Boyfriend from Hell (Saturn's Daughters) Page 18

  “I’m thinking Vanderventer,” I responded in answer to her question, wondering if the invisible guy was listening in. “And the really curious part—his family and Max’s are seriously in bed together, and I’m thinking they own at least part of Acme Chemical.” I couldn’t very well tell her Max had told me about his family. “It all has to wait until finals are out of the way, but it stinks worse than a chemical spill.”

  “Nothing stinks worse than a spill, I’m here to tell ya. Maybe I’ll have Frank dabble a little in this. Acme is huge enough to keep the authorities off their backs even after their little ‘accidents.’ They’re dangerous. Back off, get your studying done, and let us do the snooping.”

  “No choice right now, but I’ll be back on the job shortly. The Geek’s on it, too, if you want to exchange news.”

  After I hung up, I realized I was really looking forward to going after Dane Vanderventer and Max’s family. It was a pity I had to finish school before I could even begin to look legal.

  And before I could even think of taking the bar, I had to find someone respectable who could clean up and explain my arrest record. I was pretty sure my apologizing for egging the provost and staging a protest that caused the administration building’s roof to catch on fire would not pacify any ethics committee, especially if they found out about me starting fights in funeral homes, working at Chesty’s, and offing rapists. Maryland is kind of picky about who can become a lawyer.

  Maybe I’d better start playing nice to Andre. I needed to find a good lawyer to give me a reference, and Andre was the only person I knew with enough money to pay a decent salary so I could hire one.

  Did that mean I was planning on staying in the Zone instead of getting the heck out of Dodge?

  20

  On Monday I called a locksmith to change the front door lock and rig up window locks, and I asked Pearl to let him in. The locksmith would cost me my tip money from Saturday night, but I needed my sleep.

  I wheeled into school on Max’s Harley, handed in a final paper in one class, and got off for good behavior in another. I took the extra hours at the library to wrap my head around confusing case law that I feared would be on the next exam, then motored back toward the Zone. Milo had opted to stay home, and I needed to check on him and park the bike before going to work.

  Milo was growling when I arrived. I picked him up and carried him to the bedroom, where the locksmith was working on the sliding glass door.

  “Not a lot you can do with glass doors,” he complained. “A key isn’t a good idea in case of fire. Just locking it and putting a stick in the bottom is your best bet. Same with the window. The broomstick is good. You could call a security company, but breaking glass will wake you up as fast as alarms.”

  “Maybe I can stretch electric wire across and just fry intruders,” I said grimly.

  “As long as you don’t forget and fry yourself,” he agreed, handing me an invoice and new keys for my front door. “You need a big dog.”

  “I have an attack cat.” Milo stood on my shoulder, still growling.

  “Looks like a baby bobcat with those whisker tufts, but he won’t deter thieves. Get a good handgun.” Whistling, he took my cash and let himself out.

  “I’m darned well not shooting anyone,” I declared aloud, in case the Universe was listening. I’d had time to get real nervous about hell. An extra few inches of height and good hair weren’t worth eternal damnation, even if the outer rings allowed me to look through mirrors.

  Realizing I’d never given hell a thought until Max showed up in my mirror, I seriously considered finding a shrink, but I didn’t want to end up in solitary confinement, either. A prison is a prison, even when it’s called a loony bin.

  “C’mon, guard cat, let’s see if the food isn’t better at Chesty’s.”

  Forgetting evil locksmiths and forgoing his sunny spot in the bay window, Milo took his place in my messenger bag. I’d have wished for a cat’s easy life, but given my weird experience of the past week, I held off actually vocalizing wishes, or even thinking them.

  Since I’d been riding the bike, I was wearing cutoffs instead of jeans that hit above my ankles. I needed a new wardrobe if I meant to continue biking. I hated to give up my lawyerly preppy skirts, but practicality won out. I’d either end up mopping floors or wearing a ho costume by evening, so I donned a pair of leather capris that Max had bought me and added a black spandex halter top. Maybe Ernesto would let me wear this outfit instead of a skirt.

