Chapter 2
STEVIE
After going into town, I clean the apartment for the rest of the day and evening.
The music shuts off, the men disappear, and I’m left in silence.
The main street is at the front of the apartment, and in the back is a small meadow, swallowed up by a forest. Strobe lights hit the street and garage, along with the meadow, losing strength by the time the lights meet the woods.
It’s eerie. I check the door lock, close the blinds, and shower.
Tomorrow is going to be another long day.
In the stillness, staring up into the dark, I think about Alicia.
The pain and guilt prick at my heart. Months after the accident, I still cry for my friend whom I had recently connected with only to lose again.
Guilt slithers through me, wondering why she died instead of me.
I’ve got nothing. Alicia was surrounded by friends and had a husband.
She didn’t deserve to have her life cut short at thirty-six years old.
I miss her. As soon as I find my way around this town I’ll visit her grave.
A couple of tears drift down my temples prior to falling asleep.
I don’t need an alarm clock because the garage is busy even before eight.
The guys are talking and having breakfast. Gears shouts up to me, asking if I’d like to join them.
Not wanting to appear rude, I throw on some sweats, pull my hair up in a ponytail, and enter the garage.
Four sets of eyes lock on me, freezing me in place.
Gears ushers me further into the garage, gesturing to a table with a coffeepot and donuts. “This is Stephanie.” He points to each guy. “Chains, Grinder, and Pirate.”
I sit on an empty crate, coddling my coffee cup. “Everyone calls me Stevie.”
Not sure what else to say, I drink my coffee, which causes my face to pucker up. They laugh at my expression.
Gears says, “Most folk ain’t liking it strong.”
“Strong? Are you sure it isn’t car oil?” This has them all in stitches. I press my lips together before asking, “Where did you get your names from?”
“Wolves of Mayhem MC. Ain’t ya ever seen bikers before?”
Great. More bikers.
“Yes. Although, there weren’t many where I come from.”
“Which is?”
“Raven Town. An hour away.”
“What brings ya here?”
I give a weak shrug. “Change of scenery.”
They raise their cups and Gears says, “Nice to have ya, Stevie.”
“Thank you.” We drink and then I ask, “Did you all get your names from the MC?”
“Yeah. I’m Gears cuz I own the car shop. Chains is good with chains, Grinder is a welder, and Pirate’s patch hides his lost eye.”
“Ah!” I rock a bit on the crate, sizing up the guys.
“Little thing like ya should eat a donut.”
I hold my hand up. “No, I’m good. Thanks, though,” and I stand. “I better get ready for my job interview…I think?”
“Where at?”
“Times Up.”
They all smile and nod as Gears says, “Jasper’s a good guy.”
I thank them for the coffee, and go upstairs to prepare for work.
Unsure if it’s an interview or to start training, I throw on jeans and a nice sweater to be on the safe side.
The company’s building is a manufacturing warehouse.
The side of the building has stairs leading up to a door.
I try the door, but it’s locked. This is either the wrong warehouse, or I got the time wrong.
Taking out my phone, I dial Times Up and a woman answers.
“Times Up, how can I help you?”
“My name is Stephanie Adams. I’m supposed to meet with Jasper.”
There’s shuffling of papers, and she responds, “He wants you to meet him at 524 Dublin Lane.”
As I’m thanking her, she hangs up, so I head to the address she gave me, which is outside Moose Grove limits.
The area is run-down. Boarded up homes, shattered windows, smashed fences, and broken-down cars parked on the streets and in yards.
I find the house where I’m to meet Jasper, but I hesitate.
The weeds are so high, they’ve overtaken the grass.
Two small pillars hold up the crooked overhang of the roof, and half of the porch is caved in.
Cautiously, I step to the front door that dangles on its hinges.
I hear voices toward the back of the house, so I follow them while I scope out the place.
Stepping over shattered glass and demolished furniture, I keep my distance from whatever substance is smeared all over the walls.
When I reach the room where a couple of others are, I jump back from the scene, open-mouthed and repulsed.
There’s blood everywhere. Blood and other bodily fluids don’t normally bother me, except this massacre is fresh and the body is still here.
I gag, eyes frozen on the deformed person sprawled out on the floor.
The face is unrecognizable, arms severed at the shoulder, and the legs are displayed in an unnatural way.
I notice stab wounds to the torso, and my gaze drifts downward to find his genitals gone.
