Level Up: Violent Circle: Book Five

by Shade, S. M.

  One of them starts singing, “Big old dork, do do do do do do, big old dork, do do do do do do.” It takes half a second for the rest to join in. Instead of chasing me, he runs into the group, pelting them with snowballs as they scatter. He manages to scoop up two of them, one of them Dillon, and toss them into the snow mound.

  Laughing, they all pelt snowballs at him and climb all over him like a jungle gym. I can’t tell who is having more fun, him or the kids. My feet and hands are completely numb, so I head inside, where he joins me a few minutes later.

  “I hope you don’t think you’re getting away with that,” he warns. “Payback is coming when you least expect it.”

  “I’ll try to act scared.” The sun is starting to set, and I glance at the front window, an idea forming in my head.

  “Hey, Denton left his car here, and they’ll be back day after tomorrow, right?”

  A grin widens across his face. “What are you thinking? Because if we pack it with snow, he’ll kill us.”

  “Does he still have that blow up doll you guys made him take on a date?”

  “It’s in the extra room with a lot of other crap.”

  “Let’s blow it up and put it behind the wheel, then bury his car. He won’t see it until he digs it out or the snow melts,” I explain.

  The look on his face can only be described as pride. “You’re too perfect, sometimes. Let’s do it. We’ll have to patch the hole in it first.”

  That’s how we end up outside in the middle of the night on Christmas night, shoveling snow while being watched by a perpetually surprised sex doll.

  Best Christmas ever.

  Chapter Eight

  Trey

  Sasha leaves the morning Denton and Becca are due back, making me promise to tell her Denton’s reaction to seeing his car covered and discovering why. It’s doubly funny when the time comes because it’s warmed up quickly and the only snow that’s left is the mound beside the laundry room and the pile hiding his car.

  Instead of insisting that I help him dig it out, he shrugs it off. “Very funny, asswipe, but it’s the holidays and I have nowhere to be for the next few days. That shit can just melt.”

  Even better.

  A part of me was hoping Sasha would stick around, but I didn’t expect it. Nothing has really changed or been resolved between us. We’re right back where we were, which is better than being miserable and jealous, but it still leaves me with an uncertainty that I’m surprised gets to me. I can usually let things be what they are. Overthinking isn’t my style.

  Shaking off all the what ifs, I remind myself she invited me to her parents’ house and we’re leaving in a few days. I need to get the time off work. Clocking in, I pop into the office and grab the sheet we’re supposed to fill out to request time off. I leave the finished form on the desk where the general manager, Frieda, will see it, then take my place at the prep table.

  About thirty minutes later, the form is shoved in front of me with a big red DENIED scrawled across it. “You just had Christmas Eve and Christmas off,” she barks, stalking away to the front counter before I can argue. We all had those days off since we were closed.

  Bitch.

  It’s amazing how fast a normal day can turn to a crazy one. Everything was moving along like usual until now. Even Frieda’s bullshit wasn’t a surprise. At no point in my totally average day did I think I’d look out the window at work to see my truck drowning in flames.

  “Trey! Your truck’s on fire!” Wes yells, and within seconds every employee and customer in the place is plastered to the windows, watching. I’m glad I parked on the far side of the lot. It’s not near any buildings or anything.

  By the time I pull out my phone to call the fire department, a fire truck and police car roll in. Someone beat me to it. It doesn’t matter. The way the flames have engulfed it, there’s no saving it.

  Stepping outside, I’m met by an officer I recognize while two firefighters douse the car in foam. It takes him a moment to place me. “Trey, right?”

  “Yeah.” Violent Circle is no stranger to cops, especially with Barney living down the street.

  “Do you have any idea what caused the fire?”

  Leaning against the building, I run my hand through my hair. “Not exactly, but it had a lot of problems. Electrical issue, I guess. I don’t know anything about cars, but I don’t think wipers and seat belt alarms should randomly come on by themselves for no reason.”

