The Trouble with Twelfth Grave
Page 21“Do you know where you’re going?”
“Duh.”
“We’ve made three U-turns.”
“I’m getting a lay of the land. You know, memorizing our escape route should we need to haul ass.”
“Charles, where are we going?”
“I’m not 100 percent positive. Walter wrote down the address, but she’s in a state of shock at the moment.”
“He burned off your clothes?” Walter asked. At least she was talking again.
“I just remember the place seemed cocky.”
If it were possible to actually ground out a sigh of annoyance, Garrett just did it. “How can a business be cocky? And who the fuck is Walter?”
“There it is!” I pointed with way more enthusiasm than I should have and pulled into the parking lot of a large, menacing-looking building with a smaller one in front. “Welcome to the law offices of Dick, Adcock, and Peterman. See? Cocky. They had to know what they were doing when they partnered up.”
“What we need is in a law office?”
“No. What we need is in the huge building behind the law office.”
We pulled around to the side of the law offices to make it look like we were visiting our lawyer—in the middle of the night—and not breaking into and entering the building behind it.
Nicolette Lemay, my nurse friend with the freakishly cool gift of clairvoyance, albeit selective, walked out of the shadows and toward us, scanning the area as she hurried across the lot. Which didn’t look suspicious at all.
She met me as I slid out of Misery. “Are we really doing this?” she asked, her nerves supercharged. “I may be a nurse, but I panic easily.”
I laughed. “No worries. I have a plan.”
Walter gaped at me from the passenger’s seat. “You have a plan? I thought this was Garrett’s plan. Or Osh’s plan. Or Pari’s plan.”
Speaking of whom, Pari pulled up in a little red Dodge Dart, got out, and walked up to my open window.
I greeted her with a nod, then looked back at Cookie. “What are you trying to say, Walter?”
“I’m trying to say that your plans never work.”
“What? My plans always work most of the time, unless they’re carried out on a Friday. My Friday plans never pan out.”
Walter got out of the Jeep and walked around. I was pretty sure she checked out Misery’s ass on the way.
“Hey, Walter.” Pari caught on fast. Faster than some people who shall not be named … Garrett.
We walked over to his truck. Garrett rolled down his window. “What are we doing?”
“Well, that depends. There are two night guards here, and I’m not sure which one is on duty. If it’s the female, Garrett’s on. If it’s the male, this whole thing will rest in your hands, Osh.”
“Ten-four, boss.” A master flirt, he jumped out of Garrett’s truck, a little too happy to oblige.
Garrett was a little more hesitant.
“If it helps,” I added, knowing it would, “she won Miss New Mexico when she was twenty-two.”
That brightened him right up. He climbed out of his monster truck—boys and their toys—and spoke softly to Osh a moment.
“I can’t believe you let her plan this,” Walter said to them, admonishing.
“Walter,” I said, my tone more admonishing. “Ye of little faith. Maybe you need to stay in the car.”
“No way. And why are you calling me Walter?”
“You said I could.”
After making introductions in which Pari’s heart went pitter-pat for Garrett and Nicolette’s did the same for Osh, we headed to the front entrance of the building and peered through the plate glass.
“I don’t remember agreeing to changing my name,” Walter said.
“Probably all the meth. It’s the female guard.” I turned back to them. “Swopes, you’re up.”
Osh seemed disappointed.
I patted his shoulder. “It’s okay. We still need you. I just had my nails done.”
Garrett looked inside. “I thought you said she won Miss New Mexico.”
“She did. I told you, when she was twenty-two.”
He deadpanned me. Hard. “And when was that? The fifties?”
“Swopes, she’s not that old. Now go do your thing.”
He grinned. “Just kidding. She’s cute. This’ll be fun.”
He shrugged and nodded toward Osh. “Make it good.”
Osh’s grin turned downright evil.
“Not too good,” Garrett clarified, but Osh had already fired.
He swung, so very much harder than anyone had expected, hitting Garrett’s left eye and the bridge of his nose.
Garrett’s head jerked back, and he stumbled a couple of steps. Then he pressed his hands to his face and doubled over, cursing like a drunken sailor on leave. But it worked. Blood slipped between Garrett’s fingers.
He straightened and glared at Osh.
“What?” he asked, the picture of innocence.
Then Garrett glared at me. “This is the worst plan ever.”
“See?” Walter nodded. “Told you. Nobody ever listens to me.”
After offering Osh a bloody middle finger, he stumbled to the glass doors and knocked.
The rest of us hurried to the side of the building where we could watch to make sure Garrett got in.
When the guard opened the door, Garrett turned on the charm, spouting something about being mugged and his cell battery dying and could he borrow a phone and maybe use the restroom.
But I had to stop and think. “Do people get mugged in Albuquerque?” It didn’t feel right. “Do we say mugged? And if not, what do we say?”
Everyone ignored me as the female guard opened the doors, and her heart, wide. She could not escort him into the building fast enough.
He gave us a furtive thumbs-up and slipped inside.
“That’ll keep her busy,” I said, rubbing my hands in anticipation. “Time to break and enter this puppy.”
We walked around to the back entrance of the building, Walter getting more and more nervous. “I’m so bad at breaking and entering.”
“Walter, no one is judging you. Not on this. However, you will be graded on your floor routine.”
Nicolette was in heaven. I slowed to chat with her. “You seem to be having fun.”
“Yeah, I don’t get out much.” She leaned close and gestured toward Osh. “And he’s cute.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Just so you go into this with your eyes open,” I said to her, “he’s a former slave demon from hell and lives off human souls. Don’t kiss him on the mouth. Like ever.”
Her eyes rounded to saucers and her pulse sped up and she was so in. I could tell by her puppy dog expression. Also a tiny drop of drool dotted one corner of her lovely mouth.
Oh, yeah. She was a keeper.
“What about security?” Pari asked.
“I know a guy who knows a guy. It happens to be down at the moment. No cameras. No alarms. Nothing.”
“Which is why they’re paying full-time security guards,” Walter said.
“Exactamundo. Pari? You’re up.”
Pari scrambled up the steps to a loading dock and, after much ado and a few curse words, picked the lock on the back door. I could’ve picked the lock myself, but Pari was faster. My lock picking skills were akin to an ’86 Yugo in a race with a Bugatti Chiron.
We were like a special ops team. It gave me goose bumps.
We hurried inside, and then I laid out the plan.
“Okay, to save Pari’s life and preserve her freedom—but mostly to save her life—Nicolette is going to draw blood from everyone for an art project. Not much. Maybe like a gallon or two each.”
“A pint,” Nicolette suggested. “Half if we don’t want to risk anyone passing out when we make our daring getaway.” She was really good at this stuff.
Angel had popped in and stood nonchalantly behind Nicolette, interest evident in his glistening eyes, but the minute I explained my plan, he started to back away.
“Hey Angel. You’re just in time. We need a lookout.”
He gestured with a nod, but continued backing away. “I just remembered, I have anywhere else to be.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked him as he paled before my eyes. It amazed me the departed could do that.
“I don’t really like the sight of blood.”
I blinked. “Says the departed gangbanger with the gaping chest wound.”
He looked down. “That’s different.”
“Not really.” Before I could say anything else, he was gone. Little shit. That got me nowhere fast. Who would be our lookout?