Time's Up

by Janey Mack

  “What’s our plan of attack?” Lee asked out of the side of his mouth. “Dog and pony meet and greet?”

  “Nope.” I smiled. “That’s my brother’s department. We’re just witnessing the wreck.”

  A waiter held out a tray laden with champagne and vodka martinis. “Would you care for a drink?”

  Death by a thousand bubbles or a couple of quick shots.

  I chose champagne. Lee and Cash—who stepped around the still-talking Jennifer—opted for martinis.

  Jennifer took Lee and me in with a critical eye and rewarded us with a polite smile and matching nod. “Maisie, Mr. Sharpe.”

  Apparently we passed the not-complete-losers test.

  “The rank and file won’t arrive for another hour,” she said. “Everybody who’s anybody is here now. Mingle, enjoy yourselves—just not too much.” And with an oh-so-subtle two-handed cling to Cash’s arm, Jennifer led him away to a bunch of corn-fed business suits in the corner.

  Lee and I chose a couple of chairs at a small table and bantered about SWAT, family, and baseball. The insides of my cheeks were raw from biting back the urge to pose hypothetical Hank breakup questions.

  “Aiigh!” An ice cube went down the low back of my dress. I arched out of my chair and shimmied awkwardly. “Jeez! You can’t behave for more than five minutes. . . .” I whirled around ready to smack Cash.

  And saw Dacien.

  “Tell me about it.” Bliss Adair, poured into a scandalous silver-sequined sheath that would have had any supermodel rethinking the half a tomato slice they’d eaten for lunch, snuggled up to Daicen.

  Good Lord. Are my brothers carriers of clinging vine disease?

  She let go of Daicen and introduced herself to Lee. Already up, I went and hugged my brother.

  “Hello, Snap,” he said.

  “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

  “We flew in for this.”

  We, is it?

  Daicen read the look on my face and raised a palm. “Strictly casual.”

  “Better tell her that,” I said.

  “I’ve been briefed on your . . . situation.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Quite a burden for you to manage on your own.”

  My nasal passages opened as if I’d taken a hit of Afrin. Alert! Tears ahead.

  Daicen tipped his head at the waiter exchanging my empty champagne flute for a full one. “It might be prudent to stop after that.”

  “Why?”

  “Aside from the fact that Sterling and Coles have something in mind for you onstage, Narkinney and Peterson are here.”

  Of course they were. As the police liaisons to the Traffic Enforcement Bureau, Narkinney and Peterson would probably be getting some shiny worthless awards for their shiny worthless performance. I smiled and nodded at Lee, who was saying something I couldn’t focus on.

  A hotel attendant paused at our table, murmured that the Gala was about to begin, and moved on to the next set of guests.

  Feeling no pain, Lee and I registered, received our table card, put on our name tags with the gold foil stars signifying our drinks were comped for the night, and wandered into the ballroom. Cash caught my eye from across the room. He saw Lee’s hand at my back and flipped me a thumbs-up.

  Lee led us to our table. Right near the front of the stage.

  Delightful.

  He pulled out my chair and we both sat down. I turned to him and he did the lean-in to hear me. Irritatingly charming.

  “Remember when I told you I was getting out of something?” I said. “Well. I didn’t. I’m still in.”

  “Yeah?” He shrugged a wide shoulder. “I ran out of milk this morning.”

  “What?”

  Lee smiled. “I thought we were talking about things that don’t matter.”

  I’m so not up for this. “Do you think you could tamp down the Captain Adorable bit a little?”

  “Why? Is it working?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Okay, okay.” His voice softened. “Hey—” He held his arm out to me and ran a hand over the sleeve of his suit coat. “Feel this.”

  I ran my hand over the smooth, dark fabric. “Nice,” I said. “What is it?”

  “That’s boyfriend material, baby.”

  “Dude,” I groaned, unable to stop myself from laughing. “That is sooo bad.”

  “Hey, I’m under a lot of pressure here, Little Miss Celebrity.” Lee drummed his hands on the table. “So tell me, what’s it like being famous?”

  “I wouldn’t know. No one’s recognized me yet.”

