ll call T and get him over there as quickly as possible.” He took the phone from my hand and dialed.

  I sat back on the bed while Brett spoke to T. The bad feeling clung to me, dark and suffocating. Who would send me an unmarked box with blood? And why? It didn’t make sense. I only had two enemies in the world. One was behind bars awaiting trial, and the other was too afraid of blood to send it. Jocelyn would pass out before even taping the box shut. No, it couldn’t be her. But . . . she did have many men who would help her, even sending the package for her. It was a possibility.

  And the text too?

  No, she wouldn’t have done both.

  I bit my thumbnail, lost in thought until Brett leaned over and kissed my forehead.

  “T is heading to your place now,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled, still thinking.

  “You’re doing it again.”

  “Doing what?”

  “You have that worry crease.”

  “So do you.” I twisted my lips, pondering. “Do you think Jocelyn could have played a prank on me?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “I can’t think of anyone else who would send something like this.”

  “We should hear from T in ten minutes. Let’s just wait and see what’s inside the box. Then we’ll have a better idea.”

  “Okay.”

  Brett took my hand and led me from the bedroom and into the kitchen. He cracked open the refrigerator and reached in. “I bought wine for you. Would you like a glass?”

  “You did? That was thoughtful.”

  He smiled. “Not really. After mom kicked me out of the tree, I had to do something.”

  “You could have gone to bed.”

  “I did after I bought beer to help me sleep and wine to help you smile.” He pulled a glass from the cupboard and generously filled it. He took a sip before handing it to me. “Dry, just like you like it.” He leaned over and lightly placed his lips on mine. “And you’re sweet, just the way I like you.” He winked.

  I smiled. He was the sweet one, trying to flatter me into thinking about something besides the mystery package. It would have worked, too, had the news not been so new and unsettling.

  Setting the glass on the counter in front of me, I traced the rim where his lips had touched. “I don’t think it’s Jocelyn.”

  Brett leaned against the counter. “I don’t think so either.”

  Startled, I glanced up at him. “Who do you think sent it? It has to be bad, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s certainly not normal.”

  Bringing the glass to my lips, I took a sip. My mind rolled like a slot machine, trying to line up jumbled thoughts, only to lose. Until T opened the box, it was pointless to guess.

  “He’ll be there soon,” Brett said.

  “At least I can tear out my carpeting now. The shag was old and outdated when I bought the house.” I sipped the wine again, barely tasting it. I’d never had the money to replace it. I still didn’t have money.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Brett said.

  I shook my head. “You’ve done so much for me. I’ll never be able to repay you as it is.”

  “I don’t want you to repay me. I did it because I love you.”

  “I love you too,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean I want you to go broke either. You’ve been paying all of my bills. I don’t know what I would have done without your help, but you need to stop.” If I didn’t have money for new carpeting, I’d just stick a potted plant on top of the spot.

  “You can ask me to stop, but that doesn’t mean I will,” he said. “I want to help.”

  “I’m bleeding you dry.” I cringed at my choice of words.

  “You’ll have a long way to go before that happens.”

  “You’re sweet to lie to me, but my expenses must be draining.”

  “I’m good with money.”

  “Obviously not, since you’re wasting it on me.”

  His eyes narrowed. “If I spent every dime I had on frivolous trinkets for you, it still wouldn’t be wasted if it made you happy, if I could see you smile. Saying I’m wasting money on you is like saying you’re a waste, that you’re not good enough.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a shuddering breath. Everything Brett did was for me, and I was throwing it back in his face. It wasn’t my intention, but somehow it was a ridge between us. He paid for everything, took care of everything, and tried to protect me from the world. It was wonderful and yet sometimes I wanted to give back to him. And while he said my smile would be enough, would it always be that way? How could you love a leech?

  “I just meant that you started a new company,” I said, trying to smooth over any feathers or egos I might have ruffled. “I know new companies rarely see a profit right away, sometimes not for years. I want you to be okay too. I want us to be equals in this relationship, to not only take but to give too.”

  “You give too,” he said.

  I flattened my stare. “If you say that sex makes up for it, I will hit you.”

  “I didn’t mean that. I just meant . . .” He seemed to be thinking over his word choice but was spared when the phone rang.

  “Put it on speaker,” I said.

  Brett’s lips pressed into a fine line before he answered the call. “T, did you open it?”

  “I just walked in,” he said. “But from the smell, I don’t think I should.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse.”

  Brett glanced at me before saying, “Don’t risk it. Get the police involved.”

  “I’ll call them now.”

  “Then call me back as soon as they arrive,” Brett said. “I want to hear everything.”

