Chapter 2 Arrow
ARROW
Certain perfumes are more criminal than any of the shit my clients get caught up in.
I try to listen to the woman telling me she is certain that her dog walker is trying to poison her with a cheesecake, but all I can do is flare my nostrils and hope I get enough fresh air with every breath that I don’t pass out.
The scent itself isn’t bad, but the amount she’s wearing is beyond obscene.
“Mrs. Mangione,” I tell her, getting up from behind my desk to come around the front and offer my hand.
“Miss,” she corrects. “There hasn’t been a Mr. Mangione in my life for over ten years.”
Because I’m about twenty years younger than she is and in desperate need of clients, not girlfriends, this woman is off-limits.
Besides, one date with Ms. Mangione and I’d end up a casualty of her fragrance.
Sadly, I don’t think this lady has a promising case or a bulging wallet, so I’m going to politely show her the way out.
She graciously accepts my hand.
“Now, here’s what I suggest,” I say gently, steering her toward the door of my office.
The sign on my small storefront is new, the brushed aluminum bearing the name of my year-old business:
Arrow Investigations and Security
The sign only cost me a hundred and fifty bucks at some online store, but it classes up the place considerably. I look like a real business, even though most days my clientele is far from the kind that I need to keep that sign legit.
“I’m deathly allergic to cheesecake. Dairy allergy. I haven’t touched the stuff since I was a girl. She knows this.” She flutters her fake lashes and clutches my arm. “Can you help me?”
I walk her through my tiny lobby and let the bright Florida sunshine blast us with heat. “I absolutely can help you.” I accompany her down the sidewalk to the large, colorful shop at the very end of the strip mall. “Come with me.”
The entire commercial property is owned by friends of my buddy Leo Hawk. Leo’s wife Lia owns the very place we’re headed.
“What is this?” Ms. Mangione covers her overdrawn lips with her hands. “How adorable!”
I activate the automatic entry, then step aside to let the lady through. The sounds of happy barking and some not-so-happy growling greet us as we enter the doggie day care and grooming facility.
An enormous man is behind the counter, huffing and looking at a mounted iPad like the thing is toxic.
“Tiny?” I ask, confused at seeing him here. “Where’s Lia?”
The man’s nickname is perfectly suited to his far-from-tiny size.
He’s the president of the Disciples motorcycle club, and with his leather vest and short-sleeve Harley T-shirt underneath, he is literally the last person I expect to see working behind the counter.
Except his expression right now truly does give off mad dog vibes.
Tiny grunts before he flicks a quick glance at me, then Ms. Mangione, and then he ambles to his feet. “Arrow.” He says my nickname like he’s pissed, but then he softens his tone. “And, ma’am.” There is something weird about the way he says that.
I look over at my potential client to see her making the strangest sort of fluttery eye movements at Tiny. “I’m Marla,” she drawls, extending a hand across the counter. “Marla Mangione. And you are?”
“My friends call me Tiny,” he says, shaking her hand. “That’s what you should call me.”
Marla laughs like that’s the most hilarious thing she’s ever heard, and I quickly realize that I’ve definitely lost this client to this place. Which, I guess, is what I was hoping for anyway.
“Tiny,” I explain, “Ms. Mangione is having an issue with her current dog walker.”
“That so?” he asks, lowering a brow. “What’s the problem? Somebody givin’ you a hard time?”
Before Ms. Mangione can answer, a squealing sound comes from behind the counter.
“Up! Up!”
Tiny holds up a finger. “Excuse me, ma’am. My daughter owns this shop here, and her babysitter called in sick today. I’m watching my grandson for a couple hours.” Tiny bends down and opens his arms.
Then I watch what’s left of Marla Mangione’s composure melt away like a dairy freeze in the Florida sun.
“Who do we have here?” she asks.
While Tiny introduces his grandson Rider, Lia comes running in from the back room where she handles the grooming, her hair tied up under a cap, wearing a simple branded blue smock over her clothes.
“I heard my baby.” As Lia hustles through the store, a dozen dogs follow her like she’s their leader, especially Lia’s own dogs—the trio of small dogs she calls her girl crew and her most recent rescue, a male pitty named Mikey.
She laughs and looks down at the pups trailing her heels.
“Not you, babies. My baby Rider.” Lia cocks her head at her father, who is bouncing eighteen-month-old Rider on a knee. “You guys good, Dad?”
