Chapter 19
The second stakeoutstarts off the same as the first. Me and Mac in a darkened, empty club with our overnight bags under our arms.
I’m determined this stakeout won’t end the same as the first one. I have better tools this time. In my bag, there’s a care package from Max with fancy equipment nestled carefully in foam. I’m not even sure what all the little machines do but Max is already yapping away in my ear. He’ll talk me through them all.
Mac and I set up in the kitchen: unfolding cots and unrolling our sleeping bags. I check the locks, which don’t look tampered with. It’s been a few days since anything’s been stolen but even before that, the few locks at the club never looked forced. Joker’s B is either getting in some other way or has a Master’s degree in lock-picking.
“What the fuck is that?” Max asks in my ear.
I look up from the bags I’m unloading on my cot. Mac is standing in the middle of the room, panning his phone around so Max can see the room’s details.
“What?” I ask.
“That huge fucking vent in the ceiling,” Max says.
I look up at the white slat-covered vent. “Oh, yeah, Sacrum’s HVAC system dates back to the Victorian era.”
“Lo, do the HVAC vents run to every part of the club?” Max asks.
“Most of it. Definitely the dungeons, changing rooms, bathrooms, and hallways. Not sure about the office. I don’t think there’s a vent in there, actually, because it has a window-unit air conditioner.”
“Take the wizard wand out of my toolkit and hold it up toward the vent,” Max says. Keys clack in the background.
“Maxie, there’s no way a person could get through those vents.”
Mac rubs his chin. “Could if they were a child. Or a very small woman.”
I eye the vent. He’s crazy. The vent cover is maybe one foot square. You’d have to be part cat to get your shoulders through it.
I unpack Max’s box o’ tricks and find the wand. If it’s a wizard wand, it’s the world’s shortest wizard wand. It’s maybe five inches long and an inch around, tapering slightly at one end. It’s matte black. I swear, Max must custom-order all his cool toys from the same supplier. I bet he and De Leon jerk off together over the catalogue.
I pick it up and a ring of blue light runs around the fat end of the wand.
“Hold it up to the vent,” Max says.
When I do, beeping erupts in my ear.
“Fuck,” Max says. “Get a ladder and get that vent cover off. There’s something with a localized signal broadcasting from the vent.”
I look at Mac. Mac looks back at me. We both grimace. If there’s a camera up in that vent, no wonder Joker’s B knew exactly what we’ve been doing. They were watching us the whole time.
I hand the wizard wand to Mac and trudge off to get my ladder.
When I remove the vent cover and a hundred years of dust lands in my face, I find a square white box taped to the vent cover with electrician’s tape.
“Damn,” Mac says.
“Mommy cam,” Max says. “Cheap. Good range of vision. Bad news, I can’t trace the signal back to a phone number because it runs through a cloud app. Potentially good news is that those things chew through batteries, so Joker’s B would need access to it frequently to replace the batteries. That means they’re moving around through the vents, Lo.”
I eye the dark maw of the vent. “I don’t think even Emily could squeeze through there. Not without dislocating her shoulders.”
“Face it, Lo,” Mac says. “Joker’s B is a kid.”
I shake my head, although whether that’s unwillingness to admit I’ve been outwitted by a kid or just utter chagrin, I can’t say.
“It makes sense,” Max says. “Those notes. What they’ve stolen. Young teen or tween maybe.”
“I’m honestly not sure if that’s better or worse,” I say.
“Plaster over your wounded pride and grab the box out of the kit with Verifsys on it. Also take out the thing that looks like a fabric pouch.”
I locate the correct matte black box and gray fabric bag.
“Okay, listen to all of my directions before you do anything. We’re going to fritz that camera. Turn off all your electronic devices. Phones, your laptops, smart watches, everything. Put them in the fabric bag and zip it shut. Take the mommy cam and the Verifsys box outside, away from any telephone poles or electric lines. Find the on button on the Verifsys box. Turn it on and let it warm up. Then hold the camera against the Verifsys box for a count of thirty. That will kill it. Turn off the Verifsys box. Then you’re safe to go back inside. Power up your phones, put your earpieces in, and call me.”
“Will do.”
Mac and I follow Max’s instructions to the letter and are back inside in less than five minutes. Max runs us through using the wizard wand to test the mommy cam and confirms its dead.
“If you find any other mommy cams, follow the same procedure to kill them.”
“What’s the range of the wizard wand?” I ask Max.
“Less than five feet. You have to be right on top of it. There’s so much clutter in urban areas with radio signals, home broadband routers, smart appliances, and smart phones that it’s increasingly hard to isolate signals.”
“You did it remotely with Bren’s shop,” Mac recalls.
