Page 42 of Loverboy
Out of thecorner of my eye, I see the shimmer of the pie shop window as it crashes violently toward the ground.
“Shit.” I clasp Posy’s hand in mine and tug her diagonally across the street at a brisk clip. En route, I try to work out what just happened. The front door of the pie shop is still shut, with the store’s metal security gate still lowered into place. I can see the padlock shining from here.
So whoever broke the window did so frominsidethe building.
Abruptly I change course, heading for the narrow alleyway that runs between two neighboring buildings on this block.
“Stay here,” I bark. Then I drop Posy’s hand and run down the alley toward the back.
Posy—who never did listen to me—lets out a squeak of protest. And as I run, I can hear her following me. But there’s no time to argue the point. Even before I reach the back of the building, someone streaks past me on foot. I step on the gas and give it my all, arriving in the alley seconds later.
But there's nobody in sight. A quick scan of the brick façades around me reveals a multitude of escape options. The guy could have escaped over any number of fences and fire escapes. I look at each one in turn, trying to spot him. But no luck. “Fuck,” I curse as Posy arrives beside me. I grab her hand, because she's obviously not that good at listening to my instructions, and I tow her toward the back door of the pie shop. Sure enough, it's standing open, the door swinging gently on its hinges.
“Is someone still inside?” she gasps.
“Stay here. Call 911. Don't come in, no matter what.”
Her eyes wide, she takes a step back. Then she pulls out her phone.
I wait until I’m sure she’s dialing, and then I hop up onto the back stoop where Jerry likes to sit and read his comics. Then I press on, stepping carefully into the kitchen.
It's a mess. Someone has trashed the place. There are mixing bowls on the floor, and an overturned sack of flour near the reach-in refrigerator.
There’s nobody here, though. So I move through the kitchen, which echoes with the quality of silence that makes me pretty sure I'm alone. Posy’s tiny office has been trashed as well. The computer is lying on the floor, the screen broken. A file drawer has been ripped from its cabinet and tossed onto the ground.
But my heart doesn't really drop until I step through into the cafe area. There's glass everywhere. Not only is the front window broken, so is the display case. There are shards of glass in the pristine pies that were waiting for their chance in the refrigerator case. Only the antique cash register is unscathed. It’s solid steel, though. Hard to manhandle.
The drawer is still shut, too. Posy makes a bank deposit every night, so there probably wasn't much in the register, anyway. But this is still a disaster. I feel sick just looking at the mess.
“Gunnar?” she squeaks from somewhere behind me. I quickly retrace my steps and go back outside. When I step into view, she gives me a quick look of relief. “I didn't hear from you and—"
“Hey, it's fine, I’m fine. But there's no easy way to put this, someone has trashed your place.”
“Is it bad?” she asks in a quiet voice.
There's no point in trying to sugarcoat it. “It's bad.”
“Oh,” she says quietly. Her hands come together, clasped in worry. “I don't, uh, this has never happened to me before. What did they want? What could be missing?”
“I really don’t know.” Breaking and entering a restaurant after hours isn’t very practical. Thieves look for things like computer equipment and technology. They only care about cash value. The pie shop doesn’t have anything like that. “I honestly have no idea what they wanted. Your cash register seems intact. But the front window has been trashed, and the display case is broken.”
She flinches. “The police are on their way. They said to meet them out front.” She moves to join me on the stoop and cut through the store.
“Let's walk around outside,” I suggest. “The police will want to get a look before we touch anything.” Besides, I really don’t want her to see this devastation. Not that I can help it. Whether I delay her or not, Posy is going to be horrified by the full extent of the damage. And nothing I can say will make it better.
But Posy takes the hand that I offer, allowing me to lead her around toward the front of the building. I’d hoped to see a cruiser approaching already.
But instead I see Posy’s ex-husband—Spalding—and his new girlfriend. They’re both standing on the sidewalk, staring at the glass all over the sidewalk. Isn’t it strange that they’d turn up right now? Spalding wears an impeccable tuxedo, though, and shiny shoes. Saroya wears a ballgown and heels.
So it wasn’t either one of them that I just chased in the alley. Still. “What are you two doing here right now?” I bark.
Spalding’s head snaps in my direction, and his eyes narrow. “Who wants to know? Posy—what the hell? Who ishe?” Spalding demands with a sneer. “And what happened to your window?”
“Back off. I’ll ask the questions,” I rumble, forgetting that I’m supposed to be the barista in this situation. “Where are you coming from right now?”
“Theopera,” Spalding sniffs. “Not that it’s any of your business. Posy—we’ve got to call the police. Did you ever install those security cameras I told you about? This could have all been prevented if you had better security.”
Her eyes widen with dismay. “Fuck you, Spalding. Like you give a damn what happens to me.”