  Officer Green chuckles. “No, probably not.”

  We watch as the firefighters get the fire out, leaving a nasty, black, charred mess behind. Foam and water run out of the bottom into a drain in the pavement.

  “Do you have insurance?”

  “Only liability. Damn thing wasn’t worth full coverage.” What the hell am I supposed to do with it now?

  As if he can read the question on my face, he digs out a business card for a towing company and hands it to me. “My nephew runs it. Tell him I gave you the card and he won’t charge you much to tow it over to the scrap yard. You can probably get a little money for the metal.”

  “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

  The firefighters advise me to wait until the next morning to move it and keep an eye to make sure it doesn’t flare up again, though it’s unlikely. After they all clear out, I sit at one of the outdoor tables for a moment.

  It’s not the end of the world. I need to buy a new car. A few months ago, this would’ve been a catastrophe, but with Cluck Chuckers being the unexpected windfall that keeps on giving, it’s really just a mild annoyance. Money does make things easier.

  It’s closing time and I know I should get inside and help clean things up, but we have extra people on shift tonight. I’m also in no mood to deal with the asshole manager. In the nearly four years I’ve worked here, I’ve never asked for time off. The fact she wouldn’t even consider it pisses me off.

  I’ll need a ride home tonight, and I’m sure one of the guys would be willing, but they aren’t who I want to talk to right now. Instead, I call Sasha.

  “Trey, is everything okay?” she asks, answering without a hello. Of course, she knows something is up because who the hell calls without texting first?

  “Ah, yeah, I was hoping you could give me a ride home tonight.”

  “Oh, sure, I’m still at work, but I’ll be done in about an hour. What time do you get off?”

  “An hour is good. Thanks.”

  “Do you want me to try to jump your truck? Is it not starting again?”

  I can’t help but laugh when I look at the burnt husk. “Ah, jumping it won’t help this time. Jezebel sort of spontaneously combusted in the parking lot.”

  “What? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Everyone’s fine. It’s burnt to hell though. Had the fire department here and everything.”

  “Oh shit, I’m sorry.”

  “Trey! What the hell? Get your ass back in here if you still want a job!” Frieda yells. She’s standing just outside the employee entrance.

  Anger washes over me. She saw what just happened. Apparently, three and a half years of her is my limit, especially with a new income source that blows this one away.

  “Clock me out! I quit!” I shout back.

  Ignoring her jaw that now rests on the ground, I return to my phone call. “Sorry, Sasha. I’m back.”

  After a moment she asks, “Did…did you just quit your job?”

  “Appears so.”

  “How are you going to pay your rent? And school? And—”

  “I’ve got it covered. I’ll tell you all about it when you pick me up, okay? We can go grab a late dinner if you want.” I guess it’s time to let my friends in on the success of Cluck Chuckers, especially since I saw Becca playing it the other day. I’m not sure why I haven’t told them. I guess I thought it might all fall apart if I told too many people. Like a wish that can’t come true if revealed. Sasha is the only one who knows, but she doesn’t know it’s basically changing the course of my life
.

  “Okay, but I’m still stuck at work for a while longer.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  “Trey…why did you name your truck Jezebel?” she asks.

  “Because she was a whore that needed to be jumped all the time.”

  Her laughter brings a smile to my face. She probably thinks I’ve lost my mind, but after I hang up the phone, I’ve never felt better. Odd, I guess, considering my truck is cooked, but for the first time, I’m starting to realize what the success of my game really means.

  It means freedom.

  From this job, and from my parents.

  I control my own future, and right now, things are fucking bright.

  With a smile on my face, I head inside to officially turn in my resignation. Wes grabs me as soon as I step in the back door. “Frieda is pissed. She’s talking about suspending you.”

  “That would probably be hard to do since I quit.”

  Wes freezes in place. “You’re really quitting?”

  “Yes, I planned on putting in my notice soon, but there’s really no reason to wait. I’m almost done with school.”

  “You found another job?”