“Yeah, because I have that place wired down to the ground already.”
Mac clears his throat. “We’ll talk about that another time.”
I raise my eyebrows at Mac. Does he object to Max’s monitoring? It makes me feel safer. Mac shakes his head.
Guess it’s between the two of them.
“So, walking around and sticking the wizard wand at all the vents in this place is ...”
“Inefficient but not a waste of time,” Max finishes my question.
“Well, we do have all night,” I say.
Mac and I divide up the task. While he has an hour’s kip, I walk around sticking the wizard wand at random vent covers. No pings. Max is silent in my ear.
Maybe this is stupid. Maybe there’s another reason there’s a mommy cam in the kitchen vent, although I can’t believe Jaimie or Olaf didn’t mention it.
I rejoin Mac and we eat a late dinner together. Emmy’s gone all out, in my little girl’s usual fashion. Curried chicken sandwiches, potato salad with crunchy capers, fluffy rolls fragrant with garlic and sprinkled with sesame seeds, mini-quiches, tiny pork pies with boiled quail eggs hidden in the middle, and for dessert, Bakewell squares. My baby doll knows me so well.
“Emmy can cook,” Mac admits. “Although I sense my girl’s hand with spices in that curried chicken.”
I chuckle and nod. Emmy knows I like strong seasoning but she was nervous about over-spicing my food until she started cooking with Brenna. Brenna believes Scotch bonnet peppers are just pleasantly tingly.
I sit back on my cot and rub my full belly. “I’ve never eaten better, not even when my mum was alive. How do you do it? Owing your girl for taking such good care of you while still being tough with her?”
Mac’s always been a harder sadist than I am. Until he came to Blunts with me, I’d forgotten how heavy the play he goes for is. He wrings tears of pain out of Bren, and she is a leather-ass if I’ve ever met one. He’s also unexpectedly inflexible when it comes to his rules. I put a lot of rules in place to keep Emmy safe. Mac has very few rules for Bren but even a hint of an infraction gets Bren a punishment that would break quite a few masochists of my acquaintance.
“Ah.” Mac stretches back on his own cot. “First, I don’t look at it as owing her. She takes care of me because she loves me. I’m hard on her because I love her.”
I nod. I feel that way, too but sometimes it gets lost in the overwhelming rush of gratitude I feel toward Emily.
“Second,” Mac continues, “it’s not just about love. It’s about respect. We respect each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Bren’s great about feeding me, physical affection, being in my corner. Her communication skills suck balls. I have decent communication skills. I’m pretty good about recognizing her physical needs. I don’t always show physical affection and I’m not great about giving her space. I work on her communication. She reminds me to show physical affection and pushes back when I crowd her. We’re better as a team. Respect. That’s our love language.”
I like that. I make a mental note to mention respect as a love language to Emmy.
“You look better,” Mac grunts. “Healthier. I know it’s not about your cholesterol or recovering from that head injury. It’s overall. You’re in a good place now.”
“I am,” I agree. “I didn’t expect to be. A week ago, my head was in a goddamn shed with everything. Olivia coming. Worrying about how Emmy would adapt. The Nursery opening at Blunts. What the fuck is going on with the house subs. And this bloody job. But it’s coming together. Emmy’s solid and that gives me a foundation for everything. It’s nuts to base so much of my mental well-being on another person. I know that. But everything comes back to her, Mac. Everything revolves around her.”
“You know, before seeing you and Em, I’d have lectured you on the dangers of basing your happiness on another person. You have to be happy in yourself, fulfilled in your job, yadda, yadda. But seeing you with her, understanding what a caregiver relationship is, I get it. Taking care of your little fulfills a need in you that’s never been met before. That’s why you weren’t satisfied with Miranda or any of your previous subs, Lo. You need to be needed.”
“Do you?” I ask.
“Not like you do. But I had a hole in my heart. Wasn’t even an Amy-sized hole. I’d given up on being her Dom a long time ago. It was a failure-sized hole. Maxie mentioned somethin’ he and Myles talked about. About topping our girls being a chance for a do-over, a chance for a clean win. That’s definitely the hole I was toting around.”
“Is your relationship with Bren a do-over?” I ask. Because that makes sense. I knew Mac felt he’d failed Amy.
“Better,” Mac says. “It’s a do-above. It’s a fresh start with better tools, better skills. I can’t regret my failure with Amy because it taught me to be the Dom Bren needs. I wouldn’t be able to handle my DirtyGurl if I hadn’t topped Amy for all those years.”
“She is a challenge,” I say, not envying Mac that challenge at all. She’d drive me crazy.
“Fucking Everest,” Mac says.
I chuckle, remembering Theo saying something similar.
