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It was time to head home.
It was, because in a few hours, I had to get up, alone, and figure out how to roast a turkey breast, make some mashed potatoes and dump a can of soup into some green beans, then pick a movie I could watch that wouldn’t make me feel like a total loser because I was all by myself on Thanksgiving.
* * *
I pulled into my parking spot at the Oasis, my apartment complex, and it was only then, the SUV that had Eric’s glorious ass in it that followed me all the way home motored out of the parking lot of my apartment complex and turned right on Seventh.
“Overachiever,” I mumbled as I hauled my ass out of my car.
I went through the security gate, and even the courtyard of the Oasis, which was usually lit up with attractive string lights and the pool illuminated—always a cozy welcome home—due to the hour (and the fact the pool was being resurfaced) was dark and forbidding.
Like my mood.
I jogged up the steps, passed Raye and Cap’s place, then let myself into mine.
I switched on the light on the table by the door and then let out a small scream.
A very pretty Black woman about my age, wearing a pair of sandy-white satin parachute pants and a stark white cashmere turtleneck, was sitting on my couch.
This outfit was the shit, and I instantly made a mental note to find those pants, at the same time I prayed they came in black.
I knew immediately who she was, even if, until that moment, I’d never met her.
Her name was Clarice, and she was the middleman for someone Raye and Luna referred to as Arthur.
She was also the wrangler of the Avenging Angels, of which, along with Raye, Luna and Harlow, I was one.
Whoever this Arthur was had given us three cars in three storage units, and an array of equipment that ranged from Tasers to handcuffs to white boards in order to conduct our (yes, vigilante) investigations.
When Raye and Luna recruited us, I was all in, mostly because those two were crazy bitches, and they were trying to find missing women.
I honestly didn’t think much would come of it, but your girl goes on a mission, and that mission involved her navigating the seedy underbelly of Phoenix, you didn’t ask questions. You took her back.
Then they actually figured out who took the women, and even found them.
Color me every shade of surprised.
But that was over two months ago, and since, we’d never used those cars, except to go visit our “informants” (who were more like friends we had a burger with every once in a while who also happened to work the streets as sex workers).
So I kinda figured it was all just a lark.
I mean, your average, everyday server at a funky coffee/cocktail bar (that also served great food, and fabulous drinks (if I did say so myself)) didn’t go around cracking cases the cops couldn’t figure out.
But here was Clarice, and I couldn’t deny the quiver of excitement I felt at finally getting to meet her and what that might mean.
Even if she did break into my pad and scare the crap out of me.
“Not smart,” she said before she pushed to her high-heeled, champagne sandaled feet.
I had a feeling she knew where I was that night, but I didn’t ask. According to Raye and Luna, this Arthur person knew all, so it stood to reason Clarice would too.
“I take it you’re Clarice,” I noted as she walked to me.
She then walked right by me, to the door.
She put her hand on the handle and turned back to me.
“It’s after two in the morning on Turkey Day,” she bitched.