  On the off chance that I might fit in some studying, I picked up my backpack of books and strolled down the back alley to Chesty’s, wearing my new heels. Learning to strut after years spent wearing corrective shoes was a bit of a challenge, especially when dodging mobile gargoyles. The creepy feeling of being followed by gutter ornaments worked my nerves badly, but it’s not smart to punch out concrete.

  The Miata was parked behind the club when I walked up. I’d have to find a safer place to park it—maybe some fancy condo complex. That ought to keep the spies busy and guessing for a day or two. They couldn’t know for a fact where I lived unless the gargoyles told them.

  Sarah wasn’t around when Milo and I bummed our lunch in the kitchen. I wondered if Cora had passed on my message to Andre and if he’d taken action. Or if he’d promoted Sarah to head honcho over me. Since I hadn’t been told differently, I took up my usual position at the bar, donned my reading glasses, and began counting the club’s weekend revenue while waiting for the other deposits to show up. I’d much rather have been out in the great spring day.

  Sarah arrived sporting hair the color of an orangutan and lots of it, stacked high and frizzy on top of her head. She looked like some kind of unpleasant throwback to a prior century. I’m not talking about Madonna with her missile-breasted body armor—because that worked—but serious beehive hairdo. She grabbed a broom and looked equal parts defiant and self-conscious as she began her routine.

  I was glad I didn’t read newspapers. I didn’t want to know if a serial drug-dealer killer had died in her prison cell. I didn’t like justice being dispensed for perks, but could I honestly make that argument after killing a rapist? No judge or jury had been involved in the rapist’s death. At least Sarah’s mother had been convicted honestly. Judgment calls are hell.

  “Has Andre come in?” Sarah asked when she got close enough to where I was working to talk without shouting.

  “Not that I know of. Word to the wise . . .” I glanced over the top of my glasses to her hair. “He likes to do the chasing.”

  Which was the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and Andre owed me for putting her off like that. She grimaced a little and returned to sweeping.

  She preened a little when Andre strolled in wearing one of his fitted silk shirts, a tie, and a sexy fedora that belonged in the 1940s. He threw Bill’s deposit bag and the Miata keys on the counter, took one look at Sarah, winked at me, and strolled on out the back without saying a word.

  Damn, that man was hot. And annoying. I pocketed the keys. Sarah went back to drooping. I guessed even killers could have self-esteem issues.

  To my surprise, Boris the Geek stopped by to inform me he had the information I wanted.

  “I’ve had extra expenses this week,” I told him. “It may be next week before I can pay you.” I was hoping really hard he’d go ahead and give me the names anyway.

  He took a stool at the bar and covertly watched Sarah work. She was apparently growing used to people coming and going and didn’t perform her startled-chimp act. After watching Andre stroll through, she didn’t notice poor nerdy Boris, but the Geek was better off staying off her radar. I poured him a glass of water and threw in a lemon to soften him up.

  “The camera only shows a hand, no faces through the tinted windows. I’ll discount that one. I backed up the transaction list to a USB drive,” he said cluelessly. “It will keep. Interesting the amount of money that goes through that little branch bank.”

  “I do
n’t advise taking up bank robbery,” I warned dryly. “I suppose there’s no chance you’ll give me the information in advance,” I proposed, since he didn’t seem to be focusing on me and my problems. “It’s in the interest of justice for those kids who got run over.”

  Boris was just registering my suggestion when Milo leaped, growling, to a chair, then onto one of the tables, and glared at the door.

  “What’s wrong with your cat?” Boris asked.

  “Don’t know, but maybe you and Sarah want to go in back—now.” I started gathering up the money and tucking it into my bag as the other two scarpered. I didn’t have my handcuffs anymore, and the memory of why had the hackles on the back of my neck rising.

  Goons, being goons, probably didn’t take lightly to having their expensive Escalades and surveillance equipment stolen, if they’d guessed I’d done the job.

  The front door slammed open before I had time to lock the bag and grab Milo. Holding up nasty-looking guns with long barrels, two hulking suits in black entered, swinging their weapons back and forth to intimidate an audience of me and cat.

