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“I was.” Cora gave him a cheery wave as she got into her car. Billy could make a great mentor for younger kids like him. It would give him a sense of confidence and purpose to help out; he just didn’t know it yet. All he needed was a bit of a push in the right direction. Luckily, Cora had a connection at the teen center, so she’d set him up for an interview. Teens in Action was mostly run by adult volunteers, but they could always use kids to help with the daily after-school activities. So far, she hadn’t had much luck getting Billy involved, but she wasn’t going to give up.
Her stomach growled and she lifted her lukewarm coffee from the cup holder, took a sip and grimaced. Sighing in resignation, she took another sip as she pulled onto the main road. It wouldn’t be the first time she dined on nothing but caffeinated sludge. As a police officer, it was practically a rite of passage. How many times had she watched her father wolf down bowls of cereal at the end of a long day because he’d neglected to eat on the job? Cereal for dinner was a standard operating procedure in her house growing up, at least until Cora was old enough to cook. Since her mother had died when she was little, it was always just her and her dad, which meant lots of pancakes and Pop-Tarts for dinner. Even now that he lived a few hours away in Charlotte, Cora sometimes visited during long weekends or holidays with homemade meals. Old habits died hard, and she’d gotten used to taking care of him over the years.
Cora’s phone rang and she answered as she pulled onto the busy street. “McLeod.”
“Are we still on for drinks at Danté’s tonight?” a familiar voice demanded. “Because last time you bailed on me in the middle of my crisis.”
Cora smiled at her friend Suzette Wilson’s disgruntled voice. “Suze, I hardly call not fitting into your skinny jeans a crisis. Besides, I didn’t bail willingly. I had to work.”
“Yeah, well, someone else can be the hero this time. You can’t single-handedly take down all the villains in Providence Falls. Let someone else have the limelight for a change. Anyway, it’s the weekend, and you promised. I’m in dire need of a girls’ night. Jimmy’s been getting on my nerves ever since he started hanging around those bikers. He called me his old lady yesterday.” Suzette’s voice rose up a notch. “His old lady, Cora.”
Cora wanted to laugh at her friend’s outrage. “I think it’s a term of endearment.”
“Maybe when you’re in a biker gang,” Suzette pointed out with a huff. “Which, Jimmy isn’t.”
“True.” Suzette’s current boyfriend spent his days working at the Artists Loft, drinking soy decaf lattes and creating “art” on canvas via splattered paint. Mostly he just angsted around wearing fingerless gloves, doing his best to look world-weary. As he’d yet to hit it big as an artist, he tended to try on new personas.
“So I went nuclear on him, and now we’re not talking,” Suzette said.
Cora was glad Suzette couldn’t see her grin. Her friend was always having a meltdown about something. They’d met in high school and bonded over their mutual dislike of the cafeteria food and old Mr. Sleazak’s bell-bottom pants. Suzette had been new to Providence Falls High, and since Cora pretty much knew everyone and everything about her beloved city, she’d taken Suzette under her wing. Later, when everyone else graduated and moved on, both of them had stayed in town. Suzette had gone to aesthetician training, and Cora had taken the fast track toward her lifelong dream of becoming a police officer. Since she was five years old, she’d dreamed of following in her father’s footsteps. Cora and Suzette’s chosen career paths couldn’t have been more different, but over many years and countless dating disasters, the two of them had remained fast friends.
Suzette was still going off when Cora pulled into the gravel parking lot behind The Lusty Lady a few minutes later. The building was old and weathered, with peeling pink paint and a faded sign showing a pair of legs with fishnet stockings. The parking lot wasn’t even half-full, which was a good thing. A slow day meant Nero’s ex-wife might be more inclined to talk. From reports yesterday, Nero was tweaking on something, and the baseball bat made him more dangerous than usual. The sooner Cora could track him down, the better. With any luck, she’d be able to find his ex with minimal effort.
“Get your hands off me!” A bleached blonde woman came teetering out of a side door wearing a micro miniskirt and a halter top the size of a postage stamp. Her enormous breasts were heaving in fury, and she was spewing curses at the glowering man who had a death grip on her arm. Nero.
“Thank you, Lady Luck,” Cora murmured.
Suzette, still ranting on the other end of the phone, halted midsentence. “Old lady,” she corrected. “Which is just stupid, since I’m only like, one month older than him.”
“Suze, I have to call you back. I’m in the middle of something.” Cora didn’t wait for her friend to respond, but quickly disconnected and yanked a pair of handcuffs from her glove compartment. Unfortunately, she wasn’t carrying her sidearm, but she’d had enough self-defense training to take him down without the threat of a gun, if it came to that.
Nero Polinsky looked like a walking stereotype as he shoved his ex and charged toward a black Dodge Ram. He was in his midthirties with a closely shaved head to hide his receding hairline, and he was wearing a Tapout shirt like an MMA fighter, except Cora doubted he’d entered a gym in over a decade. His truck had a CB whip and four headlights across the top, with a bumper sticker that read, “Gas, Ass or Grass: Nobody rides for free.” And if that didn’t indicate his hard-core manliness, the dangling aluminum testicles attached under the rear bumper really brought it home. Charming.
“I said, don’t touch me,” the woman screeched, tripping along behind him in her six-inch platform heels.
Nero spun around and shoved her, sending her sprawling onto the ground.
Cora inched closer, ducking behind the parked cars to stay undetected.
“I want my money, Starla,” Nero shouted. “And I know you took it.”
Starla wobbled, pushing herself to her feet. She scowled at her fingers, then at Nero. The look of fury on her face was hot enough to melt the aluminum balls on his truck. “You broke my nail.”
Nero dug into the back of his truck and withdrew an aluminum bat. He hitched it over one shoulder and smirked at Starla.
Showtime.Cora’s muscles tensed. She had to move fast before he hurt her.
“That’s not all I’m gonna break, bitch.” Nero spun toward the rusted Camaro beside his truck and swung the bat, shattering the taillight with a loud crack.
“Not my car!” Starla screeched, but Nero was on a mission, and he showed no signs of tapping out. He lifted the bat again and swung, smashing the bumper. Then the driver’s side window.
“Freeze!” Cora shouted, keeping several feet of distance between her and him. It was disconcerting not to have a gun to back up her command, but she’d work with what she had. She dug into her pocket and flashed her badge at the incredulous Nero, who was blinking at her like she’d just materialized out of thin air.
“Police,” Cora said in the monotone voice she’d adopted early in her career. “Drop the weapon and step away from the car.”
Nero’s eyebrows rose, and he let out a raspy laugh. “No can do, blondie. Why don’t you head on inside and climb a pole? Do something useful with yourself.”
“You’re the police?” Starla gave Cora a skeptical once-over.
