A Date With Fate (41 page)

At my lack of response, his tone of voice got wheedling. “Come on, Anabel. No shitting you here, you’re the most reasonable of my sisters. You know Luke was only looking out for you. What’s so wrong with that? You got a good night sleep, and they told you this morning.”

I faced my brother then. “I didn’t say “they” told me. “They” told me nothing.”

I snorted at his “Oh Shit!” expression.

I made a face and lifted a shoulder. “Somehow, I’ll manage to take care of myself despite those big-balled, butt heads cramping my style. I’ll tell you what; those stupid men shouldn’t plot to deliberately keep information from me. It only hinders me. So, you said you wanted to tell me last night. Why, Reg?”

Starting the truck, my brother slanted me a grin. “Because you scare the living crap out of me when you’re mad at me?”

Not smiling, I waited.

He put the truck in gear and started down the drive way. “Okay Junior, I get why you are disgusted. It must blow to be a girl.” He smiled sheepishly over at me. “Don’t tell Jack or Luke because I will lie and deny it, but I’m on your side about this nondisclosure crap. Yesterday, you kicked a dude in the balls, and then shot at a man trying to kill all you girls. Damn right, I think you should be told things. I snuck away from the game to tell you about Cheryl last night, but you were passed out on my couch with my brownies smeared all over your face.” He thought a second. “I guess I should have said something before I went to shower, but I was thinking about what guns to bring today, and I must be one, cold bastard, “ Reg blew out his breath on a laugh, “because her murder didn’t cross my mind.”

“You’re not cold.” At his glare after this comment sunk in, I reached over and pushed his shoulder, grinning a little. “You sneaky, adorable, ratfink of a brother, do you swear to God you came to tell me last night?”

Reggie promptly put a hand to his heart and flashed me the infamous MacKenzie double dimples. “I hereby swear to God.”

“Then thank you for that. By the way, the brownies were delicious. Oh, and Reggie,” I pulled my sunglasses down on my nose to give him some sister-brother eye contact, “do you think by now you’ve given Jack and Luke enough time to search my building to be sure it’s safe?”

Chapter XVIII

“Born This Way” by Lady Gaga

Sunday, 11/18/12

8:00 AM

Reg performed some groveling along the way to Northfield. Well, I consider it groveling when someone repeatedly calls me ‘a damn bloodhound’ with a certain tone of admiration in their voice. We made it to my apartment without incident. I didn’t say anything more about not being clued in on the events concerning my own life, but Reggie must have felt bad.

Approaching my building on Division Street, Reg brought it up again. “Jack called and told me some of his cops were searching the building before you went home. My orders were to wait for his all clear. Luke wasn’t involved in this, as far as I know.” He glanced over at me to see how I took this confession. “I never thought about if Jack was wrong or right to do the search without telling you, I was only damned relieved he was making sure it got done.

“Jack mentioned the ex has lawyered up and isn’t talking. Hansen won’t say why his ass-wife, Hummerschmidt, is after you.” Reggie scoffed, adding in his forthright manner and sounding an awful lot like Jazy, “It seems obvious to me the fucker’s nuts, and so who cares about the why. We only need to concentrate on trying to keep you alive until he’s caught.”

“Super, by all means let’s try.” The definition of the law of averages would indicate sometime today a piece of news I receive will have to be good. I didn’t bother mentioning that Jack was able to enter my building without my consent because I gave Luke the codes to the doors yesterday. I considered Luke involved.

Now that I was thinking about it, what
did
Luke have to do today that was so important he had to take off instead of staying with me when a homicidal rapist was on the loose? Disgruntled, I imagined he had to take his houseguest out to breakfast so his man-whore friend could find another woman to line up for a hit and run over some pancakes.

Sure, I was okay staying with Reggie. But if Luke was so concerned about my emotional well-being and physical safety; you’d think he would have insisted on sticking around. On the job, he prevented and secured. It may be his weekend off, but if anybody could use a little preventing, it’s me.

Was I wrong to believe I am worth the unpaid overtime?

I don’t think so, either.

