Chapter 32
32
DAX
From the bookstore front window, I watched the Highcliffs enter the pickle shop, then five minutes later leave. Empty handed. Who I didn’t see was Fiona.
That had been over an hour ago. I tried calling her, but SHE DIDN’T PICK UP HER FUCKING PHONE. Where the hell was she? On the trampoline with Briana? Helping Bob pet his beaver?
When my cell rang in my hand, I blindly answered it. “What?”
A male grunt came across the line. “I have a job for you.”
Pulling the phone away from my ear, I looked at the name on the screen. Shit.
Max Pinter.
Shit.
“You weren’t happy with my previous performance. Why should I do another job? You’ll drop my star rating on Google.”
He didn’t laugh. “Because you owe me.”
I glanced around the store. There were six women in the place. One was tucked in the comfortable storytime chair. Two were in the historical section and a trio were whispering about something–probably naughty–by the paranormal titles.
“I think we have to agree to disagree on this one,” I muttered.
“A friend is having someone snoop around his business.”
“That’s it? No dead bodies?”
“You have permission to fix this problem however possible. The flow of product could be impacted so you need to get on it immediately.”
Meaning I could kill him because his drug shipments were getting messed up.
“Is this one of those situations where you say it’s for a friend but really for yourself?”
“I’m insulted that you think I have ever once had shipment issues.”
Okay, he hadn’t. Not in the number of years I’d taken jobs from him. If his business acumen was put to something legal, he’d be a billionaire .
“Tell your friend, sorry. I’m on vacation,” I said, not interested. I didn’t need him to ride my ass on another assignment and I didn’t need anything else on my overflowing plate.
Pancake was easy. Running a bookstore, fucking a hot and incredibly frustrating woman, while keeping said woman out of trouble? A pain in my ass. I didn’t need Max to make the pain even worse. Then there were the pickle people. All in a small-ass town.
What had become of my life?
“Too bad. You owe me. You’ll do this work for my business associate. Today.”
I stared up at the ceiling. Sighed. I had no idea who the associate was. We didn’t share names on the phone. Did it matter though? Because I did a good thing for Max’s son, I was fucking stuck doing this new job.
“Fine but tell your client I’m charging him double my usual rate. A rush fee.”
“Done. Just fix the fucking problem. I’m messaging you a photo now.”
“Just a photo? No details?”
“You’re the fixer. Fix this shit.” He hung up.
A minute later, a photo came through.
“FUCK!” I shouted, staring at the image of Fiona walking past a dumpster, gripping a pickle in her hand. In the background was a white van with a cartoon pickle that looked a hell of a lot like a big green dick.
His business associate was leather jacket guy? No, definitely his boss. Still.
I had to fix Fiona?
What the hell did she do with the Highcliffs? Or worse, without?