  “Riiight.”

  “Having the week off didn’t hurt,” I said. “But let’s face it. I’m no Leticia Jackson.”

  A thin claw of a hand seized my arm. “Maisie?” Jennifer asked frostily. “May I speak with you for a moment?”

  It was not a request. “Uh, sure.”

  Lee stood up while I got to my feet and mugged me a what’s her problem?

  I grimaced and went after Jennifer. She marched us a few feet away to a semi-private corner, stopped, and stamped a pink heel. “Just look at your brother!” she scream-whispered. “Look at him!”

  Cash was flirting with five women at the same time, in the way only a talented few could do. All wives and dates of the higher powers of Dhu West. Which, according to at least two glowering significant others, was not well received.

  Jennifer’s cheeks were fuchsia with fury. “Do something.”

  Sorry, Jennikins. That’s above my pay grade. “Like what?”

  “I don’t care what you do. Fix this. Now.” Without waiting for a response, she stomped off.

  Aw, heck. I went back to the table.

  Lee handed me another glass of champagne. “Drink up. For Monday you may be unemployed.”

  “The infamous puking PEA? Never. How about we talk a little SWAT?”

  He cocked a brow. “Have something in mind?”

  I got my iPhone out of my clutch and tapped open an IM to Cash. “Cash’s chances.”

  Lee bared his teeth in a lazy smile. “Fair to poor if he pisses off my date.”

  I shot Cash off a short warning, set my phone on the table, and said in a sweet Southern twang, “I knew there was a reason I was partial to you, Mr. Sharpe.”

  Lee flirted the fast and furious forty-five seconds it took for my brother to cross the ballroom and flop down into the chair next to me. “Lighten up, Snap.” Cash leaned back in his chair, tipping it up onto two legs. “Jennifer’s about as fun as a wet sock.”

  I slipped my toes under one of the unanchored feet of Cash’s chair and lifted up.

  He wobbled, caught himself, and set his chair down hard. He gave me a dirty look and stood up. “It’s a little too chilly over here.” He went over and sat down on the other side of Lee and started talking baseball.

  Unable to help my despondent self, I snuck a peek at my phone. No text, no call, no Hank. Not exactly a surprise from the guy who could keep the devil on ice. Instead of putting it in my purse, I took an etiquette mulligan and slid the iPhone under the far edge of my charger.

  “Hiya, Maisie.”

  I flinched.

  Obi wheeled up beside me. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He was wearing an ill-fitting black tuxedo jacket with white piping over a Star Wars T-shirt. “You look really hot.”

  “Thanks. Uh . . . you, too.”

  He pointed at the star on my name tag. “Big shot, huh? Drinking for free.” He gave me a gap-toothed smile.

  “Want me to score you something?”

  Obi brightened. “Yeah, totes! A fuzzy navel?”

  Too girly of a drink for even me to order. I peeled the foil star off my name tag and stuck it on his.

  “Oh no.” He shook his head so hard, I thought his hair would fall out. “That’s yours.”

  “Good side of the force and all that.”

  “Thanks.” He pushed his glasses up with an index finger, adding another fingerprint to the left lens, and glanced at Lee, who was still
talking smack with Cash. He leaned a little closer, but instead of whispering, his voice got louder. “Is that the guy?”

  “No,” I mouthed and straightened as Lee put his warm hand on my bare back.

  “Yes,” Lee said. “She just doesn’t know it yet.” He extended a hand. “Lee Sharpe.”

  Obi shook it. “Obi Olson.”

  “As in Kenobi?” Cash asked across Lee. Obi nodded. “Dude, c’mere.” Cash waved him over. “I gotta hear this.”

  Obi maneuvered his way around me and squeezed in between the guys.

  Talk about feeling like the odd man out.

  My iPhone gave a quiet Predator growl. A text.

  Look to your right. Far right.

  I did.

  Ernesto Padilla raised a martini glass at me from one of the mobile bar stations.

  What the what?

  I excused myself and left Obi to Lee and Cash. Ernesto held out his arms as I approached.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. Oh please, oh please, say Hank sent you to keep an eye on me.

