I have met Shelby the owner, and I like her. We met at the church festival for Thanksgiving last year. She is amusing, and she told me to tell people to fuck off if they messed with me. She believed in my ability, and that means such a lot to me, because let’s be honest, most people just think I’m batshit crazy.
Yeah, it looks like the diner is going to be where I head out to next. See if I can get myself a job. Anything is better than nothing, and I think I’m going to be happier serving at the diner than working at the funeral home. I’ve had enough death around me to last a lifetime. Trouble is, the dead keep following me!
Ninety minutes later has me sitting in the diner office with Shelby. “So, Cilla. Is it alright for me to call you Cilla?” Shelby asks.
“Yes, that’s good, Shelby.”
Shelby gives me a bright smile as she continues. “The job is for the morning shift. We open at 6:00 a.m. so our working customers can get in, eat, and get to work on time. I’m here with the cook of the day at 5:00 a.m. and you would have to be here by 5:45 a.m. That way you are here ready to serve when the doors open. Believe me, there is a heck of a rush when that happens. You will be flat out serving for ninety minutes, then it quiets down to a more gentle service. We have regular seniors who congregate for breakfast every day. They say it stops loneliness and for them to help each other, if needed.”
“Okay, sounds fine to me, Shelby. I don’t sleep that well, so getting up early may help me actually sleep better at night.” I give her a smile that shows I’m not worried about the time on the job and that I’m finding something positive in it, too.
“Can you start the day after tomorrow? The woman who is leaving actually leaves tomorrow. You do not want to mix with her. She’s only worked for me six weeks, and those weeks have been horrendous. I’m saving you from her toxicity unless you have one of her relatives that can, you know, mess with her?” Shelby’s eyes are sparkling with mischief, and I giggle before I can stop myself. “Oh, and if any of my friends or relatives who have passed want to speak to me, tell them no. The only one I’d be interested in having contact me is Grandma Josie. Gosh, I love her still, she will always have a place in my heart.”
“Noted,” I reply, but see nobody wanting to speak with her, so I’m thankful for that.
Leaving the diner, I make my way to the grocery store, before home, and hope Bono gets to me about this ZeBach character so I can contact the bikers, tell them what is what and move on.
I stop at the grocery store, pick up a few things, and ignore Bert’s friend Shirley who wants me to say hi for her. Bert is the shelf filler and has been since he retired, but it was rumored he’d had a romantic thing going on with Shirley much to Bernice, his wife’s, anger. I pay for my groceries and quickly head home. I’ll be more than happy to close the door on everything for a while. I need to be ready for my job, so chores around the house need doing before that happens.
Goodness' sake, Shirley has followed me home. “Shirley, go away. I’m not talking to Bert about you or passing on messages. You need to be moving along before I tell Bernice what you are up to again. When she crosses over, you are so going to be in trouble!” I smirk when – poof – Shirley has gone. Peace, thankfully, some peace.
Chapter 3
FINGER
Walking around the clubhouse, I’m checking what I need to crack down on. The place often looks a wreck, and after we sorted the issue out a while ago it looks like things are slipping back. Being the Enforcer gives me a lot of scope for getting things done, and I’m going to kick ass.
The women who we employ are not here to clean up after the club women, and they do a fantastic job of cooking and cleaning the kitchen and common room. They keep everything on the first floor, as it should be. Nobody will blame them for the shit I’m looking at more than a few days a week. But they shouldnot and will not be working their asses off doing bedrooms and bathrooms.
This place has six floors, and being an old warehouse, it collects dirt like it’s a Christmas gift. I’m going to the top floor and then work my way down. Any rooms not used I’m closing up and locking. No sense in allowing brothers to swap and change rooms whenever they feel like it. It’s just causing more work than necessary.
Reaching the top floor, I watch as Flick comes out of one of the rooms. One I know isn’t being used at the moment or should not be used. “What were you doing in there, Flick?”
Now she jerks in surprise, which, of course, has my radar alerting. Stuttering, she answers, knowing full well that if she doesn’t she’ll be in hot water. “We...well...I...I...”
“Spit it out, Flick. I don’t have all day,” I snap, even more suspicious that something isn’t right.
“I was cleaning...”
Shaking my head, I move past her and open the bedroom door. The room is obviously being used, and by a woman. There are tiny clothes all over the place. Again, it’s a pigsty. Turning, I give Flick a look that has her freezing against the wall. I lift an eyebrow as I growl, “Flick, what the fuck is going on here?”
Shaking her head a little, and obviously panicking, she mumbles a reply. “I’ve been using the room.”
Gritting my teeth because everyone in this clubhouse knows the club women live on the first floor. I can see she’s frightened, so I calm myself as I ask, “Why?”
“Rita has been taking all my stuff. I tried to tell Cap, but he was busy. She’s stolen the cash that was to set me up when I leave here.” Tears are now tracking down her cheeks, and mytemper is bubbling. Stealing from her, for fuck’s sake, what type of bitch steals from someone in their position?
“So, you opened up this room so you could be away from Rita?” I ask and watch her nod her head still looking absolutely miserable. “Stay in the room for now, Flick, and clean the place up. I want to look into this.”
Down to the first floor I traipse and I’m not in a good mood at this point. I storm over to the shared room and find Rita naked on her bed, holding a large purse with cash spilling out of it.
My temper rushes to the fore. I grab that purse before she even wakes, and when she does wake up, she squawks like the idiot she is. “Get dressed and get to Pres’ office.” I storm out carrying the purse and head to Tracker's office. Passing Jethro, one of our prospects, I shout, “Get Flick, she’s on the top floor and bring her to Pres’ office.”
“Okay, Finger,” Jethro responds, and I watch him run to the stairs where he’s going to have all those flights to climb. The elevator hasn’t worked for a long time, and we, officers that is, decided it was so old it needed replacing, but didn’t feel it was worth throwing cash at as Tracker is still thinking of demolishing the place.
Knocking and opening Tracker’s office door he looks up from his desk. I smirk because he’s changed so much the last few years. He has a beard and wears a fucking beanie because he got sick of his long hair, so he shaved it along the sides and short on the top, but it’s now his signature look. Man in a beanie covered in tats, oh, and smoking his favorite cigar.
Tracker asks as he settles back in his seat. “What’s going on?”