  Well, sort of. “Yeah, it’s been good working with you, man. I want to keep in touch.”

  Grinning, he starts cleaning out the fryer. “Definitely. What are you going to do about your truck?”

  “I’ll have it towed to the scrapyard tomorrow. It’s beyond totaled.”

  “That sucks. I can give you a ride if you want to hang out a while.”

  The back door chimes as the other two employees who were working tonight leave. “Thanks, but Sasha is coming to pick me up in an hour or so. I’m just going to grab my stuff and wait on the patio.” I appreciate the offer, but I never ride with Wes. The dude is always high.

  Glancing back toward the office, he whispers, “If you’re here after Freida leaves, smoke one with me.”

  “Hell yeah.”

  Contentment hums through me as I grab my few belongings from my tiny work locker, grab a hot cup of coffee, and head toward the back door. Along the way, I poke my head in the office and smile at a seething Frieda. “I’ll drop off my uniform when I pick up my last check.”

  Her eyes flash as they try to cut me in half. “You need to get your truck out of the lot or I’ll have it towed.”

  I’m not sure I’ve ever met a woman as hateful as this one, but it strikes me as I see her sitting there, she probably has cause to be. It doesn’t excuse her but being middle aged and stuck in this shit job with a constant turnover of young employees, most of whom are college kids destined for bigger things, has to suck.

  Swallowing back my smartass retort, I just smile and shrug. “Officer Green and the fire department told me to leave it there until morning, for safety’s sake. I’ll have it towed then. Feel free to call them.”

  Without waiting for a response, I push open the back door and walk out into the cold night air. With any luck, Frieda will leave in the next few minutes. She’s been having one of the employees set the alarm and lock up, which is against policy, but no one was going to pass up a chance to get rid of her early.

  Pulling my coat around me, I take a seat at the corner table on the patio, where the wall provides shelter from the wind.

  I pull out my phone and check my current ranking for Cluck Chuckers. I’ve avoided it for a few days because I know it’s going to start dropping any time, and as silly as it may be after all it’s success, I know I’ll be disappointed to watch its moment of fame pass.

  It’s in the top ten.

  My hands actually tremble from nerves, not the cold, as I sign in to see the sales numbers. A feeling washes over me that’s a strange mix of nausea and euphoria. Four hundred thousand. The little game that took me a few months to create has made a little over four hundred thousand dollars with no signs of slowing down.

  Before I can completely wrap my head around that, Frieda steps out the back door and marches toward me. “Trey, you don’t have to quit. We’re short staffed for the midshift tomorrow. Can you come in at noon?”

  Her words barely register at first. When they sink in, I can’t help my response. She takes a step back, surprised at the bark of laughter that leaps from my throat. My whole body shakes. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. Tears pour from my eyes, and I struggle to catch my breath. “No, I’m good, thanks,” I finally manage to gasp out.

  In a huff that just sets me off again, she stalks to her car and leaves. It takes me a few minutes to calm down. Whew. I completely lost it. I feel a little crazy, if I’m going to be perfectly honest, but I guess watching your car burn up, quitting your job, then finding out you hit that damn jackpot can do that to you.

  Since Wes is the only one working now, I head back inside where it’s warm. “Hey man, I’m almost done,” he calls.

  “I’ll be in the dining room.”

  Sitting in the dim dining room, I start to really consider the possibilities and ramifications of making that much money. Taxes. I have no idea what to pay, but I know self-employment taxes are no joke. I need to get an accountant. Even after taxes though, I’ll have no trouble taking care of myself. I have a lot of other projects in mind and now it looks like I’ll have time to work on them instead of needing a developer job right away.

  Wes runs out to start his car and pulls it around to the drive-thru to warm up. A few minutes later, we head out, locking the door and arming the alarm behind us.

  It’s far from the first time we’ve gotten high after work in his car, but this will be the last time. My phone beeps with a text from Sasha.

  Sasha: Be there in fifteen minutes.

