2. Josiah Brooks #7
Juice muttered, “God probably tired.” I looked at him. He lifted both hands. “Business owners be hardheaded. I know two personally.”
Onyx’s concern stayed in his shoulders. “She’s trying to keep things moving. Kids. Business. Clients depending on her. Grief don’t stop bills from having due dates.”
I reached for my keys.
Juice looked at me. “Right now?”
“Right now,” I said.
Onyx exhaled like he’d been holding that breath since he parked. “I told Leilani you would.”
“You tell Celeste I’m coming?” I asked.
“Yep.”
Juice stared at him. “With a sparking outlet?”
Onyx replied, “That’s what I said.”
“That’s not a bother,” I said, standing. “That’s a warning.”
I crossed to the side cabinet and grabbed my tester, thermal camera, spare connectors, wire nuts, tape, panel labels, and extra breakers. Juice pushed up from the chair and went toward the bay without being asked.
Juice called out, “Darnell, load the thermal camera and the tall ladder. Marcus, reschedule Finch for after lunch, and tell Mrs. Finch we got a safety call. Don’t say emergency unless you want her praying in tongues over the phone.”
Marcus nodded and reached for the office phone. “Got it.”
Onyx said, “That’s why I didn’t want just anybody.”
I zipped the tool bag and slung it over my shoulder. “You did right.”
He nodded once.
Onyx’s phone buzzed again.
He looked down, and whatever humor remained moved off his face.
Onyx said, “Leilani just texted the lights flickered again.”
I was already walking.
Juice grabbed his keys from the workbench.
Outside, heat rose from the concrete in visible waves, and Onyx’s bike gleamed under the sun beside my truck.
I opened the driver’s door and tossed my tool bag into the back seat.
Juice came around the passenger side, still trying to wipe a gravy spot off his shirt with a shop towel, somehow making the situation worse.
“You riding behind us?” I asked Onyx.
“I’ll meet y’all there. Leilani told Celeste I was coming too.”
Juice paused with one hand on my truck door. “So we pulling up with an electrician and former boxer, and a police officer?”
Onyx looked at him. “And whatever you are.”
Juice said, “Comic relief with credentials.”
“Get in the truck,” I said.
Juice climbed in, still talking. “I’m just saying, Celestial Crowns about to think the Avengers care about outlets.”
I put the truck in reverse, but before I eased off the brake, my phone buzzed in the cup holder.
A voicemail notification lit the screen.
Unknown number.
I stared at it for half a second, then looked toward Onyx through the windshield. He was tightening the strap beneath his helmet, his attention already shifting toward the road.
Juice leaned over like privacy was a foreign policy he didn’t recognize. “Who is it?”
“Unknown,” I said.
Juice settled back in the seat and lifted both hands. “Play it. I’m invested now. It’s either a safety concern or somebody trying to sell you an extended warranty.”
I tapped the voicemail.
A woman’s voice filled the cab, low at first, like she had almost hung up before deciding not to.
“Hi, Mr. Brooks. This is Celeste Coleman. Leilani gave me your number. I know Onyx already explained what’s happening, but I wanted to update you.”
She paused, and in that small pocket of silence, I heard the shop before I saw it. Faint music. A dryer humming somewhere in the background. Women talking. Movement. Life pressing around her while she tried to keep her voice steady.
She continued, “I shut down the back stations and turned off the dryers on that side. The lights flickered again, and there’s still a smell near the rear wall. It’s not strong, but it’s there.”
I stopped moving.
Celeste drew in a breath, careful and measured.
“I don’t want to make this bigger than it is. I just don’t want anybody getting hurt. Leilani said you were coming, so I’ll be here. Thank you. And again, I’m sorry for bothering you.”
The message ended.
For a moment, neither one of us said anything.
Her apology sat in the truck longer than her voice did.
That was the part that worked my nerves. Not the flickering lights or the smell. I’d seen enough bad wiring to recognize danger. What bothered me was that a woman was standing inside a building warning her to pay attention, and she still felt the need to apologize for asking somebody for help.
Juice looked straight ahead. “She said she shut it down?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“That’s good.”
“It is.”
But my hand had already tightened around the steering wheel.
I backed out of the parking space and shifted into drive. Onyx pulled ahead of us on his bike, and the sunlight caught the edge of his helmet as he turned toward DePriest.
Somewhere across town, a salon full of women, children, heat, water, and trust was waiting on us to get there before a warning became something worse.
I pressed the gas.
“Seat belt,” I said.
Juice clicked his belt into place. “I had it.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I was getting there,” he said.
“So are we.”
The truck moved out of the lot, and every mile carried me closer to Celestial Crowns.