  Bullies endangering friends, pets, and my place of employment guaranteed the Red Haze of Fury wiping out logic cells and casting me into motion. I had time to hurl a bottle of vodka and duck before Milo performed his Mighty Cat act and leaped for the Asian guy, who had the ugliest mug.

  The vodka bottle clipped the crew-cut skull of the blond goon, and he swore as it broke and filled the air with alcohol fumes. I tamped down thoughts of fire as quickly as they occurred, as a precaution. I really didn’t want to burn down my workplace. I tucked my reading glasses safely on a shelf and tensed, waiting for their next move.

  Ugly Mug screamed as cat claws gouged his jaw and Milo took a bite of something tender.

  A shot hit the row of tumblers hanging above my head and glass shattered around me.

  “Mary Justine Clancy, you’re under arrest—come out now and no one will get hurt!” shouted the one not screaming like a little girl.

  Like I was handing myself over to just anyone who shot at me! “Badges, gentlemen,” I called saccharinely. “Lay them on the counter.”

  Okay, mocking them was asking for trouble, but what choice did I have? I couldn’t make a run for it without Milo. Heck, I couldn’t leave at all without risking being shot. It wasn’t as if Chesty’s had any walls to hide behind. The bar formed a low, open island in the middle of the room. I might have vaulted over the back counter and dashed across the stage, except I figured these guns were big enough to hit a target across half the state.

  I couldn’t see Milo from beneath the bar, but I could hear him growling and Ugly Mug cursing, probably trying to pry cat claws out of skin. Cats don’t come when called, so there wasn’t any reason to reveal my anxiety for him. The thugs would just use Milo against me. I’d learned a lot about bullies in my growing-up years.

  Two more shots rang out and more glass rained down. As if that was a signal, the door from the kitchen hall slammed open, and a parade of people straggled out, hands over their heads. Boris was first, wearing a terrified chimp around his neck. The kitchen staff followed. I glanced in incredulity at the horde of black-suited men holding vicious-looking weapons shooing them forward.

  “For me, boys?” I cried in incredulity. “Gee, you shouldn’t have.”

  If this was Max’s family at work, then I seriously believed they’d killed him. These goons looked like mafia. They’d had plenty of opportunity to take me out, but I was beginning to suspect they wanted me for other reasons and needed me alive. I didn’t want to find out why.

  I checked, but Andre wasn’t among their captives. Just the meek, mild, and terrified. Jerkwads, threatening the innocent. Justice juice rampaged through my veins, obliterating any last semblance of logic.

  “They haven’t shown any badges!” I shouted, just to make everything clear. I wanted witnesses that I really wasn’t under arrest.

  The red rage was escalating, but I was beginning to recognize that anger was a trigger for weirdness, and I was determined to keep it in check. I didn’t want any more people dying on my watch, so I rose from behind the bar, hands on top of my head.

  Visualizing tornadoes and exploding tires wouldn’t help me this time. I located Milo, who I swear had grown to twice his size and was trying to rip off Ugly’s ear. The moron was batting around his gun, unable to maintain a good grip on both cat and weapon. He’d kill us all if he had the safety off.

  “Milo!” I shouted. “You’ll get us killed. Jump down from there.”

  He howled a mighty howl and instead of doing as told, leaped to the head of Blondie. The cat’s newly gained bulk nearly knocked the thug over. Startled, Blondie shot off a round that took out a dangling ceiling light.

  Fine, if no one was coming out of this alive, I could channel Dean Martin in Rio Bravo. I liked a good joke as well as anyone.

  “Duck, everybody,” I yelled, vaulting over the bar and swinging my spike heels high and wide at the same time. Damned good thing I was wearing leather and spandex. My shoe connected with the wrist of the blond brute, the one wearing vodka perfume and a cat hat. He lost his grip on his weapon and it spun across tables and underneath a booth. Milo leaped back to Ugly Mug, tackling his gun arm this time—my cat learned quickly.

  I was counting on the thugs in back not daring to aim at me for fear of taking out their partners. Stupid, maybe, but what did I know about gangsters?

  Instead of intelligently grabbing my ankle when I lunged, my victim grabbed his bruised arm in insulting disbelief. Obviously, he hadn’t paid attention in tae kwon do. That mistake gave me time to regain my footing and practice a little kickboxing.