  “You know they’ll kick me out as soon as they get here.”

  “Call me back before you let them in and leave your phone as close to the box as you can.”

  “Video or audio?”

  Brett cast another sidelong glance at me before answering. “Audio.”

  T grunted an okay before he ended the call.

  “How long do you think we’ll have to wait?” I asked.

  “Not long. As soon as dispatch radios, there’ll be ten cops at the door all wondering what’s in the box.”

  “If you were still in uniform, would you respond to the call as well?”

  “I already did,”
he said with a playful wink. “I can’t resist a damsel in distress.”

  I laughed, but something made me stop. Maybe that’s what drew him to me. Over the past few months, I was always in distress, never mind that in the beginning it was all because of the trouble that dogged his heels. What if life finally normalized again and I was no longer that damsel that needed rescuing?

  It must have only been a few minutes before the phone rang again, popping me out of circling thoughts. I needed the interruption. Nothing good could happen with thoughts of a future I had no control over.

  “They’re here,” T said. “I’ll put the phone as close as I can.”

  We heard T greet the police but couldn’t hear much of anything after that. It sounded as if there were a dozen responders, their voices all jumbling together.

  Brett took my hand as we waited.

  “I can’t make out anything they’re saying,” I whispered.

  “Don’t worry. I have a feeling it’s about to get quiet soon.” Brett frowned. “Are you sure you want to listen?”

  I nodded. “I don’t think I’d want to be there. My imagination is busy all on its own. But I do want to know.”

  We waited a few minutes, and then I asked, “What do you think they’re doing right now? It doesn’t sound like anyone has attempted to open the box.”

  “They might be checking to make sure it’s not a bomb. But I’d have hoped they would’ve cleared out the room.”

  “A bomb? A blood bomb?”

  “I don’t think I need to remind you about Fenwig’s.”

  I shook my head. No, I didn’t need the reminder. Bombs could be built in any shape and be detonated in any way. Maybe the leaking blood was a trigger.

  The line went silent. For a few suspended moments, there was nothing but dead air.

  “Shit!”

  I heard that first curse clearly. It was the many that followed that became lost, blended and jumbled again in a tide of orders and occasional gagging. I only heard snippets. Whatever was in the box, whatever they’d discovered, was serious. This was no promotional sample or prank.

  “Tape it off. This is a crime scene,” an officer said.

  I closed my eyes. My house was a crime scene. That blood was real. What in the world was going on?

  Brett wrapped his arm around me, bringing me close to his side. “We’ll get through this,” he whispered, his lips warm at my temple.

  I shook my head.

  “Mars, I promise. Why don’t you go lie down? I’ll fill you in on what I hear.”

  I shook my head again.

  He sighed but didn’t press the issue. “At least call Brandy and tell her she’ll have to find another place to stay. It doesn’t sound like this will be cleared up any time soon.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, pausing as if not sure he wanted to part with it, but then finally handed it to me.

  I took the phone, wondering where Brandy could stay. Maybe Mrs. Janowski would let her stay at her house. I’d call Mrs. J. first to ask.

  Dialing Mrs. Janowski, I walked toward the bedroom. Brett and I had been quiet enough not to attract attention from the police, but I tended to talk loudly while speaking with Mrs. Janowski. Her hearing was perfect, it was just my defense against her schemes. Perhaps by speaking in a louder decibel it might quell her natural tendencies for mischief. It hadn’t worked yet.

  When Mrs. Janowski answered, I ducked into the bedroom and closed the door.

  “Mrs. J., it’s Mars. I’m using Brett’s phone.”

  “Oh, good. I was wondering. I just drove home and saw your house flooded with uniforms. What’s going on? Do you need me to go over there? I should, shouldn’t I? They might need witnesses.”

  “A witness for what?”

  “For whatever happened. What happened?”

  “I don’t really know. Someone sent me a box that leaked blood. T called the cops, and now it’s a crime scene. But, please, don’t go over there. If they need anything, they’ll come to you.”

  “Oh, dear. That doesn’t sound good. Is T over there now?”

  “He might be outside. I think they had him leave as soon as they entered the house.”

  There was a rustling sound. “Oh, I see him. He really stands out amongst the blue, doesn’t he? I’ll just pop over and speak with him.”

  “He won’t know anything yet. They’re just beginning to tape off the area.”

  “How do you know that? Did you fly home? Where are you?” More rustling.

  “I’m still in Texas. T left his phone on speaker near the box. Brett and I’ve been listening in. But there’s a reason I called. Brandy was staying at my place. She’ll need a place to stay.”

  “She can stay with me,” Mrs. Janowski said without hesitation. “I like that girl. She’s got spunk.”