  A harrumph sounded behind me.

  Leticia Jackson stood leg out, arms folded across her ample bosom in a skintight canary-yellow satin dress with matching six-inch stilettos, yellow rhinestones in her gravity-defying updo and on her fingers. “Don’t you go Bogartin’ my date, McGrane.”

  Chapter 47

  Well, that accounts for the quiet on the Western Friend Front. I raised my palms to Leticia. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Easy, baby,” Ernesto said. “Maisie and I go way back.”

  “All the way to preschool.”

  Leticia raised an index finger and waved it between Ernesto and me. A little yellow diamond—dangling from a tiny gold chain drilled through the tip of her nail—swung back and forth. “I don’t wanna be hearin’ no nekked stories about the pair o’ you playing doctor.”

  I watched the diamond as she gestured, hypnotized. Not nearly as hip as I wanna be, all I could think was, how does she do anything with a little necklace hanging off her fingernail?

  Ernesto laughed. “Maisie’s a McGrane. She’s like a dude that’s been snipped.”

  “Gee, thanks, Ernesto.” I smiled at him. “Sensitivity. An important quality in a best pal.”

  “Best pal, my ass.” Leticia dropped a hand to her hip. “If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that men and women cannot be friends.”

  “Bullshit,” Ernesto said.

  Leticia looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “What, you think I’m dating you for your sparklin’ communication skills?”

  Enough with the lovey-dovey. “Seen Hank?”

  “What’s the matter?” Ernesto said. “You having second thoughts about dating SWAT?”

  Nice. Last time I checked, you were in the “owe” column of our friendship. I turned to Leticia and pulled the pin on the grenade. “Did he bring you ’round to meet his mom yet?”

  Ernesto winced.

  “Damn, that’s cold, McGrane.” Leticia nodded at me in approval. She cozied up to Ernesto and trailed a finger around his ear. “Talk to her all you want, Man Blanket. Ain’t no mad love for you in her heart.”

  “Thanks,” he said wryly.

  “Man blanket?” I asked, because I really needed to know.

  “Oh yeah.” The tip of Leticia’s tongue came out and wet her upper lip. “On account of he’s so hot, and I want him on top of me all the time.”

  Careful what you wish for. . . .

  “Maisie, baby,” Sterling Black said from behind me. “Looking good.”

  “Feeling good,” I said, complete with a half wink and cheesy smile.

  He leaned in. “Play nice, Coles is doing you a favor coming here.”

  “Oh?” My brain disconnected from my mouth. “How so?”

  Sterling pointed a finger at me. “You slay me.” He raised an arm. “Talbott! Over here.”

  Glad-handing, the man of the moment made his way over. His salt-and-pepper hair had recently acquired more pepper, his teeth still as unnaturally white as ever. Two staffers and three bodyguards lagged behind at an appropriately subservient distance. His throwback preppy wife, who only accompanied him to heavy photo-op events, was nowhere in sight.

  Oh yeah. I’m getting out of this with a hop, skip, and only a couple of cringeworthy pictures.

  And then I saw them—six of the slimiest bottom-feeding gits. Talbott’s personal public relations squad, aka the local news media.

  “Maisie McGrane.” Coles came over and gave me an all-for-show hug complete with kiss on each cheek. “Stay the fuck out of my way,” he said in a low voice, then spun us around to face the cameras.

  “Yessir.” Elitist ass.

  A microphone feedback whine cut through the camera shutters. “Good evening, Dhu West employees, members of the Traffic Enforcement Bureau, and guests.” Jennifer beamed down at us like a Miss America contestant from the stage. “I’m Jennifer Lince, and I’d like to welcome you all to the first annual Dhu West Gala.”

  Polite applause sounded, reminding me to clap, as well. “We have a tremendous evening planned, so if everyone could please take their seats . . .”

  Luckily we were well away from Coles, Sterling, and the Dhu West hotshots. Obi and his empty chair date, and Ernesto and Leticia rounded out our table of eight. It didn’t take Lee long to size Ernesto up. Of course, the fact that Ernesto was doing the same might have clued him in.

