Shit.
Inspections weren’t uncommon. Sometimes they were scheduled, other times there were surprise pop-ins with random frequency. Add in the bullshit calls, and there’d been an increasein people coming in and out. I’d chalked all that up to the usual pain-in-the-ass shit I dealt with. Yeah, it’d been worse recently, but that wasn’t surprising. The service industry had always been exhausting and competitive. No one wanted to deal with the long hours, the loud and entitled patrons, and the increasingly shitty tips.
My employees worked too damn hard to get shafted. It didn’t take much for some to burn out, crash out, or simply walk out.
With life the way it was, more and more local places were closing. Or they were being bought out by chain places because they knew they couldn’t compete with their low costs if the restaurant opened nearby. The better option was to cash the check and at least get something out of closing.
Rye’s location was prime. I’d been open long enough to build it into something good. Something different. It put a target on my back when an overabundant number of places were struggling and fighting for a finite number of patrons and capable staff. Sabotage was the most likely assumption.
But Hollywood raised a point. A fucking valid one. Lo wasn’t behind the shitty installation the night of the shooting. Her bored partner and I had sat in the break room while she’d talked to Daisy, and then I’d followed her outside to be shot at. Her partner had taken a while walking Daisy to the car, though. He might’ve had time to backtrack into the room if one of my crew left the door propped open—something they weren’t supposed to do but did anyway.
Could also be that one of those code violation visits wasn’t because of anonymous tips. It was for access.
“You get the feeling Lo suspects you of something?” Judge asked.
The way she’d watched me in my office popped into my head, but that time, I thought about it with my brain and not my dick. She’d walked around a bit in between whatever she’d been doing on her phone. I’d also interrupted her talking to Texas after I’d checked the camera to see what she was up to. I’d assumed she was being friendly—something that pissed me off—but maybe she was trying to work him.
My business was legit, but I knew how it looked when all the other shit was capped off with a drive-by. It would set off alarms. “She’d have to be fuckin’ stupid not to. And she’s far from that.”
Christ, I’m gonna have to talk to her.
But before that, I need to get her back here because this sneaky meeting is probably biting me in the ass by the second.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SCHRÖDINGER’S CUPCAKE
LUNA
The dessert version ofSchrödinger’s Cattempted me on the bar, but I’d always been good at delayed gratification. I ignored the box that either contained exact replacements or my pending rage. I introduced myself to the gorgeous woman.
Well, I was going to, at least.
Before I could say anything, she beat me to it. A grin split her face. “Lo,finally!”
What the…?
I was all for people being happy to see me. It obviously wasn’t something that happened all the time at my job. Suspects rarely greeted me with a wide smile and glee. Even victims didn’t like the fact they were victims in need of police, and they certainly didn’t like having to replay their trauma every time they saw me.
But O’s joy was a bit much.
Questionably so.
She’s not the actor Glitch is. She’s overplaying it to hide her true feelings about me being there.
But then things got even more confusing when she shoved the box toward me. “Take this. Hide it somewhere. Maybe the safe.”
Oh shit.
“Why? What is it?” I asked.
She blinked. “I thought you knew.”
I thought I did, too. But my expectation didn’t require stashing it away in a safe. I had no idea what would call for that.
I knew better than most not to judge a book by its cover. I’d seen old ladies run prostitution rings. Suburban couples operating pill mills from their rumpus rooms. MIT nerds running an elaborate gambling operation that cut any sort of taxation out of the crypto winnings.
Okay, that last one was probably more expected, but they’d been the nerdiest nerds to ever nerd. If I had seen the three friends on a TV show, I would’ve rolled my eyes at how stereotypically they’d been portrayed—right down to the asthmatic mouth breathing and cracks in their panicked voices. I had a hard time picturing them jaywalking, much less committing extensive financial crimes.