  While he was whining, I swung and nailed his balls with the spike of my shoe. He crumpled in half while the kitchen staff squealed and more shots whizzed over my head, nearly giving me heart failure. Milo had Ugly’s arm ripped to the bone and wasn’t letting go no matter how much the guy jiggled and screamed. I know my cute kitty had reached bobcat size to perform this miracle.

  With gunfire ringing in my ears, I wasn’t precisely calm or thinking clearly. I just wanted to keep anyone from getting killed. Insanely, while rolling under a booth table so I’d have my back to the wall, I envisioned a downpour sweeping the shooters off their feet.

  To my utter astonishment, the sprinkler system not only kicked in but burst pipes in its eagerness to flood the place. Freaking awesome! Saturn, be my daddy if this is what you can do.

  Figuring I had only this one chance at seizing the moment, I rolled out from behind my table shield, grabbed a chair, and ran like a berserker at the perps holding my friends hostage. At the same time, the front door slammed open again, and I heard an official-sounding shout—something about halting in the name of the law.

  Schwartz. Three cheers for the marshal, but I wasn’t placing any bets on the cavalry arriving.

  I didn’t hesitate but swiped the lemon knife from the counter as I raced past the bar. Against guns, it wasn’t much, but I could hope the flood would dampen their weapons. Not that I know anything about guns except what I’d seen in cowboy movies. I had a notion these were slightly different from old-fashioned Colts.

  White-coated cooks knew to fear knife-wielding crazies. They scrambled out of my way, hats flying. The chimp squealed and leaped to the head of one of the jerkwads with guns. He swung his weapon high in shock when Sarah’s foot-paw-toes-whatever wrenched his necktie, and she plastered her belly on his face. His high-pitched scream of terror was nerve-wracking.

  “Don’t kill him, Sarah!” I shouted senselessly.

  She wrapped her paws around the goon’s neck and started shaking his head loose. So much for obedience, but I didn’t have time to bring her down. I went after a black dude with a gun at Boris’s temple. The Geek had lost his Coke-bottle glasses and twitched nervously while the guy holding him debated a course of action. With Milo eating one of the goon’s pals, Blondie rolling on the floor with spiked balls, a third bein
g smothered by a chimp, and Schwartz coming at them in uniform, gun upraised, through a drenching downpour, Boris’s captor had cause to worry about his health. I doubt my paring knife figured into the equation, but unlike murderous Sarah, I made it a point to halt short of decapitating anyone.

  Into the deluge roared Andre, bursting out of the kitchen carrying what appeared to be an assault weapon very much like the ones the troops carried in Iraq. His roar alone was sufficient to cause Boris to drop in a dead faint, dragging his captor halfway down with him.

  After that, life got a little confusing. Andre rattled off a round to prove he meant business. Boris’s goon dodged, dropped the Geek’s deadweight, and leaped behind me, out of the way of my paring knife and assault chair. Grabbing me by the neck, he jerked my head back and no doubt thought he’d use me as a shield to make his escape.

  Andre laughed. With good reason, I suppose.

  My captor wasn’t tall and I was wearing five-inch heels. I stood on my toes and slammed my head back, breaking cartilage. Blood spurted. Not caring that the hold on my neck was already loosened, I jammed my iron-spiked heel down on his arch, missing leather and connecting directly with all those sweet little bones that hurt like hell when crushed.

  Action was happening elsewhere but I could only be in one place at a time. Milo screeched his earsplitting howl. Sarah’s victim slumped to the floor with her paws around his throat. Andre shouted something about me halting the water as he whacked a spare thug with the length of his barrel. By not using bullets, he presumably protected his building from further collateral damage. His weapon had practically taken out walls once already.

  I liked my image of black suits washing away in a flood, but sprinkler systems had limitations, and most of the villains were either on the run or ready for an ambulance. I’d have to work out the logic of my visionary processes some other time. Swinging around, I let off steaming anger juice by grabbing the dude who had tried to hold me hostage and kneeing him while envisioning dryness. By damn, it worked, too. The pipes stopped raining water down on us.