  “Thanks, I’ll call her and let her know.”

  “No need. I saw her parked down the road. I’ll just rap on her window.”

  “Just make sure it’s only her window you’re rapping on. The police will be busy.”

  Mrs. Janowski tsked. “If I happen to rap on a window in between, it’s only because I’m a concerned citizen.”

  “All right,” I sighed. There was only so much I could do from here, and managing Mrs. Janowski was not one of them. “I’d better get back to Brett and see if there are any new developments.”

  “Keep me in the loop. I’ll head over to Brandy right now. And thanks for the package you sent. I hope it’s a cowboy hat. Always wanted one,” she said, ending the call.

  Package? She had mentioned that before. But I didn’t send anything to her.

  Dread suffocated me.

  No, it couldn’t be. The two boxes had nothing to do with each other. They couldn’t.

  But, I didn’t send anything.

  I stabbed at the phone, dialing Mrs. Janowski. It rang before going to voicemail. I hung up and texted instead.

  Don’t open the box! It wasn’t from me. Get the cops to your house, now!!!

  I then called Brandy. If Mrs. Janowski was headed over to her, maybe I could intercept before she made it home.

  I dialed and waited. No answer from Brandy either. This time I left a message, telling her not to let Mrs. Janowski open the box.

  Anxious, I walked back to Brett. He was a shade paler, and there was no sound from the phone.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “It’s nothing. They have crime scene investigators coming over.”

  “Then why aren’t we still listening?”

  He scrubbed his hand over his face, pausing at his mouth. I waited, wondering why he was covering his mouth as though he was holding back. Something clearly was bothering him and he didn’t want to tell me. What did I miss?

  “Brett, tell me what’s going on.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t understand. I . . .”

  I waited again, but he looked lost. For the first time, Brett floundered. His exterior armor was gone, shattered.

  “What was in the box?” I asked hesitantly.

  He shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “If you don’t tell me, someone else will. As it happens, Mrs. Janowski has a box at her house, and I can’t get in touch with her to tell her not to open it.”

  That seemed to snap Brett out of whatever mood he was in. “She can’t!”

  “She might if I can’t reach her before then. What will she find if she opens it?”

  “Don’t,” he pleaded. “Don’t make me say it.”

  He didn’t have to say anything. I had suspected what was in there. A blood-soaked box, gagging, cursing police officers, and a taped-off crime scene could only mean one thing.

  “It’s a dead body, isn’t it?”

  “Part of one,” he admitted.

  “And would another part be in Mrs. Janowski’s box?”

  He nodded.

  Tears welled up in my eyes.

  “Mars, there’s more. I didn’t want to tell you, but I think . . . f
uck! Why the hell does it have to be like this? Why can’t it just end?”

  More? How could there possibly be more?

  Brett took a breath. “There were photos in the box. One of the officers was quick to mention the Sledgehammer.”

  Chapter 5

  “The Sledgehammer?” I questioned. “But she’s in jail.”

  “She won’t be for long if murders continue while she’s locked up,” Brett said. “I don’t want to jump the gun but her lawyers would be stupid not to call for her release.”

  “But she’s guilty! She tried to kill us. She killed your sister! How could they let her go free?”

  “If the murders continue, they’ll claim she didn’t do it, that she’s innocent.”

  I had to sit down, I thought as I bumbled to the couch. “How . . . how can . . .”

  Brett sat next to me. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

  “They can’t release her,” I said. “She’ll kill again. She’ll come after us.”

  “It will be okay,” he said, but his voice had a rough edge to it. “I just need some time to figure this out.”

  “The trial is the day after tomorrow,” I said. “We don’t have time.”

  “I know.” He cursed. “As soon as it hits the media . . .”

  “What?”

  “I have to tell Mom. I have to tell her the woman who killed her daughter might be set free.” He fell back into the couch.

  I felt the anguish in his voice. “Can we talk to the prosecution lawyer first? Maybe if he knows what’s happened, he can plan a strategy before the defense does anything.”

  Brett nodded. “I don’t know if it will help, but certainly he wouldn’t want to be blindsided.”

  I nodded as well. “And maybe the officer didn’t even know what he was seeing. He could’ve been confused due to the situation. In fact, the Sledgehammer never dismembered her victims.”

  “That’s true. The prosecution could use that. Serial killers are known to keep their kills identical. But she also used various methods of stunning her victims. Defense could use that.” He reached for my hand, tucking it into his. “I’ll have to tell Mom.”

  “Talk to the lawyer first, then we’ll head over to your parents. I’ll keep calling Mrs. Janowski.”