I wallowed in my pity party for a minute more while Reg parked directly in front of the entrance to the shop. Then I blew it off to concentrate on my goal of the day--staying alive. Glancing up and down Division Street reaffirmed this early on a Sunday there was little traffic and plenty of parking spots.

Reggie interrupted my progressively crankier thoughts. “I know what it means when you get quiet. Tell your little brother, what are you planning in that pointy head of yours?”

“Hard as it is resisting your suaveness, I’ll tell you in the lobby. Let’s go inside.”

“Not so fast!” He reached behind for the shotgun case, and awkwardly maneuvered it into the front seat and across my lap. “Here, you carry both these bags in so my hands are free.”

Reggie came around to my side and opened my door. He reminded me of a secret service agent in his sunglasses. His head was scanning the street while his right hand was in his jacket pocket. He crowded behind me when I carried the gun bags, my jacket, and my purse to Bel’s front entrance. He used his larger frame as cover until I unlocked the door and we were inside. Using his body as a shield to protect my life almost made up for his earlier treachery, but not completely.

The main doors were locked behind us, and I plunked everything down on the bench near my apartment door.

“Can I have

the gun you brought for me, please.”

My brother amiably complied, taking out the pistol from the padded gun bag. When he handed it over, I automatically checked the safety before relaxing with the gun in my hand.

He inclined his head, indicating the Ruger at my side. “The clip is loaded with ten rounds. This gun will feel about the same as your Glock to shoot.”

I examined the weapon. “I have to say, this Ruger is cute. This skinny, little barrel is sexy. Maybe I can keep it?”

“Guns are not cute or sexy, Anabel, you little freak. They are tough and masculine. No, you can’t have it, that’s my varmint gun.” His smirk disappeared and he frowned in worry. “I figured it was smarter to give you a gun closer to your Glock, instead of my .357, but I’m really stupid sometimes. We should have stopped at Luke’s pasture on the way here and let you practice shooting a few rounds.”

“Don’t sweat it; we’re only being precautionary here. You have the big guns, and we’re sticking together, right? I doubt a little practice would make much difference in the scheme of things. Besides, I’ve been target shooting at the range and become pretty accurate with my Glock, so if they aren’t that different,” I shrugged, “I should do okay.”

“I guess you’re right.” He pointed at me in warning. “You remember I get first dibs on shooting any fuckers that get in our way today, and we’ll be fine.”

I meekly gave my word. I then told him my plan.

Frowning in confusion, he rubbed a palm over his unshaven chin. The scraping sound was loud in the quiet of the lobby. “Jack all ready had the building searched. Why do we have to do it again?”

Patiently, I explained. “We know every crack and crevice in this whole building. You want to bet our lives Jack’s cops checked the old dumbwaiter behind the cupboard door in Bel’s staff kitchen? Or the hidden storage room in the basement behind the shelving? Unless we call Chief Jack and verify those cops searched in every nook and cranny I can name, I sure as hell don’t.”

Shaking his head in laughing frustration, my brother begrudgingly agreed. “Let’s make it quick then, I’m starving.” He brightened. “Will you make me some pancakes or scrambled eggs when we’re done? Or wait, how about French toast?”

“Perhaps that could be negotiated.” I cautioned, “Now don’t have a kitten, but I’m carrying this gun ready to shoot.”

Reg’s face grew serious at my statement. “Damn right you are. I’d be freakin’ out more if you didn’t, Junior. While we search, I want you to stay on my left side and not behind me.” He took the revolver from his pocket, shrugged out of his jacket and laid it on the table. Out of the duffle he removed extra bullets for the .357 and the spare clip for the Ruger. He put the bullets in his jeans pocket, and handed me the spare clip. He unzipped the long bag and took out the Remington 12 gauge shot gun. He checked the safety, loaded the magazine tube with five shells, racked one in the chamber, and put the sling strap over his neck. Loaded for bear, he stuck his cell in his shirt pocket.

“Just remember that I’m a friendly, practice muzzle control like you’ve been taught, and be aware you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law for brother-slaughter.”

“You act like I haven’t shot you before and don’t know the drill.”