“You know she got that worked into one of her tattoos?” Mac asks. I shake my head. I don’t make close inspection of Brenna’s tattoos. “It’s the one on her thigh, with the barbed wire. She worked a little outline of the Himalayas and my name into the tattoo. She said she wouldn’t overwrite her history but she wanted to show how I’d conquered her.”
“Damn.”
I need to look at the tattoo. And not feel too envious. I have no reason to be. Emily’s wearing one of my brands already. But it’s not my name.
I got the “X” brand custom-made. I bet they could make a “Daddy” brand.
Thinking happy Daddy-brand thoughts, I stretch out on my cot and take my shift of power-napping while Mac cleans up our dinner and goes to poke around with the wizard wand.
When I wake up, Mac tells me he found and disposed of three more mommy cams, including one in the central hallway that leads from the dungeons to the changing rooms, office, and kitchen.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” I grumble. “Joker’s B watched me install all the goddamn cameras?”
“Looks that way. The vent’s in the middle of the hallway. Good view in all directions.”
I rub the bridge of my nose. “I fucked up. I was so focused on Maxie going to England to collect Livvy that I didn’t use him on this job the way I should have. I should have had him sweep the whole building first.”
“That’s neither cost-effective nor in the spec for this job, Lo. Sacrum hired you to install a CCTV system. That’s what they could afford. You went above-and-beyond, the way you always do, to solve their problem. But let’s be clear, you have not failed them. You have not fucked up. You’re taking the world on your shoulders again, son.”
I roll my shoulders to show that I’m not bearing anything on them other than my sweater. “Taking on too much is kind of the job description for a Daddy Dom.”
Mac nods. “Sure is, when it comes to Emmy. But this job is not your little girl. Separate them in your mind.”
He’s right.
“I hate not fixing shit,” I admit.
“I know. It’s what makes you good at your job, good at managing the house subs, and good at being Emmy’s daddy. But there’s a difference between fixing shit and tilting at windmills. You cannot take on the whole world’s problems. Emmy’s your priority. Take on too much when it comes to her. Everything else? Do what you can to fix the shit but accept that you can’t solve the world’s ills.”
I nod. “You’re right.”
“I know I am. I also know it’s going to take more than one of these talks to convince you. Tap me when you’re ready for the next one.”
I chuckle. “Yes, sir.”
Mac rubs his chin. “It’s been a while since you called me that. I’ve been getting used to not hearing it from anyone but my girl.”
“Sorry, Mac. That hadn’t occurred to me.”
“S’okay. It’s just a change. A good one.” He steeples his hands over his belly. “Don’t know if I mentioned it but I called Annabelle.”
“Did she speak to you?”
Mac shakes his head. “Not in depth yet. She asked me for some time. She says she’s still processing. I asked if I could call her back day after tomorrow and she said yes. We’ll see how it goes.”
“Good,” I say. “I emailed Chess and asked to add member retraining and guest security issues to the next management committee meeting agenda.”
“He get back to you?” Mac asks.
“No but he doesn’t usually the same day. Chess likes to sleep on things, as he’s told me a million times.”
“Fair enough,” Mac says but it’s a grumble. “’Long as he’s not asleep at the switch. Can’t say as I’m overly impressed with his handling of the things I’ve seen. He’s supposed to be top dog. Buck stops with him. Sure, we can blame the situation with the house subs on your friend Ryan but Chess should have realized things were going south long before it got to this state.”
“This isn’t an excuse but his wife died not that long ago.”
Mac shrugs. “We all got shit going on. I’m not trying to be unsympathetic but if he’s grieving and not up to managing the club then he needs to step back.”
“From a financial perspective,” I say, playing Devil’s advocate, “the club’s running well.”
“Financial matters can stay in the same hands,” Mac allows. “I’m talkin’ about managing people, not money.”
“Agreed.”
“You wanna be chairman?” he asks.
“Fuck.” I rub my hands over my face. “Really?”
Mac sits back on his cot, propped on his hands behind him. He hums something. It takes me a moment before I recognize Tracy Chapman’s “Talkin’ Bout a Revolution.”
“I figure you’ve got the seniority,” Mac says. “But if you don’t want it, I’d understand. Maude’d be my second pick.”
“Maude,” I confirm. “Emmy’s always got to be my first priority. Maude’s well-liked by most of the members. She’s steady and thoughtful. She’ll lead the club well.”
Mac nods. “That’s settled then.”
“Good. I’m flattered you thought of me, Mac.”
Mac shakes his head. “Someday, Lo, you’re gonna see yourself the way everyone else sees you.” He chuckles. “Maybe it’s better you don’t. I like the little drop of humility you got left.”
I snort at him.