  “McGrane,” Leticia said in a harsh whisper. “Call Niecy. Lince is gonna talk about her.”

  I dialed. “You awake?”

  “Yeah,” Niecy said.

  “Lince is about to talk about you.”

  Jennifer raised the microphone to her lips. “This has been a dramatic and vastly improved year for the Traffic Enforcement Bureau under the new ownership of Dhu West.”

  Cash made a snoring noise.

  “Tonight we’ll be discussing some fantastic new innovations in parking enforcement. After dinner we’ll hear from our guest of honor, Chicago’s own illustrious Mayor Talbott Cottle Coles, and conclude by recognizing individual achievements. But right now, I’d like a moment of silence for one of our own.” Jennifer smiled down broadly at our table.

  The lights dimmed and the words Eunice Peat came up on the movie-sized screen behind Jennifer. “Parking Enforcement Agent Eunice Peat.”

  “A moment of silence?” Niecy’s voice squawked from my iPhone. “Jeebus crispies. I’m not dead!”

  Lee and Cash started coughing.

  “Let’s remember Eunice’s commitment and service to public safety.” Jennifer began clapping. “She would be so honored to see so many celebrating her retirement.”

  A small smattering of applause drifted across the ballroom.

  “I’m gonna kill that friggin’—” I covered the phone in my lap, muffling the screaming.

  Leticia, having none of it, stood up. “Stop your bawlin’, peeps. Niecy Peat is one hundred percent Terminator. She’ll be back!”

  Jennifer gave an involuntary shudder. “Thank you for the update, Ms. Jackson.”

  The parking enforcement agents broke into cheers—more at Lince’s distress than Niecy’s return. Jennifer handed the microphone off to a suit-wearing duo extolling the virtues of new uniforms and the public relations campaign that would be unfurling in the fall.

  On screen, three pictures of me clad in the hideous new uniform popped up.

  Sweet Jesus. This night cannot get any worse.

  Like trying to break up with a girl in a fancy restaurant, Sterling and Dhu West seemed to think rolling out the new uniforms at the Gala would keep the PEAs quiet and decorous. They had another think coming.

  Sanchez jumped to her feet. “Yo! What the hell kind of uniforms is this?”

  This is gonna get ugly.

  Niecy was still on. I handed my phone to Lee. “I need a little air.”

  “I’m sure you do.” He winked.

  I snatched my clutch off the table and got t
he hell out of Dodge.

  I should have listened to Hank. After those uniform pictures, I’d be lucky to make it out of the hotel tarred and feathered. Instead of using the restrooms off the ballroom, I took a coward’s furlough, crossing through the main lobby all the way to the other side of the hotel. I followed a discreet sign down a dim hallway, rounded the corner, and ran face-to-chest into Tommy Narkinney.

  Where’s a wooden stake when you need one?

  His ruddy face froze with fear.

  “That guy—” he wheezed, edging away from me. The hint of what Hank had shown me hadn’t been close to the hellfire he’d rained down on Tommy. “I—I don’t want any trouble, McGrane.”

  “I didn’t want any, either, but I got plenty,” I said.

  I almost felt bad for him.

  Almost.

  Sweat beaded on his upper lip. He gave a couple birdlike darting glances down the corridor. “Look, I—I’m sorry about your cart.”

  I folded my arms across my chest, waiting for the I’m sorry you almost got run over and your partner got hurt.

  It didn’t come.

  Tommy sidestepped around me, talking in fits and bursts. “I didn’t mean it. I mean I did it, but I didn’t plan it, you know?” He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “How about I swear to stay out of your way? From now on and always?”

  Whiskey Tango Foxtrot.

  “You trashed my cart,” I said slowly.

  He nodded.

  My eyes dropped to his waist. The corner of his service Glock showed from his holster. I held out my hand. “Show me your backup piece.”

  “What?”

  I snapped my fingers. “Now.”

  He bent and raised his pants leg to expose the butt of a 9mm Beretta in his ankle holster.

  “Stop.”

  He let his pants leg drop and stood up.

  Just call me Sam Spade Jr.

  I knew who left the wadcutter—who killed the mayor’s staffer.