My brother gave me a dirty look, but we were both chuckling while I put my weapon and spare clip down on the table for a second. I slipped out of my high-heeled shoes and socks. Barefoot, but more slip-resistant; I was daydreaming of a long shower and my sweet smelling lotions and cosmetics bag. I felt about as appealing as something the cat dragged in. Then I had to deal. The cream colored slacks and pink blouse I still wore from last night had no pockets. I was nonplussed where to carry the extra clip for the Ruger, and also my cell. Shrugging to myself, I agreed with Plato’s practical words, “Necessity, who is the mother of invention”. So, in went the extra clip of bullets under the waistband of my slacks, and down the bra and into the cleavage went the cell phone. Both were a snug fit.

Reg blinked, but was smart and said nothing. He gave me a few tips about stalking game quietly together and using simple hand signals while I listened attentively. Then we entered Bel’s Books, relocking the door behind us, and started searching.

Silently as possible, we thoroughly searched the basement and then the first floor. Reggie did mouth the occasional grumble to be duplicating the cop’s efforts. I firmly believe there was still a dab of admiration in his tone when he whispered I was ‘a damn paranoid, little tyrant’ for the fourth time.

After clearing the second floor apartment, Reg and I agreed the guest bedroom would serve as the Axelrod’s last stand, if it came to that. We stored the gear there. Unlike my room, this room has a sturdy lock on the door. There was a heavy dresser against the wall if we needed to push it in front of the door. I took the rope ladder from under my bed and left it next to the guest bedroom window. This side of the building was a sheer drop down to Fourth Avenue.

I have a sizeable balcony off the back of my apartment. The balcony was higher than a normal second story due to the lofty proportions inside my building. It has a retractable, fire escape ladder attached to the side. I stood on alert while Reg, after scoffing in brotherly disgust, secured the ladder with a swaddling of duct tape. I wasn’t taking any chances with areas I could control.

The back door onto the balcony has a safety bar lock and only a small window. The laundry room window looked out onto the balcony, and was large enough for a man to enter. It was locked and wired to my security system. Our reconnoitering had me mentally adding several more items to my personal, self-defense check list. Nothing like a little brush with death to make a girl reevaluate her security needs. An arsenal of guns and ammo, a bar lock for my bedroom door, and permanent bars for the laundry room window were now at the top of the list.

On the bedroom side of the apartment, the long hallway dead ended at a door leading up to the third floor. At the top of the steep, straight staircase, a long storage room ran back the length of the apartment over the bedrooms below. The high, loft-like ceiling throughout the other side of the apartment prevented the attic from spanning the entire third floor.

This attic storage room has finished white walls and dark stained plank flooring. It’s an easy space to search and not your typical scary, cobwebby attic. It’s possible to see over the entire space in a glance. There were the same original tall windows along three sides of the room as throughout the rest of the building. Covered only with light-diffusing, sheer curtains, the morning sunshine poured through the bank of east facing windows at the top of the staircase. When we reached the top of the stairs, it was bright and cheerful. The overhead lights I’d flipped on automatically were redundant.

At the opposite end of this very long attic, on the northwest corner above Division Street was the turret room. It was a three-sided appendage jutting out of the building with a wide, six-foot tall window set in each portion. The open, cross beamed ceiling above the turret area soared high into the shadows.

Another reason it’s an easy space to search is because NanaBel was not a hoarder. There are shelves built along the south wall on the left. The shelves are wide enough to hold a series of clearly labeled, small storage boxes. Aside from a few odds and ends of furniture stacked neatly against this wall further down, the space is entirely empty. I’m more of a collector than my grandmother, but haven’t overflowed up into the attic yet.

Guns hanging loosely at our sides, we looked around. This space would make a very cool workroom for some of my future projects.

Reggie voiced echoed when he wondered, “How come we never did anything up here when we were growing up? This is an awesome room.”

“I was just thinking the same thing. I guess NanaBel kept us too busy down in the store.” I gave my brother a droll look. “Either that, or she was working our tails off cleaning something in the apartment.”

He chuckled as he walked further down the room, peering at the furniture. “Yeah, she’s a wily one. I’m thinking about doing a Chore Chart for my own work crews.” He pulled out an elaborately carved, heavy wooden chair. “Can I have this?”