Page 3 of Shenanigans

“It only twenty-five dineros,” Maria said, sticking her finger through the big hole in her purse.

Maybe it was time for me to invest in a bulletproof vest. “My fee for retrieving Tinkerbell from an underground dog fighting ring is five hundred dollars.”

Without blinking, Maria pulled out a stack of twenties and laid them on the desk. “Please find her. Por favor.”

“I’ll do my best.” I quickly wrote her a receipt. “Remember. Stay away from Tomas.”

“Si.” Maria took the receipt and left.

I watched her get into a cherry red Chevy Impala lowrider. Bet it belonged to the pendejo. My vehicle was a beat up, gray Ford van filled with food, crates, leashes, and a doggie first aid kit.

Spreading a map of Phoenix across my desk, I picked up Tinkerbell’s pink bow, and concentrated. A flurry of images flashed across my mind. Ancient metal warehouses. A tavern covered in graffiti. Crowing roosters. I let the bow fall and opened my eyes. Hmmm. Polk and 7thstreet. Smart people avoided the area, but if a critter was in danger, smart wasn’t always possible. My risk-taking drove my grandmother nuts.

Chapter Two

A row of ancient metal warehouses lined the street. Squashed between two warehouses was a tavern. Every surface of the bar had been marred by red and black spray-painted gang signs. The thumping, rap-crap music blaring from the interior, rattled my van so badly the assortment of leashes fell off their hooks.

Tattooed bikers, hollow-eyed winos and strung-out junkies loitered around the entrance. They all seemed to enjoy the poor excuse for a song. A few transients did a bad hip-hop dance on the garbage strewn sidewalks.

I parked, rolled the window down and listened. The pounding music couldn’t drown out the raucous cock-a-doodle-dos that vied with the frenzied barking of frightened dogs. Bingo. The racket was coming from the last warehouse.

I flipped the visor down and checked myself in the mirror. An elderly nun looked back at me. My friend Sally worked at a mystery dinner theater and taught me the art of applying stage makeup. The black habit I borrowed barely hid my steel-toed boots. My special hitman latex gloves insured I didn’t leave any prints behind. I put a taser in my right pocket, picked up the box of hamburgers and climbed out of the van.

The street people eyed me hopefully. I gave them a big smile. “I’m Sister Mary and I’m here to feed the lost.”

A wino put a hand to his ear. “What?”

“Food,” I yelled.

Everyone crowded around me eagerly. Lordy, did they stink and where the hell did all the flies come from? I handed out the burgers. “Bless you my child,” I shouted repeatedly as I made my way down the sidewalk.

A big, muscle-bound biker stepped in front of me, blocking my path. He had menacing down to an art form.

I eyed him warily. Why did he look so familiar? Had I met him somewhere? Kind of hard to tell. His bushy brown beard hid his features, the mirrored sunglasses concealed his eyes and a black pirate skull cap covered his hair. I slid my hand in the pocket with the taser and raised an inquiring eyebrow.

The biker hollered, “Stay away from the last warehouse, Sister. Bad shit goes down in there.”

“Thank you, my son.” I handed him another burger and gave out the rest of the food.

Glancing over my shoulder, I watched the bad-ass biker walk back to the bar and start talking to another equally scary biker.

I took a cautious look around. No one was paying any attention to me. I sprinted down the side of the warehouse to a weed-filled alley.

My gaze froze on a cherry red Chevy Impala lowrider parked at an odd angle. “Oh crap.” Had Tomas taken his car back or had he grabbed Maria, or had she come on her own? Either way, not good.

According to several dogs inside, the mean ones were gone. I mentally linked with a hawk perched on the roof.“Watch. Warn,”I commanded.

The hawk screeched.

Dropping the box, I pulled out a lock pick and quickly unlocked the door. One of the advantages of being the daughter of a former mob enforcer was learning all the tricks of the trade. Not the killing part, but how to disable alarms, pick locks, steal a car and my favorite, evade the police. Dad had even taught me how to shoot a variety of weapons and I wasn’t too bad with a knife either. Since Mom was into peace on Earth and goodwill to all, it was our little secret.

I stepped inside and groaned. Crammed into cages were battered pit bulls, smaller dogs and roosters. There was no sign of Maria or Tinkerbell, but I knew the Yorkie was here. I spotted an office door and hurried over to it. Whimpering came from inside. I picked the lock and eased the door open. Tinkerbell was in a small crate. She yapped and did a little wee-wee dance.

“Hold on sweetie.”I released Tinkerbell and grinned as she shot from the crate, squatted on the cement floor and did her business.

An image of her owner formed in Tinkerbell’s mind.

“I’ll take you to her, but first we have to rescue all these animals.”

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