Tiny looks like he’s better than good. His cheeks are red, and he’s blowing raspberries at his grandson like it’s his job. Marla Mangione is clutching her enormous knock-off designer purse in her hands and watching the whole scene with a look of rapt adoration.
“Lia,” I say, clearing my throat. “This is Marla Mangione. She may need a new…”
But it’s obvious no more introductions are needed. Tiny and Marla are talking over the counter about kids and dogs, and Lia crosses her arms over her chest with a look of giddy fascination at her father and son.
“Nice meeting you, Ms. Mangione,” I say and turn to leave.
I’m not part of the MC, never have been, so I’m used to feeling like I’m on the outside looking in. They’ve got it from here, and I left my shop unlocked. We have plenty of cameras and security, but I may as well get back.
Besides, business has been so slow lately, I don’t have much more than a badly out-of-date laptop in the place. My business makes an incredibly disappointing mark.
Satisfied that Marla’s dog-walking situation didn’t require a PI as much as a new doggie day care, I turn and head out.
“Arrow!”
I turn back to see Lia give me a sly smile.
“Thanks, bud.” She nods at Marla. “Appreciate the referral.”
I nod, then wave a wordless goodbye to Tiny.
When I first came back to town, I had a little bit of a flirtation going on with Lia.
I mean, who could resist her? She’s got that hippie, free-spirited vibe, banging curves, and a personality that doesn’t quit.
She was living with my buddy Tim’s little brother, Leo, but it turned out they were more than just roommates.
The former roommates-with-benefits are now parents to little Rider, and I’m happy to have a friend in Leo, who’s in the MC.
But friend is a loose term. I’m not part of anything like these guys are. No real family. All my friends are like family to me, but most of them have their own demons. Or, like Leo and Tim, have a club or kids or other demands on their lives.
At least I have a business. It ain’t much, but it’s all mine. As I head back for another afternoon of doomscrolling my client list and bank account, a familiar motorcycle is rolling into the lot.
“Yo.” I nod at my buddy Leo and slow my steps as he parks his bike in front of his auto shop.
“Hey, bud.” He lifts his chin toward my office. “You workin’ or playin’?”
“Wishing I had work, man, but I just sent a client over to your girl. Lady needs a dog walker, not a PI.”
Leo yanks off his sunglasses and claps me on the shoulder with one hand. In the other, he’s carrying a kiddie meal from a local fast-food place. “Thanks. Maybe you should learn to shampoo dogs.”
I pretend to throw a punch at my buddy’s gut, but I laugh it off. “Kid’s getting big,” I tell him, motioning toward the doggie day care. “Looks like he’s having fun with Gramps in there.”
Leo chuckles and scrubs a hand over his chin.
“I know, right? The kid’s got the appetite of a teenager and is just as stubborn.
Lia’s begging me to give him a brother or sister, but…
” He yanks on the door of the shop where he works with his brother, Tim.
“I’m going to need more business too if I’m going to feed more mouths. ”
“Let’s grab dinner soon, yeah?” I ask.
“Definitely,” Leo calls behind him as he heads toward his wife’s place.
If I know Leo, definitely means someday, and despite his best intentions, someday isn’t likely to happen any time soon. Between his club brothers, his business, and his family, the guy doesn’t get a lot of free time.
But it’s all good. I’ve got my own shit to face. If I can’t find some more clients who can actually afford to pay me, I’ll be giving notice on my lease and moving on.
I yank open the door to my office and breathe a sigh of relief that the scent of Ms. Marla Mangione has been blown away, thanks to the sturdy efforts of my window-mounted AC. I have just stepped foot inside the small lobby when a voice comes out of nowhere.
“Excuse me? I didn’t want to startle you. There was no one at the front desk…”
I almost lurch out of my boots at the woman’s voice. She’s standing off to one side, hidden from view of the street. I look her over, then look behind me. She’s alone and looks nervous, scared even.
“Yeah, I’m, uh, short a receptionist at the moment.”
That’s a mostly true statement. I never had a receptionist, but I optimistically bought the extra furniture when I signed the lease. Too bad I have more optimism than clients.
I close the exterior door to keep the heat of the afternoon out where it belongs, trying not to glare at the woman in my office.
She’s young, I’d guess, but not much younger than me.
Early twenties. She’s dressed in super-short white shorts that cling to a deliciously rounded ass.
The tank top she’s wearing hugs her flat belly, and her tits are on the smaller size but perfectly shaped.
Her legs are long, tanned, and toned, and a sandy blond braid falls to the middle of her back.