Chapter 6
ASH
W hen I leave the Crue house, I’m thinking about Crosby’s claim. I dismissed it as bullshit at first, but now I’m second-guessing myself. I was as stealthy as I could’ve been on the night I fired shots from the roof of Mitzi’s dance bar, but someone might have seen something.
As I head out, I review that night in my head.
I ran into Maddie, who was cheerful, despite looking skeletal.
She said things were looking up, and she’d be able to pay back the money she “borrowed” from me.
Concerned by the way she looked, I told her not to worry about paying me back and, instead of letting her buy me a drink, I bought her a basket of chicken wings and some sliders.
She was super friendly, and we ended up eating and drinking and dancing and laughing for three solid hours. We held court in a massive group of people who listened to us reminisce about our crazy private school days. I had a great time and felt like I was becoming part of the GU community.
Then, a pair of rough-looking guys with Russian neck tattoos arrived.
When Madelyn spotted them, she was scared to death.
She retreated down a back stairwell in a panic.
Immediately, my “girl savior” complex kicked in.
The same one that made me jump into the car when a sweet friend was getting kidnapped by the Italian Mafia.
After thwarting their revenge-murder plot, I became a little overconfident about what I can get away with.
Knowing the Mitzi’s stairwell would lead to a back alley, I was concerned the guys would catch Maddie before she got away. I headed up to the roof, and after I took a position behind a giant planter, I waited. Sure enough, the men in black wool were right on Madelyn’s tail.
I rained down some cover, in the form of bullets, causing the Bratva guys to circle around a dumpster and slow up.
Ducking down so they wouldn’t see me, I tucked my gun away and went over to the end of the roof.
After confirming Maddie escaped, I melted back into the bar’s landscape before making my own exit.
No one but the Bratva guys and War could’ve spotted me when I did the actual shooting, but I can’t rule out that a bar patron saw me emerge from behind the potted plant.
I didn’t see anyone around, but maybe I missed someone who’d been hidden from view.
If that person decided to tell frat guys rather than the police about me, then I guess Crosby might have gotten wind of it.
If so, he may even have convinced the so-called witness not to tell law enforcement about seeing me on the roof when shots were fired. Pretty thin, but possible.
I would hate to end up arrested, but I can’t regret forcing “made men” to slow their roll when it comes to grabbing and hurting an unarmed female college student.
The whole point of learning to use a gun was so I’d be able to protect myself.
Scott originally only intended for the gun to be in my mom’s house as protection for us in case someone broke in.
But once I’d done some target practice and got comfortable with a talent I didn’t expect to have…
Well, it just made sense to carry a gun a lot of the time.
Now, I can go on my merry way without having to wo rry about being grabbed on the walk from a bar to my car or to the dorm after a night out.
Intellectually, I know I still need to watch myself. But having earned my Baby Gangster nickname, a part of me feels like I’ve got to use my powers for good when the situation calls for it. Like when a terrified coed is running from armed felons twice her size.
Speaking of Maddie, I can’t help but wonder about her. Is she somewhere safe and hiding out? Or has something sinister happened to her?
When I was last at her house, she hadn’t packed everything up and moved. She’d just taken enough to get by. At some point, she’ll have to sneak back to get more of her stuff.
If that’s already happened, campus police could be reassured she hasn’t been kidnapped. And then, they’ll stop asking questions that might cause them to uncover the fact that I was the Mitzi’s shooter.
After stopping by my dorm to change out of my costume and into cold weather gear, I drive off campus to Maddie’s place.
Billie’s engine ticks as I kill it in front of the old Victorian, which is a crazy Barbie pink with white lacy-looking trim.
Even though it’s had some nice upgrades inside, there is no way I would’ve rented it myself unless the owners had had the outside painted.
That’s a funny thing about Granthorpe. A lot of the old houses are protected as historical and can only be painted colors that were popular in the late 1800s or something.
When I open the driver’s door, a blast of glacial air practically knocks me back into the Camaro. It’s always cold in Massachusetts in winter, but this is ridiculous. We’re in the single digits today, and I’m over it.
Dragging my Navy blue GU beanie down over my ears, I jog up the walk and porch steps. I shove a spare key into the front door’s lock. I should return the key now that I’m not crashing at her place anymore, but I haven’t had the chance.
The frigid air scrapes my throat as I inhale. Thankfully, when I get the front door open, I’m greeted by warm air. Utilities must have been included in the rent because I can’t see Madelyn mailing in checks from wherever she is.
As soon as I step inside and close the door behind me, I realize things are worse than I thought. The place has been tossed. Furniture overturned. Couch cushions ripped open, with their foam guts sprayed everywhere. Broken knick knacks scattered over the floor.
Someone was definitely looking for something.
There’s a bad smell. As though food has been rotting in the trash. Or something much worse. I stiffen. Do I want to look around? What if I find Madelyn’s body?
Glancing over my shoulder at the closed living room blinds, I grimace. Chances are someone on the street has security cameras that will have captured me showing up here and coming inside. If there’s a body, I probably need to find and report it today.
Pausing, I narrow my eyes at a broken souvenir bottle from the Caribbean.
If Madelyn’s a missing person that campus police are actively searching for, wouldn’t they have checked out her place first?
They could’ve gotten the landlord to let them in for doing a wellness check or whatever it’s called, right? So maybe, this happened recently.
Stepping around and over debris, I grimace. The hallway is a wreck, and so is Madelyn’s room. The mattress, like the living room couches, has been sliced open. Wow. Every item of clothing has been yanked out of the closet.
I check under the bed, relieved there’s no body or pooled blood. Next, I check the drawers and piles of clothes. Nothing of interest.
The second room has less chaos. The desk drawers stand open and empty, contents scattered, but the computer tower is gone. That could mean that whatever the Bratva was searching for is digital, rather than a bundle of stolen cash or physical items .
In the bathroom, the cabinets have been ransacked, prescription bottles dumped, and the mirror smashed, maybe in frustration.
My gaze skids to a stop on a tampon box that peeks out from a under some unspooled toilet paper.
I notice it because the top is closed, rather than open, and there are no tampons strewn over the tile floor.
Hmm.
Walking over, I lift it and open the lid.
It’s only half full of tampons, but there are also a couple of pads in individual plastic wrappers.
I dump the box’s contents on the vanity.
One of the pads is bigger than the other.
After removing the thin plastic from around the larger one, I unfold the pad.
Resting at its center is a purple thumb drive.
Exhaling an amused sound, I shake my head.
Hardened Russian mobsters who surely make people bleed on the regular were thwarted by an unused period pad? The world is so strange sometimes.
Pocketing the drive, I continue my search.
After finding nothing else of note, other than some rotten produce in the un-emptied trash, I leave.
I drive back to campus, and once I’m tucked safely in my dorm room, I plug in the thumb drive. It’s password-protected, and my guesses fail. Damn it.
Chewing on my lower lip, I pull the drive out of my computer’s USB slot.
I’ve been thwarted, too, for now. But at least I failed because of something legit like a password, rather than something ridiculous like a tampon box.