A strong metallic smell, mixed with the gore and blood pooled on the floor and splashed on the walls, has me colliding back into the wall, bending to the side and vomiting.
The bitterness of coffee singes my throat.
I squeeze my eyes closed to block out the place, battling dry heaves until they’re under control.
My hand swipes across my mouth, and I’m sure my watery eyes smeared my mascara as I glance at the group of people.
A man turns to me, holding out his hand. “Stephanie, right? Jasper.”
Is he serious?
I just purged my insides out at a crime scene interview, and this guy acts like this is a normal day. Instead of taking his hand, I blot my eyes, nose, and mouth using a Kleenex from my purse.
“Yes. You can call me Stevie.”
His eyes wander over my clothes, so he reaches for a white protective suit and rubber gloves, handing them to me. “Put these on.”
I stutter from confusion. “Uh, thi-this isn’t an interview?”
“We just had the interview. You’re hired. Now go put the suit on.”
“But I threw up.”
He nods toward my vomit. “And you can start there.”
Clutching my purse firm against my side, my mouth ajar, I’m motionless, not knowing where to store my purse, where to dress, or what the hell is actually going on here.
Jasper notices my apprehension because he snatches my purse, tossing it in a corner on top of other items. He points to an open area, directing me to slip on the protective suit there.
I remind myself that if I don’t mess this job up, I’ll be self-sufficient in no time, so I dress fast and rejoin them.
“After cleaning up your mess, come help with the body.”
My eyes widen. “The body?”
His eyebrow rises. “Yes. Since you’ve emptied out already there shouldn’t be any more problems.”
Jasper shows me where all the cleaning supplies are. Taking deep breaths, I clean up my spew, giving myself a pep-talk. Everything’s fine, Stevie. How many times did you clean up after your mom while she was in chemo? Lots. Plus, there were plenty of occasions where you were around blood.
Yeah, but this is far from anything I’ve seen.
You’ll get used to it. With the kind of work this entails, it’s got to pay well, especially for not having any experience. Think about the condo you’ll be able to afford.
When I’m done, I meet the rest of the crew, Darren, Oscar, Zara, and Tom, while they’re handling the body.
Under their breath, I hear hellos, or receive slight nods from them.
Jasper tells me to put one of the severed arms in a large garbage bag.
From my periphery, I grab the arm, holding my breath and shoving it into the bag as fast as possible.
Then he tells me to fold one of the legs over the torso.
Pretend it’s a mannequin.
I clamp down on my teeth, breathe through my nose, and pick up the leg. As I start to bend it, the tibia cuts through the skin and a stream of blood oozes out. I turn away, gulping in air before returning to the task.
While we work, there’s little talk, except for Jasper’s instructions.
It takes the six of us five hours to remove the body and clean the room.
When I ask about the rest of the disgusting house, Jasper waves his hand in dismissal.
By two in the afternoon, we’re all headed to our cars. The body is in Jasper’s pickup truck.
Jasper walks up next to me. “Good job today, Stevie.”
“You mean aside from vomiting?”
He barks out, “That’s nothing. Some newbies shit in their pants. We don’t work every day, only when the dead show up, but it’s mostly Monday through Friday. Pay is $3,000 per scene.”
My mouth drops open. Three thousand? Times that by, let’s say, three a week, and I’ll be making nine thousand dollars before taxes.
I recover from the shock and ask, “Why weren’t the police here at the crime scene?”
Jasper stops walking, which has me stopping. “This job pays really well, Stevie. There’s no fuss. We go wherever our services are required, clean things up, ask no questions, and get out.” He steps right up to me. “It’s best you don’t ask questions.”
There’s light tension in the air as if I’m prying into illegal territory.
Gnawing on my lower lip, I ask, “Is this work illegal?”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “What are you looking for, Stevie? A great paying job? Security? If the answer is yes to both, I suggest you think long and hard about whether you want to work here.”
“I’m not looking for trouble or to go to jail.”
Jasper nods. “Neither are we. If you work hard, keep your mouth shut, and don’t ask what we do and why we’re doing it, you’ll be fine and rich in no time.
The money and security are worth it. What you saw today.
Forget about it. Nothing good will come of your snooping around, inquiring about things that have nothing to do with you. Got it?”
My lips press together before I say, “Got it.”
“If you show up tomorrow, the job is yours.”