  “Fire it up, man. Sasha will be here in a few.”

  He plugs his phone into his aux cord and blasts some music before lighting the joint and handing it to me. We don’t talk, just chill out and listen to the music. The day and all thoughts of taxes and shit fade away. I lay my head back and close my eyes.

  “This new album is the tits,” Wes says.

  “We should see them in concert,” I agree.

  Time stretches in the way it always does with good weed, and it occurs to me that Sasha should be showing up soon. Bright lights strike my eyes as soon as I open them, and Wes snorts at the sight of the headlights pointed toward us. The car is nearly touching ours.

  He rolls down the window an inch or so to shout, “We’re closed, asshole!”

  Before I can tell him it’s probably Sasha, lights hit us from all different directions. “What the fuck?” Wes yells, panic seeping into his voice.

  I reach for the handle to get out when a loud voice calls out. “Put your hands where we can see them! Driver, put your hands on the wheel! Passenger! Put both hands on the dash and keep them there!”

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

  “Dude, what’s happening?” Wes whispers, his bloodshot eyes wide.

  “We’re busted. Keep your hands on the wheel.”

  An officer approaches on Wes’s side, and orders him to roll down the window. It’s hard to see with the bright lights blinding us, but there’s no missing the pot smoke that rolls out the window and blankets the officer before dissipating.

  Fuck.

  The officer orders Wes out of the car, and then me. A K-9 officer stands back with his dog on the leash. It snarls and barks like it’d like to get a nice chunk of my ass in its teeth. It isn’t until I’m pulled out of the car and my hands are cuffed behind me that I see the guns pointed at us. This is fucking crazy. Did I pass out? Because this is so surreal it feels like a weed nap dream.

  “Dude! It was one joint!” Wes cries out, his voice high and reedy. “The roach is in the ashtray! Just take it!”

  Even under the circumstances, I have to swallow back a giggle at his response. Apparently, shock and terror do not kill that effect of the weed. After we’re searched, the guns are finally lowered.

  They’ve separated us, and I have no idea what they’ve found on Wes, but I’m
clean.

  “What were you doing here?” the officer who cuffed me asks.

  “We were getting high. Obviously. I thought it was just a fine or something.”

  He gives me a look like I’m full of shit. “You just decided to pull up by the drive-thru window of a closed business to smoke weed?” His voice hardens as he spits out the words. “What were you doing on the premises?”

  “We work here!” Or I did until tonight.

  The officer smirks. “You work here?”

  “Well, I don’t wear the uniform because it’s pretty!” I know it’s not smart to talk to someone this way who can lock you up, but I’m getting pissed. This is so stupid. Over a joint.

  It seems to register with them for the first time that both Wes and I wear Tasty Taco uniforms and probably smell like day old meat and beans.

  Officer Green approaches and I’ve never been so glad to see someone I recognize. “Seriously, man, all this for smoking weed?”

  Officer Green looks at me, then Wes, then back at the officers standing around us. Amusement is clear in his voice when he announces, “I know these boys. They’re employees. They work the late shift.”

  “We got a burglary report. Alarm was triggered,” the officer explains. “These two were sitting right outside with the engine running when we approached.”

  “Wes can turn off the alarm,” I tell Officer Green. “There’s no one inside. I don’t know what triggered it.”

  After Officer Green talks to the rest of them, they finally remove my handcuffs. “Do you have a manager’s number? We need someone to come out.”

  After I give him the number, Wes’s voice draws my attention. “Aw! Come on! We didn’t do anything! You all running up on us like the S.W.A.T. team about made me shit myself! Just let me go home!”

  “You had two joints in your coat pocket,” a cop points out.

  “This ain’t my coat, though! I borrowed it!”

  The officer pulls another larger baggie out of his pants pocket. “You borrow the pants too?”

  “Yes! I mean, no! I found the pants!”

  For fuck’s sake. Even high, he should be able to do better than that. “Is he going to jail?” I ask Officer Green.